‘You look troubled,’ said Shira, limping in from the kitchen.
‘Bad dreams,’ he said, forcing a smile.
‘I used to have bad dreams,’ she said. ‘Would you like some breakfast? We have eggs today.’
‘Thank you.’
She left him with his thoughts, and he pictured the dream again and again. Still there was no sense to it. Tarantio shivered, and added more fuel to the growing fire.
Shira returned with a plate of fried eggs and a slab of steak. Tarantio thanked her and devoured the meal. She sat down beside him when he had finished, and handed him a mug of hot, sweet tisane.
Tarantio relaxed. ‘This is good,’ he said. ‘I don’t recognize the flavour.’
‘Rose-petal, lemon mint, and a hint of camomile, sweetened with honey.’
Tarantio sighed. ‘The best time of the day,’ he said, trying to make conversation. ‘Quiet and uncluttered.’
‘I have always liked the dawn. A new day, fresh and virgin.’
The use of the word ‘virgin’ unsettled Tarantio, and he looked away into the fire. ‘You were very frightening last night,’ she said.
‘I am sorry you witnessed it.’
‘I thought someone was going to die. It was horrible.’
‘Violence is never pleasant,’ he agreed. ‘However, the man brought it upon himself. He should not have struck Brune, nor should he have attempted to kick him thereafter. It was the act of a coward. Though he will, I think, be regretting his actions now.’
‘Will you be taking Father’s advice, and leaving us?’
‘I have not yet found a dwelling that suits me.’
‘This tavern never made any money,’ she said suddenly, ‘not until Duvo came with his music. Father worked hard, and we scraped by. Now he is on the verge of success, and that means a lot to him.’
‘I am sure that it does,’ agreed Tarantio, waiting for her to continue.
‘But taverns with a reputation for violence tend to lose their customers.’
He looked into her wide, beautiful eyes. ‘You would like me to leave?’
‘I think it would be wise. Father didn’t sleep last night. I heard him pacing the room.’
‘I will find another tavern,’ he promised her.
She made to rise, then winced and sat back.
‘You are in pain?’ he asked.
‘My leg often troubles me – especially when it is going to rain. I shall be all right in a moment. I am sorry for having to ask you to leave. I know that what happened was not your fault.’
He shrugged, and forced a smile. ‘Do not concern yourself. There are many taverns. And I will not need more than a few days to find a place of my own.’
Taking his empty plate, she limped back to the kitchen.
‘Such a sweet child,’ said Dace. ‘And you fell for it, brother.’
‘What she said was no more than the truth. Vint will come here looking for you . . . me.’
‘I’ll kill him,’ said Dace confidently.
‘What is the point, Dace? How many deaths do you need?’ asked Tarantio wearily.
‘I don’t need deaths,’ objected Dace. ‘I need amusement. And this conversation is becoming boring.’ With that Dace faded back, leaving Tarantio mercifully alone.
Returning to his room, he filled a pewter bowl and
washed his face and hands. Brune yawned and stretched. ‘I had a lovely dream,’ he said, sitting up and scratching his thick fingers through his sandy hair.
‘Lucky you,’ said Tarantio. ‘Pack your gear. Today we look at houses.’
‘I’d like to stay here and talk to Shira.’
‘I can see the attraction. However, the man I fought last night is likely to come back with a large number of friends – including a sword-killer named Vint. They’ll be looking for you and me. You’re welcome to stay here, of course. But keep your dagger close by.’
‘No,’ said Brune. ‘I think I’d like to look at houses. I don’t want to meet any sword-killers.’
‘Wise choice,’ Tarantio told him.
‘Boring – but wise,’ added Dace.
The twelve targets were circles of hard-packed straw, four feet in diameter, placed against a wall of sacks filled with sand. The archers stood some sixty paces from the targets, their arrows thrust into the earth.