‘No hanging?’ the Karchite complained. Erytus looked over at him stonily.
Crispin smiled thinly. ‘I have no idea what they will do to him. I don’t care. I won’t be here to see it. The Emperor has summoned me and I will not linger, even for justice and a hanging. I do understand that the good-hearted Morax, deeply contrite at our having been driven outside into the cold, now offers Candarian wine to all those who feel the need of warmth. Am I correct, ‘keeper?’
There was a burst of raucous laughter and agreement from the men crowded around them. Crispin let his smile deepen as he met a few glances.
‘Nicely done, again. Mice and blood! Will I be forced to respect you?’
‘How would we ever deal with that?’
‘Husband! Husband!’ the wife was saying urgently, for the third or fourth time. Her face was a blotchy red in the torchlight. She was staring at Kasia, Crispin saw. The girl looked stunned, uncomprehending. Either she was, or she was an extremely good actress.
Morax didn’t turn to his wife. He drew a shaky breath and took Crispin by the elbow, walking him a little way into the dark.
‘The Chancellor? The Master of Offices…?’ he whispered.
‘. . . have more pressing concerns. I will not trouble them with this. Erytus makes good my risk of loss, and you sell the girl with all her countersigned papers as compensation. Make the price fair, Morax.’
‘My lord, you want… that girl, of all of them?’
‘I can hardly use all of them, ‘keeper. That is the one who saved my purse.’ He let himself smile again. ‘She’s a favourite of yours?’
The innkeeper hesitated. ‘Yes, my lord.’
‘Good,’ said Crispin briskly. ‘You ought to lose something in this, if only a yellow-haired bed-partner. Pick another of your girls to mount in the dark while your wife sleeps.’ He paused, his smile disappearing. ‘I am being generous, ‘keeper.’
He was, and Morax knew it. ‘I don’t… that is, she isn’t… my wife …’ The innkeeper fell silent. He drew a shaky breath. ‘Yes, my lord,’ he said. Tried to smile. ‘I do have other girls here.’
Crispin knew what that meant, as it happened. ‘I told you,’ Linon said.
‘No help for it,’ he replied, silently. There were questions embedded in this that he could not answer. Aloud, he said, ‘I mean it, Morax … a very fair price for Erytus. And serve out the wine.’
Morax swallowed, and nodded unhappily. Crispin was uncontrite. The expensive wine would be the innkeeper’s only real loss, and Crispin needed the other patrons to feel kindly towards him now, and for Morax to know that they did.
It began to rain. Crispin looked up. Dark clouds blotted all the sky. The forest was north, very near, a presence. Someone approached them from beyond the torches: a hefty, reassuring figure, with Crispin’s cloak in his hands. Crispin smiled briefly at him. ‘It’s all right, Vargos. We’re going inside.’ Vargos nodded, his expression watchful.
They had picked up Thelon of Megarium and were carrying him in. His uncle and cousins walked beside him; servants carried torches. The girl, Kasia, lingered uncertainly, and so did the innkeeper’s wife, her gaze poisonous.
‘What is happening?’
‘You heard. We are going in.’
‘Go upstairs, Kitten,’ Crispin said mildly, walking back towards the light. ‘You are being sold to me. You have no more tasks in this inn, do you understand?’ She didn’t move for a moment, her eyes enormous, then she nodded once jerkily, like a rabbit. She was shivering, he saw. ‘Wait for me in the room. I’ve some good wine promised me, before I come up. Warm the bed. Don’t fall asleep.’ It was important to be casual about this. She was a slave, bought on impulse; he knew nothing more than that.
‘About the wine, my lord?’ Morax’s voice at his elbow was low, complicitous. ‘The Candarian? It is wasted on almost all of them, my lord.’ That happened to be true.
‘I don’t care,’ Crispin replied icily.
That happened to be untrue. He found it almost painful. Candarian island wine was celebrated, it was far too good to waste. Under ordinary circumstances.