Chapter Thirty-Nine. A Reminder of Things Unchanged.
Thirty-Nine
A Reminder of Things Unchanged.
The check-in process is smooth. We’re assigned a room, our horse is likewise taken into boarding, and going by the way everybody steps carefully around Merc, it’s clear that trouble will not be immediately looking for us.
Further, he tells everyone I’m his wife, and he pays with a silver coin, not a copper one.
“It’s the best room in the place.” The brusque woman leading us up the creaky stairs speaks between grunts. “Just cleaned, too. Meant to be.”
I can’t tell what age she is. Her hair is gray, and she’s a bit stooped, but she’s solid and no-nonsense.
In this way, she’s like all the buildings of the Outpost, battened down and hearty.
As with a lot of the women in the pub, her skirt is made of heavy, felt material in a deep red that flares out in a straight circle to the floor.
I was wondering how she sat down—and how she was going to make it up the stairs—but the front of it bends as if hinged.
On her top, she has a short vest of the same fabric and a loose gray blouse that billows out around her arms.
I’m not sure what’s so significant about the felt. Some of the men have pants and outer coatings also made of it, though their clothes are brown, and the uniformity of the dress helps me pick out who’s part of the community and who’s passing through. But it can’t be comfortable—
At the top of the stairs, I find myself in a hall that stretches out a building length in both directions. Somehow, the second floor is twice the size of the lower, suggesting the space has been retrofitted over the other stores and enterprises of commerce on the first level.
“This way,” the woman announces, as if she’s a herd dog and we’re sheeplings.
I glance at Merc, who’s planted his boots.
His eyes are narrowed, but it’s not at the innkeeper who’s scuffing her way off to the right.
He’s assessing all the doors, particularly the ones that are going to be behind us if we follow our felted leader.
It’s like he can see through them, even though I know he can’t.
I wait for him.
What a dreary place this is. Though there are regularly spaced lanterns throwing yellow light, it’s a dingy gloaming up here. Then again, even the interiors are done in that weathered gray boarding, leading me to believe the town either got a deal or felled an entire forest of whatever tree it is.
When Merc gives me a brisk nod, I start walking to the right. The number of rooms is nearly unfathomable to me, and I can hear people on the other sides of the doors, the men and women emitting … certain noises … that are familiar to me.
It’s clear that mead, iffy food, and shelter are not the only things on offer.
Fortunately, the “certain” sounds diminish the farther down we go, suggesting that the hourly rooms are the ones at the top of the stairs, and the lodgings are at the ends. This makes sense, given the traffic.
“Here ya go,” the woman says as she throws open the very last door.
As luck would have it, there’s a flash of orange lightning just as I step into the darkness, and the peachy illumination flickers in through the closed shutters.
“The lamp’s here on the table.” As she turns the glowing wick up, thunder offers a threatening commentary.
“You get one measure of oil with the price of the room. Extra costs. If you’ll be wanting soap, it’s extra.
But the blankets are included and so is the en suite.
You said one night, but you’re going to be here longer, Mr. and Mrs., so I’ll be needing more payment tomorrow morn before the bar opens at ten. ”
Merc’s still out in the corridor, and I have the sudden thought that he’s going to stay there and guard the door as I sleep.
“We’re here for tonight only,” he announces.
The innkeeper laughs as another streak of lightning licks into the room, like something that’s locked out and testing weak points for entry.
“The rain’s comin’.” She points to another doorway. “The en suite. It’s the only one in the building. You’re lucky. Only one meal included downstairs.”
“You’ll bring the food up here to us.”
Merc presses a coin in the woman’s hand as she opens her mouth—and she checks to see what it is before smiling.
“Whatever you be wantin’—”
“Tell anyone you care about not to open that door without an invitation.” He points to what she unlatched for us.
“Otherwise, they’ll be dead before they hit the floor.
And the same goes for any of our possessions.
If they’re moved even a hair, I will know and I will do something about it. Are we clear.”
The temperature seems to drop, not just in the room, but along the corridor and throughout the building, and the woman’s expression of bored tolerance shifts into a something entirely serious.
She nods once as she eyes the scar on his face. “What time do you want your food, sir.”
“Now. My wife is tired and hungry.”
“As you wish.”
She closes the door silently, and I look at the gray panels as the sound of her shuffling footfalls disappears.
Suddenly, the reality that we are here, in the Badlands, at the Outpost, settles on me like a cloak of nettles.
Our arrangement has been fulfilled. At least on his side.
And I wonder how long he will stay with me. Only the night, apparently.
For all the distance we’ve traveled, and all the time I’ve had with my inner thoughts, I never considered what I would do when I was finally here: The trip was so dangerous, the destination seemed irrelevant.
I’m not ready to be on my own yet—
“You need to sleep,” Merc informs me. Like he’s diagnosing an injury.
My eyes go to the bed.
It’s very large, and I’m entirely unsurprised that the blankets are made of red and brown felt.
There are two thin pillows set side by side, and the headboard is of course made up of that gray wood that reminds me too much of the rocks in the lake basin.
As I slip off my pack and put it at the base of the mattress, I glance around.
The rest of the room is just as simple. There’s that table with the lamp, and a dresser that looks as exhausted as I feel.
Across the way, a bowed-out section, marked with the set of shutters, offers a window seat, but there are no cushions. Just more of that wood—
Clunk.
Merc throws the heavy bolt that runs from the door panels through the jamb and into a seat screwed into the wall. Then he yanks at the handle. With a comment under his breath, I’m unsure whether or not he approves.
“I want you to engage this anytime I leave.” He taps the latch. “Every time.”
He goes over to the en suite. As he disappears inside, I lay my hand on the footboard of the bed and wonder what the sleeping arrangements will be. After that kiss at the stream, I find myself hoping for things I very much doubt I’m made for—
My ears perk up and I glance at the door.
Singing. I hear … a woman singing.
It’s muffled, but the sweet, high notes are a surprise—
“I’m going downstairs.” Merc comes back out, shrugs off his pack and puts it on the window seat. “I don’t know what they’ll bring up for food, and if it’s not appetizing, I’ll find something that is.”
“I can go with—”
“You’re asleep on your feet. Have a wash-up and a lie-down.” He frees the bolt and looks back at me. “I am waiting on the far side until I hear this latch—and don’t touch it until my voice returns on the other side.”
“How will I get the food.”
“I’m bringing it up to you.”
All of his weapons are on him as he opens things, and even he seems surprised as he notices the singing.
Past the heft of him, I see a diminutive, brown-haired maid with a bucket and scrub brush backing out of the room across the hall.
The second she notices Merc, she shuts up and makes no eye contact, and with the way she hunches over as if bracing for blows, I worry that she’s been beaten in the past.
“Was that you singing?” Merc asks.
“Forgive me, sir,” she says, and cowers against the wall.
Before I have a cogent thought, my body’s moving, and I duck out under Merc’s arm. “You did nothing wrong. You have a beautiful voice—”
Without thinking, I look into her lovely brown eyes, and gasp.