Chapter 23
The afternoon after they left Large Francis, it started to rain.
It was a drizzling mist at first, the kind of rain where you think that maybe it won’t get any worse, but it kept going and going and eventually everyone was soaked to the skin.
Edmund missed his oilcloth cloak bitterly, but the only waterproof covering they had was currently over the books.
The blanket cloak simply absorbed water until it became heavy and sodden and weighed approximately half a ton.
Dog Violet’s fur was plastered flat against her body, making her look much smaller and a lot more miserable.
Sweetness stomped along with the air of a mule who knows that the only way out is through.
The draft horse was the only cheerful member of the party.
They reached the point where the swamp road connected to the bigger trunk road and turned south.
Forest had given way to fields a few miles back, and a faint green haze over the ground indicated that spring planting was well underway.
The farmhouses were all far back from the road. The Dervish eyed one suspiciously.
“We could stop and ask for shelter,” Edmund said dubiously, “but…”
“No,” the Dervish said, “I’m a bit burnt on farmers at the moment. Marvelous people, salt of the earth, absolutely no disrespect implied, but being nearly fed to a dragon does put a damper on things.”
“I think there may be a village somewhere ahead? Not close, but we’ll get there before nightfall.” Edmund shook his head. “I think I’ve bought supplies there, but never spent the night. But they must have an inn of some sort.”
“A gnole would settle for grain for a horse.” Dog Violet rubbed the draft horse’s shoulder.
“If worse comes to worst, I suppose we can just throw a blanket over that beast and sleep underneath him. He’s nearly the size of a roof.” The Dervish gave Edmund a wry look, inviting him to share in the joke, and Edmund smiled helplessly, still caught in the other man’s spell.
If he invited me to his bed, I’d go. Even knowing how much it would hurt when he kicked me out of it later.
Honestly, under other circumstances, they’d probably have done so already.
But there hadn’t been much opportunity on the road, with such a small group.
If the two humans had left camp to screw each other’s brains out, it would have been enormously obvious why they’d left together, and Dog Violet, at least, would probably have provided commentary and possibly suggestions.
Even if they’d had a plausible excuse, Edmund knew from past experience that he was … well …
A yeller, as several very nice men have put it. Large Francis would probably have worried we were being murdered and come barreling in to help.
He glanced sidelong at the Dervish, studying the almost vulpine angle of the other man’s jaw.
He’d given up on the blanket cloak, and his wet silk sleeves clung to his arms like a second skin.
Edmund’s gaze skimmed lower, to wet cloth hugging the Dervish’s backside in ways that would have a saint down on his knees, either doing penance or doing the Dervish, depending on the specific holy order involved.
“My eyes are up here,” the Dervish said, amused, “but who wants to look at my eyes? My ass is much better.”
Edmund yelped, proving several very nice men right, and felt a blush that was only slightly cooled by the continued rain on his cheeks. “I wasn’t…”
“You most certainly were.”
“… Yes. I was. Um. Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” The Dervish gestured expansively at the rain-covered fields. “Name one thing here that looks better. You can’t, can you? I’d stare at my ass too, if I could.”
Dog Violet muttered something in gnolespeech, of which Edmund caught only the words for “humans” and “rain.”
“Now, if you’d mind exchanging places with me, and perhaps take over leading this vile spirit inhabiting the skin of a mule, I can stare at yours for a bit and relieve some of the tedium.”
Edmund was fairly sure that he could have boiled water over his blush, but he took Sweetness’s bridle.
“And now … drat. I am foiled at every turn,” the Dervish said, behind his left shoulder. “That blanket is not in the least bit aesthetically pleasing.”
Edmund had a brief, wild urge to shed the blanket, but knew he didn’t have the courage. And if I did, they’d see me blushing clear to Archenhold. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s warm. I’m surprised you’re not freezing.”
“I run hot.”
“I’d noticed.”
“Have you, now?”
“If humans are done flirting,” Dog Violet said acidly, “humans might look up and see buildings.”
“I wasn’t done flirting.”
There was only one thing that could have cut through Edmund’s haze of embarrassment and arousal, and it was looming out of the rain ahead of them. “Praise the gods,” he said. “It’s the inn.”
The inn stood beside the road, a small building with oversized stables, clearly meant to accommodate postriders more often than travelers. Sweetness gazed yearningly toward the stable and Dog Violet held her bridle while the humans went inside.
“Excuse me,” said Edmund. “Do you rent rooms for the night?” He tried not to look as scruffy and miserable as he felt, but he was pretty sure that it was a losing battle.
“Full up,” said the woman behind the counter. “All one of ’em. Sorry.”
Edmund felt his shoulders sag. He had tried not to fantasize about a mattress, but that was a losing battle, too. “Ah. Then perhaps we could buy grain for the horses, at least?”
Perhaps the note of defeat in his voice moved her.
Perhaps it was simply that the Dervish, though no less scruffy, managed to make scruffy look elegant.
“Tell you what,” she said, “you can sleep on the floor of the common room after we close. It ain’t much, but it’s got a fire.
Dinner’s rabbit pie. I ain’t gonna charge you for the floor, but the pie’s two copper taler apiece and the grain’s a taler a measure, and another one per night for each horse. ”
“Yes,” said the Dervish. “What’s breakfast?”
“Another copper. Leftover pie if there is any. Porridge if there ain’t.”
The Dervish began fumbling coins onto the counter.
There was an awkward moment when it became obvious that he had no idea what the various denominations meant, and Edmund had to step in and pull out a silver taler to push across the counter.
“Three pies, three measures of grain, and two beasts for the night. Thank you.”
The innkeeper took the coin, bit it, nodded, and put it away.
She started to move toward the kitchen, then stopped and looked them both up and down.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but if you gents would like to use the sauna before you eat, my father-in-law’s got it heated up right now, and I’m guessing you could use it. ”
“I love you,” the Dervish said. “I love your father-in-law even more.”
“Glad somebody does,” the innkeeper said, not quite under her breath. “It’s around the back of the kitchen.”
Edmund and the Dervish went to the stable, informed Dog Violet of the accommodations, dropped their packs in the stall with Sweetness, and bolted, as one, for the sauna.
The buckets of water to clean off with were extremely chilly. The Dervish thought, for an instant, about using the sword’s magic to clean himself off, then dismissed it. He’d been going in and out of the sword a lot lately, albeit for a good cause. Odd that he hadn’t minded as much.
It’s because you’re deciding when to do it, you aren’t at someone else’s beck and call.
Still, it wasn’t something he wanted to become a habit.
When the dirt had mostly been sluiced off, he stepped into the antechamber, stripped off his clothes, and took one of the coarse towels folded in the corner. It had the approximate texture of burlap, but it was at least clean burlap.
He turned to see if Edmund was coming and found the scholar gazing fixedly at the ceiling. The Dervish followed his gaze, half expecting to see bats, but it was simply wooden planks. “Something wrong?” he asked.
“No!” Edmund said, in a squeak, and the Dervish realized the problem.
“Look,” he said, “I know that I have a truly great ass. We covered that earlier. If you’ve seen a better one anywhere, let me know so that I can go admire it, too.”
“Nnggh,” Edmund said.
“Or possibly challenge the owner to a duel.”
“Blhhh.”
“You’re certainly not the first person stricken speechless.”
“Urrngh.”
“Nevertheless, it is currently covered, so you can look down now.”
Edmund, who was by this point the color of a ripe tomato, lowered his gaze.
“You lived in a monastery. Surely you have seen plenty of bare asses in your time.”
“Yes,” Edmund squeaked, then swallowed and continued, nearly an octave lower. “Just, um. They weren’t. Not really. I didn’t. Um. Sorry.”
The Dervish felt a grin spreading across his face. So that handshake wasn’t because you weren’t attracted to me, hmm?
He’d guessed, particularly given the way that Edmund had been watching him earlier, but hadn’t been certain. This put a rather different light on things.
“It will be fine,” he told Edmund gently. “Everything will be fine. Let’s go bake our bones for a while.”
The door to the sauna let out a broad exhalation of steam when he opened it. A cranky voice said, “Hurry up! You’re letting the heat out!”
The Dervish and Edmund scooted inside. There was a small bench on either side of the stones, and a man who appeared to be made of gnarled sticks with a layer of skin was draped over one of them. The man grunted and jerked his chin at them in acknowledgment, then ladled more water over the stones.
The sauna was not terribly large. Edmund and the Dervish both took the bench on the side opposite the innkeeper’s father-in-law, despite the fact that the old man was smaller than either of them. There was only about eight inches between the two of them now.