On the last full day’s journey, they reached the Inn at the Crossroads in the late afternoon. It seemed a good place to stop; on foot, Kayradan was but two hours’ walk north at a brisk pace, and the inns and wayhouses of the city proper would already be booked solid for the tourney; if lodging were available, it would be far more expensive.
“There were two of them, Tobin. Older than Old Jane the weaver, but as pert and supple as Dora the wainwright’s daughter, back in Danby. Their skin was like ash, and their qui…”
“I’ve heard enough. You’ve been going on about it for the last two days. Two Oldlings appeared out of the Wood, riding great black cat-beasts, and fucked you until you couldn’t see straight. Then they stole your clothes.”
“Well, when you put it that way, it loses some of the romanticism…”
“I don’t know why I stick by you. Here we are, then. Seven kopins will get us a room and two beds, and then my purse is empty. We’ll have to play like the Great Harper himself tomorrow to cover our losses.”
The next morning, Ponce stretched groggily. “Nothing for the soul like a solid night’s sleep in a real bed.”
Tobin, already fully dressed, was anxious to leave. “You know we’re out of coin, right? If we don’t make some serious silver at the festival today, we’re in deep shit, my friend.”
“You worry to much, Tobin. Something will come up. The gods always provide.”
“And you don’t worry enough. Let’s be away, before they find more things to charge us for.”
Just as Ponce sat up, preparing to dress, the door opened and Goody Sandra, the robust mistress of the inn, strode on. “Thought you could skip out before you made good, did you? Well, think again. I’ve come to settle accounts, lads.”
“W-we paid for the room in advance.” Ponce stammered.
“That you did. But there’s the matter of last night’s supper, the hot water for the bath, the fine sheets… and we mustn’t forget the surcharge for retaining the room during the biggest tourney Kayshire has had in years.”
“You’re trying to gouge us!” Ponce exclaimed.
“Not at all. I’m an honest businesswoman running a respectable house, and I have to turn a profit somehow. If I whistle for the Duke’s Guard, who do you think they’ll believe, the mistress of an inn who’s been doing business with them for years, or a pair of shitheel minstrels just wandered into town?”
“This is blackmail!” Tobin barked. “You knew we were destitute when you took us in. I gave you every kopin I had and you said that would cover all the costs.”
“It is what it is. Now what’s it to be? Are you going to pay me, or do I whistle for the Guard?”
Their protests were doing little to help their situation. Tobin tried to remain calm. “You have us at an extreme disadvantage. You have all our coin.”
“A pity, that. You’ll have to figure out another way to pay me.”
Having heard tales from friends who had spent time in the Underkeep, Tobin knew he didn’t want to spend any time there. “Name your price, then.”
She hiked her dress over her head and tossed aside casually. “The two of you are healthy lads. I’m sure you can figure it out.”
“But what of Goodman Arik?” Tobin asked.
“What of him? Passed out from a night of heavy drinking. Nothing to do with us.”
“You had this planned from the beginning, didn’t you?”
“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. I have a thing for travelling minstrels. Less talk, now.”
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