Assassin's Quest

I took my staff with me as I walked back into the camp. My shortsword still hung at my side. I thought of concealing it, then decided against it. Anyone might carry a sword, and if I needed to draw it, I didn't want to be wrestling with my trousers.

The camp was like a stirred hornet's nest. Madge and her folk looked both apprehensive and angry. The guardsmen were currently harassing the tinker. One guardswoman kicked over a stack of tin pots with a fine clatter and then shouted something about searching anything she pleased, any way she pleased. The tinker stood by his wagon, his arms crossed on his chest. He looked as if he'd already been knocked down once. Two guardsmen had his wife and youngsters backed up against the tail of the wagon. The wife had a trickle of blood coming from her nose. She still looked ready to fight. I drifted into camp as silent as smoke and took a place beside Damon as if I'd always been there. Neither of us spoke.

The leader of the guards turned away from his confrontation with the tinker, and a shiver went up my back. I knew him. It was Bolt, favored by Regal for his skill with his fists. I'd last seen him in the dungeon. He was the one who had broken my nose. I felt the beating of my heart pick up speed and heard my pulse in my ears. Darkness threatened the edges of my vision. I fought to breathe quietly. He paced to the center of the camp and cast a disdainful eye over us. "This is everyone?" he demanded more than queried.

We all bobbed nods. He cast his gaze over us and I looked down to avoid it. I forced my hands to be still; to stay away from both knife and sword. I tried not to let my tension show in my stance.

"As sorry a lot of vagabonds as I've ever seen." His tone dismissed our importance. "Caravan master! We've been riding all day. Have your boy see to our horses. We'll want food prepared, and more fuel gathered for the fire. And warm us some water for washing." He ran his glance over us again. "I want no trouble. The men we were looking for aren't here, and that's all we required to know. Just do as we ask, and there won't be any problems. You can go about your normal business."

There were a few mutters of agreement, but mostly silence greeted this. He snorted his disdain for us, then turned to his riders and spoke quietly to them. Whatever orders he was giving did not seem to sit well with them, but the two that had cornered the tinker woman came to heel at his words. They took over the fire Madge had built earlier, forcing the folk of our caravan to move off from it. Madge spoke quietly to her help, sending two off to care for the guards' horses, and another to fetch water and set it to warm. She herself strode heavily past our cart toward her own wagon and the food stores.

An uneasy semblance of order returned to the camp. Starling kindled a second, smaller fire. The puppeteer's troupe, the minstrel, and the teamsters resettled next to it. The horse owner and her husband went quietly off to bed. "Well, seems to have settled down," Damon observed to me, but I noticed that he still twisted his hands nervously. "I'm off to bed. You and Creece settle out the watches between you."

I started to go back to my sheep. Then I paused and looked back around the camp. The guards were silhouettes around the fire now, lounging and talking, while a single one of them stood slightly back of the group keeping a general watch. He was looking toward the other fire. I followed his gaze. I could not decide if Tassin was looking back at him, or simply staring off at the other guards about their fire. Either way, I suspected I knew what was on her mind.

I turned aside and went to the back of Madge's wagon. She was scooping out beans and peas from sacks and measuring them into a soup kettle. I touched her lightly on the arm, and she jumped.

"Beg pardon. Could you use some help with that?"

She raised an eyebrow at me. "Why would I?"

I glanced down at my feet and chose my lie carefully. "I didn't care for how they looked at the tinker woman, ma'am."

"I know how to handle myself among rough men; shepherd. I couldn't be a caravan master if I didn't." She measured salt into the kettle, then a handful of seasonings.

I nodded my head and said nothing. It was too obviously true for me to protest. But I did not leave, either, and after a few moments, she handed me a bucket and told me to fetch her some clean water. I obeyed her willingly, and when I brought it back, I stood holding it until she took it from me. I watched her fill the soup kettle and stood at her elbow until she told me with some asperity to get out from under her feet. I apologized and backed away, upsetting her water bucket as I did so. So I took it and fetched her more fresh water in it.