Assassin's Quest

Thus fortified, I passed by the first two inns I came to. From one came shouts that were either a brawl or an excess of good fellowship; in either case, I was not likely to get much sleep there. The second had a sagging porch and a door hung crooked on its hinges. I decided that did not bode well for the upkeep of the beds. I chose instead one that displayed an inn board of a kettle, and kept a night torch burning outside to guide travelers to its door.

Like most of the larger buildings in Pome, the inn was built of riverstone and mortar and floored with the same. There was a big hearth at the end of the room, but only a summer fire in it, just enough to keep the promised kettle of stew simmering. Despite my recent meal, it smelled good to me. The taproom was quiet, much of the trade drawn off to the Capaman's wedding celebration. The innkeeper looked as if he were ordinarily a friendly sort, but a frown creased his brow at the sight of me. I set a silver piece on the table before him to reassure him. "I'd like a room for the night, and a bath."

He looked me up and down doubtfully. "If ye take the bath first," he specified firmly.

I grinned at him. "I've no problems with that, good sir. I'll be washing out my clothes as well; no fear I'll bring vermin to the bedding."

He nodded reluctantly and sent a lad to the kitchens for hot water. "You've come a long way, then?" he offered as a pleasantry as he showed me the way to the bathhouse behind the inn.

"A long way and a bit beside. But there's a job waiting for me in Tradeford, and I'd like to look my best when I go to do it." I smiled as I said it, pleased with the truth of it.

"Oh, a job waiting. I see, then, I see. Yes, best to show up clean and rested, and there's the pot of soap in the corner, and don't be shy about using it."

Before he left, I begged the use of a razor, for the washroom boasted a looking glass, and he was glad to furnish me one. The boy brought it with the first bucket of hot water. By the time he had finished filling the tub, I had taken off the length of my beard to make it shavable. He offered to wash my clothes out for me for an extra copper, and I was only too happy to let him. He took them from me with a wrinkling of his nose that showed me I smelled far worse than I had suspected. Evidently my trek through the swamps had left more evidence than I had thought.

I took my time, soaking in the hot water, slathering myself with the soft soap from the pot, then scrubbing vigorously before rinsing off. I washed my hair twice before the lather ran white instead of gray. The water that I left in the tub was thicker than the chalky river water. For once I went slowly enough with my shaving that I only cut myself twice. When I sleeked my hair back and bound it in a warrior's tail I looked up to find a face in the mirror that I scarcely recognized.

It had been months since I'd last seen myself, and then it had been in Burrich's small looking glass. The face that looked back at me now was thinner than I had expected, showing me cheekbones reminiscent of those in Chivalry's portrait. The white streak of hair that grew above my brow aged me, and reminded me of a wolverine's markings. My forehead and the tops of my cheeks were tanned dark from my summer outside, but my face was paler where the beard had been, so that the lower half of the scar down my cheek seemed much more livid than the rest. What I could see of my chest showed a lot more ribs than it ever had before. There was muscle there, true, but not enough fat to grease a pan, as Cook Sara would have said. The constant traveling and mostly meat diet had left their marks on me.

I turned aside from the looking glass smiling wryly. My fears of being instantly recognized by any who had known me were laid to rest completely. I scarcely knew myself.

I changed into my winter clothes to make the trip up to my room. The boy assured me he would hang my other clothes by the hearth and have them to me dry by morning. He saw me to my room and left me with a good-night and a candle.

I found the room to be sparsely furnished but clean. There were four beds in it, but I was the only customer for the night, for which I was grateful. There was a single window, unshuttered and uncurtained for summer. Cool night air off the river blew into the room. I stood for a time, looking out through the darkness. Upriver, I could see the lights of Tradeford. It was a substantial settlement. Lights dotted the road between Pome and Tradeford. I was plainly into well-settled country now. Just as well I was traveling alone, I told myself firmly, and pushed aside the pang of loss I felt whenever I thought of Nighteyes. I tossed my bundle under my bed. The bed's blankets were rough but smelled clean, as did the straw-stuffed mattress. After months of sleeping on the ground, it seemed almost as soft as my old feather bed in Buckkeep. I blew out my candle and lay down expecting to fall asleep at once.