CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The four of them spent a few hours in that shop. At first, Lorin could only see his children. He wanted to hug them, tell them it was alright, to give them some comfort. He even made an attempt to do so, but that notion lasted as long as it took for the girl to kick him, and the boys even tried to grab some weapons to defend her. Lorin disarmed them easily enough, but they proved themselves tougher than any child should have to be.
Once everything had settled, the kids just stood around the body, staring at it. Lorin wanted to say something. When no words came to him, he decided to follow an urge that had been gnawing at him since he saw the children. Lorin disappeared from the back room leaving the children alone for a few minutes. When he returned with hard cheese, almost-too-ripe apples, and bread still soft to the touch, the children looked up and came closer.
The little girl's damp footsteps made an uncomfortable slapping sound, and each one left a clear red outline on the wooden floor. The children all grabbed at the food Lorin held out and immediately began eating it. A pack of wolves with a fresh kill would've eaten more slowly and politely, but despite the ferocity not a crumb escaped.
The children finished the food quicker than it had taken Lorin to retrieve it and looked up to him with smiles. One boy’s was bright and toothy, the other boy had less teeth to show off, but his grin was warm and genuine. The girl stayed more reserved, allowing only a thin line of a smile with a nod of her head as thanks.
"We…" the little girl started, then cleared her throat. "We thank you for the food, Master. Please, tell us how we may serve you." Her eyes were wide, childlike, but behind them forced maturity overshadowed their innocence.
Lorin knelt, and one of the boys, the youngest of the group, hugged his shoulder and arm when he descended. The boy nestled his head into the nook of Lorin's arm and looked up with a bright smile and wet eyes. "Thank you," he said in the soft, high-pitched voice of boyhood and buried his face again in Lorin's arm.
Lorin broke.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The children didn't say anything. No words were needed—they hugged him until his tears dried and he awoke. It was strange. He had lost himself in it all. He couldn't handle it, couldn't process it. Once his eyes opened to the pale light of the room his senses came back, dulled. He tasted iron, his ears rang, and he could feel every hair over his body. Nothing felt right. Nothing felt bad, but nothing felt good either. He had to move, had to be more than a sobbing mess or else nothing would be done. People like Gunter and Varron didn't stay crying and huddled away, and if Lorin did then… He looked over at the children. What would’ve happened to them?
He collected himself in time and shimmied out of the children's embrace. Then he disrobed Gunter. The shimmering blue cloak shed Gunter's thickening blood like drops of water on a frying pan, and Lorin held it out in front of him as clean as he first saw it. Curiosity took over and he walked over to the bright central display case. He wrapped the fabric around his hand and punched the glass top. The case rattled from the hit, but even after a dozen more punches, a greasy smudge was all his blows had done to the glass. When Lorin stopped, he was breathing hard, a smile pressing the corners of his lips. It felt good to vent his frustration, and the cloak had completely stopped the hits from hurting his hand.
He turned to look around for something to help actually open the case, but paused when the sound of glass shattering snapped his sight back. The small girl was holding the jeweled dagger, still stained with some of Gunter's life on its edge, and had smashed the glass with its pommel. She had a wide grin and giggled at Lorin's shock. Lorin bowed his approval, motioning her to have first pick. The little girl's eyes sparkled at the ruby necklace; she looked back to Lorin for a second nod of permission; and she picked it up, running her fingers around its chiseled facets.
Once she was thoroughly entranced, Lorin pulled out the stone daggers Gunter had pointed out and tried their edge against the cloak. He slashed and stabbed, but it as if he was using a broomstick instead of a knife. Confused, Lorin set the garment down and rubbed his thumb across the edge of the stone. Each ridge of his finger caught on the razor, and a morbid thought came. He knelt beside Gunter and felt the blade slide and cut down to bone with slightly more pressure than the blade's own weight. He withdrew it and tried to shave off a patch of Gunter's hair, finding that both blades worked as well as any razor.
He strapped the matching sheaths to his belt and grinned when he looked at the pommels at his sides. He rolled up the cloak—it was too bright and shiny for him wear and stay unnoticed, but he thought to take it with him. Once he set it down to look for anything else useful in the room, one of the young boys walked to it. The child unrolled it and tied it on himself. He and the other boy spent the next while chasing each other around as the cloak, being much too big for either boy, dragged behind them. They looked happy and oblivious to the corpse still in their play area. Lorin did not know what he was going to do with these children. He couldn't take care of them—it wasn't part of his plan and they would be in danger staying around him. But they couldn't take care of themselves—or could they?
With the daggers in hand, Lorin also grabbed the intricate contraption Gunter had started showing off before the children had cried out. It took some time, but he found a round nub in the jumble of parts, and when he pressed it the fist-sized item sprang out into a bow and out of his hand. He retrieved the bow from where it landed and drew the string back to hold the bow taut. It took most of his strength to pull it fully back, but once drawn, holding the tension was almost effortless. He controlled the string back to rest and held it out to examine.
The contraption was so intricate that clockwork was the only thing he could compare it with, and for all he knew a timepiece could conceivably be hidden somewhere on it. The limbs of the bow were an interlaced lattice of metal that somehow folded into the small bauble he’d held a moment ago. After rubbing his hand across the smooth black metal, he again found a small button. It was placed just above the grip—too high to hit by mistake, but low enough to be pushed with the weapon in hand. He pushed it, and with a similar explosion of movement, the bow collapsed to the small nondescript bauble it was before. He made it spring out again. Then collapse. Spring taut. Collapse.
One of the boys was watching him and held out his hand. Lorin looked at the hand, then at the child, and shook his head. A look of disappointment flashed on the boy's face, but almost immediately something caught his eye and he went to investigate.
In the room sets of armor—some decorative and some battle-hardened—stood displayed along its perimeter. Lorin thought of changing into the red and black leather set made from a variety of draconid creatures, but that and everything in the shop was recognizable and strange. He knew little of what he was going to do next, but being dressed in ostentatious clothing probably wouldn't be smart.
After quite a while of searching without many valuable discoveries, Lorin came across a small safe box. It had a strange circular lock with a corkscrew patterned inset pin. He found an actual lock-pick set and began trying to open it. He failed for a long time, even though the tools were better than anything he was used to. The little girl walked up behind him just as he started to scratch at the lock with his knife in frustration. She tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to Gunter's pale body. Lorin looked over, but returned to his scraping right after. The girl sighed and walked away. Gunter hadn't been lying; the daggers didn't dull even after he tried hitting the blade against a hinge. It didn't mark the metal, but the edge didn't chip either. The girl returned a moment after she left and held out her hand, clenched and dripping with crimson. Lorin was confused, but held his palm under her hand and she let a ring drop into it. The ring didn't have a gem, and instead it was made from a chunk of gold molded with a flat-top engraved with a misshaped hole at its center.
Lorin caught on right away and pushed the flat end of the ring into the lock-box keyhole. With a quarter turn, the do
or opened, revealing a palm-sized pouch filled to the brim with gold coins. Under that were deeds, a will, bank notes, and bills of sale. Lorin flipped through each page, but dismissed most of them except one; it was an embossed letter addressed to Gunter from the Baron's estate. The paper felt like velvet, and the artistic calligraphy looked impressive. It was a personal invitation to the wedding announcing admittance for Gunter plus one to the ceremony and a close table for the feast.
Lorin sighed, crumpled up the letter, and tossed it onto Gunter's corpse. It was a possible way in, but he had quite literally killed that opportunity. It wasn't all bad, however; now he knew there were separate guest lists, and the exact times and places where the happy couple would be exposed. He looked up from the box, gold pouch in hand, and his eyes locked on the leather armor he’d debated taking. It was elegant and fashionable enough to be worn to the party, and very functional. It was best to keep all options open, and the shop's sudden fire-sale was ending as soon as he left.
Finally ready to leave, he was suited up with a dark cloak and hood over his armor and weapons. The children were looking at him, and a pang of guilt cut through—he still didn't know what to do with them.
He cleared his throat. "I can't take care of you."
They all looked up, wide-eyed.
"I am staying at an inn and I could pay for room and board for you all if you want, but…" Lorin looked to the ceiling as if it held an answer for him. "Maybe you could—"
"We have been left before," the little girl said. "We can take care of ourselves."
Lorin didn't know what to say. She spoke the words with a matter-of-fact maturity that caught him off guard.
She motioned for the two boys to follow her and turned to leave.
"Wait. What if you are put up for sale again?"
"He's dead."
"There might be another, or someone even worse."
She shrugged like Lorin had just said the sun was bright. "Gold would help, and also if we can have things from here."
Lorin looked around the room.
Why not?
He had already dragged the bodies in from the alley and was ready to set the shop on fire. He nodded to the girl, and the three took off, grabbing handfuls of whatever they thought was valuable. The little girl tugged at the blue cloak Lorin had tied on his travel pack. Her face was scrunched up in a helpless look along with a quivering lip. She was good. Lorin let her have the cloak—it wasn't his style, but he did slap her hand as she tried to steal his purse. She shrugged and appeared satisfied with the cloak.
When all three were lined up ready at the door, Lorin took out his coin pouch that he had filled from Gunter’s stash. He gave each child a handful of coins. They wordlessly vanished them away somewhere. All three hugged him, and Lorin felt a swell of emotion. The children nodded to him their readiness and Lorin checked his pockets one last time. The girl gave him a look and held up the little bauble. Lorin laughed as he took it back. Then he opened the door to the now dark alley and stepped out, holding it open as all three children rushed under his arm. In the time it took for him to glance inside to make sure everything was set, the kids had vanished. Lorin chuckled to himself and his feelings of worry left him just as quickly as the kids had. With that, Lorin took a sparker from his pack and lit a rag he had pre-soaked in oil. Once the flame was stable, he tossed it to the fire trail he’d prepared. By rough guess he had about thirty minutes before the fire would be noticeable.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
The streets felt unrecognizable now that they were dark and deserted. Finding his way back was difficult. A scowl beneath his hood protected him from the few bored night-crawlers, but getting lost was inevitable. A couple silver placed in the hands of more amenable people got him pointed in the direction of his tavern, and when he staggered in, the horizon was starting to brighten from dark blues into lighter greys. The main door was locked, and Lorin felt it was a good opportunity for his new set of picks to prove their value. It took more time for him to pull the set from his pack than for him to open the door. Once inside, he made sure the door was secured behind him, then he walked up toward his room where his comfortable bed screamed at him to come sleep, but he walked past and instead followed a different sound.
The sleeping innkeeper’s door was at the end of the upstairs hallway and may as well have been not locked. So Lorin let himself in, sat, and waited. Across from him was a tall mirror that he angled to see himself. After changing between a few different positions—and checking in the mirror—he found that having his hood pulled forward while he reclined in the chair looked the most imposing.
The morning air was crisp and cool, blowing through a window beside the bed, which helped keep him awake while he listened to his host’s thunderous snoring. A dark spot, spreading from her drool, curled under a fold of loose skin pressed against the pillow. It was like her face had melted into the pillow and squished out wide as a serving platter. Lorin watched on in amazement, disgust, and contemplation. Was she even human?
The rising sun began to outline the sparsely furnished room, and Lorin slid one of his daggers from its sheath, the stone smooth and cool to his touch. He checked the mirror one more time and adjusted his hood. "Did you—" His voice was weak, barely past a whisper, and trembling. He hadn't had time to calm himself. It had been a long day, and that was the moment he felt everything hit.
When his daughter was two or three years grown, she had always been smiling and happy. A bumped knee here or squashed bug there would bring a frown and tears, but she loved to laugh. On quiet evenings Lorin would play a game with one rule—no smiling. The stakes were never high, and the loser would get attacked by tickles, hugs, and kisses, but it never failed. In time she would crack at the mention of the game and try desperately not to smile. Lorin could see his daughter's bright-eyes and rosy cheeks staring at him. Her face contorted and scrunched up as a smile began cracking through her resolve and she burst into laughter.
He thought his face must look like that now, trying to scowl, but fear and unease cracking at the edges. The innkeeper had led him into a trap. Was murder justice for that? Lorin's hand trembled. Why had he come back here if not to deal with a loose end? Did she know? How could she not? If she was gone… the whole inn would be his until after the wedding. Lorin looked up from the blade in his lap to a shadow in the room. His daughter's face smiled at him from the dark, and Lorin felt it burn away something inside himself.
He felt a shift through the floor.
"What are you doing?" the innkeep said in a sleepy voice.
"Did you know about Gunter?" Lorin shot back with none of the quiver from before.
In the pale light, her flabby arms jiggled from trembling hands. "What about him?
"Why did you bring me there?"
"You wanted it. He is the best, and you said you wanted to buy below the table."
Lorin stood. "Is that the only reason?"
"Yes. Now, why are you in my room?" She shuffled a step.
Lorin, blade in hand, blocked the door. "How many guests are staying the night?"
She cocked her head to the side. "Just you."
He took a half-step toward her. "Yet you needed to leave me"—he finished the step—"and hurry back for customers."
"Yes, yes, I'm the only one to tend the bar. I couldn't spend all day with you as you shopped."
She shook her head and a few drops of sweat caught some of the pale light from the window. "Why would I lie? What happened after I left?"
"Gunter sent a group of men to kill me."
The room was quiet. The innkeeper’s labored breathing marked the passing of time.
"It feels convenient," Lorin said.
She fell to her knees; the floor shook and creaked but held. "I didn't know! Please, I didn't know. Don't hurt me. All I know is Gunter was the man who had or could get anything. You… you said you wanted weapons, and he is the only place I know that won't ask twic
e why. Please, that's the only reason."
"Do you know of any recent bounties?"
She looked confused.
"Money placed on someone's head."
"Why would I? I… I pour drinks and fry eggs. The only bounties I knew came from a crier or guards, and that hasn't happened since the old Baron died."
Lorin lowered the blade. "Gunter thought to kill me and claim the reward. He said it was worth quite a bit."
"Please, I didn't know. Gods above, please don't kill me. Stay as long as you want—I'll bring you food and whatever else, just please don't." She began to weep deep, shuddering sobs. The smell of urine reached Lorin's nose, and he opened the door.
"I have little to lose," he said and took one of his coin purses, weighed it in his hand, then threw it in front of the sobbing mass. "You tell anyone of my presence in this building and I'll take everything but your life. Use this coin for the things I need and the rest is yours after the wedding."
She opened the coin purse and a glow of gold brightened her terror-stricken face. "This is enough to buy my inn." Her eyes didn't leave the purse. "I will do whatever you need, just say the word."
"Close the inn, I am your only customer. Go get a healer and have them ready for me when I wake up. Discreetly."
She shook her head, making her chins appear and reappear quickly, but her eyes stayed fixed to the coins. Lorin then walked out into the hall and before he fully shut her door, he said, "I'm sorry for the rude awakening. I promise once the wedding is done I will never see you or interfere with your life again."
The innkeeper turned her head from the coin, and with a face half-lit by the sun, Lorin could see a smile under the trail of tears. "I would gladly wake to a knife to my throat every morning for this pay. You can trust your humble servant. I'll wash you daily, I won't ask questions, and you can stay past the wedding. Sweet mother, you could kill the Baron and I would cover for you. You have just changed my life."