since."
"So it resisted a blessed blade?" Ben asked. Cora nodded. "And you still think it's just an ordinary monster?"
"Of course I don't," Cora said. "I just wanted you to shut up so I could get back to sleep."
Ben grinned at her. "You know better than that."
"Hey, a girl can hope, can't she?"
"Only if she's aiming to be disappointed."
"So I reckon it's too much to hope for that you'll go and get me breakfast."
"Yep," Ben replied. He dropped the sheet on the floor and sat back down at the table. He opened his book, crossed his legs, and proceeded to ignore her.
Sighing, Cora tossed her feet over the edge of the bed and sat up. Her eyes closed on their own as her head started pounding with renewed vigor. Her muscles ached now, too, but that's what she got for passing out with her clothes on. Ben had pulled her boots off for her, giving her the trouble of putting them back on. Her fingers fumbled with the leather, refusing to cooperate. She'd have to remember to tell Boots that his rotgut had given her more trouble than she was used to. Knowing him, he would take it as a compliment, and she supposed it was. Most whiskey wouldn't have given her more than a small ache behind the eyes, but Boots's suppliers knew how to distill their liquor.
After a few minutes, she won the battle with her boots. Bracing herself, she rose to her feet, then leaned against the wall as her head punished her. She waited out the worst of the storm before picking up her coat and moving to the door.
"They got eggs down there?"
Ben grunted.
"Think I'll have me a prairie oyster with breakfast, then. Might do me some good."
Ben grunted again, but she had already left the room. Her shaky legs carried her through the hallway and down the stairs. A hearty breakfast greeted her when she stepped into the Northern Hotel's big common room: fresh sowbelly, long strips of crackling bacon, steaming sourdough biscuits, and several large tins of coffee. The hotel's early risers hovered around the fare like flies buzzing around a week-old carcass. Several others sat at nearby tables, wolfing down their first meal of the day.
The sight was enough to make her sick.
She worked her way past the crowd of hungry guests and grabbed a nearby bellhop.
"You got any fresh eggs?"
"Of course," he replied, prying her fingers from his shirt. "How many would you like?"
"Just one, with some whiskey and pepper in a glass."
"Fried?"
"Raw."
Confusion flickered across the little man's face for a moment before his head bobbed and he disappeared into the kitchen. Cora made her way to an empty table and collapsed. She folded her arms on the rough wood, rested her forehead on them, and waited. Her shoulders muffled the sounds in the room enough to allow her to doze for a few minutes before she heard a voice at her elbow.
"Your egg, ma'am."
Picking her head up, she stared at the concoction he had brought. Dark flecks of pepper dotted the egg yolk as it floated in the whiskey. Taking a deep breath, she picked up the glass. Her other hand pinched her nose shut, and she downed the mixture in one gulp. She could feel the egg slide down her throat and drop into her stomach like a lump of mud. She smacked her lips a few times, set the glass down, laid her head back down on her arms, and waited.
After a short while, Cora felt well enough to join the other guests. Taking the empty glass with her, she walked over to the big table. She grabbed a couple of sourdough biscuits, stuffed them in the glass, then picked up a handful of sowbelly. Satisfied, she made her way back to her table and set to.
The sowbelly, heavily salted, was the first to go. The biscuits followed, one after the other. They were warm, not steaming like they had been when she first walked in, but they were good. Halfway through the second, her thirst caught up with her. Picking up her glass, she looked around for a
"So it resisted a blessed blade?" Ben asked. Cora nodded. "And you still think it's just an ordinary monster?"
"Of course I don't," Cora said. "I just wanted you to shut up so I could get back to sleep."
Ben grinned at her. "You know better than that."
"Hey, a girl can hope, can't she?"
"Only if she's aiming to be disappointed."
"So I reckon it's too much to hope for that you'll go and get me breakfast."
"Yep," Ben replied. He dropped the sheet on the floor and sat back down at the table. He opened his book, crossed his legs, and proceeded to ignore her.
Sighing, Cora tossed her feet over the edge of the bed and sat up. Her eyes closed on their own as her head started pounding with renewed vigor. Her muscles ached now, too, but that's what she got for passing out with her clothes on. Ben had pulled her boots off for her, giving her the trouble of putting them back on. Her fingers fumbled with the leather, refusing to cooperate. She'd have to remember to tell Boots that his rotgut had given her more trouble than she was used to. Knowing him, he would take it as a compliment, and she supposed it was. Most whiskey wouldn't have given her more than a small ache behind the eyes, but Boots's suppliers knew how to distill their liquor.
After a few minutes, she won the battle with her boots. Bracing herself, she rose to her feet, then leaned against the wall as her head punished her. She waited out the worst of the storm before picking up her coat and moving to the door.
"They got eggs down there?"
Ben grunted.
"Think I'll have me a prairie oyster with breakfast, then. Might do me some good."
Ben grunted again, but she had already left the room. Her shaky legs carried her through the hallway and down the stairs. A hearty breakfast greeted her when she stepped into the Northern Hotel's big common room: fresh sowbelly, long strips of crackling bacon, steaming sourdough biscuits, and several large tins of coffee. The hotel's early risers hovered around the fare like flies buzzing around a week-old carcass. Several others sat at nearby tables, wolfing down their first meal of the day.
The sight was enough to make her sick.
She worked her way past the crowd of hungry guests and grabbed a nearby bellhop.
"You got any fresh eggs?"
"Of course," he replied, prying her fingers from his shirt. "How many would you like?"
"Just one, with some whiskey and pepper in a glass."
"Fried?"
"Raw."
Confusion flickered across the little man's face for a moment before his head bobbed and he disappeared into the kitchen. Cora made her way to an empty table and collapsed. She folded her arms on the rough wood, rested her forehead on them, and waited. Her shoulders muffled the sounds in the room enough to allow her to doze for a few minutes before she heard a voice at her elbow.
"Your egg, ma'am."
Picking her head up, she stared at the concoction he had brought. Dark flecks of pepper dotted the egg yolk as it floated in the whiskey. Taking a deep breath, she picked up the glass. Her other hand pinched her nose shut, and she downed the mixture in one gulp. She could feel the egg slide down her throat and drop into her stomach like a lump of mud. She smacked her lips a few times, set the glass down, laid her head back down on her arms, and waited.
After a short while, Cora felt well enough to join the other guests. Taking the empty glass with her, she walked over to the big table. She grabbed a couple of sourdough biscuits, stuffed them in the glass, then picked up a handful of sowbelly. Satisfied, she made her way back to her table and set to.
The sowbelly, heavily salted, was the first to go. The biscuits followed, one after the other. They were warm, not steaming like they had been when she first walked in, but they were good. Halfway through the second, her thirst caught up with her. Picking up her glass, she looked around for a
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