Read Online Husk: A Maresman Tale by D.P. Prior - Free Book Online

rather than the kind of funny that would make you laugh—because that’s what they called him, the other Maresmen: Mortis the Plague, or more often than not, when he was out of earshot, the Plague Demon.
    You had to wonder about the even distribution of husk and human in a Maresman. Most reckoned it to be about fifty-fifty, but in Mortis’s case, the impression was more like eighty-twenty, with the husk side coming out on top. Jeb knew a number of Maresmen who’d have liked to put Mortis back to the mud because of it, only no one seemed to have the balls to try.
    The boats on the shore were abuzz with activity as sailors came off the high street and set about coiling ropes and stowing nets. A few early birds were already out to sea, voices carrying over the gently lapping waves as they shared jokes you’d have to be a seaman to understand.
    A red-liveried valet took Tubal’s reins and led him off to the stables round the side of the hotel even before Jeb checked in. He guessed they had vacancies, then, and that he wasn’t dressed any more shabbily than the regular clientele.
    He made his way stiffly up the steps of the porch and into the lobby. The dining room off to one side was a hubbub of chatter, clatter, and the chinking of metal on porcelain. Certainly had the look of snobbery about it, but the punters—because that’s how he’d describe them—didn’t look like they had more than a couple of brass dupondii to rub together, and someone else’s at that. Told him one of two things: either they were keeping their wealth hidden and had good reason to, or they were on business, and not the honest kind, either. He’d seen enough roguery in Malfen to recognize it with a practiced eye; knew enough about the reputed goings on in New Jerusalem, too, what with the perpetual guild wars since their onetime unifier, Shadrak the Unseen, had up and left. That would have been just before the dwarves laid siege to the city, what, seven, eight years back. Kind of trade he’d witnessed the other night, when he’d seen the stygian and the wagonload of what was likely somnificus, you had to wonder if the Sea Bed was a hangout for thieves and assassins getting a foothold in the provinces.
    Jeb thought he recognized one or two faces from Malfen, but when he looked again, he wasn’t so sure. Problem was, when you’d lived among scum as long as he had, they all started to look the same.
    “Can I help you, sir?”—A lilting voice, too full of the joys of spring for this early in the day. Too darned fake, too. Least you never got that in Malfen. Folk there called a spade a spade, and a whole lot more besides.
    He turned to the reception counter, ambled over and leaned his elbows on it so he could take a closer look at the beauty behind. Well, beauty was stretching it, but she had shape, and youth, and they could be mighty forgiving of the peasant stock that gave her face its blockiness.
    “Need a room for a night or two, possibly more,” Jeb said.
    She leaned back slightly in her chair, ran a hand through her curls. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, and her pupils swelled to twice their size. Yep, she’d picked up on his husk blood. If he hadn’t still ached so much, he’d have taken her right there and then; well, not there, perhaps, with the eyes of the world watching, but he’d have beckoned, and she’d have followed.
    She ran her eyes over a ledger on the counter, nodded to herself a few times.
    “Think I have just the room for you, sir.” She lifted a key from a hook. “Nice sea view, and recently refurbished. The bed—”
    Jeb closed his hand over hers, took the key. “That’ll do fine.” He spared her the wink he’d have usually given and cocked a questioning look toward the stairs.
    “Top floor,” she said. “Take a left, and it’s two doors down.”
    “Much obliged,” Jeb said, not sure whether to feel satisfied or weary at the flush that spread across her plumpish cheeks.
    Climbing