Read Online Redwing by Holly Bennett - Free Book Online

big one with the tattooed, shaven head and copper skin—had his shoulder through the jamb.
    â€œNow, now, mistress, not so fast. We are just wanting nice talk.” The voice was heavily accented but understandable enough. With one smooth movement, he thrust the door open and sent Missus Broadbeam staggering backward. Then all four came barging in, closing the door firmly behind them.
    She was afraid now. She was alone in the house, the roomers out about their business, and these Tarzine men meant no good.
    â€œThere’s nought here to steal,” she gabbled. “Only the few coins in my strongbox, which you’re welcome to.”
    â€œPeace, mistress.” The bald man again. He must be the leader, or maybe the only one who could speak Prosperian. “We have no need for Backender coins! I say we are here for talk.”
    Missus Broadbeam eyed them cautiously. For all their rough air, they were well, if gaudily, dressed, and their gold rings looked real enough. “Talk about what?” she ventured.
    â€œWe look for young man. He is brother of Jax, here”—he gestured to a slim man with hawklike features, who gave her a predatory grin—“but is lost. Perhaps you have seen him?”
    She was already shaking her head in denial. She knew who they were talking about all right—that nice boy Samik. May the gods preserve him from men such as this! “I haven’t seen nobody like that,” she proclaimed.
    The bald man smiled patiently, but his eyes were suddenly sharp. “But I have not told how he looks: tall, thin, with long hair, nearly white. Very pretty hair. You remember his hair?”
    She shook her head again, and suddenly he was beside her, his arm hard as a tree trunk across her chest, his knife pressing under her jaw. She gave out a squawk of terror. She hadn’t even seen him move, he was that fast. “Please don’t hurt me! Please! I haven’t seen him, that’s all.”
    â€œI think you did, mistress.” His voice was very quiet, the menace thick. “I think you need help with memory.” He nodded to his men, and her tidy entry room erupted in a frenzy of destruction. She cried out as one man pulled out his knife and ripped her prized tapestry into ribbons, and again as her lovely stained glass window shattered with a tinkling crash.
    The men stopped abruptly, and Missus Broadbeam felt the knife press into her skin. She was trembling now, moaning with fear, and the foreign voice bored into her head. “Now. Next I use knife to help memory. This boy, you have seen?”
    She was too scared to stay silent. These men, they would ruin her house, leave her impoverished, hurt her, maybe kill her. And Samik must be away safe by now.
    â€œHe was here,” she cried. “He was here, but he’s gone.”
    â€œGood.” The knife eased away from her throat, just a bit. “Gone where, and when?”
    â€œWeeks now,” she exaggerated. “He just stayed a few days and then left. He didn’t say where.”
    â€œIs shame.” The knife pressed against her again, and Missus Broadbeam cried out as the sharp blade nicked at her skin. “Is not so much help. You must do better.”
    â€œHe didn’t say where,” she cried. “Just—inland.”
    â€œSo he goes on main road—your Western Carriageway?” The man’s voice sharpened with interest, and she thought, for one fleeting, brave moment, that she would agree and send them that way. But in that moment of hesitation, the knife pressed hard again and fear opened her mouth. “Not that way,” she sobbed. “He wanted to go through the backcountry.”
    The men conferred in their Tarzine gabble, but the knife stayed firmly in place. “Please,” she begged. “That’s all I know. I swear it, that’s everything.” She screwed her eyes shut, waiting for the next threat or cut. May the gods