Read Online The Hammer and the Blade by Paul S. Kemp - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Paul S. Kemp
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fearful as Nix approached. Nix donned his best "I'm harmless" smile.
"For your trouble, granther," Nix said, and tossed the coins onto the bench board of the wagon. Two silver terns spilled out and the old driver seemed dumbstruck.
"What is this?" the old man said, his voice cracked with age. The donkey shook the wet from his fur.
Nix winked at the man and gestured at the slate sky. "Must be raining coin. Best collect what you can before it stops."
The man looked up at the sky, then colored, perhaps realizing how silly he must have looked. He gathered the coinpurse, hands shaking. "Are you mad, goodsir?"
"I wonder sometimes," Nix answered. "The gods only know. Goodeve, granther."
"Orella keep and preserve you, goodsir."
"That's well done," Egil said, when Nix walked back to him. "I never made you one for alms, much less grace."
Nix's mind turned to the Warrens, the coin he seeded there, but he kept his thoughts from his face. "Pfft. I know nothing of alms or grace. I just know that an old peasant can use the coin better than us, and certainly better than that hiresword who bumped me."
"That's truth," Egil said, and thumped Nix on the shoulder. "I'm thinking maybe you should've joined me in a priesthood."
"I didn't want to shave my head," Nix said. "It would foul my looks."
The great water clock of Ool rang the tenth hour, the deep notes audible across the city even over the rain.
"On the hour," Nix said, and gestured at the Tunnel's door. "Shall we?"
Egil shouldered open one of the double doors and they ducked inside.
The cavernous common room, originally a dining hall no doubt, opened before them. Blue smoke fogged the air, gathered in clouds near the ceiling beams. Heads turned and looked up at their entrance, though the loud thrum of conversation and clink of tankards did not so much as pause. They stood there for a long moment, Nix expecting a raucous greeting, hearty congratulations, and instead…
Nothing.
His smile fell down to his boot heels.
"Do they not know we own it?"
"Seems not," Egil said. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked around, disapproval in his furrowed brow.
A roll of thunder shook the building, summoned a collective "ahh" from the patrons, and dislodged a rain of plaster flakes from the walls.
"It seemed nicer before we bought it," Egil said.
Nix ignored him. "How could Tesha not tell anyone? We rescued this place from the Lord Mayor's revenue men. They should be applauding or something. Don't you think?"
"Tesha's a madam, Nix, not a street crier." His nose wrinkled. "What's that smell?"
"I know what she is," Nix said in a surly tone. "Even so, she should have told someone. And it's the eel stew."
"The stew? Really? How'd I not notice it before?"
"Maybe it was nicer before we bought this place, too."
Perhaps thirty patrons sat at the sturdy, time-scarred tables that dotted the wood-planked floor of the common room, all of them hard-eyed slubbers of one ilk or other. Small lanterns hung from the cracked walls or sat on the rickety tables, lurid light for a lurid crew. The stink of stale incense, sour sweat, and hasty sex clung to the warped floorboards.
A wide, sweeping staircase, probably once grand but now decrepit, led to the second-floor pleasure rooms. Three of Tesha's girls and one of her men lingered on the stairs, their poses professional and seductive, the dim light hiding the ragged hems of their threadbare clothing. Nix could not recall their names, though he knew their faces.
Morra the serving girl danced through the crowd, her face puffed and red under the tight bun of her brown hair, the tankards she bore sloshing with Gadd's ale. Her simple dress swayed on her thick legs. She saw Egil and Nix and acknowledged them with a tilt of her chin.
"Greets, loves," she said, as she hustled past them.
"Milady," Nix said, offering a half-bow,
"For your trouble, granther," Nix said, and tossed the coins onto the bench board of the wagon. Two silver terns spilled out and the old driver seemed dumbstruck.
"What is this?" the old man said, his voice cracked with age. The donkey shook the wet from his fur.
Nix winked at the man and gestured at the slate sky. "Must be raining coin. Best collect what you can before it stops."
The man looked up at the sky, then colored, perhaps realizing how silly he must have looked. He gathered the coinpurse, hands shaking. "Are you mad, goodsir?"
"I wonder sometimes," Nix answered. "The gods only know. Goodeve, granther."
"Orella keep and preserve you, goodsir."
"That's well done," Egil said, when Nix walked back to him. "I never made you one for alms, much less grace."
Nix's mind turned to the Warrens, the coin he seeded there, but he kept his thoughts from his face. "Pfft. I know nothing of alms or grace. I just know that an old peasant can use the coin better than us, and certainly better than that hiresword who bumped me."
"That's truth," Egil said, and thumped Nix on the shoulder. "I'm thinking maybe you should've joined me in a priesthood."
"I didn't want to shave my head," Nix said. "It would foul my looks."
The great water clock of Ool rang the tenth hour, the deep notes audible across the city even over the rain.
"On the hour," Nix said, and gestured at the Tunnel's door. "Shall we?"
Egil shouldered open one of the double doors and they ducked inside.
The cavernous common room, originally a dining hall no doubt, opened before them. Blue smoke fogged the air, gathered in clouds near the ceiling beams. Heads turned and looked up at their entrance, though the loud thrum of conversation and clink of tankards did not so much as pause. They stood there for a long moment, Nix expecting a raucous greeting, hearty congratulations, and instead…
Nothing.
His smile fell down to his boot heels.
"Do they not know we own it?"
"Seems not," Egil said. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked around, disapproval in his furrowed brow.
A roll of thunder shook the building, summoned a collective "ahh" from the patrons, and dislodged a rain of plaster flakes from the walls.
"It seemed nicer before we bought it," Egil said.
Nix ignored him. "How could Tesha not tell anyone? We rescued this place from the Lord Mayor's revenue men. They should be applauding or something. Don't you think?"
"Tesha's a madam, Nix, not a street crier." His nose wrinkled. "What's that smell?"
"I know what she is," Nix said in a surly tone. "Even so, she should have told someone. And it's the eel stew."
"The stew? Really? How'd I not notice it before?"
"Maybe it was nicer before we bought this place, too."
Perhaps thirty patrons sat at the sturdy, time-scarred tables that dotted the wood-planked floor of the common room, all of them hard-eyed slubbers of one ilk or other. Small lanterns hung from the cracked walls or sat on the rickety tables, lurid light for a lurid crew. The stink of stale incense, sour sweat, and hasty sex clung to the warped floorboards.
A wide, sweeping staircase, probably once grand but now decrepit, led to the second-floor pleasure rooms. Three of Tesha's girls and one of her men lingered on the stairs, their poses professional and seductive, the dim light hiding the ragged hems of their threadbare clothing. Nix could not recall their names, though he knew their faces.
Morra the serving girl danced through the crowd, her face puffed and red under the tight bun of her brown hair, the tankards she bore sloshing with Gadd's ale. Her simple dress swayed on her thick legs. She saw Egil and Nix and acknowledged them with a tilt of her chin.
"Greets, loves," she said, as she hustled past them.
"Milady," Nix said, offering a half-bow,
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