Daughter of Witches: A Lyra Novel by Patricia Collins Wrede Read Free Book Online Page A

soon!” the innkeeper said in obvious relief. “I trust the boy has recovered?”
    “It says much for you that you are touched by the affairs of your guests,” Jaren replied. “Few others would be so concerned about the welfare of a stranger, I think.” Lykken looked at him suspiciously, but the blond man only smiled. Lykken nodded, and Jaren’s expression sobered quickly. “The news is bad, I fear. The boy’s constitution…”
    Jaren’s voice sank, and he stepped closer to the innkeeper. Ranira could catch only a few phrases here and there, but from Lykken’s expression and the brief conversation she had overheard earlier, she could guess what Jaren was saying. The strangers were not leaving Drinn that evening, and once the Festival began, it would be impossible for them to slip out of the city unnoticed, for no traffic passed out of the great wooden doors until the Festival was over.
    Jaren finished, and Lykken began expostulating frantically. Jaren responded, at first firmly, then soothingly. Eventually he drew a large purse from inside his tunic. Lykken’s agitation subsided almost immediately, but he did not give in at once. He seemed to feel obliged to make certain first that he was not the victim of some elaborate hoax, for a moment later the two men left the room and turned right, heading for the stairs.
    Neither of the two noticed Ranira crouching behind the rack of pots, though they passed within a foot of her. For a moment more, she stayed motionless; then she rose and walked briskly across the kitchen, picked up one of the brooms leaning against the wall, and followed Jaren and the innkeeper out into the hallway. The men were not in sight, but she could hear the echoes of their footsteps coming from the stairs. She went to one end of the hallway and slowly began to sweep. She did not quite dare to follow them upstairs, but it hardly mattered. From where she stood she was certain to see anyone descending.
    By the time Lykken reappeared, Ranira had swept the hallway twice even at her deliberate snail’s pace. The innkeeper had a strange expression on his face—one of mingled fear and greed. His hand kept straying to a large bulge just above his sash that made a muffled clinking sound as he came down the stairs. When he saw Ranira, his expression changed to its habitual scowl.
    “What are you doing?” he snapped.
    “Sweeping the hall,” she replied, a bit too innocently. “I am nearly done.”
    Lykken’s frown deepened; his hand strayed to his sash once more. Abruptly, he spoke again. “Our special visitors in the corner room will be leaving very soon,” he said, and paused.
    “Of course,” she said. “If they were to stay much longer they would not be able to reach the gates before they are locked and barred.”
    The innkeeper shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, of course. But there is a problem. The boy, the sick boy, must be moved in absolute quiet. So no one will be allowed in the hall until they have gone. No one!”
    “Yes sir,” she said. “But if no one is to stay in the hall, how shall we know when they have gone?”
    “I will tell you!” Lykken roared. “Now, back to the kitchen with you; they may be coming down at any moment. Go!”
    Ranira nodded and picked up her broom, thoroughly pleased with herself. She had been wondering how the innkeeper intended to arrange for the strangers’ “departure.” She had all the information she needed now. The only question that remained was how best to use it.

Chapter 3
    R ANIRA WAS UP BEFORE dawn the next morning. The air was cool, even in the kitchens, and she shivered as she coaxed the embers of last night’s fire into flames. When the wood at last began to burn, she warmed herself for a moment, then began laying out utensils for the cook. The bruises on her shoulders and arms were painfully tender, and she winced whenever she bumped them.
    The cook arrived just after dawn, grumbling about the hours Lykken set. After inspecting the menu