demanding the best seat in the house and the finest food, wine and ale when he visited, then waving the bill away with an airy gesture, telling Cullum to present it at the castle, a good day's ride away.
Buttle also had assumed the title of Sir John – an obvious pretense. "If he's a knight," Cullum told his wife, "I'm the Dowager Duchess of Dungully." His wife agreed, but urged him to be cautious.
"We want nothing to do with those people," she said firmly. "We keep ourselves to ourselves, and we don't interfere."
Good advice, Cullum thought gloomily, as he set the table for the midday meal. But now this young free lance was here, asking about events at the castle.
It seemed strange, because he was unlike the type that Buttle had been recruiting. He had paid for his room in advance. And he seemed quite well mannered, always referring to Cullum's wife as "Mistress Gelderris" and speaking politely to the few customers who came in contact with him. Not that there had been many of them last night. Word spread quickly in a small community like this, and people assumed that the free lance's presence would draw Buttle to the inn to recruit him. Most people sought to avoid "Sir John" whenever p ossible.
"Good afternoon, innkeeper. What's on the menu today?" The voice, coming from so close behind him, made him jump nervously. He turned to see the young warrior had entered the room and was standing a meter away, smiling.
"No menu, I'm afraid, sir," he said, trying to recover his poise after the nervous start the young man had caused. "Just lamb shanks braised with winter vegetables and gravy."
The young man nodded appreciatively.
"Sounds excellent," he said. "And d'you think there might be some of your good wife's delicious berry pie remaining from last night?"
"I'll set you up a table, sir," he said, hurrying to clear a smaller table closer to the fire. But the young man cheerfully declined.
"Don't go to any fuss," he said, dropping onto the bench along the main table. "I'm happy to eat here. Come and join me for a moment."
Cullum hesitated. "Ah, well, sir, it's the busy time of day, you see..."
The warrior nodded, looking around the empty taproom and grinning at the innkeeper.
"So I see. The place is packed to the rafters. Come on, Cullum, I'm a stranger in these parts and I'd like a little local information."
Cullum could think of no way to refuse without offending him. And offending trained warriors was not a good idea. Reluctantly, he agreed.
"Well, just a few minutes, then. The customers will be arriving soon."
His regular customers may have stayed away the previous night – people could always do without a drink for a night or two. But the lunch trade was different. They had to eat somewhere, and the Cracked Flagon was their only choice.
Cullum sat down, a little reluctantly. He preferred to keep his distance from strange warriors, no matter how friendly they might appear.
"I'm told there was a jongleur passed through here some time back. Perhaps two weeks ago?" the warrior said.
Cullum, suspicions instantly on the alert, replied cautiously. "Aye, sir. There was, I recall."
Last he'd heard, the jongleur in question had been heading for Macindaw as well – although there were rumors that he had been part of Lord Orman's mysterious escape.
"No need to call me sir. Hawken's my name. Now, about this jongleur, young fellow, was he? About my age – but not quite as big?"
The innkeeper nodded. "I'd say so. Yes."
"Hmmm," Hawken said. "Any idea where he might be now?"
Cullum hesitated. In truth, he couldn't say for sure. He decided he'd simply stick to what he knew.
"He was headed for the castle, sir – " He noticed the warrior tilt his head at the word and hurried to change it. "I mean, Hawken. But I've since heard that he might be somewhere in Grimsdell
Wood."
The young man pursed his lips at the news.
"Grimsdell?" he said. "I thought that was the lair of that fellow
Malkallam?"
Cullum looked anxiously
Learning to Kill: Stories