The Innocent Mage by Karen Miller Read Free Book Online

then it’s back to my little shop before I lose any more business today!’ She waggled her fingers at them and turned on her heel.
    Matt took a thunderous step after her. ‘Dathne.’
    Striding away, she called back to him, ‘Tonight in the Goose, Matt, remember? No later than seven or you’ll be paying!’
    Matt stared after her, face stormy. Then he raised his fisted hands, stamped one booted foot to the gravel and exclaimed in heartfelt tones, ‘Barl save me! That bloody woman!’
    ‘Aye,’ said Asher, and shook his head. ‘She be a slumskumbledy wench and no mistake.’
    Matt blinked and lowered his fists. ‘SlumskumbledyV
    ‘Brangling,’ explained Asher. ‘Contrariwise.’ He shrugged. ‘A pain in the arse, if y’must know.’
    Matt shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at Asher. Asher stared back. Abruptly, spontaneously, they exploded into a duet of baffled, rueful laughter.
    ‘A pain in the arse?’ Matt echoed, eyes bright. ‘Asher of Restharven, I doubt I could’ve said it better myself!’
    And just like that, though Meister Matt was the boss, and a handful of years older than his new stable lad, they were friends.
    At five after seven that evening Matt shouldered his wa; into the Green Goose Inn, favoured watering hole and gossip mill of many royal staff, whether they served in the palace or the Prince’s Tower. The Goose was a popular meeting place for several reasons: it was only a short wall from the palace grounds, useful for when a body’s legs were all unsteady from an excess of cheer; the ale was cool and tasty, the food hot and plentiful, and their host, Aleman Derrig, could be sure to keep out any nuisances hoping to importune favours of a royal nature.
    Though his name was called a dozen times as he ducked his head under the lintel, Matt just raised an acknowledging hand and did not stop to dally. All his attention was on Dathne, wedged comfortably in a corner booth with an ale-foamed tankard and a steaming bowl of soup keeping her company.
    Sliding onto the bench opposite, he planted his elbows on the scarred, smoke-soaked table between them, leaned forward into the fragrant waftings from the broth bowl and said, his voice shaking with outrage, ‘That’s him, isn’t it? What in Jervale’s name d’you think you’re doing}’
    ‘Keep your voice down. There’s no need to tell the world and all his cousins what we’re about.’
    Matt looked around the crowded inn. Humperdy’s Band was racketing away in the far corner, fiddle and pipe and tambourine and drum filling the spaces between floor and rafters with raucous music. Many of the evening’s rowdies were singing along, in tune and out of it. Heels banged away under benches and tables, more or less in time with the ditty, tankards thumped in counterpoint, and above that was the cheerful bellowing of friends gathered in good-natured banter. He doubted anyone standing even two feet away had overheard him.
    He glared. ‘Stop trying to change the subject.’
    Dathne sighed and shook her head. ‘I did what was needful, Matt. No more, no less. I’m sorry to fret you. It wasn’t my intention. But I must act when the push comes upon me, you know it, so don’t sit there like a frog on a log pulling faces. We have him under our noses now, which is exactly where he should be. What’s the rest of it compared to that?’
    Matt bullied his face straight and stared at his freshly bruised knuckles, where one of the yearlings had tried its teeth that afternoon. ‘The rest of it?’ He lifted his gaze to look at her. ‘Fireworks and bolting horses and all those people watching? Dathne —’
    She waved an impatient hand. ‘Nothing happened that shouldn’t have. And if you’ve a mind to bleat about your precious damned Ballodair again, I swear I’ll throw this tankard of ale in your face then get the price of it off you straight after!’
    That made him scowl again. ‘It’s my job to worrit on the horses, Dathne.’
    She