The Smoke-Scented Girl Page 4

  “This is the coaching stop for Rainoth,” Evon pointed out, “and there are three inns within sight of it. If she did stop in Rainoth, chances are she put up in one of these places. She had to decide between them somehow. Maybe she’s drawn to fire. It’s worth inquiring, anyway.”

  “I suppose so,” Piercy said. “And I have a plan. Follow me.”

  The idea of Piercy having a plan filled Evon with dread, but he obediently shouldered his bag and followed Piercy across the road, dodging carriages and skidding a little on the wet cobblestones, and ducked through the door of the inn.

  They entered the taproom, which was well-lit and clean and smelled of stew. Round tables with surfaces unmarred by time dotted the room like flat-topped mushrooms, circled by narrow chairs that were surely too skinny to support an average person. Piercy crossed the taproom to the bar. “Excuse me,” he called out, rapping on the bar with the head of his walking stick. “My friend and I are thirsty.”

  After a moment, a tall, skinny woman came through a door at the far end of the taproom, wiping her hands on a none-too-clean rag. “You want beer?” she said. She sounded a little surprised that anyone might want beer at nine o’clock in the morning.

  “If you please, madam,” Piercy said. He’d adopted a grand manner that told Evon he was about to tell a grand, unnecessary lie. “Piercy—” he began, but Piercy shushed him with a wave of his hand. Piercy took a seat on one of the glossy new bar stools, and after a moment, Evon joined him. As the woman’s back was turned, Piercy gave Evon an intense, wide-eyed look that said Just agree with whatever I say. Evon sighed. It was true he’d gotten Piercy into a lot of trouble when they were younger, but Piercy had gotten himself into trouble enough on his own with his habit of making up wild, implausible stories to get himself out of whatever trouble Evon had gotten him into. Evon leaned his elbow on the counter and rested his chin on his hand. Fortunately Rainoth had no shortage of inns, because it was possible Piercy was about to get them kicked out of this one.

  The woman set two foaming glass mugs on the counter before them. Evon’s stomach revolted at the idea of beer before breakfast. Piercy raised his and took several large swallows, making appreciative noises. He set the now half-full mug on the counter, wiped his mouth, and gave the woman his most brilliant smile. “That is the most delicious brew I’ve had in weeks,” he said. “Do you make it yourself?”

  “It’s ordered in,” the woman said. She looked at Piercy with suspicion, as if she thought he might be making fun of her. Evon couldn’t blame her. Piercy sounded so enthusiastic that it came across as insincerity. He took a sip of his own beer and nodded and smiled at the woman. It was good, even if it made his stomach demand eggs and fried ham.

  “Well, you’ve found an excellent supplier,” Piercy rallied. He took another long drink. “I was wondering if perhaps you could help us. We’re looking for a woman we believe passed through Rainoth some...?” He looked at Evon, eyes pleading. Yes, Piercy hadn’t thought this through. Evon did a little quick calculating in his head, aided by his instincts.

  “Five weeks ago,” he said.

  “Why are you asking?” the woman said, drawing back from them a little in suspicion. Evon mentally kicked himself, then Piercy. Of course it would look suspicious, them asking about a woman without being able to say why. Telling this barkeep that they were after the magician who’d caused all those fires would either make them sound crazy or start a panic.

  “She’s run away from her family,” Piercy improvised. “They’re very worried about her. She was...she was going to be married, and she ran off two days before the wedding. They’re afraid something’s happened to her.” Evon wished he could kick Piercy for real. Too much detail, when the Fearsome Firemage might have told any story. Suppose she wasn’t as young as the reports made out?

  The woman shrugged and scowled. “Plenty a woman changes her mind before she reaches the altar,” she said. “Maybe the young man wasn’t her choice.” But the scowl didn’t reach her eyes, and Evon noted that she’d said “young man.” Maybe Piercy had unwittingly hit on the truth. Evon’s heart beat a little faster.

  “They were childhood sweethearts,” Evon picked up the tale, afraid of the look in Piercy’s eye that said he was about to come up with something outrageous. Evon had always been the better liar. “Her relatives think she might have been in the family way and was ashamed. They don’t care about that. They just want her to come home.”

  Something in his words shifted the woman’s attitude. The look in her eyes went from suspicious to warily sympathetic. “What did she look like?”

  Piercy turned another pleading look on Evon. He tried to remember the details of the reports on the mysterious woman’s appearance. “Not very tall,” he said. “Long hair...maybe a little darker blonde than mine. In her early twenties,” he added, making an instinctive leap as he watched the woman’s face.

  The woman folded her arms across her chest and stared them down. “She said her name was Kerensa,” she said. “Came here looking for work maybe five weeks ago. I gave her a job in the kitchens, cleaning up, then set her to waiting tables when she proved willing. Popular with the men, if you take my meaning, though she never led them on. Brushed off the ones got too friendly without being mean. Never said where she was from or who she’d been and I didn’t ask. Didn’t much care so long as she did her work. Didn’t like that she had a tobacco-smoking habit. Never saw her doing it, but she always smelled of smoke.”

  Evon made a mental note of that odd piece of information. “When did she leave?” he asked.

  “Two weeks ago. Just vanished one night. Didn’t even ask for her pay, and stole my daughter’s spare dress on top of that.” The woman scratched her nose with one thin finger. “Can’t say as we were surprised. She always had this air said she had one foot out the door all the time. But she might’ve asked about the dress. You gents from her family?”

  “Old friends,” Evon said, stepping hard on Piercy’s foot when he opened his mouth, probably to claim they were this Kerensa’s loving brothers. “We were headed this way and they asked us to inquire after her.”

  “Hope you find her,” the woman said. “Figured she was higher class than she put on, seeing as you gents talk so fancy. Come from good family, does she?”

  “The best,” Piercy interjected, prodding Evon’s shin with his booted toe. He sounded annoyed that Evon was doing all the talking.

  “Strange, a girl from good family being so capable in the kitchen.” The woman started to look suspicious again.

  “She felt she should understand what it took to run a household,” Evon improvised. “She is rather progressive.”

  “Her fiancé is still working his way up in the world,” Piercy said. “Good prospects, but still, ah, working his way up in the world.” Piercy’s voice was pitched a little too high, sign that he was about to panic and ruin everything. Evon said, “The family approves the match, but they’re realistic. And progressive.”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed. Piercy opened his mouth. Evon said, “You’ve been so helpful, miss...?”

  “Mrs. Kelnter,” the woman said, but she softened a little, pleased at being thought young enough to still warrant a “miss.”

  “Mrs. Kelnter, we’ve been so worried about Livian—that’s her real name, I’m not sure where she came up with ‘Kerensa’—and I’m sure you can imagine, having a daughter yourself, what it must feel like not to know where she is or if she’s safe. Livian’s parents will be so relieved to hear that their daughter found shelter here for a time. I don’t suppose you know if she made any friends, spoke to anyone who might know where she intended to go next?”

  Mistress Kelnter pursed her lips. “Never spoke much to anyone,” she said. “I know she was on foot, I can tell you that. Couldn’t have afforded a horse or coach fare.” She shook her head. “Wish I’d known her story, or I would’ve made sure she had her wages.”

  “Thank you, Mistress Kelnter. And thank you for t
he beer.” Evon put some coins down on the countertop and took a long swallow from his mug. His stomach had gone from hungry to excited. So close. “We should be going,” he added, directing a pointed look at Piercy, who looked mulish but followed him outside.

  “You nearly ruined everything,” Piercy said in a low voice when they were safely on the street.

  “I nearly—Piercy, you were going to babble!”

  “I was not. I had her believing everything I said.”

  Evon snorted. “I have two words for you. Master. Harntis.”

  Piercy flushed. “That would have worked if you hadn’t sneezed.”

  “Master Harntis was never going to believe you were there for extra tutoring. Particularly after you panicked and told him his daughter was extremely attractive. Except you were looking at a rotogravure of his son.”

  “I maintain that the boy had a very feminine face.”

  “It doesn’t matter. We know the Fearsome Firemage was here up until two weeks ago. That was when she went to Chaneston. Didn’t you think it was odd, what Mistress Kelnter said about the young woman always smelling of smoke?”

  “If she has a tobacco-smoking habit, no, I do not find it odd.”

  “But Mistress Kelnter said she never saw her doing it. I think we’ve found another characteristic of our mystery magician.”

  “I wonder that you are so fond of alliteration, dear fellow. Besides, why does that matter?”

  “I don’t know yet. We need food, and then—no, I still should send Miss Elltis a message—but then we can be on our way. We need to go back to Chaneston, now that we have more information.”

  “I suppose you will now ask after young blonde women of average height who smell of smoke?”

  “Not exactly. But I think I can do something with that fact.”

  Chapter Three

  The road to Coreth was little more than a dirt track. Evon grasped the edge of his seat and held on as the carriage bumped over the frozen ruts. He’d given up his fur rug to Piercy about an hour ago, and now rode with his teeth clenched together against the cold and the jostling ride. He’d forgotten what a poor traveler Piercy could be. His friend lay slumped in the opposite corner, one fur rug bundled up beneath him as protection against the thinly padded bench, the other covering him so only his nose and eyes were visible.

  “Do you want to change seats?” Evon said quietly. If the past was any indication, Piercy would have an agonizing headache on top of his other maladies.

  “We should have ridden. We should have walked,” Piercy moaned.

  Evon eyed Piercy’s stack-heeled boots with the sharply pointed toes, all shiny black leather and hand-stitching. “We’re almost there,” he said. “There ought to be an inn or something.” I hope. They’d been well on the road to Chaneston when they’d heard about the Fearsome Firemage striking in Coreth, only half a day’s journey out of their way. Evon thought Coreth would be better suited to his plan, as fresh a site as it was, but Piercy had wanted to press on to Chaneston and Evon had had to override him. Now, looking at Piercy’s sallow face, he felt a little guilty at his insistence.

  Piercy groaned again and pulled the rug over his face, and muttered something of which Evon only caught the words “eat” and “bedbugs.” He pressed his face against the glass and tried to see into the distance ahead of them.

  A few stone houses, their thatched roofs a dull brownish yellow, lined both sides of the track. Their gray, weathered doors didn’t quite fit their frames. Smoke trailed from a few chimneys, but no one came out to watch the coach or peered out the window at the strangers, though Evon thought he saw movement behind some of the drab white curtains. Cottages gave way to more solid-looking buildings, roofed with slate rather than thatch, some of them two-storied with actual glass windowpanes. They passed a general store and a smithy, and then the coach pulled up in front of a long, low building with a peaked roof and a tiny second story that looked like it had been stuck on as an afterthought. The coachman leaped down and opened the door. “Coreth,” he said. “You stoppin’ here for the night, gents?”

  Evon gave the building another look. “I suppose we are,” he said. “May my friend wait here while I make arrangements? He’s quite ill.”

  The coachman peered at the pile of furs. “Just so’s he’s off the coach afore I leave,” he said. Evon left him removing their baggage from the roof and went into the building. He had to duck under the low door frame, but once inside he found the rafters were much higher than he’d anticipated and he could stand upright with ease. The planed wood floor, warped with age, creaked as he crossed the taproom, its boards many different shades of brown as if they’d been replaced, one by one, with whatever lumber was handy. The chairs were as mismatched as the floorboards and some of the tables canted a little, though Evon couldn’t tell if it was the floor or the table legs that were uneven.

  A portly man with wisps of white hair flying from his round head looked up as Evon entered. “Can I help you with summat, gent?”

  “My friend and I would like rooms for the night,” Evon said.

  The old man frowned. “Ain’t got but the one room, though it’s got two beds. That do for you?”

  So it was a tavern, not an inn. Evon was just grateful he wouldn’t have to share a bed with Piercy, who he knew from their nights in the school dormitory was a restless sleeper. “That would be excellent, thank you,” he said.

  “Upstairs,” the man said, and led the way through a dark doorway and up a narrow, unlit flight of stairs to a room that seemed to comprise the entire second floor. It did have two beds, and was remarkably warm and smelled of soup and mutton and fresh bread. “Hope you don’t mind it’s over the kitchen,” the man said.

  “Not at all. It smells wonderful. When do you serve supper?”

  “Half past six, in winter. Nothing fancy, just good plain fare.” He turned and left the room without another word, leaving Evon gaping in the middle of another question. He closed his mouth and looked at the two beds. The blankets were thin, but there were several of them, and the mattresses didn’t seem infested. He set a light to bobbing over his shoulder to illuminate the stairs and went to fetch Piercy, who had recovered enough to support most of his own weight as they ascended the stairs. Piercy collapsed onto one of the beds and flung his arm over his eyes, letting his walking stick fall from his other hand to clatter and roll under the bed. “If I die here, don’t let them bury me in the pig pasture,” he moaned.

  Evon knelt to reach under the bed after the walking stick and nearly dropped it from its unexpected weight. So Piercy wasn’t carrying it just for show. “I don’t think they have a pig pasture.”

  “Of course they do. Anywhere this far away from civilization must be awash in pig pastures. What is that smell?”

  “Supper, I think.”

  Piercy moaned again, but more quietly. “I must be feeling better, because it actually smells quite delicious. Not to be rude, dear fellow, but would you mind terribly taking yourself elsewhere? The sound of your breathing makes my head throb.”

  Evon descended the stairs and almost ran over a young woman with large, pretty brown eyes and a thin face. She wore a coarse brown wraparound apron and a white kerchief that completely covered her hair. “Oh! Beg your pardon, gent, but I didn’t see you comin’ down there.”

  “No, it was entirely my fault. Please excuse me.”

  The girl blushed. “Don’t you talk fancy, there! Mam sent me to see if the young gents wanted to order aught special for supper. Only there’s mutton, and soup, or mam could kill a chicken.”

  “Mutton’s fine. Thank you.” The girl blushed and made a half-bow, half-curtsey. “Wait,” Evon said as she turned to go. “Can you direct me to the home of Corlis Fullanter?”

  The girl’s expressive eyes went cold and she crossed her arms over her chest. “Ain’t no home left. Burned to cinders, it was.”

  “I know. I wanted to see what was left.”

  “Ain’t naught left but
smoke. You one o’ them city gents comin’ here to make mock of us?”

  It was the first he’d heard of anyone coming to gawk at the site of an event. “No,” he said in an indifferent tone, “I’m investigating the...fire...to determine what caused it.”

  “Ain’t a mystery,” she said. Her eyes were still cold and angry, but she let her arms drop to her sides. “The Gods struck Mr. Fullanter down, him and his evil ways.”

  “What ways are those? If you don’t mind my asking. I promise I’m not here to mock you.”

  The girl pressed her lips together into a thin white line. “We all knew what he did,” she said in a tight voice. “All the mams knew to keep their littles away from his door. Was evil, he was, and the Twins took note and burned him where he stood.”

  “Did you see it?”

  She hesitated, then shook her head. “But we all heard the sound, and Mr. Lenter’s house near took fire though it’s nigh fifty feet away.”

  “Did anyone see it? Or see anything strange afterward?”

  She shook her head. She looked as if she were gearing up to ask some questions of her own, so Evon said, “Thank you so much for your help. Would you mind pointing me toward Mr. Fullanter’s...well, where his house used to be? I’ll need something to tell my superiors back home,” he added with a smile and a wink, and the girl blushed redder than before. Maybe Piercy was right, and he did have a little charm at his disposal. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d accompanied a young woman to a play, or a lecture, or even down the street. The way he’d been going, it was unlikely any woman would have consented to go anywhere with him. He shrugged away the self-pitying thought. Perhaps, when this was over, he would ask Piercy to make some introductions for him. Piercy never seemed to have a shortage of young women fluttering around him. He could probably be induced to part with a few.

  The girl ducked her head and gave him a shy look through her eyelashes, but said, “Out the taproom door and to the right. Follow the road and you can’t miss it,” then bobbed another half-curtsey, half-bow and retreated toward the kitchens. Evon followed her instructions, nodding at the few patrons seated in the taproom. They watched him openly, their faces blank as if he were a new specimen of bird and they weren’t sure which way he might flap. At least they weren’t hostile.