Читать книгу The Puzzler’s War - Eyal Kless - Страница 14

People were still glaring at me when I sat myself down on a wooden stool next to a tiny table that, by the look of it, had not been cleaned for a long time. With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I realised that there were about twenty men around me, and the only females were two tired-looking prostitutes entertaining four uniformed men in the far corner of the room. I was a woman, in perhaps not the most attractive vessel, but this felt like a remote place, the sort in which men hold the bar just a notch above “breathing,” and sometimes not even that high. With those ladies entertaining the guards in full view of the rest of the men, and the alcohol flowing, sooner or later I would get unwanted attention.

I lay the neo-flex plastic sack on the sticky floor and placed the power sword in my lap. There was no music, just the soft murmuring of conversation and the loud and lewd chatter of the drunken guards. The rest of the men kept openly staring at me, some of them with disconcerting approval. I was careful not to make eye contact with any of them, although it dawned on me that soon I would have to choose a companion or have the most aggressive of the men make an approach.

One of them was downing his drink quickly, his body language betraying his immediate intention of trying his luck with me. It was right then that I spotted the figure I had seen near the truck when I was surveying the place. His cowl was off but I recognised him by the limp. He had a lean, rugged face and a greying ginger beard.

My profession is an odd one. It involves meticulous planning, but no matter how careful you are, many times the plan fails and you find yourself in the midst of deadly chaos. In moments like these, you have to learn to trust your instincts. I was up and walking even before I had made a conscious decision to do so, slinging the power sword over my back as I rose from the table. It was easy to follow the limping man to the table, as people moved aside respectfully when he passed them. I guessed that like myself, the man knew to trust his own instincts, because he whirled around just as I approached. My size, sex, or appearance did not make him less wary. I noted that one hand was holding both cups while the other went to the butt of an old-looking revolver stuck in his belt. There was another figure sitting near a table behind him. That one’s face was still hidden inside his cowl.

“Hello,” I said in a cheery voice, “I wonder if I may share your table for a bit.”

The man looked down at me, noting the sack I was holding in one hand and the sword on my back, then he lifted his gaze and studied the faces of the men staring at me. He must have concluded I was seeking protection rather than company because he turned his green eyes back at me and simply said, “No,” in a quiet but resolute voice. I didn’t blame him for not wanting to play the role of a gallant knight.

“Oh, c’mon Trev,” the man sitting at the table said cheerfully, “give a lady a break and pull a stool for yourself. Your leg’s too stiff to be under this low table anyways.”

The taller man shut his eyes briefly, nodded, and moved aside. He laid two cups carefully on the table, then went to retrieve another stool. I sat myself in front of the other man. His round face smiled at me from inside the cowl he was wearing as he extended his hand.

“Brak’s my name, and this pile of scowls is Trevil, my cousin.”

I took his hand. It had calluses, and his grip was strong. “I’m Peach.” I said the first name that came to my mind.

“Now that’s an interesting name, Lady Peach.” Brak pulled one cup from the edge of the table and nursed it. “And quite a foreign accent.” His eyes were shrewd and calculating. “You’re not from here.”

“This doesn’t seem to be a place that people come from,” I answered, making a show of glancing around.

Brak chuckled as he sipped his brew. “Phew.” He shook his head at the taste, spit the liquid in his mouth back into the cup, and spilled the entire contents to the dark, muddy floor. “That barkeep is pissing in his own brew. Trevil, go frighten the bastard enough for him to pour us something decent, and get a fresh cup for Lady Peach as well.”

Trevil, who had just sat down next to us, stared at Brak with a discontented scowl.

“Yes, that’s just the right face.” Brak indicated his cousin. “Now aim it at Rikus and get clean cups as well.”

Trevil rose without a word and made his way back to the bar.

“Don’t mind him,” Brak said cheerfully, “he’s the brooding, silent type. Sometimes when we’re on the road, he just sits there for days without saying so much as a word to me.”

I had the feeling those days were filled with Brak’s own words.

“Are you the owners of the truck outside?”

“Indeed, we are. And my guess is”—this time Brak made a show of turning his head around—“that you are looking for a fast way out of this heavenly retreat.”

I couldn’t hide my smile. “Is it that obvious?”

“It’s all over on your face, and it’s only reasonable. Even I hate this mudhole, and this is where Trev and I trade plenty of metal. Where do you need to go?”

“Tarka—” I remembered Malk’s reaction when I first said the name of the city. He did not recognise it, and I’d had to show him the emblem on the coins for him to understand. “The City of Towers.”

Brak whistled softly. “That’s a bit of a trek, Lady Peach, but my guess is your immediate concern is to get out of here before they realise you snuck in. Climbed the walls, did you? That’s an impressive feat, especially for a lady your size.”

“How did you—”

Brak leaned forward on the wooden table, which creaked under his weight. “There are two gates in and out of this place, and if you were to try and come in by yourself through either of them, you’d be spread on a guard’s mat right now, excuse my language. You are in the wrong place and need to get out of here.” Brak leaned a little closer and lowered his voice. “Now, we’re willing to help you out, but I’m afraid it will cost you metal.” He tilted his head inside the grey cowl. “I’ll say the contents of your coin bag and what’s in your little sack. No exceptions.”

“How do you know I have anything of value in the sack? Maybe it’s filled with old clothes.”

“Oh, I have a keen sense of hearing, Lady Peach, and I heard the tinkling of metal when you placed it on the floor.”

My heart sank. Losing all of the currency I had in this world was not a good plan. But I was desperate, and this Brak was shrewd enough to sense it. For all his gallantry and pleasant chatter, this man was not one to be letting go of a business advantage.

“I have fighting skills, and I’m good with my sword,” I said. “I can buy passage by helping you protect the truck, standing guard at night and such.”

Brak shook his head. “I’m sure you can swing that sword of yours just fine, Lady Peach, but we have no need for extra guards. Trevil might not be much of a talker, but he sleeps very lightly and can shoot a flying bird’s head off with his pistol. We’ve been travelling this route for three years now. We have our resting spots; friendly farms and places along the road we know are safe. Passengers cost us in fuel and speed, so if you want to travel with us out of here, you need to pay.”

Trevil came back with only two cups. He laid one at his cousin’s place and kept one to himself.

“Oh Trevil,” Brak admonished in a light-hearted tone, “that was a little unkind. And we were about to seal a deal here, weren’t we, Lady Peach?”

He tipped the cup in my direction.

I bent down and fished out the porcelain cup from the sack. “Nice find,” commented Brak. He poured me a measure from his cup and added, in a matter-of-fact tone, “It came out of the sack, so it is a part of your payment.”

I sniffed the liquid and the stench of the badly fermented alcohol hit my nose like a fist. Ignoring the data streaming through my mind, I let some of the contaminated drink pass my lips.

“Not a lady’s drink,” remarked Brak with a wry smile. He pointed at the other patrons. “The bartender here brews a mean one, meant to knock them out before they get sozzled enough to try and knock each other out and ruin the furniture. But if you travel with us, you won’t have to get used to the brew, the occasional hound stew, or the company some of the lads here are planning to give you.” Brak raised his cup. “Do we have a deal?”

I didn’t have a choice. But on the other hand, I’d found a ride out of this place and some company to gain information from. Not a bad deal, especially since I knew that if I had to, I could always rob them later. In my peripheral vision I saw Trevil glaring at me and guessed he was hoping I would refuse Brak’s deal.

I raised my cup, clinked it softly with Brak’s, and drained it in one go. Rising to my feet I said, “Your cup, your sack, you carry it all. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to rest in your truck’s cabin.”