Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 169943 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 850(@200wpm)___ 680(@250wpm)___ 566(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169943 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 850(@200wpm)___ 680(@250wpm)___ 566(@300wpm)
Squeaker howls with indignation as she’s jostled about, but the moment my rump hits the stack of suitcases, the onlookers seem to pause. The newcomer heading to steal another of my bags scowls and waves me off, heading in the opposite direction. My skirts (and let’s be frank, my arse) are big enough to cover the smaller bags and I recline slightly, doing my best to cover my luggage with as much of my person as possible and snarl fiercely at anyone who comes near.
Maybe it’s the sight of the enormous orange cat on my chest or the fact that a woman is sprawling atop a mountain of luggage, but no one else tries to steal one of my bags. Gwenna returns a short time later, panting and sweaty. She puts a hand to her bodice and gasps for air. “Bastard got away with it.”
“Which bag was it?” I ask, worried. If I’m here without my sensible boots…
“Your jewelry.” Her mouth is set in an angry line.
Oh. Well, that’s all right, I suppose. Anything valuable was sold off the moment Father started to have gambling issues, and the thieves made off with a bunch of paste jewels and fakes, nothing more. Still, a well-made fake can bring in coin, and I had been hoping to sell them when we arrived. It limits what we can use for funds, but there are worse things that could have been stolen, like my books, or the outfit I’ve prepared for when I meet the Royal Artifactual Guild. Or Squeaker’s favorite kibble, because she’s a rather particular cat. “I managed to save the rest,” I offer when she continues panting. “Thank you for trying.”
She waves a hand in the air. “Didn’t realize there were that many thieves here.”
I didn’t, either. Indeed, the entire city seems as if it’s full of crooks and brigands now. Every man who passes looks like a potential thief, and whenever someone sidles too near to the cart, I stiffen in alarm. Gwenna grabs the handle of the cart and groans as she gives it a tug, with me still atop the baggage. “Milus’s bones, Aspeth, what have you got under that dress? Rocks?”
“Think frocks, not rocks,” I joke, keeping a bright smile on my face so Gwenna doesn’t panic. I know she hates this trip already. I know she’s afraid of how vulnerable we are now that we’ve left Father’s hold. I could be kidnapped by another holder family for ransom. I could be set upon by thieves. I could be compromised in any number of ways a noblewoman is compromised. I could find myself dumped in the woods to the east and lost there forever. All of these things she’s brought up multiple times during our journey here to Vastwarren City.
I’ve considered them all. I’m not stupid. I’m just completely out of options.
Gwenna’s right that this place is unsavory and dangerous, but coming here is worth the risk. If anyone finds out that Honori Hold has nothing but a few dead artifacts and that my father’s gambled the rest away? We’ll be tossed out by rivals before a fortnight passes…and that’s the best-case scenario. This is something I have to do.
As another passerby eyes the cart, I scowl at him and clutch Squeaker harder. The cat is squirming dreadfully, but I keep her tightly in hand. I know I’m heavier than Gwenna. My upbringing as a holder’s daughter has been full of sweets and books and very little physical work, and it shows in the size of my derriere. “If you want to sit while I pull, we can switch.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Gwenna says, jerking on the handle of the cart. “You’re the lady and I’m the maid.”
That makes me frown, because I’ve left the hold. I’m no longer a lady. I’m supposed to be Sparrow and she’s supposed to be my equal and friend, Wren. We’ve discussed this. But the middle of a crowded street is not the time to argue, so I just hold my squirming cat harder. “Let’s find an inn and get settled, shall we?”
We fight our way down two more streets (or rather, Gwenna does) before we come to an inn. There’s a wooden sign hanging over the entrance with a mug of beer and a bed on the shingle. The smell of hot food wafts out the open door, along with laughter. Gwenna points at it, raising her eyebrows, and I nod. The moment we’re over the threshold and out of the street, I leap off the cart, hand Squeaker to Gwenna, and then approach the bar.
“One room, please.” I beam my most winning smile at the woman barkeep, who wipes the wood down with a rag that could quite possibly be filthier than the bar itself.
She pauses, eyeing Gwenna with my luggage. “For a lady and her maid?”