Darkdawn - Jay Kristoff Page 0,98

silence settled on the scene. But Butcher soon put paid to it, sitting taller in his saddle and squinting at the docks below.

“I can’t see the Bloody Maid,” he murmured.

“Nor I,” Sidonius said.

Mia felt an unfamiliar thrill of fear in her belly then, stamping it down with gritted teeth and trying not to think about the cat-shaped hole in her chest. She knew Cloud should’ve been here by now—if they’d had time to ride all the way from Galante, he’d surely have had time to sail here. But looking among the ships at berth, she saw Corleone’s red-sailed beauty was nowhere in sight.

“They might be at anchor farther out in the bay,” she offered. “Those berths look plenty full.”

“Aye,” Bladesinger said. “Let’s just cleave to the plan. Where was Cloud supposed to meet us?”

“He just said he’d see us at the pub,” Mia said.

Sid cast his eye over the docks below. “I don’t mean to be difficult, but did the fancy bastard narrow it down at all? Because I can spy about twenty of them.”

Butcher grinned and shook his head. “Follow me, gentlefriends.”

Mia glanced at Tric again, but the boy was looking out at the storm-washed seas. So, giving Ash’s hand one last squeeze, met with a small but grateful smile, she turned toward the harbor. Butcher led the way down to the crowded docks, the stench of old fish and new sewage mercifully thinning as the nevernight winds began blowing in off the bay. Wandering along a winding trail of inkdens, pleasure houses, and drinking holes. Shrines to Lady Trelene and Nalipse, tithed with cups of blood and animal parts and old rusted coins. Blind beggars and drunken louts and streetwalkers. And finally, they arrived at a large and somewhat well-to-do establishment on the edge of the water.

The sign hanging over the door simply read THE PUB.*

“I like it,” Mia declared.

After a short tip from Sid, a stableboy took charge of their horses. The seven road-weary companions doffed imaginary hats to the bouncers and found themselves in the common room of a bustling, hustling taverna. The bar was wide and broad, stocked with a thousand bottles and echoing with a thousand tales. The walls were scribed with the strokes of a thousand hands—written in ink and charcoal and lead; declarations and drivel and poems and all between:

My love I left, my heart I left, with my promise to return.

Pilinius has a pizzle like a barnacle.

Which of you bastards took my beer?

Yes

YES

The tiger is out

“Find a table,” Butcher said. “First round’s on me.”

“Most generous of you, Butcher,” Mia smiled.

“Aye, aye,” the Liisian nodded. “Listen, can I borrow some coin? I’m good for it.”

Mia sighed and handed over a few beggars from her stash. Tric made his way through the throng with the group following, and just like the folks in the streets outside, the crowded commons parted before him. They found a booth on the dockside of the room, still scattered with empty mugs and small puddles that smelled suspiciously like piss, but they were so weary and cold, it mattered little. They were close to the fire and in from the rain, and after two weeks in the saddle, that was miracle enough.

They huddled into the booth, Jonnen sandwiched between them. Tric fetched a stool from the crowded bar and sat at the other end of their round table so he could better keep an eye on the room. The pub was a tangle of friendly conversations and heated debates, of drunken rebuffs and accepted advances, of tall tales and deadly truths. A trio of minstrels were sat in a corner near the fire, strumming a lyre and beating a drum and singing the bawdiest tune Mia had ever heard.*

Butcher soon returned with a tray loaded with pints of ale, slapping one down in front of each of them, including Jonnen.

“What should we drink to?” Bladesinger asked.

“The Lady of Storms?” Sidonius offered. “Perhaps she’ll ease off a bit.”

Butcher raised his drink. “A man may kiss his wife goodbye. The wine may kiss the frosted glass. The rose may kiss the butterfly, but you, my friends, can kiss my arse.”

“How about to friends absent?” Mia said, raising her tankard.

“Aye,” Ashlinn nodded. “Friends absent.”

“TO LIVE IN THE HEARTS WE LEAVE BEHIND IS TO NEVER DIE,” Tric said softly.

Mia met the boy’s eyes and murmured agreement. Ash gave a grudging nod. The group hoisted their mugs and took a quaff, all save Jonnen (who eyed the drink with appropriate suspicion) and Tric

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