of Eliza's."
Aria stepped into the common room and looked around. Geoffry followed.
"My father collected payment," he said, "and he sent us here."
At first, Magiere didn't understand. Then she studied the pouch Aria handed to her, and her stomach lurched. They were paying her for killing Miiska's undead.
"Take it, Miss," Geoffry prompted. "It's real money, not just trinkets or food. We know you don't work cheap. The constable may be a fool, but lots of folks here are thankful."
"This is a nice place," Aria said, touching the oak bar. "I never been in here."
Magiere tried to stand up, but couldn't. She dropped the pouch on the table and pushed it quickly across toward Aria.
"Take those coins and give them back to everyone who contributed. We didn't do any of this for money."
Aria and Geoffry stared at her in confusion, even disappointment. Perhaps they had asked for the honor of bringing the hunter her fee. Magiere could imagine where the money had come from. Visions of bakers and fishmongers and now out-of-work warehouse laborers pooling their last pennies rushed into her mind.
She felt sick and her breakfast threatened to come up. This was like a nightmare from which she couldn't awaken. The past kept tracking her down to repeat itself over and over.
Brenden politely rushed the young visitors out. Magiere heard phrases and bits of kind words like "appreciate" and "thank your father" and "the hunter is tired." But once Aria and Geoffry had been bundled off down the street, he turned to her in puzzlement.
"They were just trying to thank you. And it isn't as if such gratitude is unfamiliar. You and Leesil have destroyed undeads and taken payment many times before."
Magiere turned away from him. She couldn't help it, and she looked to her partner for some kind of response, any kind. Leesil drained his teacup, walked behind the bar and filled it with red wine.
"Of course," he said. "Many times."
Chapter Sixteen
At a loss for what to do, Ellinwood left The Sea Lion and hurried home to The Velvet Rose. He needed to think, and he thought best at home.
Once safely ensconced inside his plush rooms with the door closed, he allowed panic to set in. What was he going to do? His first thought was to sell the lovely furnishings all around him. But then he remembered that he did not own them. It was all property of The Velvet Rose. He owned little besides the expensive clothes on his body, the clothing in his wardrobe, a sword that he'd never actually used, and a few personal items such as silver combs and crystal cologne bottles.
Rashed was gone, and there would be no more profits coming in from the warehouse trade.
The constable's own image stared back at him from the oval, silver-framed mirror, and a portion of the panic faded. He cut a fine figure in his green velvet. Of course, some people thought him too large, but the thin were always intimidated by men of stature. He had dominated Miiska for years. He could weather this current situation.
Walking over to the cherry wood wardrobe, he unlocked the top drawer and looked inside. Rashed had not left him coinless, and he had not spent all of his profits. Indeed, if he rationed money for his opiate and spiced whiskey slightly, he could keep himself in comfort for perhaps half a year.
Then a thought struck him. His arrangement with Rashed was not so unique. After all, as Miiska's constable, he knew many things. He had recently discovered that the wife of Miiska's leading merchant was betraying him with a caravan master who came through town six times a year. How much would she be willing to pay to keep her secret? And Devon, one of the council members, had used a large sum of the town's community funds from taxes to pay off a gambling debt not long ago.
Ellinwood's mind began to race. There was no need for fear. When powerful people had secrets, they would pay handsomely for silence. He knew exactly what to do.
But not yet.
First he would change tactics in this Magiere situation and praise her. He would offer her his full support, now that there was nothing left to do, and win back the trust and loyalty of his guards. At the moment, his position was somewhat tenuous. He would become the ideal constable for several months—before taking any action toward quiet extortion. In the end, very little would have to change in his game besides