A
GOOD TURN
Though the Raven Mask was “dead,” Amberhill
maintained his skills, roaming all quarters of the city in the dark
of night, silently sinking into shadows.. He listened to rumors in
the streets from those who gossiped about the betrothal of Zachary
and Lady Estora, to those who expressed uneasiness about a
gathering darkness in the world. He observed lovers strolling by,
whispering words only lovers could whisper.
Mostly what he heard
in the night was ordinary folk grumbling petty complaints about the
weather, the price of grain, and one another. Still, he preferred
that to his dreams of the unceasing roll of waves, the sea calling
to him, calling him till he ached.
He took a deep
breath as the throb built within him, and another until it eased.
Cloaked and hooded in black, he stood in the shadow of a close. Few
were out at this hour, mostly drunks and vagrants. Dim light
filtered from the grubby windows of the Cock and Hen. Rumor had
drawn him here to the lower city; rumor of a pair of unsavory
characters who visited the most disreputable inns and taverns.
There was a familiar ring to the details he heard about
them.
As he watched and
waited, the clip-clop of hooves preceded a mule cart driven up the
Winding Way by a man hunched over the reins in his fists. The cart
wheels creaked and wobbled as though the whole contraption was
about to fall apart. The mule looked no better, underfed and
swaybacked. The man reined the mule to a halt in front of the Cock
and Hen. When he set the brake, he painstakingly climbed down from
the cart. His limbs shook and jerked seemingly without
control.
No sooner had he
planted his feet on the ground than two toughs—not the two
Amberhill had been awaiting, alas—appeared from around the inn’s
corner. Among the rumors Amberhill heard, these two figured
prominently, for they sought fights unbidden and robbed the weak.
They’d probably been following the old man for some time, sizing up
their prey. Considering the condition of mule and cart, it wouldn’t
have been difficult for them to keep up.
“Hey, old man,” one
said, sauntering up to the cart. “What you got to give
us?”
“Go away,” the man
said. “I’ve got nothing.”
The second tough
peered into the cart. “Not much back here,” he said. “But look at
this bow.” He withdrew a longbow from the cart.
“Leave that be!” the
old man cried.
“What else you got?”
the first tough asked.
“Nothing, I tell ye!
Give me my bow.” He reached for it with a shaking hand, but the
second tough held it just out of reach and laughed.
Amberhill saw the
glint of a knife as the first one drew it from his
belt.
“You got some coins,
old man?” He waved the knife in the man’s face.
Amberhill knew these
thugs would think nothing of killing the man for no other reason
than it amused them, which just would not do, so he swept out from
the close, his cloak billowing behind him. He drew his rapier in a
movement as natural as breathing.
“Leave,” he
said.
“Who’s this?” one of
the toughs asked, unimpressed.
“I’ve told you to
leave, but you do not listen.”
The thug opened his
mouth to speak, but before any words crossed his lips, Amberhill’s
rapier flicked across the back of his hand and the knife clattered
to the street. The thug cursed and held his bleeding hand close.
Amberhill pivoted just in time to knock a knife from the other
man’s hand. He held the tip of the rapier to the thug’s
throat.
“Return the bow to
its owner.”
“All right, all
right. Just watch it with that sword.” He handed the bow to the old
man.
“Now leave,”
Amberhill commanded. “If I catch you bothering this gentleman
again, or anyone else, I shall be far less polite.”
This time the two
listened and ran off down the street. The old man wiped his brow
with a trembling hand. He gripped the bow so tightly with the other
his knuckles turned white. Amberhill noted it was indeed a handsome
bow, with graceful curves and intricate carvings decorating
it.
“I ... I don’t know
how to thank ye, sir,” the man said. His accent was of the
west.
“No need to worry
about it. Those two have been asking for trouble for some
time.”
“Name’s Miller.
Galen Miller.” He offered his hand and Amberhill shook it. It was a
bowman’s hand and he was taken aback by the strength in it, despite
the man’s apparent infirmity. Galen Miller then straightened; rose
to his full height. He was tall and broad shouldered, but he could
not control his trembling. He reminded Amberhill of an uncle of his
who suffered from the shakes and declined over the years, his body
deteriorating, his mind afflicted with senility, until eventually
he wasted away, not at all resembling the proud, strong man he had
once been.
“My pleasure to meet
you,” Amberhill said, not offering his name in kind. “This is not
the safest of neighborhoods to linger in after dark.”
“I’ve traveled a
long way,” Galen Miller said. “Aye, a long way. I am lodging at
this place.”
“Here?” Amberhill
asked, thinking the accommodations very rough.
“It is the right
place,” the man replied with conviction. He raised his gaze toward
the roofline. “Aye, the right place.”
“If you find it not
to your liking, these will help you find better.” Amberhill folded
three silvers into the man’s hand.
Galen Miller’s eyes
went wide. “Sir, I couldn’t! It’s too much.”
“It is but a trifle.
A welcome for a traveler to the city.”
“Th-thank ye. This
... this means a great deal.”
Amberhill nodded,
wondering how to gracefully conclude the conversation so he might
slip back into the shadows and resume his vigil.
“You must try the
bitter ale,” he said. “The inn is not the finest, but it has the
best bitter ale in the city.”
The man nodded.
“Thank ye again.” He glanced at the inn, and while his attention
was diverted, Amberhill melted back into the concealment of the
shadows. He watched Galen Miller turn around as though to speak to
him, then scratch his head at his absence. With a quavering shrug,
the old man folded into himself again before entering the Cock and
Hen.
Amberhill smiled. He
had not often gone out of his way to aid someone in need. He’d
mostly been about helping himself, but after the debacle of Lady
Estora’s abduction, something had changed within him. Maybe it was
that he saw how one deed could affect others for good or ill. Maybe
because he witnessed how the king’s Weapons and Green
Riders—especially that G’ladheon woman—selflessly endangered
themselves both out of duty and the desire to do the right thing. A
part of him thought them mad, and another part of him thought them
admirable.
He’d wronged Lady
Estora, but tried to rescue her when he realized what he’d done. He
helped the G’ladheon woman escape the torture of Second Empire
thugs and found ... he found he rather liked it, this helping
others. He’d liked helping Galen Miller tonight.
He smoothed his hand
down his shirt as though stepping beyond the bounds of his own
self-interest made him nervous. He wasn’t sure what he liked about
it, but maybe it was the thrill of danger, like when, as the Raven
Mask, he’d scaled the wall of some manse in the depths of night to
enter a lady’s bedchamber to steal her jewels, and perhaps other
things, even while her husband slept in the next room.
Yes, there was that.
The danger, the excitement.
Yet, there was more
to it.
A glow of light
flickered to life in the uppermost room of the Cock and Hen—perhaps
the attic—and someone moved around in it. Galen Miller? Amberhill
could have chosen to leave the old man to the toughs here on the
street. There was a time when he probably would have. But now? He
shook his head. There was the thrill of chasing the toughs off, no
matter they were no challenge to him, and there was the pleasure of
being the object of the old man’s gratitude. Yes, he liked
that.
Maybe this was also
a little step in the direction of finding redemption. Amberhill
could never right the wrong he’d committed against Lady Estora, and
really the ripples of that wrong radiated out to her family and
clan, to king and country, magnifying it a hundredfold, but he
could at least take steps to redeem himself in his own
eyes.
Besides, one never
knew what a good deed could lead to. Maybe Galen Miller would in
turn come to someone else’s aid in some way. Amberhill smiled at
the thought.