“My employer wants to move somewhere quiet. He thought Chorna might do, so he sent me to scout things out.” He made a face intended to convey his belief in his employer’s eccentricity.
“Well, if he wants lots of nothing, this is the place to find it.”
“Good.”
“Is this your regular duty— searching for places in the middle of nowhere?”
“I’m his bodyguard.”
That earned him an impressed look and, he hoped, added to his credibility. He looked like a bodyguard and could even speak intelligently about the needs of the job, if pressed to do so. He shoveled more food into his mouth while the innkeeper rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“We don’t have rooms,” the man said after a moment. “We don’t get much tourist trade here. But my family owns a building on the opposite side of the square. The one with the red door? My grandparents lived there, but they’re dead now and the house is empty. You can stay there if you don’t mind some dust and spider webs.”
“I don’t mind. How much?”
“Oh, let’s say twenty fals a night. And you can take all your meals here.”
They both knew that was an exorbitant price. Volos had paid half that at the inns along the way. But he was playing the servant of a wealthy man. And in truth, King Tafari had given him money— enough that Volos could have fled and lived a comfortable life for many months— which was a mark of trust that had made him proud. “All right, twenty. With clean bedding to sleep on and ale with my meals.”
The innkeeper grinned. “Done. My name’s Mato, by the way. Yours?”
“Volos.”
“Welcome to Chorna, Volos.”
****
Mato was right— dust lay thickly in the house and cobwebs festooned the ceilings and furniture. But Mato lent Volos a broom and some rags, and Volos was able to get an upstairs room tolerably clean. After years spent sleeping on the ground or worse, he wasn’t particular. At least the room had a large bed with a decent mattress, and Mato gave him the promised clean bedding, which smelled of lavender. The window looked out on the square, allowing Volos to keep a furtive eye on the villagers’ comings and goings. He hoped to spy the Juganin going about whatever errands they might have.
But tonight he was exhausted and worried. And strangely uneasy, because Mato had been friendly to him. Had even flirted a little. With the exception of his own father, Volos was used to thinking of Kozari as hostile and foreign. They were the enemy— the people who’d tried to kill him. The people he’d killed. They weren’t ordinary folk with unruly hair, who told jokes and worked hard serving mediocre food and drink.
Before he readied himself for sleep, Volos practiced his daily strength and agility exercises and then ended with a meticulous sharpening of his sword and knife.
****
Chapter Four
Mato’s breakfast wasn’t much more impressive than his dinners, but again the tastes were familiar on Volos’s tongue. And Mato himself smiled and joked, setting his hand familiarly on Volos’s shoulder when he passed by.
Rain was spitting down from a leaden sky, making Volos grateful for his hooded cloak as he investigated the village. He found nothing remarkable. Villagers going about their daily errands or stopping to chat with each other under the overhangs of doorways. Merchants looking slightly gloomy under canopies in the square. Sleepy cats staring at him from windowsills. Volos wanted to grab every person he passed, shake them violently, and demand they take him to Prince Berhanu. He wanted to summon an army and command them to search every room in every house. He wanted to stand in the center of the square and scream Berhanu’s name.
He did none of those things.
Instead he wandered restlessly, first through the village and then down muddy roads into the countryside. He found nothing more interesting than a few curious cows. He had lunch at the inn— at least the bread was fresh and good— before setting