46. The Keeper of the Hedgerose Inn

14th of Dema, Continued

For several long, interminable moments, I stood looking at the place I had last seen the captain. Finally, I took a shaky breath and glanced around. The Inn. Where was the Inn?

There. The building in the middle of the right side of the courtyard had a wreath of yellow roses painted on the window overlooking the street. I started toward it. He'll be fine. He's doing you a favor, really. He'll find this friend of his, get new papers, and live a long life in the mountains. Get a dog. Have a family... What did you think, he'd always be around to save you? You're better off without him.

I reached the front doors of the Hedgerose Inn and lifted my hand to take hold of the pull bar. Then I frowned and turned to look at that shop on the corner. Footsteps, in a rather familiar firm, decisive stride. It sounded an awful lot like Arramy was about to come storming back —

My heart missed a beat, then began hammering as Arramy rounded the corner, moving at a near-jog. His eyes zeroed in on me, and he broke into a full-on run, rapidly closing the distance between us.

I didn't have to ask what was going on. I just opened the door to the Inn, stepped inside, and kept out of the way when Arramy whipped into the little vestibule and went crashing right on through the second set of swinging doors to the foyer, yanking me along with him, his grip hard around my arm. 

"They've got your real face on a bulletin and they're going house to house," he said, his voice rough. He stopped, taking stock of the empty foyer. There wasn't anyone at the Reservations podium, and he hauled me past it into the dining room. It was empty too, with only a blaze going in the fireplace and cloths on the tables suggesting that the place was even in use.

A long polished wooden serving counter ran the length of one wall, bottles of alcohol visible in cubbyholes behind it. Arramy and I glanced at each other. He raised a brow in question. I shrugged. Then we headed quickly for the bar. We had just hunkered down behind it when a girl of about fifteen pushed through the half-door from the kitchen, carrying a bucket and a scouring brush.

Her mouth went perfectly round when she saw us. Then she backpedaled, calling loud over her shoulder, "Da!"

I reached after her. "Wait, it's alright, we're not going to hurt you! We just need somewhere to —"

A slender middle-aged man came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron. His, "What's a'worry, Kaier?" died on his lips, replaced by a frown as his gaze fell on us.

At that same instant, the vestibule doors slammed open and several Magistrate's deputies tramped into the foyer.

The Innkeeper's expression smoothed. He took the bucket and scrub from his daughter with a quiet, "Second cellar."

Suddenly all business, Kaier put her finger on her lips and beckoned with her other hand, indicating that we were to keep down and follow her – as if she had been sneaking random people into the kitchen her whole life.

Once we were in the kitchen, she pulled one of the pantries away from the wall on a hidden hinge, revealing a space behind the cabinetry just big enough to hold several alcohol crates. Or, in this case, one large man and a mid-sized woman standing side by side. We shuffled in, and then, ever so calmly, Kaier closed the pantry after us, shutting us up in the dark.

For several minutes nothing happened. The smuggling nook was apparently soundproofed, and it was impossible to make out what was going on elsewhere in the building.

Trying to rein in my heartbeat, I closed my eyes and swallowed hard.

Arramy shuffled his weight from one foot to the other. His body heat was warming the inch or two between us, his hand near enough to brush against mine. The scent of his pinewood and coconut soap teased my senses, bringing back a whole host of memories. Arramy calling me a silly girl in NaVarre's cabin on the Angpixen; the reassuring strength of his arms around me after a fiery nightmare on the Stryka; all those training sessions on the Coralynne.

Would I ever be able to trust him? I couldn't say yet, but for all the awful things that had happened because of him, there were also good things. It was complicated, but I could admit that much. If he hadn't come back, the clothbadges would have caught up with me before I had even reached the dining room. "Thank you," I whispered. "For saving my life. Again."

Arramy cleared his throat. "Aye, well, I had to bring us even... And don't thank me yet. We're stuck in a closet."

A grin threatened to break through, and I bit my lower lip.

Then the pantry door swung open. 

My grin fled. 

Slowly, Arramy raised his hands.

The Innkeeper stepped back and motioned with a swift jerk of the bullnose rifle cradled at his shoulder, never taking his eyes off of Arramy. "Move." 

Arramy ducked out of the speakeasy. "I'm not here to make trouble."

"I don't care," the Innkeeper said. Cold as ice. "You too, filla. T'yer left. Kaier, get door t'third cellar. Quick now."

Kaier darted forward, deeper into the kitchen. The pantry wasn't the only secret hideaway; she pushed some sort of trigger on the tile wall beside the round stove, and a door-sized section folded into itself. She lit a gas lamp on the wall, illuminating a set of metal stairs that led downward, then stood out of the way to let Arramy through. 

I balked in the doorway until the Innkeeper gave my shoulders a swift prod with the nose of the rifle and growled, "Don't try anythin' stupid. Keep goin'." 

"I'm not the one being stupid," I shot back, but another tap from the rifle had me following Arramy, my mind racing. There had to be some way out of this before it got any worse. 

The 'third cellar' was a relic of the Liberation wars, a cavern of concrete and stone girded with iron, built to withstand city-level explosions and razing fire. Now, the walls were lined with shelves that held all sorts of items. Machine parts. Reels of wire. Tools. There was a workbench built along the far wall beneath a row of gas lamps, but the middle of the room was bare, with a single unshaded sconce hanging over a solitary chair in the center of a rubberized canvas.

Arramy stiffened as he descended the last few steps and saw what was waiting for us.

"In the chair, Northlander," the Innkeeper said, coming down last, rifle aimed at the back of my head. 

This was exactly what I had been afraid of. I reached the metal-plated floor of the bunker and wheeled around, putting myself between the rifle and Arramy. "No, you don't understand, I'm Brenorra Warring, my cover name is Larra Anderfield, and this is Captain Arramy —"

"Oh, then 'e definitely gets the chair," the Innkeeper said, his tone ominously low and sing-song. He sidled along the wall till his back was to the corner, keeping us both in his sights, the gun unwavering at his shoulder in a way that said he had spent time in the military. 

There was the sound of movement behind me and I flinched, fully expecting Arramy to launch a sudden, vicious attack on the Innkeeper, rifle or not, but he just walked over to the chair, turned around, and eased down into it. Then he bent and shoved first one foot then the other through the shackles chained to the bottom of the chair legs, popping the pins into the latches. When he had secured his ankles, he slid his hands through the loops of wire on the frame of the seat and sat back. 

I leveled a cutting glare at the Innkeeper and crossed my arms over my chest. "This is absolutely unnecessary. He's an asset, not a threat. He has inside knowledge of the Coventry." 

That got an incredulous snort. "I don't recall askin' yer opinion, filla. Now, go on. Cinch 'is 'ands."

"And what if I don't? Are you going to shoot me?" I spat.

The Innkeeper glanced at me, then back at Arramy. "Nah, I'll just shoot that one. Can't exactly let 'im leave, now, can I?"

My mouth dropped open. "What —"

"It's alright." Arramy's voice was deep and a little rough, but he flashed a humorless grin when I looked at him. "Just do as he says." 

Outwardly, he seemed calm, but his shoulders were tense, muscles coiled for a fight, and there was something fierce in his eyes, wild and dangerous as a cornered wolf. He was holding it firmly in check, forcing himself to stay in that cellar. It wasn't fear holding him there. He had gotten out of worse situations with far less at hand than a room full of large metal tools. So, what was he doing? Biding his time? Giving up? 

All I could do was stare at him, willing him to pull some incredible escape plan out of nowhere and get away. He didn't, though, and I couldn't make him if he was determined to stay caught. With a heavy sigh, I turned and crossed the floor to the rubber canvas, hunkered down, and began working at the ratchets that tightened the wires, securing his wrists to the sides of the chair. 

"I'm sorry," I whispered, throat thick. 

"Don't blame yourself," Arramy muttered. "I wouldn't trust me either, if I were him."

"Right, that'll do," the Innkeeper announced, lowering the rifle. He kept it armed and at his shoulder, though, and his attention didn't shift from me as he raised his voice, calling down to the other end of the room, "Marin! Can ya come escort young Miss t'apartment, please?"

Surprised, I turned to find Marin coming out of a doorway hidden behind a shelf full of metal canisters. She took in the situation without batting an eyelash and began making her way through the tool racks and reels of wire, heading for me. 

"I'll be fine, Bren. He can't get answers out of a dead man," Arramy murmured when I started shaking my head and jutting my chin. 

I gave him a sidelong glance. I didn't want to leave him, but it was clear he didn't want me there. Blast him. I drew myself up and faced the Innkeeper again. "Just don't hurt him. Please."

It seemed Arramy wasn't the only one taking sides.

Then I started walking, striding past Marin without looking back. 

~~~

Kaier: (kay.ur)