Page 110 of Paladin's Faith

“No.”

“No.”

“I did,” said Davith brightly. “What do I win?”

“You already won. You’re still alive.”

“That’s a pretty crappy prize.”

“We could always rescind it,” offered Shane.

“That joke wasn’t funny the last ten times you made it.”

“Maybe not to you.”

“Children, behave,” said Marguerite, running her hand over her face.

“He started it,” said Davith, and winked at Shane, who wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

Fortunately he didn’t need to decide, because the door opened again and the castellan beckoned them through, down another corridor, to another room. The walls had been plastered and painted bright colors, but the lack of windows cast a certain gloom to the scene, particularly combined with the dark smoke stains across the ceiling.

“You will have to leave your weapons here,” said the castellan, pausing in a large alcove.

“Haven’t got any,” lied Marguerite, “unless you count an eating knife.”

“Haven’t even got that,” said Davith cheerfully.

Wren and Shane began stripping. It took a while. The castellan rocked on the balls of his feet and hummed, clearly no stranger to heavily-armed warriors with more swords than sense.

The meeting room itself had a higher ceiling and a fire in the hearth, and was plastered in freshly scrubbed white, and so managed to avoid feeling gloomy. A screen blocked off half the room. It was made of leather framed with more wrought iron, though an attempt had been made to make it decorative, with iron vines and a heavy iron rose.

Lord Nallan was tall, but had the stooped look common to miners everywhere. He wore a leather apron, like a smith, and an expression of cheerful skepticism. There was even a smith’s hammer laid on the table, as if he’d been called away from working in a forge.

“Now, I know that I didn’t buy anything from a trader,” he said. “And I don’t know who this Magnus person may be, but I didn’t buy anything from them, either.”

“No, you didn’t,” said Marguerite cheerfully. “May we?” She gestured to the chairs around the table. “We had a long walk to get here.”

“Of course, ma’am. Not one to stand on ceremony, myself.” He dropped into his own chair, watching them all with eyes that betrayed his wariness. Not so cheerful as he seems. And if that hammer couldn’t do double duty as a warhammer, I’ll eat what’s left of my sword.

He also had a sneaking suspicion that there was someone behind the screen. They weren’t making anything as overt as a sound, but he could feel a presence there nonetheless. An advisor? A guard?

“I’ll be completely honest with you,” said Marguerite. “I’m only posing as a trader, and I’ve really come to warn Ashes Magnus that the Red Sail is about to find her.”

Lord Nallan’s face was marvelously impassive. “I’ve told you, I don’t know who that is.”

Marguerite waved away his protests. “Baron Maltrevor’s contact sent her to ‘the Nallans at the ford’ in Cambraith. I’m pretty sure that’s you. If it isn’t, I’m very sure that you know exactly who it is. You can’t tell me that anything happens around here without you knowing about it.”

Nallan was too good to let his eyes flick to the screen, but Shane was sure that he heard a sound from behind it. It sounded like a very quiet snort of amusement.

“I don’t expect you to admit it to me,” Marguerite continued. “I wouldn’t, in your shoes. But the Red Sail is closing in. They already know she’s in Cambraith, and if they don’t know exactly where by now, it’s a matter of days, not weeks.”

The lord drummed his fingers on the table, looking displeased. “Even supposing I knew who this person was, what business be it of yours?”

“Let’s say we’re…interested investors,” said Marguerite, leaning back in her chair. Nallan raised a skeptical eyebrow, and she grinned at him. Shane wondered how the man didn’t melt like butter on the spot. “No, really. We’re here from the Temple of the White Rat in Archenhold. These two are paladins. Magnus has an invention that could help a lot of people, and the Rat wants to make sure it gets in the hands of people who will use it, not lock it away in a vault somewhere to keep their profits up.”

“That may all be well and good—” Lord Nallan began, but a voice cut him off from behind the screen.

“I’ve heard enough,” she said. “I am Ashes Magnus.”