“Those are my father’s horses!”
Hadrian nodded. “We left the carriage behind a bramble patch by the river bridge. By the way, I think I might have stretched out one of your father’s doublets. I put it and the rest of his things back in the carriage.”
“You were wearing my father’s clothes?”
“I told you,” Royce repeated, “it was close, very close.”
They called it the Dark Room because of the business conducted in it, but the little back room at The Rose and Thorn was anything but gloomy. Several candles set in sconces on the walls and on the meeting table, along with a nice-sized fire burning in the hearth, gave off a warm, friendly light. A row of copper pots, reminders of the days when the Dark Room doubled as kitchen storage, hung from an exposed wooden beam. There was room for only one table and a handful of chairs, but it was more than enough for their purposes.
The door opened, and a small party filed in. Royce poured himself a glass of wine, took a seat near the fire, removed his boots, and wriggled his toes before the hearth. Hadrian, Viscount Albert Winslow, Mason Grumon, and a pretty young woman opted for chairs at the meeting table. Gwen, the owner of the tavern, always prepared a fine feast when they returned from a job, and that night was no exception. The evening’s selections included a pitcher of ale, a large roast, a loaf of freshly baked sweet bread, boiled potatoes, a cloth-wrapped cask of white cheese, carrots, onions, and the big pickles from the barrel normally kept behind the bar. For Royce and Hadrian, she spared no expense, which included the black bottle of Montemorcey wine she had imported all the way from Vandon. Gwen always kept it on hand because it was Royce’s favorite. Despite how appealing everything looked, Hadrian showed no interest in any of it. He focused his attention on the woman.
“So, how did it go last night?” Emerald asked, sitting atop Hadrian’s lap and pouring him a frothy stein of the inn’s home brew. Her real name was Falina Brockton, but all the girls who worked at the tavern, or Medford House next door, went by monikers for their own safety. Emerald, a bright and cheery waif, was the senior barmaid at The Rose and Thorn and one of only two women allowed in the Dark Room when a meeting was in session.
“It was cold,” he told her, encircling her waist with his arms. “As was the ride here, so I desperately need warming.” He pulled her to him and began kissing her neck as a sea of brunette waves engulfed him.
“We did get paid, didn’t we?” Mason asked.
The blacksmith had started to prepare a heaping plate almost the instant he sat down. Mason was the son of the former preeminent Medford metalworker. He had inherited his father’s shop but had lost it through a gambling habit coupled with bad luck. Forced out of Artisan Row, he landed in the Lower Quarter, where he fashioned horseshoes and nails, making enough to pay for his forge, drinks, and the occasional meal. For Royce and Hadrian, he offered three benefits: he was cheap, he was local, and he was solitary.
“We did indeed. Alenda Lanaklin paid us the full fifteen gold tenents,” Royce said.
“Quite the haul,” Winslow declared, happily clapping his hands.
“And my arrows? How’d they work?” Mason asked. “Did they anchor in the tiles?”
“They anchored just fine,” Royce said. “Getting them out was the problem.”
“The release failed?” Mason asked, concerned. “But I thought—well, I’m no fletcher. Ya shoulda gone to a fletcher. Told ya that, didn’t I? I’m a smith. I work with steel, not wood. That fine-toothed saw I made—that worked, didn’t it? That’s a smithing product, by Mar! But not the arrows and, for sure, not ones like you wanted. No, sir. I done said ya shoulda gotten a fletcher and ya shoulda.”
“Relax, Mason,” Hadrian said, emerging from Emerald’s mane. “Of the two, the anchor was the most important, and it worked perfectly.”
“A’course it did. The arrow tips are metal, and I know metal. I’m just disappointed the rope release didn’t work. How did ya get the rope down? Ya didn’t leave it there, did ya?”
“Couldn’t, the guard would have spotted it on his next pass,” Royce said.
“So, how’d ya do it?”