One hand went to the handle of my sword, but I didn’t take it out. In that instant, a memory tugged at me, something vital to the mystery about my family’s murders, but I couldn’t think about it here. A fight was brewing, which was the last thing I wanted. I’d get some of them and some of them would get me, and to be honest, it was that second part which concerned me more.
I tossed the satchel to the ground, at Fink’s feet. “Take it, then. There’s plenty more coins where they came from.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t been on the streets long.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You’re never supposed to say that you’ve got more coins. That only attracts worse trouble later.”
I grinned. “Trouble from who? A kid like you could never steal everything I’ve got access to.”
Fink’s eyes widened while he contemplated that, then he nodded toward the belt at my waist. “If that’s true, then you can afford another sword and knife.”
“You said there’s somewhere I belong. Wherever that is, I’ll need my weapons.”
“If you stole the coins, then you stole these weapons too, so they’re no more yours than ours. Give ’em up and you’ll walk out of here. Try to fight us and you won’t.”
“Fighting would mess up my new haircut,” I said. “Tell me where you think I belong.”
“Give me your weapons.”
He replaced the rat on his shoulder and cocked his head at a mountain of a boy behind me. To keep him away, I tossed my knife and sword on the ground by Fink’s feet.
“There’s a tavern on the far edge of town from here,” Fink said. “Maybe you belong there. Ask for room eleven.”
Fink crouched to get the weapons and as soon as he looked down I kicked him in the head. He cried out and fell backward. He already had my sword but I retrieved my knife and ran. The other boys started to chase me but it was only a halfhearted effort. They knew as well as I did that there were plenty of hiding places in Dichell, carved out either by the street gangs waiting to ambush a traveler, or by a traveler hoping to save his life in the shadows. The problem was that I couldn’t hide. I had pirates to find.
I ducked into a bakery on the street where a rather pretty girl was just closing up her shop. I chatted politely with her and took a couple of sweet rolls to tuck beneath my shirt. She might have noticed, but she let me walk out anyway.
Much as I dreaded the idea of going to the tavern Fink had suggested, I knew that’s where I needed to be. And seeing it later that evening was worse than I’d anticipated. No degree of darkness could mask the fact that there were barns more hospitable to humans than this place. It was partially hidden by overgrown weeds and grasses and littered with whatever wreckage a customer didn’t feel like carrying with him. It had a few windows on the main and upper floors, but they were too covered in grime to let in much light. Most likely, there was nothing inside worth seeing anyway, so perhaps that was for the best.
I debated with myself for a long time before walking in. It wasn’t a good idea, but I seemed to be experiencing a shortage of better alternatives. When I set eyes on the owner, I decided he looked enough like a pig that it made sense why his tavern reminded me of a barn. Like most other taverns, this place was too dark and seemed unnaturally crowded with tables and chairs. A couple of scabby men sat behind cobwebs near the edge of one wall, but their interest seemed to be in nursing their drinks rather than caring who I might be. The corners of the room were filthy and I knew by the chewed chair legs that the tavern owner had rats.
“What do you want?” the owner asked.
My heart raced. Once I spoke, there’d be no turning back, not until my fight was finished, or I was dead. He cocked his head, impatient with my silence, and I said, “I want a room. Number eleven.”
If there were eleven rooms in this muck trap, they’d have to be the size of coffins. Obviously, I was giving him a code word.
He rubbed a hand over his jaw and surveyed me. “Show me your money.”
I smirked at him. “Can I pay you later?” If I was here in the morning, I could probably steal enough from his till to cover my debt.
He frowned. “What’s your name?”
“You don’t need it.”
The bartender took offense at that. “I’m doin’ you a favor, boy. You could be more friendly about things.” He passed a drink across the counter to me. “Here.”
The drink was dark brown and frothy and smelled like a stable floor. I pushed it back to him. “Not for me.”
“Just a sip. I’m sure you’re thirsty. Besides, it’s a new batch and I want to know if it’s any good.”
“I can tell you from here that it’s not.” And if this place was what I suspected, the drink also contained the same powder I’d used to put Mott to sleep, or worse. I turned around. “Where’s the room?”
He nodded to a flight of stairs. “First door on the right. Sleep as long as you want and maybe you’ll work for me later on.”
No, I wouldn’t.