One for Sorrow

Chapter Forty-four

Kaloethes’ fears pounded in his head like a creditor at the door. He had awakened in a panic to familiar thoughts. All his bills were falling due at once. Debts, taxes, fees.

It was an impossible situation.

The innkeeper crept out of the suffocating room he shared with his wife, half expecting the woman to awake and thunder after him, demanding to know what he was doing. He escaped down the stairs and into the courtyard safely, but his accounts did not add up there either.

Half asleep, tatters of nightmare still clinging to his mind, his eye was drawn by the glimmer of the water in the fountain, the only hint of light in the courtyard. He contemplated throwing himself into it but then realized even that dramatic gesture would be doomed to failure for the basin was too shallow.

He was saved from whatever more practical solution might have occurred to him by the sound of a footstep.

“Who is it?” he demanded.

The figure that solidified from the darkness was the big redhead, Thomas. He should have guessed.

“Ah, innkeeper. Taking in some of the night breezes too, I see? I find the city most pleasant just before dawn.”

Kaloethes was fully awake now but his black mood remained. “You would know. I suppose this mysterious wandering in and out at odd hours is what you Britons call a quest?”

“I hope I haven’t disturbed anyone. I wasn’t trying to run off without paying my bill, by the way. As I told your wife…”

“Yes, she keeps pointing out to me how fortunate we are to enjoy your good credit. If only my own creditors could enjoy it as well.”

“If there’s been some misunderstanding, I’ll pay on the instant.”

This was a chance the innkeeper could not let pass, whatever the hour. Cautioning Thomas to tread quietly, he led him through the kitchen and into a cramped cell of an office, striking a light to the clay lamp he kept beside the door.

“There,” he said, tapping a meaty finger on the figures in the codex under Thomas’ account. “You’re in arrears to a sum of almost, well, see for yourself.”

“I’m afraid I must leave that task to you. But my purse is open.”

Kaloethes opinion of Thomas soared as coins fell into his hand. Perhaps he had been too sharp-tongued with the man.

“Look, come and share some of our excellent wine. I can’t sell the stuff anyway, so we might as well enjoy it.”

They sat at the kitchen table. The trembling lamplight struck sparks of gold in Thomas’ beard and accentuated the concavities around the innkeeper’s eyes.

“I am sorry if I gave the impression I mistrusted you, my friend,” Kaloethes said. “But you have been in this damnable city long enough now to know its ways. A nomisma to take a drink, two to take a breath.”

Thomas nodded silently.

“I am besieged by an army of officials demanding a ransom an honest man could never raise.”

“It’s a bad situation.” agreed Thomas. “Although besiegers usually carry swords.”

“Swords? What can a sword do but rip out your guts? A pen, now, applied to the right scrap of official parchment can rend you to your very soul! I tell you, I’d rather they came at me with swords, the bastards.”

“They say a man with a sword is no match for a pen. That hasn’t been my experience.”

Kaloethes studied Thomas’ apparently open, somewhat stupid, face, wondering how many more coins the so-called knight carried and how he had come by them. Kaloethes always wondered how people came by what they possessed.

“You’ve made no secret about this quest of yours. Perhaps I could help? I do have business contacts, including some at the palace.”

“Mine is a dangerous quest.”

Kaloethes drew his bulk up straighter, causing the wooden bench to creak loudly. “I am familiar with danger myself.”

Thomas coughed, releasing a spray of wine. “I don’t doubt it, having met your wife.”

Kaloethes grinned and poured Thomas more wine. You couldn’t hold against a man what he said when his tongue was loosened by drink. He’d seen babes in arms who could hold their wine better than Thomas. “My wife has large ambitions, Thomas.”

“Indeed, everything about her is large.”

Kaloethes felt the need for more wine himself. “Can you believe that when I met her she was a wood nymph?”

“As easily as I could believe the girls at Madam’s were once husky charioteers.”

“Well, it is true. And now? I can see that beautiful young girl in my memory but there’s nothing else left of her.” Kaloethes felt his eyes stinging. “She is gone, Thomas. Dead. That young girl I once loved is dead.”

Kaloethes noticed Thomas’ face darkened suddenly and his features tightened into a grim frown. Obviously the knight sympathized with his plight.

“You know people at the palace?” Thomas asked. “How about whoever’s replaced the unfortunate Keeper of the Plate? It might be useful if an interview could be arranged.”

“Now, that might not be out of the question although gold would almost certainly have to change hands. But I thought it was some sort of relic you sought, not palace treasures?”

“Yes, but-”

“Come with me,” Kaloethes said suddenly. Taking the lamp, he lifted a trapdoor in a corner of the kitchen. The men descended a rickety ladder into a musty catacomb.

“We keep our stores down here,” the innkeeper explained.

He could see Thomas’ eyes widen as he looked around at the crates and boxes piled to the ceiling. Several were open and close enough to make out clothing, cheap pottery, and domestic bric-a-brac. Balanced precariously on and among the boxes were chairs, ornate tables, and decorated chests.

Thomas stooped to pick up a scrap of shredded fabric. “Your vermin at least live well with nests of silk. I know I am not alone in taking comfort at Madam’s.” He smiled. “If you have a favorite there, I’m sure she would appreciate some of these things.”

“Most of them belong to my wife. She’d notice if anything was missing.”

Thomas raised his eyebrows. He took an unsteady step and leaned against a pile of crates.

The thought occurred to Kaloethes that he was alone with an apparently inebriated man who was carrying a large amount of money. It was immediately replaced by the thought that the inebriated man was armed with a sword.

Kaloethes reached into a long, wooden box and drew out a yellowish bone. “Look, this is what I’ve brought you to see. An authentic relic of Saint Prokopios. Not just a knuckle or a finger. The entire thigh bone that bore his blessed weight.”

He turned the bone around in the feeble lamp light.

“Martyred by being thrown into a pit of rats and devoured by all appearances,” Thomas observed.

“It is somewhat distressed, I agree, but that is no doubt why it was offered to me for a very reasonable price.”

“No, my friend, this is not the type of relic I am seeking.”

Kaloethes tossed the bone back into the box. Perhaps Thomas held his wine better than it seemed. “I was assured it was authentic and I have no reason to distrust the rag seller’s nephew,” he grumbled.

They climbed back up the ladder, Kaloethes breathing hard with exertion and frustrated by his inability to persuade Thomas to part with some of his remaining coins. His opportunity was slipping through his fingers.

“I know you are on a quest, Thomas, but even one on a quest has to pay the bills. You strike me as a man who would dare much. I might be able to offer you some tasks which could benefit both of us financially.”

“I fear not, friend. The task I have undertaken is enough for now.”

Through the window Kaloethes saw gray light creeping into the courtyard, as dawn arrived to reanimate his besieging army of creditors.

“Think about my offer, Thomas,” he whispered as they crept up the stairs. “At least think about it.”