The King's Justice Read Free Page A

his desires are met, he concentrates on eating and drinking like a man who has no other purpose, though in truth he does not relish the stew, and the pungent ale does not ease his mind.
    The barkeep’s name is Bailey. His nature is friendly, but the town’s alarm makes him wary. Also he is both interested in and suspicious of the stranger. He hovers nearby while Black eats and drinks.
    After a time, Black asks with an air of indifference, “You are not troubled by brigands?” He knows this by the lack of walls and gates, and by the inexperience of the guards. “I am surprised. The forest can hide any number of evil men, and your crossroads surely offers many opportunities for plunder.” He appears to address the barkeep, but in truth he is speaking to the drinker near him. “How does it happen that you are spared?”
    â€œTrouble we had, sir,” Bailey answers in his most pleasant tone. “In my Da’s time, that was. Lives and goods were lost, fearsome quantities. My Da kept an axe here, under the bar, to defend himself. But the old wars have been good for us. Caravans now come with squadrons of men-at-arms, and even lone wagons are guarded by archers and pikes. No brigands trouble us now. They attack only in the deep forest, where they can be sure of escape.”
    Black is doubtful, but he puts the matter aside for a later time.“You are fortunate, then,” he observes. “Other regions of the kingdom are not so blessed.”
    â€œWe are, sir,” Bailey replies. “We are.” He means to say, We
were
, but caution stops him. He knows, as all the town now knows, that strangers must be distrusted. Striving for still greater pleasantness, he asks, “You know the kingdom, then, sir? You are much traveled?”
    Black has not met the barkeep’s gaze. He does not now. “Much traveled,” he assents, “yes.” Then he deflects Bailey’s prying. “Enough to observe that in favorable times the Temple of Bright Eternal attracts many good folk. It is Dark Enduring that responds to woe and hardship. Is his Temple well attended?”
    He believes it is. The Temple of Dark Enduring is as large and well-maintained as its neighbor.
    Bailey thinks to offer some dismissive response, but politely, pleasantly. Before he can choose his words, however, the man seated one stool away mutters with his mouth in his flagon, “Lately.”
    Anxious now, Bailey tries to say, Not so lately, sir. Dark Enduring has always been much respected in Settle’s Crossways. But Black rubs at his left forearm, and words flounder in Bailey’s mind. He does not intervene as Black asks without turning to regard the speaker, “Lately?” Black’s manner suggests no particular interest.
    The speaker is lean as a stick. His bare arms have the rope-like muscles and deep brown of a farmhand. He carries no weight on his frame, and his features droop like a hound’s as hedrinks. To Black he smells of sweat and grievance. His name is Trait, and if he is asked, he will say that he is bitter because the town’s prosperity has passed him by. But that is not Black’s question. Trait takes a long pull at his flagon, then says, “Since the murder.”
    Now Bailey intends to intervene in earnest. Several of his patrons have heard Trait, and a stillness comes over the room. Soon everyone will be listening. But Black continues to rub his forearm, and Bailey scowls because he cannot remember what he wants to say.
    Black does not ask about the murder. He will learn what he needs to know soon enough. Instead he asks, “And that encourages attendance at the Temple of Dark Enduring? How so?”
    Bailey contrives to blurt, “You are a religious man, sir?” But Black and Trait ignore him.
    â€œThat priest,” Trait says. He frowns. “What is his name?” Then he remembers. “Father Tenderson. He says what we want to