The Name of the Wind Read Free Page B

there was only one.”
    â€œAnd he killed it?” Bast said. “It couldn’t have been a scraeling. Maybe—”
    â€œBast, it was one of the scrael. I saw it.” Kote gave him a serious look. “He was lucky, that’s all. Even so he was badly hurt. Forty-eight stitches. I used up nearly all my gut.” Kote picked up his bowl of stew. “If anyone asks, tell them my grandfather was a caravan guard who taught me how to clean and stitch a wound. They were too shocked to ask about it tonight, but tomorrow some of them might get curious. I don’t want that.” He blew into his bowl, raising a cloud of steam around his face.
    â€œWhat did you do with the body?”
    â€œ I didn’t do anything with it,” Kote said pointedly. “ I am just an innkeeper. This sort of thing is quite beyond me.”
    â€œReshi, you can’t just let them muddle through this on their own.”
    Kote sighed. “They took it to the priest. He did all the right things for all the wrong reasons.”
    Bast opened his mouth, but Kote continued before he could say anything. “Yes, I made sure the pit was deep enough. Yes, I made sure there was rowan wood in the fire. Yes, I made sure it burned long and hot before they buried it. And yes, I made sure that no one kept a piece of it as a souvenir.” He scowled, his eyebrows drawing together. “I’m not an idiot, you know.”
    Bast visibly relaxed, settling back into his chair. “I know you’re not, Reshi. But I wouldn’t trust half these people to piss leeward without help.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “I can’t imagine why there was only one.”
    â€œMaybe they died coming over the mountains,” Kote suggested. “All but this one.”
    â€œIt’s possible,” Bast admitted reluctantly.
    â€œMaybe it was that storm from a couple days back,” Kote pointed out. “A real wagon-tipper, as we used to say back in the troupe. All the wind and rain might have scattered one loose from the pack.”
    â€œI like your first idea better, Reshi,” Bast said uncomfortably. “Three or four scrael would go through this town like…like…”
    â€œLike a hot knife through butter?”
    â€œMore like several hot knives through several dozen farmers,” Bast said dryly. “These people can’t defend themselves. I bet there aren’t six swords in this whole town. Not that swords would do much good against the scrael.”
    There was a long moment of thoughtful silence. After a moment Bast began to fidget. “Any news?”
    Kote shook his head. “They didn’t get to the news tonight. Carter disrupted things while they were still telling stories. That’s something, I suppose. They’ll be back tomorrow night. It’ll give me something to do.”
    Kote poked his spoon idly into the stew. “I should have bought the scrael from Carter,” he mused. “He could’ve used the money for a new horse. People would have come from all over to see it. We could have had some business for a change.”
    Bast gave him a speechless, horrified look.
    Kote made a pacifying gesture with the hand that held the spoon. “I’m joking, Bast.” He gave a weak smile. “Still, it would have been nice.”
    â€œNo Reshi, it most certainly would not have been nice,” Bast said emphatically. “‘People would have come from all over to see it,’” he repeated derisively. “Indeed.”
    â€œThe business would have been nice,” Kote clarified. “Busy-ness would be nice.” He jabbed his spoon into the stew again. “Anything would be nice.”
    They sat for a long moment. Kote scowling down into the bowl of stew in his hands, his eyes far away. “It must be awful for you here, Bast,” he said at last. “You must be numb with boredom.”
    Bast shrugged.