The Maid's War(69)

Alensson lingered, watching and observant, for a long while, but the day was passing quickly and he knew he’d need a place to spend the night and possibly the next few days. Were there places to sleep on the island? There had to be, didn’t there? If not, where did the sanctuary men stay after the gates were shut?

He approached the sexton with a submissive air, wringing his hands nervously. “Excuse me,” he said, hoping the accent wouldn’t betray him. “I didn’t want to bother the deconeus. I need to spend the night. Is there . . . is there a room?”

The sexton looked at him with concern and Alensson felt his worry begin to mount. Perhaps he should have taken refuge in one of the inns on the bridge.

“You will need to see the deconeus, I’m afraid,” the sexton said. “He is the one who grants permission. Come with me.”

Choosing to risk his luck and trust the Maid because she had sent him there, he followed the sexton and was led to an anteroom and told to wait there on a stone bench. He folded his arms, feeling a dark cloud of foreboding close in around him. He had been among soldiers from Ceredigion often enough that he thought he could mask his identity.

Soon the door opened and the sexton gestured for him to enter.

The deconeus was a middle-aged man with well-silvered, close-shorn hair. He had an arched nose and an imperious stance, bull-chested and not fragile. He looked down at Alensson with wary eyes. “Soldier or mercenary?” he asked curtly.

Alensson didn’t know the names of the nobles well enough to dissemble, but if he earned the deconeus’s disdain, he might escape a closer interrogation. “Mercenary, my lord,” Alensson said, hastily bowing his head. “Was a bit too friendly with the captain’s wife, if you understand me. I didn’t do anything, to be sure, but he flew into a rage and threatened to kill me. I thought . . . I thought I’d find protection here for a few days. Hopefully he’ll forget about me after a while.”

The deconeus chuckled to himself. “Well, you’re a handsome man, I can see how this misunderstanding may have happened.” He rubbed his mouth, giving Alensson a keen look. It wasn’t distrustful, though—it was the look of a man doing business in his head. “You’ll only be here a few days?”

Alensson raised his hands helplessly. “I think so. I won’t be any trouble.”

“Of course you won’t be any trouble,” the deconeus quipped. “On this island, inside these gates, you are under my authority. Not even the Duke of Westmarch could arrest you here if he had a mind to do so. Why did you flinch?”

Alensson realized he had reacted to the deconeus’s mention of his rival’s name.

“You weren’t courting the duke’s wife, were you?” the deconeus asked, appalled.

“No! No!” Alensson said, laughing weakly. “I was stationed at Pree recently when the duke arrived. We’re all still bleeding from the lashes he gave us.”

The deconeus nodded and sniffed in through his nose. “He’s not a patient man, I assure you, and he’s no friend of mine. You’ll be safe here. I will let you know if your captain comes looking for you. May be best to stay in your cell for a few days.”

“A cell?” Alensson asked, imagining a dungeon.

“We have a lot of visitors,” the deconeus said with an oily smile. “They tend to stay a while. Each room is divided into smaller cells. You’ll be sharing yours with several other men. It costs five florins a day, but you must get your own food. You can pay a lad to go outside the gates and fetch you a meat pie or whatever you like. Three pents—I’ll take a week’s worth right now. If you’re a mercenary, you should have some wages?”

The cost to stay was likely dependent on the newcomer’s ability to pay. The deconeus had sized him up, and now he was asking for a price higher than an inn but for worse accommodations. Alensson had a sense that the price would be raised the longer he needed to stay.

“Most fair, my lord,” Alensson said, bowing meekly. The deconeus held out his hand, and Alensson turned and counted out the florins from his coin pouch. He’d deliberately concealed additional funds elsewhere. He tried to look distressed at the loss of the money as he handed it to the deconeus.

“There we are. All is settled.” He turned away from Alensson. “Tunmore, take this man to his cell.”

“Yes, Deconeus,” piped up a small voice, startling Alensson. He hadn’t noticed anyone else in the room, but he realized the giant of a man had been blocking his view.

A young boy with short-cropped dark hair circled around the deconeus. As soon as Alensson laid eyes on him, he felt the whisper of the Fountain.