Chapter 4: The Town Could Use a Knight

Frankie

Mara showed me to my room. Apparently it was our room now. That part still wasn’t clear. It was bigger than my apartment back home, which felt excessive considering there wasn’t a telephone, a radio, or anything else invented after Charlemagne. There was a bed, though. Big one. Four wooden posts. Heavy blankets. Enough pillows to smother a family.

I hated it immediately.

Mara stopped just inside the door with her hands folded in front of her. She stayed there while I took off my jacket and set the Thompson against the wall.

“You gonna do that all night?”

Her eyes lifted.

“My lord?”

“Stand there.”

“If you wish.”

“I don’t. Make yourself comfortable.”

That seemed to make things worse. I loosened my tie.

“You said you’re supposed to show me around.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Frankie.”

“Yes, my lord.”

We’d work on that.

Without the serving tray between us, I could see how her clothes hung off her.

“You always that skinny?”

She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“I don’t understand.”

“When’d you eat last?”

“Yesterday.”

I frowned.

“It’s nighttime.”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t eat dinner?”

“I served dinner.”

“When do you eat?”

She hesitated.

“When food is given to me.”

I stopped loosening my tie.

“You can’t just go get something?”

“No, my lord.”

“Why not?”

“It is not mine.”

Jesus Christ.

I pointed toward the door.

“Go get me another dinner.”

Mara blinked.

“You have just eaten.”

“I’m hungry. Bring me some whiskey, too.”

Her eyes flicked toward the empty table.

“Big dinner,” I added. “Enough for two people.”

Understanding did not arrive, but obedience did. She returned maybe fifteen minutes later carrying enough food to feed Lou after Lent. No whiskey. Instead, there was a crystal flask filled with some glowing green liquid. I didn’t trust it.

“What’s that?”

“Apple brandy, my lord.”

“Why’s it green?”

Mara glanced at the flask.

“Because it is apple brandy.”

I uncorked it and gave it a cautious sniff. Apples. Spice. Oak. Nothing that smelled like poison. I took a sip.

Son of a bitch.

It was good.

I pointed at the chair.

“Sit.”

She stared at it.

“Sit down.”

Slowly, she did. I pulled the other chair across from her, filled a plate, and set it in front of her. Mara looked from the food to me.

“Eat.”

“My lord, this is yours.”

“Yeah. I’m giving it to you.”

She still didn’t move.

Apparently I’d found a woman who needed to be threatened into having supper.

“That’s an order.”

That worked. She took the smallest bite possible. I poured myself another finger of the brandy and leaned back.

“Now. That kid at the gate. Elias.”

Her chewing slowed.

“Yes?”

“Who collects tribute around here?”

“The governor, Lord Kilkenny.”

“And he collects for the Boss? Coin, food, animals? Debts too?”

“All tribute passes through him.”

I watched her take tiny, careful bites, like somebody might change their mind.

“How bad is he?”

Her hand stopped.

“The governor?”

“Unless there’s another guy robbing everybody.”

She lowered her eyes.

“He collects what Lord Azrath requires.”

“And?”

Silence. I pushed my bread across the table. Mara stared at it.

“And what he requires.”

There it was.

She ate the bread. Faster this time. I thought about Elias at the gate, struggling to hold up that lance. The terror on his face said he knew exactly how stupid he was being. Fifteen years old and ready to die anyway.

“How far is this town?”

“Less than an hour.”

“Good.”

I pushed the rest of my plate toward her. This time she didn’t wait for permission.

“Tomorrow you’re taking me there.”

Mara looked up.

“Did Lord Azrath command it?”

“Nope.”

Her face tightened.

“Then why are you going?”

That was a good question. I thought about the kid again. How bad did things have to get before a fifteen-year-old figured getting killed by a lich was his best option? I took another sip of brandy.

“Because I smell a rat.”

Mara nodded slowly, then looked at the bed. She was waiting again, only this time I understood it a little better.

“What?”

She lowered her eyes.

“Nothing, my lord.”

“Frankie.”

“Frankie.”

I followed her gaze to the bed.

Jesus. Azrath had handed her to me like a bottle of wine. I stood and started undoing my cuff links. Mara went rigid. I left the cuff link undone.

That settled it.

“You take the bed.”

Her eyes snapped up.

“And you?”

I pointed at the wall beside the door.

“Right there.”

Her confusion almost beat the fear.

“You would sleep on the floor?”

“I’ve slept worse places.”

“But there is a bed.”

“I noticed.”

She looked at it again. Then at me.

“You do not wish me to...”

She couldn’t finish. She didn’t need to. I sighed.

“No.”

Mara’s face went perfectly still.

“No?”

“No.”

“But Lord Azrath gave me to you.”

“Yeah. I was there.”

“Then I belong to you.”

“Outside this room, sure.”

Her brow tightened.

“Outside?”

“People think you’re mine, nobody bothers you. That’s useful.”

I picked up the Thompson and set it within arm’s reach of the wall.

“In here, you don’t belong to anybody.”

She just stared at me. I wasn’t sure what part had confused her. Probably all of it.

“I ain’t that kind of bastard. Anybody knocks on this door, they wait till I answer. And next time you’re hungry, you eat.”

Her eyes dropped toward the empty plates.

“And if I displease you?”

“Then I guess I’ll be displeased.”

That one really got her. I rolled up my jacket and put it behind my head. Mara looked at the bed. Then at me.

“Why would you choose the floor?”

“I don’t trust beds.”

Her brow furrowed.

“I don’t sleep much. Once you’ve been in a few gunfights, you get a little skittish.”

She stared at me.

“Gunfights?”

“Long story.”

That seemed to interest her more than anything else I’d said all night. I settled against the stone wall, knees bent, pistol resting beside my leg.

Comfortable meant slow, and slow got you killed.

Mara climbed into the bed slowly, like she expected somebody to revoke the privilege halfway through. She pulled the blanket up to her chest.

“Frankie?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

I closed my eyes.

“For what?”

She didn’t answer. I shifted against the wall. The apartment key dug into my hip. I took it out and turned it over. Mara watched from the bed.

“Your door?”

“Third floor. Window that sticks. Fellow downstairs plays the trumpet like somebody owes him money.”

I knew which step creaked. Knew the sound of Lou coming up them. He always stopped on the second landing to light a cigarette, like the last flight required encouragement.

“Have you family there?”

“My mother’s gone. Got people, though. Lou. Vincent. His family.”

“Will they look for you?”

“Vincent’ll turn the city upside down.”

I could see him doing it. Men sent to every station. Lou trying to explain the green light. Mercer sitting across from Vincent for the first time in his life without either of them knowing the right question. They’d keep looking.

“He took me in,” I said. “When I was a kid. His wife still puts an extra plate out on Sundays. Whether I said I was coming or not.”

The key had warmed in my hand.

There would be a plate this Sunday.

I looked toward the window. Couldn’t hear a train. Couldn’t hear a motorcar. Nothing to tell me where I was except the girl in a bed I didn’t want and a dead guard walking past the door. For the first time all day, there wasn’t anybody to argue with or shoot at or talk into giving me a job.

I had no idea what to do with myself.

“Frankie?”

I looked back at her.

“What’s his wife called?”

“Mrs. Bellafonte. Far as you’re concerned.”

She gave me a little smile. I told her about Sunday dinner. The way Vincent loosened his collar when he thought his wife wasn’t looking. How she counted the slices of bread before he’d finished claiming he hadn’t had any. Mara asked whether Mrs. Bellafonte ever believed him.

“Not once.”

I was smiling when I said it. After a while, she lay back against the pillows.

“Shall I put out the lamp?”

I looked at the key again.

“Leave it a little longer.”

She did.

A few minutes later, I heard her breathing even out. I stayed awake a while longer. Old habits.

She was a nice broad. I could get used to her.

* * *

Mara

Mara woke before sunrise.

She always did. Servants who slept until they were summoned did not remain servants for long. Sometimes they did not remain alive.

She slipped from beneath the blankets without making a sound. The bed had been warm. Too warm. She had forgotten beds could feel like that. Frankie was exactly where she had left him, sitting against the wall beside the door. His jacket was folded behind his head, one hand resting near the strange metal weapon at his side. He seemed to be asleep.

She watched him for a moment, then looked at the table.

The knife from supper was still there.

Mara picked it up and tested the edge against her thumb. Sharp enough. Frankie Moretti had appeared from another world yesterday and had already become one of Lord Azrath’s favored servants. That alone should have terrified her. The servants had talked. Of course they had. Some said he was a demon. Others claimed he was a sorcerer from a world where men trapped thunder inside metal. One kitchen girl swore he had killed three men within moments of arriving.

Another insisted Lord Azrath had tried to burn him alive and Frankie had laughed. Mara did not believe that one. Probably. She looked at the weapon beside him. He was dangerous. Frighteningly so. Then again, what man with power wasn’t? Frankie was simply more honest about it. She tightened her fingers around the knife. One thrust beneath the ribs while he slept. Perhaps she could do it before he reached the weapon. Before Lord Azrath’s newest favorite discovered there was always something else left to take.

Her hand did not move.

She thought of Elias. Frankie had bloodied an orc rather than leave the boy’s father in a cell, then paid a stranger’s debt with his own gold. Last night he had given her his supper and his bed. She remembered his hand closing around a key that opened no door here.

In here, you don’t belong to anybody.

Nobody had ever said anything like that to her. Not even before Lord Azrath came. Frankie was ruthless; Shiiruk had learned that with every blow. But he had stopped when the orc asked for mercy. There were rules to his violence, though Mara did not yet understand them.

She lowered the knife slightly.

Once, before the dead began walking and Lord Azrath’s banners hung above the town, there had been knights. Not the wandering heroes who came now seeking glory and treasure. Real knights. Men sworn to the town. They had been dangerous men too. That had been the point. A sword was frightening until the man holding it stood between you and something worse. Frankie shifted against the wall. Mara froze. He scratched his cheek without opening his eyes.

“Five more minutes.”

She stared at him. Then at the knife. Slowly, Mara set it back on the table. Perhaps he was a devil from another world. Perhaps she was being foolish. Perhaps kindness was simply another weapon she had not learned to recognize. But Elias was alive. His father was free. And for the first time in years, Mara had gone to sleep with a full stomach and no fear of what the man sharing her room would demand from her. She looked toward the narrow window.

Beyond it, somewhere below the fortress, the town would already be waking.

The town could use a knight.

Even if he did dress strangely.