The Smoke-Scented Girl (5 page)

“That one looks promising,” Piercy said,
gesturing across the road to a three-story stone building with a
wooden sign over the door that said THE FIREBRAND. It did look
prosperous and the sign depicting a burning torch was new, the
paint fresh. Evon’s eye returned to that picture. “Interesting,” he
said.

“Well, it looks no more or less promising
than any of the other inns I’ve seen on the way here, but it has
the virtue of being in our immediate vicinity,” Piercy said.

“Fire,” Evon said. “I wonder.”

Piercy glanced at him. “You aren’t suggesting
that after ten days of searching, we step off a coach and just
happen to stumble upon our quarry’s trail?”

“This is the coaching stop for Rainoth,” Evon
pointed out, “and there are three inns within sight of it. If she
did stop in Rainoth, chances are she put up in one of these places.
She had to decide between them somehow. Maybe she’s drawn to fire.
It’s worth inquiring, anyway.”

“I suppose so,” Piercy said. “And I have a
plan. Follow me.”

The idea of Piercy having a plan filled Evon
with dread, but he obediently shouldered his bag and followed
Piercy across the road, dodging carriages and skidding a little on
the wet cobblestones, and ducked through the door of the inn.

They entered the taproom, which was well-lit
and clean and smelled of stew. Round tables with surfaces unmarred
by time dotted the room like flat-topped mushrooms, circled by
narrow chairs that were surely too skinny to support an average
person. Piercy crossed the taproom to the bar. “Excuse me,” he
called out, rapping on the bar with the head of his walking stick.
“My friend and I are thirsty.”

After a moment, a tall, skinny woman came
through a door at the far end of the taproom, wiping her hands on a
none-too-clean rag. “You want beer?” she said. She sounded a little
surprised that anyone might want beer at nine o’clock in the
morning.

“If you please, madam,” Piercy said. He’d
adopted a grand manner that told Evon he was about to tell a grand,
unnecessary lie. “Piercy—” he began, but Piercy shushed him with a
wave of his hand. Piercy took a seat on one of the glossy new bar
stools, and after a moment, Evon joined him. As the woman’s back
was turned, Piercy gave Evon an intense, wide-eyed look that said
Just agree with whatever I say.
Evon sighed. It was true
he’d gotten Piercy into a lot of trouble when they were younger,
but Piercy had gotten himself into trouble enough on his own with
his habit of making up wild, implausible stories to get himself out
of whatever trouble Evon had gotten him into. Evon leaned his elbow
on the counter and rested his chin on his hand. Fortunately Rainoth
had no shortage of inns, because it was possible Piercy was about
to get them kicked out of this one.

The woman set two foaming glass mugs on the
counter before them. Evon’s stomach revolted at the idea of beer
before breakfast. Piercy raised his and took several large
swallows, making appreciative noises. He set the now half-full mug
on the counter, wiped his mouth, and gave the woman his most
brilliant smile. “That is the most delicious brew I’ve had in
weeks,” he said. “Do you make it yourself?”

“It’s ordered in,” the woman said. She looked
at Piercy with suspicion, as if she thought he might be making fun
of her. Evon couldn’t blame her. Piercy sounded so enthusiastic
that it came across as insincerity. He took a sip of his own beer
and nodded and smiled at the woman. It
was
good, even if it
made his stomach demand eggs and fried ham.

“Well, you’ve found an excellent supplier,”
Piercy rallied. He took another long drink. “I was wondering if
perhaps you could help us. We’re looking for a woman we believe
passed through Rainoth some...?” He looked at Evon, eyes pleading.
Yes, Piercy hadn’t thought this through. Evon did a little quick
calculating in his head, aided by his instincts.

“Five weeks ago,” he said.

“Why are you asking?” the woman said, drawing
back from them a little in suspicion. Evon mentally kicked himself,
then Piercy. Of course it would look suspicious, them asking about
a woman without being able to say why. Telling this barkeep that
they were after the magician who’d caused all those fires would
either make them sound crazy or start a panic.

“She’s run away from her family,” Piercy
improvised. “They’re very worried about her. She was...she was
going to be married, and she ran off two days before the wedding.
They’re afraid something’s happened to her.” Evon wished he could
kick Piercy for real. Too much detail, when the Fearsome Firemage
might have told any story. Suppose she wasn’t as young as the
reports made out?

The woman shrugged and scowled. “Plenty a
woman changes her mind before she reaches the altar,” she said.
“Maybe the young man wasn’t her choice.” But the scowl didn’t reach
her eyes, and Evon noted that she’d said “young man.” Maybe Piercy
had unwittingly hit on the truth. Evon’s heart beat a little
faster.

“They were childhood sweethearts,” Evon
picked up the tale, afraid of the look in Piercy’s eye that said he
was about to come up with something outrageous. Evon had always
been the better liar. “Her relatives think she might have been in
the family way and was ashamed. They don’t care about that. They
just want her to come home.”

Something in his words shifted the woman’s
attitude. The look in her eyes went from suspicious to warily
sympathetic. “What did she look like?”

Piercy turned another pleading look on Evon.
He tried to remember the details of the reports on the mysterious
woman’s appearance. “Not very tall,” he said. “Long hair...maybe a
little darker blonde than mine. In her early twenties,” he added,
making an instinctive leap as he watched the woman’s face.

The woman folded her arms across her chest
and stared them down. “She said her name was Kerensa,” she said.
“Came here looking for work maybe five weeks ago. I gave her a job
in the kitchens, cleaning up, then set her to waiting tables when
she proved willing. Popular with the men, if you take my meaning,
though she never led them on. Brushed off the ones got too friendly
without being mean. Never said where she was from or who she’d been
and I didn’t ask. Didn’t much care so long as she did her work.
Didn’t like that she had a tobacco-smoking habit. Never saw her
doing it, but she always smelled of smoke.”

Evon made a mental note of that odd piece of
information. “When did she leave?” he asked.

“Two weeks ago. Just vanished one night.
Didn’t even ask for her pay, and stole my daughter’s spare dress on
top of that.” The woman scratched her nose with one thin finger.
“Can’t say as we were surprised. She always had this air said she
had one foot out the door all the time. But she might’ve asked
about the dress. You gents from her family?”

“Old friends,” Evon said, stepping hard on
Piercy’s foot when he opened his mouth, probably to claim they were
this Kerensa’s loving brothers. “We were headed this way and they
asked us to inquire after her.”

“Hope you find her,” the woman said. “Figured
she was higher class than she put on, seeing as you gents talk so
fancy. Come from good family, does she?”

“The best,” Piercy interjected, prodding
Evon’s shin with his booted toe. He sounded annoyed that Evon was
doing all the talking.

“Strange, a girl from good family being so
capable in the kitchen.” The woman started to look suspicious
again.

“She felt she should understand what it took
to run a household,” Evon improvised. “She is rather
progressive.”

“Her fiancé is still working his way up in
the world,” Piercy said. “Good prospects, but still, ah, working
his way up in the world.” Piercy’s voice was pitched a little too
high, sign that he was about to panic and ruin everything. Evon
said, “The family approves the match, but they’re realistic. And
progressive.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. Piercy opened his
mouth. Evon said, “You’ve been so helpful, miss...?”

“
Mrs.
Kelnter,” the woman said, but
she softened a little, pleased at being thought young enough to
still warrant a “miss.”

“Mrs. Kelnter, we’ve been so worried about
Livian—that’s her real name, I’m not sure where she came up with
‘Kerensa’—and I’m sure you can imagine, having a daughter yourself,
what it must feel like not to know where she is or if she’s safe.
Livian’s parents will be so relieved to hear that their daughter
found shelter here for a time. I don’t suppose you know if she made
any friends, spoke to anyone who might know where she intended to
go next?”

Mistress Kelnter pursed her lips. “Never
spoke much to anyone,” she said. “I know she was on foot, I can
tell you that. Couldn’t have afforded a horse or coach fare.” She
shook her head. “Wish I’d known her story, or I would’ve made sure
she had her wages.”

“Thank you, Mistress Kelnter. And thank you
for the beer.” Evon put some coins down on the countertop and took
a long swallow from his mug. His stomach had gone from hungry to
excited. So close. “We should be going,” he added, directing a
pointed look at Piercy, who looked mulish but followed him
outside.

“You nearly ruined everything,” Piercy said
in a low voice when they were safely on the street.

“
I
nearly—Piercy, you were going to
babble!”

“I was not. I had her believing everything I
said.”

Evon snorted. “I have two words for you.
Master. Harntis.”

Piercy flushed. “That would have worked if
you hadn’t sneezed.”

“Master Harntis was never going to believe
you were there for extra tutoring. Particularly after you panicked
and told him his daughter was extremely attractive. Except you were
looking at a rotogravure of his son.”

“I maintain that the boy had a very feminine
face.”

“It doesn’t matter. We know the Fearsome
Firemage was here up until two weeks ago. That was when she went to
Chaneston. Didn’t you think it was odd, what Mistress Kelnter said
about the young woman always smelling of smoke?”

“If she has a tobacco-smoking habit, no, I do
not find it odd.”

“But Mistress Kelnter said she never saw her
doing it. I think we’ve found another characteristic of our mystery
magician.”

“I wonder that you are so fond of
alliteration, dear fellow. Besides, why does that matter?”

“I don’t know yet. We need food, and then—no,
I still should send Miss Elltis a message—but
then
we can be
on our way. We need to go back to Chaneston, now that we have more
information.”

“I suppose you will now ask after young
blonde women of average height who smell of smoke?”

“Not exactly. But I think I can do something
with that fact.”

The road to Coreth was little more than a
dirt track. Evon grasped the edge of his seat and held on as the
carriage bumped over the frozen ruts. He’d given up his fur rug to
Piercy about an hour ago, and now rode with his teeth clenched
together against the cold and the jostling ride. He’d forgotten
what a poor traveler Piercy could be. His friend lay slumped in the
opposite corner, one fur rug bundled up beneath him as protection
against the thinly padded bench, the other covering him so only his
nose and eyes were visible.

“Do you want to change seats?” Evon said
quietly. If the past was any indication, Piercy would have an
agonizing headache on top of his other maladies.

“We should have ridden. We should have
walked
,” Piercy moaned.

Evon eyed Piercy’s stack-heeled boots with
the sharply pointed toes, all shiny black leather and
hand-stitching. “We’re almost there,” he said. “There ought to be
an inn or something.”
I hope
. They’d been well on the road
to Chaneston when they’d heard about the Fearsome Firemage striking
in Coreth, only half a day’s journey out of their way. Evon thought
Coreth would be better suited to his plan, as fresh a site as it
was, but Piercy had wanted to press on to Chaneston and Evon had
had to override him. Now, looking at Piercy’s sallow face, he felt
a little guilty at his insistence.

Piercy groaned again and pulled the rug over
his face, and muttered something of which Evon only caught the
words “eat” and “bedbugs.” He pressed his face against the glass
and tried to see into the distance ahead of them.

A few stone houses, their thatched roofs a
dull brownish yellow, lined both sides of the track. Their gray,
weathered doors didn’t quite fit their frames. Smoke trailed from a
few chimneys, but no one came out to watch the coach or peered out
the window at the strangers, though Evon thought he saw movement
behind some of the drab white curtains. Cottages gave way to more
solid-looking buildings, roofed with slate rather than thatch, some
of them two-storied with actual glass windowpanes. They passed a
general store and a smithy, and then the coach pulled up in front
of a long, low building with a peaked roof and a tiny second story
that looked like it had been stuck on as an afterthought. The
coachman leaped down and opened the door. “Coreth,” he said. “You
stoppin’ here for the night, gents?”

Evon gave the building another look. “I
suppose we are,” he said. “May my friend wait here while I make
arrangements? He’s quite ill.”

The coachman peered at the pile of furs.
“Just so’s he’s off the coach afore I leave,” he said. Evon left
him removing their baggage from the roof and went into the
building. He had to duck under the low door frame, but once inside
he found the rafters were much higher than he’d anticipated and he
could stand upright with ease. The planed wood floor, warped with
age, creaked as he crossed the taproom, its boards many different
shades of brown as if they’d been replaced, one by one, with
whatever lumber was handy. The chairs were as mismatched as the
floorboards and some of the tables canted a little, though Evon
couldn’t tell if it was the floor or the table legs that were
uneven.