Forest Kingdom Trilogy 3 - Down Among the Dead Men

anger that burned within him, so close to the surface.
    He walked on through the crowds, not knowing where he was going or what he was looking for, and not really caring. He just felt better when he was moving. At least then he had the illusion he was doing something. His feet finally led him past the last of the stalls and out into the edge of the fair. A few small tents stood huddled together, a dumping ground for carnival costumes and properties not in use. A girl was standing by one of the tents. She wore a low-cut dress of black and scarlet, and wore it well. She had a fine head of night-dark hair, and her eyes were a startling blue. She couldn’t have been more than fifteen, but she already moved like a woman. Peasants grew up fast. They had to, or like as not they didn’t grow up at all. A girl her age was usually married and starting a family of her own.
    She looked away when Wilde met her gaze, but he didn’t miss the slight smile or the spark in her eyes. He’d seen them often enough before. He strolled unhurriedly toward her. She didn’t look to be wearing a wedding ring, but that didn’t mean much in the poorer towns, and the last thing he needed was trouble with a jealous husband. But he was bored, and angry with himself and the world, and anyway, he had an hour to kill. He just hoped this one didn’t have fleas. He stood before her, and they smiled at each other and said pleasant things neither of them really meant, and then they went into the tent together. It was cool and pleasantly dim inside. The girl kissed him once, lingeringly, and then turned away and began to unbutton her dress. Wilde removed his bow and his quiver and his sword belt and put them carefully to one side, and then pulled off his shirt and dropped it on the floor. The girl waited until his trousers were down around his ankles and then spun suddenly around and pushed him over backward. Wilde fell awkwardly, the wine singing in his head. There was a brief flash of steel as the girl produced a knife from somewhere and cut the purse from his belt, and then she was running for the tent flaps.
    Wilde roared with anger and threw himself after her. One flailing hand caught her around the ankle, and the girl lurched to a halt. She snarled back at him, her pretty face ugly with hatred, and stamped down hard on his hand with her free foot. Wilde didn’t let go. His fingers were screaming with pain, but he was too angry and too drunk to give a damn. He grabbed hold of her leg with his other hand and hauled her down beside him. She cut at him with her knife, but he caught her wrist and made her drop it. Her wrist was very small in his hand. She fought him silently, her face twisted with pain and fury, but he soon forced her onto her back and knelt over her, grinning harshly. Nobody robbed Edmond Wilde without paying for it one way or another. The girl cursed and spat at him, and he slapped her face to teach her some manners. She screamed loudly. Wilde put his hand over her mouth, and she bit it. He snatched his hand away, and she screamed again.
    The tent flaps burst open as a man charged in with a sword in his hand. Wilde swore quickly and threw himself away from the girl, clawing for his sword belt. Bastard must be the girl’s protector … her sort always had a protector… . Wilde drew his sword and regained his feet while the newcomer’s eyes were still adjusting to the gloom, and he thrust out his sword in a perfect lunge. The sword grated briefly against the newcomer’s ribs as the blade slammed home. He groaned once and fell limply to the floor. The girl made a run for the tent flaps, and Wilde cut her down without thinking.
    He looked at the two bodies lying twisted and bloody on the tent floor, and the last of the drink burned out of his mind, leaving him sober at last. He bent down and reclaimed his purse, and thought frantically on what to do. The girl and her would-be rescuer were bound to be locals, and their fellow villagers would hang him for a murderer without even bothering to hear his side of the story. He was a carnival man, an outsider… . Already he could hear feet running toward the tent as people came to investigate the girl’s screams. He pulled up his trousers and grabbed his bow and quiver. He kicked the dead girl in the side.
Bitch. All your fault
. He moved quickly over to the tent flaps and looked out. Half the county fair were heading toward him. He ducked back into the tent, ran to the rear, and cut