Luck in the Shadows

"Send up some food-whatever you've got and lots of it—and water. We're just off the trail and hungry as wolves."
    The room was hardly more than a lean-to built onto the back of the tavern. A sagging bedstead against the far wall, its linen hinting broadly of previous lodgers, was the only furnishing. A scruffy lad appeared a moment later with a candle stand and a covered firepot, closely followed by another with a platter of roast pork and turnips, and pitchers of ale and water.
    A soft knock came at the door as they were eating.
    It was the landlord this time. Without a word, he handed Seregil a bundle and left.
    "Come along, Alec," said Seregil, tucking it under his arm. "Bring the pack. There's a bathhouse next door and I could do with a wash. What about you, Micum?"
    "Good idea. I doubt I could stand the three of us in a closed room tonight." He rubbed a hand ruefully through the thick, coppery stubble on his cheeks. "I could do with a good shave, as well, not that either of you would understand!"
    The bathhouse was a drafty establishment. After some determined haggling with the woman who owned it, Seregil saw to it that the two splintery wooden tubs the place boasted of were emptied of their murky contents and refilled with clean water. For an additional fee she heated two buckets of water to take off the chill. As they stripped down, she brought in towels and coarse yellow soap, then took their clothes away to be washed. No stranger to naked customers, she greeted Alec's hot-cheeked discomfort with open disdain.
    "You've got to get over that, you know," Seregil remarked as he and Micum settled in their tubs.
    "What?" Alec huddled closer to the room's tiny fire, waiting his turn.
    "This modesty of yours. Or at least the blushing part."
    Micum sank back with a sigh, letting the tepid water soften the crusted blood around his wound.
    Seregil scrubbed himself quickly head to foot and climbed out again.
    "All yours, Alec. Use the soap and have a care for your nails. I've a notion to elevate our station in life by tomorrow." He was shivering as he scrubbed the ragged towel over his hair and shoulders. "Illior's Hands!" he grumbled. "I swear when I get back to Rhнminee I'm going to head for the nearest civilized bath and stay there a week!"
    "I've seen him fight through fire, blood, starvation, and magic," Micum remarked, speaking to nobody in particular, "but deny him a hot bath at the end of it and he fusses like a kept whore."
    "A lot you'd know about that." Unrolling his bundle, Seregil shook out a coarse woolen dress and pulled it on over his head.
    Alec gaped in astonishment, and Seregil give him a wink. "Time for another lesson, I think."
    He quickly plaited his hair back into a loose braid and pulled a few strands free to hang untidily around his face. Greyish powder from small pouch dulled his hair and skin. Unwrapping the rest of the bundle, he pulled out a huge striped shawl, battered wooden clogs, and a leather girdle. Satisfied with his work, he tucked the smallest of his daggers out of sight under his belt and turned away for a moment, rearranging his body beneath the loose gown to give the impression of the stooped frailty of age. When he turned back again, Alec and Micum saw an unremarkable little servant woman.
    "Would the two gentlemen be good enough to give an opinion?" Seregil asked in an old woman's voice
    heavy with the soft accent of Mycena.
    Micum gave his nodded approval. "Well met, gramma. Where are you off to in that getup?"
    "Less said, less heard," Seregil replied, going to the door. "I'm off to see which way the wind blows. If anyone asks, just say I had other clothes, which of course," he added, dropping a rusty curtsy and flashing his best crooked grin, "I do!"
    When their clothes came back, Alec and Micum returned to their room at the Frog. The candles were lit and the firepot glowed cheerfully on its tripod in the center of the room.
    "How's your side feel now?" Alec asked.
    "Better, but I'll rest easier on the floor," Micum said, eyeing the sagging ropes showing beneath the bed frame. "Just be a good lad and help me make up a pallet with the cloaks here next to the door."
    Alec laid down blankets and cloaks for him and Micum sat down gratefully, sword across his knees.
    "Bring your sword over and I'll show you how to keep a proper edge on it," he invited, taking out a pair of whetstones.
    They worked in silence for a while, listening to the singing of metal against stone.