Best Served Cold

“Stop whining or I’ll slit the other one.”

Baldy was lying there, saying nothing. Red Nose had finally fought his way moaning to his knees.

“Want my boots, do you?” Shivers took a step and kicked him in the fruits again, lifted him up and put him back down mewling on his face. “There’s one of ’em, bastard!” He watched the newcomer, blood swoosh-swooshing behind his eyes, not sure how he came through that without getting some steel in his guts. Not sure if he might not still. This woman didn’t have the look of good news. “What d’you want?” he growled at her.

“Nothing you’ll have trouble with.” He could see the corner of a smile inside her hood. “I might have some work for you.”

– 

A big plate of meat and vegetables in some kind of gravy, slabs of doughy bread beside. Might’ve been good, might not have been, Shivers was too busy ramming it into his face to tell. Most likely he looked a right animal, two weeks unshaved, pinched and greasy from dossing in doorways, and not even good ones. But he was far past caring how he looked, even with a woman watching.

She still had her hood up, though they were out of the weather now. She stayed back against the wall, where it was dark. She tipped her head forwards when folk came close, tar-black hair hanging across one cheek. He’d worked out a notion of her face anyway, in the moments when he could drag his eyes away from his food, and he reckoned it was a good one.

Strong, with hard bones in it, a fierce line of jaw and a lean neck, a blue vein showing up the side. Dangerous, he reckoned, though that wasn’t such a clever guess since he’d seen her slit the back of a man’s knee with small regret. Still, there was something in the way her narrow eyes held him that made him nervous. Calm and cold, as if she’d already got his full measure, and knew just what he’d do next. Knew better’n he did. She had three long marks down one cheek, old cuts still healing. She had a glove on her right hand, and scarcely used it. A limp too he’d noticed on the way here. Caught up in some dark business, maybe, but Shivers didn’t have so many friends he could afford to be picky. Right then, anyone who fed him had the full stretch of his loyalty.

She watched him eat. “Hungry?”

“Somewhat.”

“Long way from home?”

“Somewhat.”

“Had some bad luck?”

“More’n my share. But I made some bad choices, too.”

“The two go together.”

“That is a fact.” He tossed knife and spoon clattering down onto the empty plate. “I should’ve thought it through.” He wiped up the gravy with the last slice of bread. “But I’ve always been my own worst enemy.” They sat facing each other in silence as he chewed it. “You’ve not told me your name.”

“No.”

“Like that, is it?”

“I’m paying, aren’t I? It’s whatever way I say it is.”

“Why are you paying? A friend of mine…” He cleared his throat, starting to doubt whether Vossula had been any kind of friend. “A man I know told me to expect nothing for free in Styria.”

“Good advice. I need something from you.”

Shivers licked at the inside of his mouth and it tasted sour. He had a debt to this woman, now, and he wasn’t sure what he’d have to pay. By the look of her, he reckoned it might cost him dear. “What do you need?”

“First of all, have a bath. No one’s going to deal with you in that state.”

Now the hunger and the cold were gone, they’d left a bit of room for shame. “I’m happier not stinking, believe it or not. I got some fucking pride left.”

“Good for you. Bet you can’t wait to get fucking clean, then.”

He worked his shoulders around, uncomfortable. He had this feeling like he was stepping into a pool with no idea how deep it might be. “Then what?”

“Not much. You go into a smoke-house and ask for a man called Sajaam. You say Nicomo demands his presence at the usual place. You bring him to me.”

“Why not do that yourself?”

“Because I’m paying you to do it, fool.” She held up a coin in her gloved fist. Silver glinted in the firelight, design of weighing scales stamped into the bright metal. “You bring Sajaam to me, you get a scale. You decide you still want fish, you can buy yourself a barrelful.”

Shivers frowned. For some fine-looking woman to come out of nowhere, more’n likely save his life, then make him a golden offer? His luck had never been anywhere near that good. But eating had only reminded him how much he used to enjoy doing it. “I can do that.”

“Good. Or you can do something else, and get fifty.”

“Fifty?” Shivers’ voice was an eager croak. “This a joke?”

“You see me laughing? Fifty, I said, and if you still want fish you can buy your own boat and have change for some decent tailoring, how’s that?”

Shivers tugged somewhat shamefacedly at the frayed edge of his coat. With that much he could hop the next boat back to Uffrith and kick Vossula’s skinny arse from one end of the town to the other. A dream that had been his one source of pleasure for some time. “What do you want for fifty?”