Gabrielle sat by the window watching the storm, relieved to have arrived at the inn in time to avoid the worst of the weather. Outside the rain came down in torrents, a cold soaking rain. It made Gabrielle shiver even to imagine being caught in that rain.
The room was almost empty. Only Gabrielle and the innkeeper and one other person--an old ragged woman sitting alone by the fire. And it seemed to Gabrielle that the woman was watching her, studying her. An uncomfortable feeling. Probably nonsense, or too much imagination, but Gabrielle turned her chair so that her back was to the other woman.
"I was in the guard once myself, dearie."
Gabrielle spun around, startled. The woman had crossed the room so silently that Gabrielle had heard no warning sounds.
The woman rested her hands on Gabrielle's table and smiled crookedly, revealing broken and blackened teeth. "Yes, in the guards," she said. The old woman's arms shook as they supported her weight, and Gabrielle silently wagered that, if the woman's claim was true, she could divine the reason for the dismissal. A love of strong drink had ruined more than one career.
Gabrielle set down her empty tankard. "Oh?" Over the top of the ragged woman's bent head, Gabrielle could see the innkeeper at his counter vigorously shaking his head and motioning for her to send the other woman away. But Gabrielle was in the mood for company, no matter how unusual.
"Tell you what," Gabrielle said, "let me get us both some ale and then I'd be glad to hear your story." Rising, she felt the reassuring thud of her long knife against her thigh. The ragged woman seemed incapable of physically harming anyone, but Gabrielle didn't take chances.
"Very kind of you, dearie," said Gabrielle's new friend, settling herself at the table. "Good of you to buy an old captain a drink."
Gabrielle stopped in her tracks. Old captain? Not possible. No one with a drinking weakness could rise to that rank. The guard story had to be either an alcoholic delusion or a sly ruse to cadge drinks. Well, it didn't matter. Gabrielle was in the mood for a yarn, and the old woman's story might prove worth the price of the ale, even if there was not a drop of truth in the telling.
Gabrielle handed her tankard to the innkeeper and signaled that she needed a second mug for her now companion. The fellow, a round-faced, big-bodied man, ignored the empty cup. He leaned forward so that his mouth nearly tickled Gabrielle's ear. "That's Mad Sally at your table," he said. "She makes things up in her head. She wandered into town a few years ago. Seems she's got no home so we let her in here on cold nights. There's no harm in her if you go along with her nonsense. But she can get mighty angry if you don't. Wouldn't think it to look at her, but she's terribly strong."
"I see."
He filled the tankard and drew another for Sally. Gabrielle returned to the table. "Thank you, dearie," said Sally as Gabrielle set down the ale.
"My name is Gabrielle." There were only so many "dearies" she could stand.
Sally took a long sip, her dark eyes flickering over the rim of the tankard. "And where did you train, Gabrielle?"
Gabrielle hesitated. She had never been a good liar. She knew this failing would severely limit her rise in the guards, but she couldn't force untrue words out of her mouth. Although Gabrielle didn't want to tell this mad woman much about herself, there seemed little harm in the question. She answered truthfully.
"Ah, Longtown on the Lake," Sally repeated, nodding her head thoughtfully. "I was there once on a mission, but I trained in Carabeau." Her gaze shifted from Gabrielle's eyes to the table and back again.
Gabrielle could feel the color drain from her face. No one outside the guards was supposed to know that name. Assassins trained in Carabeau.
The woman chuckled. She took a long sip of the ale and belched loudly. Then her laughter died. "Why are you alone so far from a base? The guards always travel in teams."
)
