Free Redwing by Holly Bennett

were, in search of suitable, ready-made clothes in their size. Rowan was lucky—of average height and build, he was a decent fit for some of the samples hanging in the shops. Aydin’s tall, slight frame was a challenge, and so was his taste for extravagant colors and textiles beyond the reach of the bit of money he had saved since teaming up with Rowan. But in the end, he found trousers that, while too short, didn’t fall off his slim hips, and an unhemmed shirt. Extra-long cuffs, hurriedly attached, finished the shirt, and he decided to simply tuck the pants into his high boots.
    Armed with fresh clothing, they made their way to the bathhouse.
    Aydin was squeamish about the public baths, and especially the oversized wooden half-barrels that served as tubs. “Gods, they look slimy. Do they clean these ever? We should have stayed at a proper inn, had a proper bath drawn in a proper copper tub. How clean can you get, sharing the scum of the unwashed millions?”
    Rowan was unmoved. “You’re one of the unwashed millions too, my friend. We’ll leave more scum behind than the last five men combined. But you want an inn, go right ahead. I’m not keeping you.” After months of dabbing at himself from a bucket of cold water, he was in no mood to be picky. He sank into the hot water, scrubbed every inch of his body with the grainy soap provided, and emerged feeling like a new man.
    The shops were starting to close as Rowan hurried to his last errand. He ordered a mattress with straw stuffing, and then, in a moment of largesse, a second for Aydin. He had eaten alarmingly into his savings, but he also felt he had in some way returned to the world. If he ran out of money, well, he would just have to make more. It was time to stop pretending to live, and really do it.
    Brave words—but even as he said them firmly to himself, a part of him wanted to cling to his grief, hide in his caravan and never come out.
    â€œOh, Ettie,” he whispered. “I wish you were here to help me.”
    Maybe she thinks she is. Maybe that’s why she’s staying, because of wishes like that. Rowan glanced around and saw, as always, no sign of her. Still he made himself say the words out loud, no matter how foolish it felt: “Don’t worry, Ettie. I know what to do now. I’ll be all right.”
    A part of him—the other part, the part that made plans and bought new clothes—even believed it.
    ON THEIR SECOND DAY in Miller’s Falls, Rowan found a decent corner for busking. As he had predicted, the townsfolk had little time for the tired old tunes that made up most of Aydin’s repertoire—living so close to Clifton, their musical tastes were much more discerning. On the other hand, his Tarzine music did catch their interest, so the boys mostly took it in turn to back each other up on the drum and let each shine at what he did best.
    On the third day, at dusk, they got hired by the barkeep from an inn a few doors down from their post.
    â€œYou two looking for work?” They had barely finished their tune when he barked out the question. Rowan looked him over: a thin, harried-looking man, eyebrows pulled together in a frown. In a hurry, by the looks of things. That was fine with Rowan.
    â€œDefinitely.”
    â€œGood. Bonehead who was supposed to play drank himself blind, fell down the bloody stairs and broke his arm. Meanwhile we’ve got half the town showin’ up to drink the health of the mayor’s son what got married. They’ll be expecting entertainment!”
    â€œNo worries, sir,” said Rowan. “We’ll be there.”
    â€œSix bells. Don’t be late,” the barkeep charged with a pointed finger. “Or drunk!”
    He had disappeared behind the black, iron-strapped door of the inn before Rowan realized his mistake and let out a groan.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œWe didn’t talk money. We don’t even know what