Free The Bloody North (The Fallen Crown) by Tony Healey

Grah . . . grah . . . grah . . . " was all he managed to say, trying to draw a decent breath.
    Rowan put his foot to the side of the man's head, pressed down hard. "This is a store, right?"
    " Grah . . . "
    "I'll take that as a yes. And the horses out front. For sale?"
    " Graaah . . . "
    "Right. I'll be taking one. And supplies," Rowan looked about. Jerky, cured sausage, strings of dehydrated fruits hanging from pegs in the rafters. Flies circled a crate of rott ing vegetables in the corner. Rowan sniffed the stale air. "Well, such supplies as you've got, I guess. Smells like a fucking tomb in here."
    The woman got to her feet slowly, painfully, timid as a mouse. Bruises covered her arms, her neck, everywhere she could get hit. "There's not been customers for weeks. Everything's getting spoiled," she said in a weak voice, eyes downcast.
    Rowan looked at the punch marks on her face. He reached out, turned her face into the light to get a better look at the big purple bruises that had blossomed there in the shape of knuckles. "He do this to you, eh?"
    She nodded.
    "What's this bastard's name?" Rowan asked her.
    "Stanthorpe," she whispered, as if the mere mention of his name might bring about a storm that would blow her away.
    "Where' s he keep his money?"
    "I don't know."
    Rowan nudged Stanthorpe with his foot. "Hey, you, where d'you keep your cash box?"
    The man drew a breath. "Fuck  . . . you . . ."
    "Fuck me ?" Rowan slammed a boot into his stomach. The man cried out, sputtered blood and spit from his mouth, lips peeled back from sore gums and yellow teeth. "Let's try this again. Where is it? Where d'you keep it?"
    "Tobacco box," he groaned. "Under the counter."
    Rowan turned to the girl. "Go have a look why don't you? I've got business with Mister Woman Beater here."
    She did as she was told.
    "I'll be taking some stuff from in here," Rowan told Stanthorpe. "Whatever you've got that's not rotten, that is. I'm not paying you for it. But the horse I will pay you for. How much?"
    "Take it," the man gasped.
    Rowan shook his head. "No, no, no. I pay my way. How much for it?"
    "Sixty."
    "I'll pay you fifty. I said I'd pay my way, not let you screw me over. I'll be taking the gear too," Rowan told him. "Hey, girl, come here. Did you find it?"
    She opened the tobacco box. full of credit notes and bags of coins.
    "Don't you touch my fucking stuff!" the man spat.
    Rowan put a hand on the girl's shoulder. "You take the contents of that box, and you get out of here, you understand? Take one of the horses and just ride. That's not money in there. It's a chance. Take it."
    She looked up at him, eyes wide and bright. He r hands closed around the box as she closed the lid on it.
    "Don't you fucking dare!"
    Rowan grabbed a heavy jar off the counter, pitched it at Stanthorpe's head. It shattered against his noggin, sent pickled onions flying everywhere. The hit knocked him out cold. Now the place smelled worse than before.
    Rowan dug inside his own m oneybag. "Here. The fifty for the horse. Take it," he said, dropping the coins into her apron.
    "Thank you," she said, eyes flitting to her inert captor and back. "I  . . . I . . . don't know what to say."
    Rowan had already filled a sack with food. Whatever was worth taking. "Just promise me you won't take the black and white nag. I've taken a fancy to it."
    * * *
    He rode with her part of the way, to a crossroads. "You're better off turning left here. There's some quiet villages and such that way. Not bad country out there, either. You might have a chance."
    "What about you ?"
    He tipped his head straight on ahead of him. "F arther north. Into the cold."
    "Good luck," she said.
    "Hey, what's your name anyway?" Rowan asked.
    She turned her horse to take the left path. " Patti."
    Rowan smiled. "Well, good luck to you, young Patti."
    "What about you?" she called back when he'd got several strides away from her.
    Rowan pulled his horse up, turned around in the saddle. "My