Free Betrayal by Fiona McIntosh Page B

provoked more laughter. He decided to change the subject swiftly and looked around. They were standing in front of an inn called The Empty Goblet and he could hear loud singing and men’s voices.
    ‘Are we here?’
    Riss had composed himself but Golag was still banging his chest to stop the hacking cough which followed his guffaws.
    ‘Yes, boy. I reckon we can find you a small room here tonight, with some luck and some change to grease old Doddy’s palm.’
    ‘How much?’ Tor didn’t want to pull out his pouch of coins so he dug around in his pockets. He found some barons and small copper. Golag grabbed the lot.
    ‘Hey!’ Tor pulled at Golag’s filthy sleeve.
    ‘And don’t forget my duke,’ the soldier growled into Tor’s face.
    Tor had put two dukes into his shirt pocket as they had made their way here and was now very glad for such foresight. He gave Riss both coins.
    ‘What happens now?’
    Riss cleared his throat and spat again. The gob gleamed on the dust by Tor’s toes.
    ‘Get the halfwit onto your shoulders, lad, and follow me.’
    There was no point in trying to talk to Cloot now. Tor found he was becoming used to the sensation of Cloot pulling on his energy. He pushed another parcel of energy into his half-dead friend, feeling the loss keenly, and hefted Cloot awkwardly onto his right shoulder. Stooping, Tor staggered as he followed Riss inside. The noise was deafening. It was a soldiers’ inn all right and they all looked and smelled like Riss and Golag. He followed, waiting impatiently under the dead weight of Cloot as Riss said something to the fat man behind the counter. The innkeeper pointed a pudgy finger upstairs.
    Riss turned to Tor. ‘Top floor. I’ll find the doctor and then that’s my part of this deal done.’ He smiled and briefly shook hands, which Tor found reassuring.
    He nodded at Riss gratefully and began the challenging ascent. Stopping several times, twice to let giggling girls and soldiers stumble past him, he finally reached the second-storey landing which had only three rooms. Tor opened the first door and closed it hurriedly when he saw a young prostitute, hard at her work.
    ‘Damn!’ he muttered, feeling the colour rise in him instantly.
    There were two choices left. He lumbered towards the door at the end of the airless corridor. This roomwas empty. It was also tiny. He tried to lay Cloot gently onto the mattress of the cot but he was so weary his load slipped and Cloot dropped with a crunch. Tor flopped down on the floor beside the bed, worried and exhausted. A short while later there was a knock and a young girl, about ten summers old, entered balancing a jug of water and bowl.
    ‘The physic is behind me,’ she gabbled.
    A man spoke. ‘Are you Gynt? The one with the retard?’
    Tor sighed and stood tiredly. ‘Yes, I suppose that sums things up.’ He nodded towards the bed.
    The doctor, whose name was Freyberg, laid his walking cane against the cot and immediately began tut-tutting to himself. Together they removed Cloot’s rags and both drew a sharp breath at the palette of colour across his body. Angry purple bruises from the earliest wounds blended with the dull pink of the most recent, with promise of a much deeper colour to come. These were interspersed with distressing bright red splotches showing bleeding close to the skin’s surface, due most likely, Freyberg commented absently, to broken bones.
    Doctor Freyberg kept up a quiet, continuous muttering to himself as he examined his patient. Finally the old man rolled up his sleeves and opened the satchel he had brought with him. He pulled the cork from a bottle of a dark, viscous substance which smelled strongly of cloves and handed it to Tor.
    ‘Pour some into his throat. It will help take the edge off the pain.’
    Tor obeyed, holding Cloot’s head gently as he tipped the blackish liquid into his swollen mouth.
    ‘His teeth, sir? I mean, could he be swallowing any broken teeth with this?’ he asked as