Empire of Night Ch33

Semma walked into the tavern and up to the bar, taking a seat.
“Oh no,” the Tavern mistress, a slip of a woman, and a westerner to boot, with orange skin and sapphire eyes, said, “I don’t need any tasks done, and I’m not about to let you start a tab, so be off.”
They had history; sometimes, Semma would trade odd jobs for food. But today, things were different.
She drew a palmful of copper coins from a pouch on her belt and placed them on the counter.
The woman squinted at her. “Now, where did you come upon that?”
“Honest work,” Semma said, “if you believe it.”
“I don’t,” the hostess said, “but I suppose the less I know, the happier I’ll be.”
She took the coin. “What’ll it be?”
“A pint and some information,” Semma said.
The woman examined her a moment, lips pursed, and finally turned, drawing a tankard from the cask behind her.
She set it down. “Well?”
“There’s been someone going about these parts,” Semma said, “a man, escorted by guards wearing noble heraldry.”
She was answered by the sound of coins dropping to the counter.
“Finish your drink,” the woman said, “and get out. Whatever trouble you have, I want none of it.”
Semma peered down into her drink. “Ma’am,” she whispered, “my friend found a man. A sweet, gentle soul. Kind even to a scruffy lout like me. But someone tried to hurt him, kill him. Please, help me.”
The woman cast her eyes down, sighed. “I don’t know much,” she said, “don’t really want to. But I’ve heard whispers. Women talking about some kind of meetings, homeless women getting picked up in coaches, never coming back.”
Semma frowned; she hadn’t heard any of that. “Kidnapped?”
“I don’t know,” the woman said, “lots of enticements you could offer a woman with no place to go, especially in this season.”
Semma nodded, she knew only too well, cold and hunger were constant companions. The church did what it could, and no woman was turned away from the food kitchens. But that meant that portions were small, just enough to keep a woman on her feet and sighted, prevent rickets.
She sighed, shaking her head. “Alright,” she said, “can you give me more details?”
“No,” the tavern keeper said, shaking her head, “as I said, I try to keep my head down.”
Semma drank, thinking. It wasn’t much, but maybe she could make it work. “Do you know whereabouts the women have been disappearing?”
The tavern keep’s eyes narrowed. “Now, why would you want to know something like that?”
Semma sipped her drink. “Gotta make sure to keep my girls clear.”
The woman pursed her lips. “See you do,” she said, “wouldn’t want anyone getting in trouble.”
Semma nodded, staring into her drink. “That would be a shame.”
She shifted in her seat, scratching her face. It wasn’t much to go on, but it was a start… maybe she could go find out more first hand.
“Little lady,” the tavern keep said, “this has something to do with the trouble up at the palace, doesn’t it?”
Semma said nothing, but the woman nodded. “I heard the Empress is settling some dispute with parliament on the dueling field today. Have you met this man?”
“Briefly,” Semma said, “he’s- strange. Beautiful, starlight captured in his hair and eyes.”
She finished her pint, shaking her head. “Hard to explain it; he’s not like Dyrantisa men. More- open, I guess. Happy to talk to a bunch of scruffy urchins like us.”
The tavern keeper refilled her drink. “Word is, he and her Magnificence have grown close.”
She considered how much she wanted to say. No telling what corners anything she said here would end up finding. “Seems so,” she said at last, taking the tankard. I get the impression his wife is connected to the monarchy somehow.”
“Is that so?” the woman said, leaning against the counter, “an enviable position. I suppose that’s how you came to be asking around about whispered conversations overheard in the tavern.”
“Suppose,” Semma said, “that’s one way to see it. My friend asked me for help; how could I say no?”
The woman seemed about to respond, but another patron called for more drink, and she left to see to them.
Semma sighed and pushed away from the bar; it didn’t seem there was much more to be gained sticking around.
The door opened behind her, bringing with it a cill draft, and she glanced over her shoulder. A small group wrapped up against the cold. Three women and a man?
Odd. They took a table, and Semma stood, taking her tankard, and found an adjacent table sitting with her back to them, sipping at her beer.
The group ordered and settled in. “Things had been going well,” the women spoke in hushed voices, “but that fool woman ran off on her own."
"Don’t worry,” The man had a soft voice, pleasant, “she doesn’t know anything; we’ll be fine.”
Semma pricked her ears, straining to hear. Woman? And what didn’t she know? Who were these people, this man?
“What do we tell Lady Stisengall?” a second woman said.
“The truth,” the man said, “of course. There’s nothing to hide and little enough to worry about.”
The first woman grumbled at that, but it seemed she wouldn’t complain further. Curious to see women deferring to a man. Perhaps they were bondswomen; they were talking about some lady. The husband? But why trust your husband to bonded servants? 
“We shouldn’t linger,” the first woman said, “as soon as you’ve rested, we’ll be off.”
“Of course,” the man said.
The women shifted in their seats. “Lady Stisengall will want you back soon. She frets.”
“We haven’t even been served,” the man said, “calm down.”
The barmaid returned, and the group settled in with drink and food. “That group of brigands visited the manor last night,” the man said, “do you know what they said?”
“No,” one of the women said, “the mistress met with their new leader, no idea what they spoke about.”
“I see,” the man paused, “well, I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”
“You’re worried?”
“They’re just such a rough group,” the man said, “I’m sure they’ll cause some trouble soon.”
“Hopefully,” one of the women said, “not for us.”
“Hopefully,” the man agreed. “I need to use the privy before we go; will one of you escort me?”
One of the women stood, and the man followed her; together, they stepped around a corner out of sight. 
Curious, Semma slipped out of her seat. She didn’t know what all this was about brigands and some woman who did something. It could be perfectly innocuous, but it seemed suspicious, and she was supposed to look into suspicious activity.
She went back to the bar, putting her tankard down, and then followed the pair around the corner toward the restroom.
She kept her distance, stopping at the corner and peeking out to find the pair still in the hall. The man stepped toward the door and stopped, ears pricked, hand hanging in the air.
“What’s wrong?” the woman asked.
“Didn’t you hear that?” the man asked.
Semma held her breath, ducking back behind the corner. Had she been discovered?
“Over there,” the man said, his voice dropping into a plaintive whine, “go and see?”
Time to leave, there was a back way, through the kitchen. Semma slipped back out into the dining room, and behind the counter, she wasn’t challenged; she just walked like she knew she belonged and pushed her way out into an alleyway.
She cast a glance over her shoulder, checking to see if she was being followed, and bumped right into someone.
She scrambled back. “Sorry, I-” She found herself looking into the wide, dark eyes of a man, the man she’d been tailing only moments ago.
She backed away, casting about for the women she knew were about to descend upon her.
“Did I scare you?” the man asked, “you seem worried.”
Semma took a step back, eyeing the man carefully, and said nothing.
“You were listening to our conversation.”
She took another step back, falling into a crouch, ready to fight. 
The man chuckled and then stepped aside, leaving the mouth of the alleyway open to her. “Well, I think you’ve heard enough; go and report your findings.”
She glanced at the man, then the street beyond him, suspicious. Who was this man? And was he really just going to let her go?
A cry rose up from within the tavern. “Hurry now,” he said, “that will be my escorts looking for me. Don’t you want to bring that name back to the inquisitor?”
Semma swallowed, he knew, she didn’t know how, but he did. She sprinted off; if the man had still been in her way, she might have bowled him over. 
Semma ran, pushing her way through the market, and ducked into another alley, collapsing against the wall, gasping for breath.
What had she just heard? Experienced? That man, he’d known, known who she was, what she was looking for.
Someone had to have told him, but- had he known she was at that tavern? Was it a coincidence? And if he did, why talk openly about such sensitive matters?
She had to speak to the inquisitor; she needed to know.
Semma pushed herself to her feet, her legs protesting at her weight. She took a breath, steadying herself, and took her bearings. She wasn’t far from the docks.
She looked up at the moon high in the sky. She needed to hurry; if it got too late, her contact would close up shop, and she didn’t want to leave this a moment longer than she had to.

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