Eat the Poor

XIV

At nightfall, I made my way to the servants' quarters.

I could hear shouts from inside the heavy door, rowdy cries and the crack of wooden mugs slamming together. I slipped inside and climbed over a tangle of sprawling limbs as the usual gamblers made themselves comfortable at the table.

Geoff waved me over to his cot.

"What's going on?" I asked, sinking down beside him. He wrapped an arm around my back, as if to say, I've missed you.

"Oh, little celebration," he told me. "Roggar brought two kegs of beer back from the tavern."

Roggar slammed his fist on the table, his other hand grasping his mug. "Beer, beer for everyone." He belched loudly.

"Got whiskey?" I asked.

"Oi, Rat Boy's a whiskey drinker," Coopers' friend chimed in. I'd learned his name was Mr Kett.

"You can stop with the..." I trailed off as they all turned back to their card game, ignoring me. "Name now."

Geoff rubbed my shoulder. His beard tickled my cheek as he leaned in. "Never you mind them, Auden, they're all practically on their deathbeds."

I gave a wry chuckle and turned sideways in the cot, stretching out my legs and laying my head down on his lap. He smelled of sweat and pigs' blood. "Laugh's on them, I'm waiting for a very special visitor tonight."

"Oh?" His thick fingers slid through my hair. I tried my best not to flinch. "Who would that be?"

I forced a smile. "You wouldn't believe me." Nor would he approve. Geoff hated the King. Everyone in the room hated the King. They would call for my head if they knew where I was going tonight.

Did that make me a traitor, then?

I suppose it did, in a way.

So be it. I was already far worse.

"I haven't seen you in so long," Geoff murmured, his thumb brushing my cheek. "You worried me."

"I'm sorry." My tone came out flat. "Can I have a mug?"

"Sure." As he leaned across his cot to the table, my eyes landed on the knife in his belt. I remembered holding it in my hand, the rush I'd felt as I tried to slit his throat. The rush as I watched him kill the guard.

Stop. It.

He drew a filled mug from the cluster on the table and took a sip, then offered it to me. I gripped it with both hands and gulped down three mouthfuls.

I would need it.

From his seat in the circle of gamblers, Roggar was going on about the tavern. "No God-fearin' woman should ever step foot in a place like that," he said, "lest she's owned by the house."

"Hear, hear!" someone yelled.

"I let my wife go to the taverns one time-" He lifted the nub of his missing finger. "One time, an' now I got an itch in me trousers that'll never go away."

They all roared with laughter.

"Least you men got wives." The grunt came from Mr Coopers. He tossed a coin into the pile. "I ain't fucked nothing but a sock in twenty years."

Another round of laughter exploded from the men. The sound was booming, like cannons firing. Roggar pounded on the table and clutched his side as water welled up in his cloudy eyes. "Let's sing," he shouted, raising his mug. "A night like this deserves song!"

"Quiet, you old fool," another gambler hissed. "You want to get us all flayed?"

"Oh, you, you-" Roggar scowled and tipped his now-emptied mug upside down, trying to shake out any remaining drops onto his tongue. "There'll be no flayin' for a little song! Coop'! You remember our song, don'cha? Our little song?"