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And on top of that, I was starving.
“Did you bring any food?” I asked when I heard him return.
“What? Oh yes.”
Something hit me in the chest. I opened my eyes to find myself looking at one of those little packs of crackers and cheese. Not the good kind. The kind you get at gas stations when you’re hungover at two a.m. and aren’t that picky. The kind where the cheese is half-liquefied neon yellow goo.
I ate them anyway.
“Isn’t there an inn or something?” I asked.
“What?”
“An. Inn. You know, a medieval Ramada?”
He snorted. “Are you in for a disappointment.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning that if you’re looking for the majestic, flag-topped fortresses of Camelot, you’re going to be looking awhile.” He chuckled to himself.
God, I hated that man.
“I didn’t ask about fortresses. I asked about an inn. Somewhere inside,” I said pointedly, as a raindrop hissed on Rosier’s cheerful little blaze.
He looked skyward, scowling. But it appeared to have been a lone sentinel, because no more were forthcoming. So he turned the scowl on me.
“They didn’t have inns, either.”
“Then where did travelers sleep?”
“Most people didn’t travel, and those who did stayed at monasteries, some of which would put you up for a night or two if you said nice things about whatever bit of saint they had tucked away.” He waved a hand. “But in this period in Wales they’re mostly down by the coast.”
“So what does anybody do who ends up inland?”
“Find an accommodating farmhouse if no one’s looking for them.”
“And if someone is?”
“Camp.”
I closed my eyes. Wonderful.
“You’re luckier than you know,” he told me. “Medieval inns, when you could find one, were universally terrible. Flea-ridden, lice-infested, and teeming with thugs who would as soon shiv you in the side as look at you. And don’t get me started on the food! I think they deliberately tried to poison me on more than one occasion.”
“Then why did you come here?”
“The same reason anyone comes to this miserable little world.” He looked around malevolently. “Power.”
He didn’t seem interested in explaining that, which was fine with me. If I never talked to the man again, it would be fine with me. “Did you bring sleeping bags, at least?” I asked, trying in vain to find a comfortable spot.
“No.”
“No? If you knew there weren’t any inns, then why—”
“I didn’t know you were going to land us in the middle of the damned wilderness, did I?”
I choked down a few dozen comments about him being lucky we’d made it here at all, and instead focused on the pack he’d smacked me in the face with every other step. “Then what’s in that?”
