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Silas laughed. “That’s the village bull, or was. They think it’s lucky.”
“Lucky?”
“Not so lucky for the bull. Must have taken a while to stuff it.”
“Stuff it?”
“You think a live bull would put up with all this racket?”
Mara frowned. He didn’t get it.
Arnolo and Thomas ducked through the door. Silence spread through the room until everyone stared at the two men. Arnolo looked over to where Mara and Silas sat and, with a big grin, came to join them. People whispered for a while before the noise increased again, but didn’t get as loud as before.
The woman in the frilly skirt brought their meals and drinks, then returned with stew and ale for Arnolo and Thomas. They all ate quickly and in silence. Silas even gave Mara his leftover bread to soak up the last bit of his stew in his bowl. It was delicious.
A skinny man, two tables away, stared at the backs of the two big men. Twice he’d tried to get up, but the man at his side had stopped him. The skinny man pointed and slammed a fist on the table, pushed the man next to him away, and headed toward them. He looked like a farmer, covered in dirt.
“Arnolo.” Silas nodded his head at the man.
Arnolo rolled his eyes, stood up, and turned around.
The man pointed up at Arnolo’s face. “You don’t belong here.” He swayed, a line of spit stuck to his chin.
The only sound in the room now came from Thomas, who slurped from his bowl.
“Tell me, friend, what is your name?” Arnolo said.
The man beat his fist on his chest. “I am Hicket.”
“Please, Hicket. We mean –”
“Vespen does not want you here. You must leave.” Hicket stumbled backwards when he swung his arm to point at the door.
“My friend, Hicket. We will leave before the sun rises, I assure you.”
“Leave now,” Hicket shouted, then lunged forward.
Arnolo side-stepped, and Hicket crashed into the table, hands slapping down either side of Mara’s bowl.
Before Mara even thought about moving, Thomas slammed Hicket’s face onto the table and drove an elbow into his back.
Arnolo joined Thomas, and the two of them threw the screaming Hicket in the direction he’d come from.
Silas held his blade just underneath the table and held an arm across Mara’s chest.
Arnolo held his arms out to the sides. “We have not come for trouble, friends. This man made his own fate.”
Hicket whined as his friend dragged him outside.
Arnolo sat. “Like I said, Barda. Funny place.”
“He’ll return with numbers, armed most likely,” Silas said.
“All will be well, Barda. You worry too much.”
“Let’s hope so.”
The woman in the white skirt collected the bowls from the table. She didn’t smile any more. “Anything else, gentlemen? Or is it straight to your rooms?”
