“Martin said you must come.”
“I do not obey orders from Martin,” she said. “Or from you. I obey the Aldermaston of Muirwood.”
He shook his head, obviously biting his tongue. “Muirwood is a bit far. You used me to cross here. You said nothing of this other person when we left.”
“And you have told me all of your secrets?” Lia replied. “Are we going to stand here bickering in the street for much longer? The day is wasting.”
“I hate this city,” he replied, his teeth clenching. His look was full of loathing.
“It will not take long before I share your sentiment. Go on without me then. But I will likely find Martin before you will. After my errand is done.”
He snorted, hands planted on his hips in frustration. He glanced at her, as if judging whether he should simply truss her up and carry her to the docks. “You are still limping. I cannot abandon you in a place like this.”
“I can take care of myself,” Lia said evenly.
Kieran whirled and grabbed a man toting a cart. The man spluttered with surprise, his face twisting with anger. “My pardon, good sir. Where is Lambeth? What part of the city?”
“Oy, you are a rude sort!”
“Oy, where is Lambeth?” Kieran repeated, his face a mask of anger. He seemed to take the other man’s temperament and adapt it to himself immediately, like changing his shirt.
The carter nodded towards the road ahead. “Across the bridge. In the Stews.” He looked at Lia and his face twisted into a sickening smile – a leer. “She will fetch a decent price. Even with that awful tangle of hair. The Stews, have at it, and leave me be!”
* * *
There was no way to describe the king’s city Comoros – no words fitting or suitable to a girl raised in the shelter of Muirwood. It was, Lia decided, the worst place in the world. The streets were narrow and sliced this way and that, the buildings crammed and topped and then crammed and topped more until the roofs seemed to sway in the wind. Laundry clothes were hung from poles in the windows to dry. The streets were caked with filth and the air was rancid. It was busy and violent. Once she thought she saw a knight-maston weaving through the crowd, but he covered his sword with his hand to hide the insignia. Just when Lia thought it could get no worse, they reached the bridge that straddled the mighty river and crossed it into the Stews and Lia realized that life on the other side was even worse.
In the Stews, everything was for sale and everything sought for a price. Someone offered her gold crowns for her hair. Another wanted to pay for a kiss. No one would direct them to Lambeth for free, forcing them to venture into an alley and use the Cruciger orb for direction. The oppressiveness of the Stews hung so heavy that even the orb was sluggish in its response. The Medium was stifled. There was no feeling it, as there were no Abbeys south of the river.
“This is where some venture who do not want to be found,” Kieran said, his face tight with revulsion. “The Blight is already here. You can feel it. Come on, then. It is daylight yet and this sort of town gets worse after dark. You may trust my word on that, girl. I have been acquainted with the night for many years.”
“You have been here?” Lia asked, stuffing the orb back in its pouch.
He shook his head. “Few mastons would dare it.” She saw his eyes narrow back at the mouth of the alley. “We were followed.”
Seizing her arm, he pulled her back the way they had originally come, towards the mouth of the alley instead of deeper. There were four men approaching, their eyes dark with hunger and mischief.
Lia’s hand throbbed. Her body became sick with the thought of fighting. Her leg was throbbing from the hard walking that day. “The other way is open, why are we approaching them?”
“Are you really that simple? Their job is to frighten us deeper into the alley where even more are waiting. Better odds with four than twenty.”
“Oh,” Lia said, ashamed that she was not thinking like a hunter. The men approached and she could see the apprehension on their face. One of them gave her a look that made her stomach sour.
“Are you lost?” one of them said, holding out his hand disarmingly. Lia noticed the dagger in his other hand, a small little dirk.
Kieran walked straight towards them, pulling her close to him. “My sister is ill,” he said, his voice suddenly trembling with fear. “Let us pass. We have no money save for the healer.”
“She does look ill,” the man replied, his grin widening. “I know a place where she might lay down.” The others chuckled.