The Crowded Shadows by Celine Kiernan Page B

them as they rode into the yard. They were Arabs, unmistakably father and son, but when the man spoke, it was with a broad local accent. “Would ye like us ter take the horses?”
    “Not yet, thank you,” said Christopher, dismounting and stretching his saddle-weary body as he looked around him.
    Wynter dismounted and bent to vigorously rub the cramp from her calves.
    “Perhaps you could supply them with water and a feedbag each?” suggested Razi. “And we can call on you to rub them down should we decide to stay.”
    The man nodded suspiciously, thrown by Razi’s well-bred accent. His eyes swept to take in the abundance of well-made weaponry, the saddle-bags, the heavily loaded travel belts. He turned to appraise Wynter, realised that she was a woman, and respectfully averted his gaze, but not before he checked her finger for a wedding band.
    “Perhaps,” said Christopher, tucking his hands casually behind his back. “I could examine the feed?”
    The man nodded and Christopher followed him into the stables while Wynter and Razi took the saddlebags and weaponry from the horses. Christopher soon returned, apparently satisfied with the quality of oats and grain on offer. He took his saddlebag from Razi, slung his crossbow over the rucksack on his back and the three of them headed into the unknown territory of the inn.
    It was a dim room, low ceilinged, smelling of wood-smoke, roasted meat and tobacco. A big fireplace dominated the wall to their right, and the wall directly ahead of them was entirely given over to a rough serving counter. Two greasy looking women were eyeing them from the kitchen, which was visible through an arched doorway behind the serving counter. All the occupants of the room seemed to have been waiting for their entrance and they were silently taken stock of as they crossed the threshold.
    The long table under the window was occupied by three middle-aged men and a youth. They were obviously tarmen, grimy and pickled with smoke, their hands and faces black from work. The older men were thoroughly occupied in eating their dinner, and they raised their eyes to take in the strangers without ceasing shovelling their food. The youth, however, stopped eating and leant artlessly from his seat to watch Wynter’s arse as she passed by. She gave him a cold stare and he made a shockingly lewd gesture at her with his tongue.
    Thankfully, Razi’s attention was on a trio of rough looking men sitting at a centre table, so he did not react. Christopher, however, put his hand protectively on the small of Wynter’s back and sucked his teeth in a sharp and unmistakably aggressive manner. Wynter was surprised to see his hand fall to his knife.
    “Keep your eyes to yerseln’, lad,” growled the older of the boy’s companions, and the young man dropped his gaze back to his bowl.
    The men at the centre table had turned from their conversation and were openly staring at the new arrivals. They were grimy and patched looking, well armed and sly-eyed. The skin on Wynter’s back did a slow crawl as the men watched the three of them get settled. As she set her saddlebags down on the floor behind her, she glanced at the only other customer. He sat by the cold fireplace, seemingly absorbed in mending a harness. There was a tankard of cider by his elbow and an unfinished game of chess sat on a stool between him and the empty chair on the other side of the fireplace. Another tankard sat in the ashes of the hearthstone, with a half-eaten trencher-bread of stewed meat going soggy by its side. Wynter scanned the room for the man’s missing companion, but there was no sign of him.
    She had just finished divesting herself of her rucksack when the landlord, his cloth still in hand, came trotting from a back hall. Unsmiling, he approached their table. He took them in very quickly, their pile of belongings, their weighty travel belts, their weapons. He made the usual check of Wynter’s finger for a ring, before dismissing her