She left the table first.
The inn’s room was thick with the scent of onion and ale, but had few people within it, allowing her departure to go unnoticed. Corin stayed where he was, fingers still worrying the strap of his satchel, eyes on every door like a man who had slept with his back to the walls for years.
Morena carefully fixed her hood and walked out into the light. The bell on the warped door gave a dull clink. The scent of the street t her nose as she exited, the old yeast and smoke.
She didn’t go far. She crossed to the alley with the green-lipped barrel and stood in its shade, the corner giving her a slice of the inn’s door and the street both.
A few minutes later, when enough ti had passed to be certain that no one would be looking, Hark drifted closer, standing to one side of the barrel, but avoiding direct contact.
"Two eyes on the inn."
He didn’t look at her when he spoke, his voice low.
"Where?"
"First—tall, a bad coat, he visited the pie stall and didn’t eat. Didn’t stand out at first, but I noticed him staring at the door and pretending not to, and he hasn’t left since. He keeps his right hand near his belt, under the cloak."
"Knife?"
"Likely. Second—thin man by the cobbler, always fiddling with his sleeve."
"He might be a clerk; he slls like tallow."
Hark moved off the barrel again and was on another piece of street.
Morena kept to the road and walked slowly. The man at the pie stall bought another pie and sat, slowly eating it, bite every few minutes; the thin one rubbed his ink-stained fingers against his cuff until the fabric shone.
Neither spoke to the other, nor looked at each other, but they all looked at the sa place: the inn.
"AI."
[Listening.]
"Record their appearance for later use."
[Recorded.]
Morena slipped from the alley and into the thin seam between buildings on the other side of the street. From there, she had the cobbler’s window and its wavy glass. In it, the street bent and slurred, but it still told the truth. The thin man didn’t buy anything. He stared at the leather soles he wasn’t going to wear and pretended to browse.
Two eyes on the inn, Hark wasn’t wrong.
Morena hesitated on what to do.
She should leave, that was her original plan; however, if she left now, with two people already eyeing him, this might be the last ti she saw him. There were too many unanswered questions to just leave him to his death; she needed him still.
Pacing slowly, she thought about what to do.
"AI, what is the likelihood that they kill him tonight?"
[Information is lacking, however, the likelihood of attempted murder is 78%. May be higher if more information could be acquired.]
While the AI was only making a guess based on the limited information she had, it was still more than enough for her to act on it.
Crossing the street, she pushed open the door of the inn and walked in; looking around for the man.
He had already returned to his room.
Morena climbed the stair, and stopped outside the last door again. She knocked but didn’t speak, waiting to hear the rhythm of his steps moving closer to the door.
"You need to leave."
His voice was low, hanging near the door.
"I thought you already left."
"I did, but this is more important. You said you want a heavier purse and a safer path. You won’t get either if you’re dead by morning."
A soft silence, then a doubtful voice, he spoke.
"Are you threatening ?"
"I’m not the one threatening you."
Another short silence followed before she spoke again.
"The street has two extra sets of eyes today. They move separately but seem to share the sa goal. Both stare at the inn. Whatever you did, it’s clear that the people after you have caught up."
Then the latch turned. The door opened just enough for her to slide through sideways.
The room was narrow, with a small bed, a table, and a single toilet. A dark stain warped the plank near the window where rain had worked through for years. Corin stood with the leather tube under his arm and the satchel against his ribs, eyes cutting to the window and back.
"Are you sure?"
"As sure as I could be to co back here."
He closed his eyes hard and opened them again.
"Help leave."
"You won’t get out the front without feeding a knife. There’s a back stair?"
He pointed with his chin. There was a door to the back of the inn, it wasn’t used much, only for transporting goods in and out, but with a little coin they could get the owner to let them out.
"You go out the back."
"And you?"
"I’ll go out the front with a leather tube under my cloak."
"Decoy."
"Yes."
He shook his head.
"They’ll follow you."
"That’s the idea."
"You’ll die."
"No."
She walked to the window and put her fingers on the sill. She didn’t open it. The street sound ca thin through the poor join.
"Listen to . You go down the back with Hark. He’s a soldier, and he knows how to be nothing and everything both. He’ll shadow you and bring you back to a place of mine. Do not stand out, do not run, do not panic."
"Where?"
"A granary near the ropewalk. It’s ours and not ours. No crests. No eyes. You will knock twice and then once and then wait. If no one opens, you sleep in the alley with the dogs, and you don’t move until night. Hark will be near."
He swallowed.
"Why help ?"
"Because your knowledge helps ."
He caught the truth of it and didn’t argue with the kind of honesty that had a bite.
"And if I don’t go?"
"You’ll still help . One way or another."
He watched her the way a man watches a bridge he isn’t sure will hold.
"All right."
He pulled the door and nodded, making his way down the staircase with Morena following after.
After a short discussion with the owner, paying so silver for his door, they ca to an understanding.
"Go."
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