Page 6 of Company of Thieves
The innkeeper swallowed a couple of times, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his scrawny neck before he answered, “Madame is ... connected ... with the prince?”
“Nope,” I said, giving everyone in the room a friendly smile. They all looked like they had been turned to stone. “But that’s not really a problem, because evidently he held my brother and sister-in-law prisoner for a bit, so we are kind of acquainted-by-kidnap, if you will. Is he here? In town?”
The innkeeper looked a bit dazed, but wasn’t forthcoming with any information.
“Anyone?” I asked, looking at the motley gang.
No one said a word.
I sighed and reached under my tunic to pull out the little bag that hung around my neck. Octavia said it was called a Lady’s Protector, but it looked like the sort of passport neck pouch I’d worn the year I went to Europe. I pulled out the collection of bills. “Right, let’s see if this helps your memory.”
The innkeeper seemed to come to life at the sight of the money. His gaze shot past me to the door for a moment; then he pursed his lips and let his gaze drop to the money in my hand. “There is a gentleman in the area who might fit the description of Prince Akbar, but Madame is not recommended to visit his camp.”
“Oh? Why not?”
He looked almost as scandalized as the starched woman on the airship. “It is not fitting for a lady such as Madame to visit the prince in his domicile.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask why, but I had an idea of just what was giving him so much grief. “Only ladies of ill repute visit him, eh?”
The innkeeper blinked, and murmured something about it not being a fitting subject to discuss with me.
“Right, well, I’m not a sex worker, not that I think anything is wrong with that, because women should feel completely comfortable taking ownership of their bodies and their lives, and if that’s what they want to do, well then, who am I to rain on their parades? So to speak. Regardless of all that, I really do need to see the prince. If you could just be so kind as to point me in his direction, I would be happy to make a little donation to your inn.”
He licked his lips when I plucked out a second bill and, holding it between two fingers, waved it in the air. “It is too dangerous, madame. I could not live with myself knowing I had led you to one who is most ruthless, most feared.”
“He sounds just perfect for my needs.” I added a third bill. That did the trick. He eased the bills out of my hand, saying, “To the south, the road that leads past the oasis goes to a small rise above a wadi, about a mile from town. There is a camp, and it is said the monseigneur who leads many men has a great airship the color of the darkest night.”
“That sounds like Akbar to me. Is that the south road?”
He moved the finger I was pointing about fifteen degrees.“Bonne chance, madame.”
“And to you,” I repeated, and, with a little wave at the still silent and unmoving men in the inn, stepped out with a barely contained sense of excitement. I glanced at the sun, which looked likely to sink in a few hours behind the Atlas mountains that clung to the horizon, squared my shoulders, and started my trek.
“You’d just better not give me any grief, Akbar,” I said to myself while I marched along the dirt road. “Because I’m through being patient. This is my time to grab life by the balls, and I mean to do it!”
TWO
