Chapter 9

It's hard to be inconspicuous when you're running around a farm town at night wearing a red velvet cloak and hood.

So I pulled Var into the mouth of an alley, and tugged at her cloak. "Button that thing up, and cover your face with the hood as best you can."

When she did, I took her to a run-down inn that catered mostly to humans—the kind with very little money. Everything in the place was oversized and shabby, but it was reasonably clean and the innkeeper displayed a satisfying lack of interest in his customers.

In our room, Var carefully removed the pearls from her hair and stowed them in a pocket of the cloak for safekeeping. They were valuable, but it would be hard to exchange them for cash without attracting attention. Ah, well, a problem for another day—a day when we got hungry, no doubt. These quick getaways were always problematic.

I watched as she began to remove more pieces of clothing. Her outfit had several layers to it, apparently. There was the outer, shiny red dress with the gold cords, and then a soft calf-length red shift underneath, plus matching stockings and red leather boots. She kept the shift and stockings on, which was depressingly modest of her.

She turned to me. "Take off your tunic and things," she said briskly. "Then climb up on the bed."

I raised my eyebrows. "What, not even going to buy me a mug of ale first?"

"Very funny. I want to make sure that the cut on your ribs hasn't opened up again."

She stood staring at me expectantly, and my face started to feel damned hot. Well, it's an uncomfortable thing to just strip off in front of someone. I raised one hand, index finger pointing downward, and twirled it. "Turn around."

She smiled, then turned in a complete circle, ending up facing me again.

I snorted. "Everyone thinks they're a comedian. Turn around."

"Oh, stop it. It's not like I haven't seen your chest before." She came closer. "Here, I'll help you."

I fended her off. "No, I'll do it." Sighing, I removed the leather belts and straps, the dagger and its sheath, the Warg pelt, the olive-green tunic, a couple of small holsters for hideout knives, my boots (making sure the weapons and tools inside them were safe), and finally, my undershirt. There were a few little streaks of new blood on the undershirt, but nothing serious.

Then I climbed up on the bed, which was huge and lumpy. Its rope frame creaked a little, but there was plenty of stuffing and it didn't sag too much. Var climbed up beside me.

"Lie back," she ordered.

I did, tucking my hands behind my head to make it easier for her to reach my ribs. "Are you going to take advantage of me?"

I was joking, of course. I figured she'd roll her eyes, or make some exasperated sound—anything to relieve the tension of being alone together, on a bed, not wearing much in the way of clothing. But she didn't. The exasperated look faded from her face and she surveyed every last inch of my exposed flesh. My heart started beating faster.

But she didn't move toward me, either. She just stared. I swallowed and said, "So finish your story. You were saying that you sold gems and collected information."

She blinked a couple of times, then became brisk and businesslike again. "Right. Well, you know most of it now. I collect information, because it's good for business. And it's easy, usually. I don't go anywhere, I just have people over—and listen to what they tell me."

She un-knotted the old bandage, and removed the blood-soaked pad. Her fingers were deft and gentle, and I liked hearing the sound of her voice. It was so soothing. I wanted to sink into comfort of her soft touches and sweet murmurs. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to concentrate on her words instead.

"But it seems like something I've learned is more important than I realized," she was saying. "That's the way it is with secrets—people tell you things that seem so trivial, but which are immensely valuable to someone else. And sometimes you don't even know."

"So what have you heard recently that could have caused all this commotion?" I asked.

She placed a folded-up piece of cotton—a handkerchief, I thought—against my side, and then reached around me with both arms for the strip of cloth that would hold it in place. Her cheek rested briefly on my chest. I shifted my position, and something hard dug into my right kidney. My pockets still had various tools in them, and I'd forgotten to remove this particular item: two joined loops of mithril, light and flexible but unbreakable. I made a mental note to shift the things in my pockets to my boots when I got the chance.

"Nothing I can put my finger on. There are always reports of flashes of light being seen from the top of the Tower of Orthanc at night, but since Saruman the White lives there, that's only to be expected. And it's of no consequence to us, for luckily he takes no notice of the Dwarves. The Dunlendings are a half-wild folk who would rather prey upon our caravans of goods than trade honorably, so I am always alert for news of bandits along the trade routes. The Men of Rohan come to us for raw materials and fashion their own tools and weapons."

She knotted the bandage holding the pad in place, and sat back. "However, a jeweler I know, an old dwarf of legendary skill and craftsmanship, told me that an old man had come to him seeking knowledge concerning dwarven techniques in fashioning jewelry—necklaces and rings and brooches and such. But it seems nothing came of it, for the jeweler died not long ago, and the man Sharku never returned."

Dunlending bandits. Riders of Rohan. Craftsmen seeking knowledge. Wizards shooting thunderbolts into the dark. I tried to picture how these rumors and glimpses might be fitted together to make a larger whole, but it wasn't easy.

"Our attackers at the Pony looked like Dunlendings. Maybe the Dunlendings are preparing for war against Rohan. Are there any bandit chieftains who have developed larger ambitions?"

She shrugged. "Could be. I just don't know who it might be. I've told all this to Nott, and perhaps she can make some sense of it."

"She'd better figure it out fast, because we can't stop the attacks until we know who's behind them," I pointed out.

Var sighed and looked down at her hands, which lay empty, palms up, in her lap. "We may never know. And if we don't, the attacks won't stop until I'm dead. Or until they think I'm dead."

I looked sharply at her. Did she realize what she was saying? I said, "We'll stop them."

"How? We don't know who they are or what they want." There was a note of despair in her voice.

Mahal damn her, she was planning to sneak away in the middle of the night. I could feel it in my bones. She was going to run, thinking she would be sparing us all from danger, and odds were all she'd be doing would be to hand herself on a silver platter to whoever it is who was after her.

"You don't need to do this alone. Let me help you." I propped myself up on one elbow and reached for her hand.

Smiling, she took my hand and squeezed it, then released it. She leaned forward to cup my face in both her hands, tenderly smoothing my beard against my jaws. My eyes closed of their own accord, and I nearly groaned with pleasure. Mahal, it felt good.

"Don't get mixed up in my problems, Dwalin. I'm bad luck, and I don't want it to rub off on you."

Using about a lifetime supply of willpower, I sat up and took her hands from my beard. I held both her hands in one of mine, and stroked down the side of her face with one knuckle. "Oh, yeah, because I have no idea what bad luck is like. I just wouldn't know what to do if trouble came my way. Or your way."

"Are you making fun of me?" Var asked, her eyes flashing. "Spare me, all right? This is hard enough for me as it is."

It wasn't hard to put a regretful look on my face right then, because I really was sorry. But sometimes a man has to do the difficult thing. Casually, I reached behind my back with my free hand and dug my fingers into my back pocket. "I'm sorry you don't see things my way."

She ducked her head, resigned to her solitary martyrdom, determined to run away and spare us all the trouble she was sure she brought down on our heads, et cetera and so on.

That was when I whipped out the mithril double-loop. I slid one loop over her wrist and pulled it closed. Then I put the other loop over my own wrist and tightened it. We were handcuffed together.

"As I said, I'm sorry, but I'm not going to let you do this alone."

Shock and outrage blazed in her eyes, and I braced myself for the explosion.