"What'll you have?"
The barkeeper looked up as Cam entered, and he looked down again just as quickly when he saw that Cam's sword was sheathed. Cam put two copper pieces on the bar.
"Give me an ale." The barkeeper slid the tankard across the bar and Cam settled himself where he could watch the door. Near the fire, a pox-faced bard warbled through an old ballad. The inn's patrons were too drunk or too engrossed in their chatter to care how often the bard's voice cracked or how flat his lyre was.
There'd been rumors that the divisionists met here, although as Cam looked around the
room, none of the small groups of patrons seemed likely conspirators. If most looked up from their dice or their ale, it was to leer at the serving girls, who were as shopworn as the inn. A candlemark passed, then two. Cam kept an ear open to the conversations around him.
"Heard that grain's going to cost double by summer," a trader mused at the next table.
"What do you expect, after the trouble in Margolan? Lucky if we've got bread on the table by spring," his companion said.
"Don't mind going without bread, but I'd hate to see us run out of mead," the trader replied.
"From the taste of this rubbish, the bar here ran out of mead a while ago. And the bread is stale enough to use for a brick. Fah. A couple of coppers used to buy more."
Cam rose and let himself out the back door, heading for the privy. It was a sorry looking shack that stank even in the frigid air. Its rickety door was barely solid enough to screen its user from view and did nothing to stop the wind. Finished with his business, Cam was about to open the privy door when he heard voices nearby.
"What have you heard?"
"It's all been arranged. The Lord's got his man in place in Margolan-couldn't pay me enough in Trevath gold to live in that damned haunted castle."
"What do you want us to do?"
"Keep the guards hopping. Enough fires and street fights and Donelan will be too busy to bother about what's happening in Margolan."
"How do we know Margolan won't just march an army over to keep peace if Donelan can't handle it?".
"The Margolan army is busy. The Lord saw to that. Once King Martris is out of the way, you can have your princess back-and whatever brat she's carrying as a bonus. You get yours, we get ours-nice and tidy."
Cam waited until the.men had gone. He was chilled through, but his mind raced at the "conversation. One of the men had the hint of a Trevath accent. What does does a Trev care about Isencroft's crown? He's got no cause with the divisionists-unless it's to keep us busy while Tris goes to war. Cam went back to the inn long enough to warm up once more, and was about to head home when someone bumped against him.