The Renegade Merchant Read Online Free PDF

man. Unlike
Luke, however, who was struggling with John’s authority, resulting
in an overbearing attitude, Cedric appeared to want to please and
to be helpful. Gareth could use the help, especially in a strange
city where he wasn’t quite welcome.
    The pool of blood had been found in an alley
off the river street, in the northwestern quadrant of the town.
Following Cedric, they crossed the town to the south of the castle
and ended up in the southeast quadrant, in the exact opposite
quarter of Shrewsbury from where they’d started. As they approached
this area of the town, however, Gwen’s steps slowed. The wind had
shifted slightly and the vile smell of tanning leather, which was
emanating from some of the buildings ahead of them, wafted strongly
in their direction.
    In England and Wales, the wind tended to
come from the west or southwest, so the collection of skinners,
tanners, glovers, and leather goods makers whose workshops and
stalls made up the southeast quadrant of the city didn’t usually
pollute the whole of the city. If they had, when Gareth had arrived
at the west gate yesterday, he might have turned his family around
right then and there.
    Gwen was having a more difficult pregnancy
this time than with Tangwen, and Gareth knew she struggled to keep
down her breakfast most mornings. Fortunately, she was hanging onto
it at the moment, even if it meant clenching her fists so tightly
her knuckles had turned white.
    Gareth put his head close to Gwen’s.
“Breathe slowly and deeply through your mouth.”
    She put the back of her hand to her nose.
“They say that after a while a person can get used to any smell,
but I’m not so sure about this one.”
    Cedric halted in front of an inn. Like most
buildings in Shrewsbury, it was made of wood, not stone, with a
thatch roof that had a hole in the center to let out the smoke. It
was bigger than most of the surrounding houses and workshops, and a
sign out front was adorned with a drawing of what might have been
the head of a horse.
    “The Boar’s Head Inn,” Cedric said.
    Gwen raised her eyebrows. “They should get
you to do the drawing for them, Gareth. Then we’d at least know
what its name is supposed to be.”
    She’d spoken in Welsh and in an undertone,
so Cedric, who was purely Saxon for thirteen generations, couldn’t
understand her. He didn’t turn around.
    “I’m sure the last thing they need is
criticism of their sign,” Gareth said, though he touched her hand
as he spoke so she would know he understood that she was trying to
lighten the mood.
    The rush mats on the floor were stained and
looked as if they hadn’t been changed since before old King Henry
died. The tables, benches, and stools were scarred and unpolished,
and a young woman was wiping them down with a wet cloth that looked
to be smearing the dirt around on the surface of the tables rather
than cleaning them. This tavern’s trade was definitely of the
rougher sort.
    At first blush, the inn was less a place to
sleep than a drinking establishment. The common room reeked of
beer, the national drink of England. Fermented from grains instead
of honey, which was the main ingredient in Welsh mead, the scent
was unmistakably yeasty. This early in the morning, the smell—mixed
as it was with the slightly muted scent of tanning leather—made
Gareth gag, and he glanced concernedly to Gwen, whose face had
taken on a pinched look, and who was breathing exclusively through
her mouth, as he’d suggested.
    Gareth sent up a prayer of thanks that he
possessed enough status and relative wealth that he hadn’t had to
stoop to housing his family here. Even if the abbey had been full,
he could have stayed at the castle—and would have anyway had he
come to England on official business for Gwynedd. If that too had
been full, they would have been welcomed by a Welsh family who
lived in Shrewsbury. And if all else failed, he would have chosen
to stay outside the city and sleep in their tent or under