Michael Sullivan - The Crown Tower

“A horse? You compared us to a horse?”

Grue smirked. “It’s what he understands.”

Gwen was pretty sure it was what Grue understood too.

“Stane agreed to behave,” Grue said.

“He’ll kill me, Raynor.” She hoped that by using his first name her plea would sound more personal, as if she were talking to an old friend instead of the man who had forced her into prostitution. “He wants me dead because I ran to the sheriff.”

“Well, I guess ya shoulda thought about that before, don’t ya think?”

She didn’t answer. How could she answer that? If she were a man, she’d give him the beating of his life, but if she were a man, she wouldn’t need to.

Seeing her face, he softened slightly. “Look, I’m just saying ya bring things on yourself. Besides, if Stane really did want to kill you, he wouldn’t have to come here to see it done. But it doesn’t matter anyway. He’s getting Jollin.”

“He asked? And you agreed? You’re actually going to sell another girl to him?”

“Ale, gambling, and women is how I make my living. That’s all there is to it.”

“Don’t you do it! Goddammit, Grue, you can’t. You just can’t!”

“I already told ya, he didn’t ask for you.”

“I don’t care. He’ll kill her. Don’t you see that?”

“He’s got nothing against Jollin.”

“He had nothing against Avon either. He just liked seeing her scared.”

“Getting real tired of your mouth, Gwen. Drop it.” Grue shoved her roughly out of his way and returned to checking the kegs, giving the Ole Roundhouse Nut Brown a stronger rocking than necessary.

“You don’t own us.”

“Oh no?”

“Ethan won’t let you keep us here against our will. The sheriffs have to report to the high constable, who reports to the king, and King Amrath cares about-”

“What in Novron’s name do ya know about King Amrath and his thinking? Or the sheriff’s for that matter? You’re just an ignorant whore, Gwen, and that’s why I don’t have to keep ya at all. I told you that. You can leave any time you want.” He grabbed a fistful of her hair and dragged her to the door, shoving her out to the porch. “There … go. Go on, get!” He stared at her. “Where ya gonna go? What ya gonna do? Winter is coming and nights are already getting chilly. Where ya gonna sleep? How ya gonna eat?”

“I can do the same thing I’ve been doing.”

“Like ya did last time? Like Hilda? Go ahead, try again. I told ya I wouldn’t stand in your way. I just won’t take ya back this time. But you go on. You might last longer than she did. She survived a couple weeks. Maybe you can do better. I actually think ya will. You’re smarter. I bet you’ll last a whole month. Well … maybe not. She wasn’t a foreigner.”

Hilda and Avon had been at the Head before Gwen arrived. Neither one ever admitted how long they’d been there. Hilda had been bent on getting out. She’d saved her meager tips, and after a beating one night, she’d run away. Rumors said she tried to find legitimate work but couldn’t. She resorted to applying at another alehouse, but they all knew she was Grue’s girl and refused. With no other choice, she sold herself on the street, taking men into the alley behind the tannery. She survived all of two weeks. Ethan found her. She’d been robbed and strangled. They never bothered to look for the killer. It could have been anyone.

Grue stepped back, clearing the doorway. “Ya want to live? Ya stay here, and to stay here, ya do as I say.” He rubbed his feebly thin beard, which was no more than tufts of hair that refused to grow together or to a length longer than three inches. “Listen,” he began in a softer tone, “I was trying not to scare ya, but even I know putting you and Stane together ain’t a good idea. So he’s getting Jollin.”

Gwen’s eyes widened. “He did ask for me!”

“Yeah, but he’s not getting ya. Not tonight. Not until I can tell he’s gotten over this whole thing.”

“But it’s not something he’ll get over-it’s the way he is , Grue. And even if it wasn’t, he’d do it out of spite, out of revenge. He’ll kill Jollin because he knows it will hurt me. And if that’s the best he can do, then he’ll settle for that.”

Grue ran a hand down his face and shook his fist at her. “Gwen, I’m tired of arguing with ya. It’s not for you to say. He’s getting Jollin, right after he finishes the door. I’ve already made up my mind.”

“I’m warning you, Grue-”

He slapped her hard, enough to make her stagger but not fall. Still, the crack echoed between The Hideous Head and the inn across the street. “First ya threaten to leave, then ya threaten me ? That Calian blood of yours is gonna be the death of you. I shoulda never taken you in. You’re more trouble than you’re worth. I knew men would find you exotic, a novelty. But if I had known how much trouble you’d cause…”

He took her by the shoulders, his long dirty fingers squeezing like bird’s claws. “Now I’m gonna tell ya what you’re gonna do, and you’re gonna do it. Understand?” He gave her a rough shake. “I want you to go wake Jollin up and get a room ready for them. Make up the little one, best not to have Stane in the one with the bloody spot. No sense giving him any ideas.”

He pulled her back into the tavern and pushed her toward the stairs. She staggered into a table and chair. “And I don’t want to hear another word.” He raised a pointed finger. “Not … a … single … word.”

Thud, thud, thud . Stane’s hammer pounded.

When Gwen entered the girls’ room, they were all sleeping as close as puppies on the two mattresses lying on the floor. Work at the Head rarely started before sundown, so they napped during the day. Aside from Gwen, Jollin was the oldest. Rose was the youngest-fourteen, maybe, but Gwen never got a straight answer out of the girl, so she really didn’t know. Mae was the smallest, like a delicate bird, and Gwen always cringed when she saw the girl go upstairs with some of the big brutes who had to keep ducking even after entering the tavern. Etta, who had never been much of a looker, was now worse thanks to a smashed-in nose and two missing front teeth, the remains of a beating that had left her unconscious for a day and a half. She did most of the serving and cleaning chores around the Head. Christy and Abby could have been sisters, they looked so much alike, but Christy came from Cold Hollow and Abby was a native of Wayward Street. All of them had been born in Medford or one of the nearby villages or farms. None had traveled more than a couple of miles their whole lives-except Gwen-who had come from another world.

Thud, thud, thud . “Almost done, Grue,” Stane shouted.

Gwen had crossed a continent, traversing two nations and five kingdoms. She’d seen mountains, jungles, and great rivers. She’d stood in the capital of the east and the largest city in the west, but in all her travels, nothing had ever compared to the sight she’d seen in that tiny room where her dead mother had passed-what she had seen in the eyes of the man who had placed six gold coins in her hand.

Wait until it’s absolutely necessary.

“Get up! Get up, all of you.” She shook each of them. “Gather your things and hurry!”

They rose slowly, stretching-cats now instead of puppies.

“What’s going on?” Jollin asked, wiping her face and squinting at the light outside the windows.

“We need to leave.”

“Leave? What do you mean?” Jollin asked.

“We can’t stay here anymore.”

Jollin rolled her eyes. “Not again. Gwen, if you want to try and leave again, go.”

“I can’t go alone. None of us can make it on our own, but together we just might survive.”