131 Days: Spikes and Edges (Book 3) by Keith C. Blackmore

Author:Keith C. Blackmore [Blackmore, Keith C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Keith C Blackmore
Published: 2015-10-06T22:00:00+00:00

Halfway to dawn, Borchus nearly collapsed on the cellar door where he and Garl stayed through the nights. The stitches in his wound tugged uncomfortably. The healer he’d visited was the same long-bearded, rabbit-eating man he, Garl, and Halm had found days ago. Though well past closing time, the man still allowed Borchus into his workplace and treated him with the same stoicism as before. That kind of professionalism demanded right and proper compensation, and Borchus had paid the healer well.

With his side burning, Borchus paused before the cellar door and regarded the alley. He’d been careful walking home, circling the area twice before deciding it was safe. Even then, he glanced over his shoulder far more often than he should. The only people in the streets lay out of harm’s way, sleeping off the night’s drinking. At one point, he saw the torches of the patrolling street watch but avoided them.

Home, his wretched home, had beckoned.

Facing the planks, Borchus winced as he bent over and scratched his fingernails on the wood three times. A dull clump sounded from below, prompting Borchus to scan the alleys’ shadows again. Above the darkened peaks and spires, the night sky glittered.

The cellar door opened a crack.

“Garl.”

“Borchus?”

“Let me in, quickly.”

“What?”

“Let me in.”

A scraping followed as Garl undid a pair of inner hooks. The one-legged man lifted the top of the lid high enough for Borchus to slip his fingers into the crack. He lifted, weak from blood loss and effort. He expecting his stitches to burst, but they held. As quietly as he could, Borchus descended to the cellar, making note to pay the cobbler for use of the space below his house. The sum was due at week’s end.

To his credit, Garl held his tongue until Borchus was below ground and the door closed and hooked.

“Where have you been?” Garl blustered. “What’s wrong? Has something happened? Why are you––”

Borchus waved a hand, indicating he wanted a moment to settle in. He walked into the deeper section of the cellar, rounded a corner, and eventually sat down on his cot with a sigh of relief. A second candle burned in a metal holder with a thick crown of melted wax at the base. An anxious Garl appeared on his crutches a beat later.

“Well?”

“A pair of dogs tried to kill me.” Borchus gently laid himself down.

“What?” Garl’s face bleached in the candlelight, and his breath quickened. “What?”

“I’d been visiting people when they came upon me in an alleyway. Tried to stick me with daggers. Two very eager bastards.”

“Who were you visiting?”

“That’s not important.”

“It is if someone tried to kill you shortly after.”

“No one who would want me dead.”

“All right. All right, so who tried to kill you?”

Borchus stared at the ceiling. “I don’t know. It was dark. I happened to be bleeding, so I wasn’t so concerned with finding out who was holding the blades. I was concerned about finding a healer, which is why I’m taking my time walking around, and you’re no doubt smelling something akin to onions.

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