The Bounty Hunter

Chapter Thirty Six

“It’ll be fine,” she said calmly as she headed back for a second armful. “I’ll work something out.”

They worked tirelessly for half an hour, depleting the straw stock considerably and leaving a small pile of coins as payment, before they crept back to where they had jumped out of their window. Inside the inn the last few stragglers were drinking and singing, banging endlessly on the tables and, at one point, what sounded like the tankards of mead and cider, which meant that they could work almost without worry of being disturbed. Only once, when a single man arrived late in the night and he came to put his horse away, did they panic, pressing themselves into the darkness of the end stable stall and hoping desperately that it wasn’t the one he chose as their hearts pounded. When they had finished they jumped nimbly back up on top of the low roof which Hergun had spotted below their room and then he stood on top of Safita’s shoulders and heaved himself through the window with a bit of struggle and a lot of complaints from her. “Honestly Hergun I know you say it’s mostly muscle but maybe I should be the one standing on your shoulders,” she grunted.

“You’d only have to pull me up then,” he replied, “and I don’t think even the legendary Spider is strong enough to do that. Now be quiet or I might just slip and fall on top of you.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Maybe,” he panted as he clung onto the windowsill and frantically flailed his legs around. Once he was up and safe inside he threw down a piece of rope to her and she shimmied up it easily; this, coupled with Hergun pulling it up as she climbed, made her ascent much easier than his had been. “You know,” she said conversationally as she locked the window behind her, “we should just have left the rope hanging down when we left.” Hergun glared at her and she smiled before collapsing onto her bed. “Wake me up when we need to leave. I don’t want the landlady finding out we stole her straw.”

They left early the next morning, sneaking out while the young girl who worked there at nights as a replacement was still on duty and bundling themselves into the cart as quietly as possible. By the time the poor stable boy’s ears were boxed for not keeping a closer eye on the inexplicably disappearing hay, even though he had been sent to bed before they had taken it, the two thieves were already nearing the walls of the capital.

“Hide Safita,” Hergun hissed as they joined the long line of carts waiting to enter the city.

“Why?” she asked. “We’ll be fine.”

“I’m just taking precautions. If you get us captured then you will have undone all of our work.”

“And if I’m hiding and they find me then it will look even more suspicious. Look I’ll just do this,” she said as she draped a thin piece of fabric over her head.

“How is that going to help?” he asked.

“It’s a makeshift mourning veil,” Safita replied as if it ought to be obvious. “I stole the fabric from the inn.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“I know,” she smiled, “but it hides the bruises.”

“That man deserves a slow death,” Hergun breathed as he remembered what he had said to his friend, how he had treated Safita. Even in the Outlands, where they were supposedly uncivilised, most men would never dream of hitting women and Hergun especially only treated those who threatened him with violence.

“No, a slow death would offer him the chance for creating more trouble. If I have the chance to kill him I am going to aim an arrow right at his forehead. He can pay for his crimes in the afterlife,” she replied. “It’s not like I’ve never been roughed up a bit.”