The Goblets Immortal by Beth Overmyer (read 50 shades of grey .TXT) 📕

“Yes, of course I have. What was wrong with him?”

“Well, he was after the wanted man.”

Aidan nodded. “I see.”

The others laughed, and the old man said, “No, you don’t. That wanted man supposedly vanished. Right into thin air.” He waved his hands around vaguely, his eyes wide with wonder. “Scared the livin’ daylights out of his lordship, serves the old rascal right.”

“And you’ve just come from there, from Prewitt manor?” Aidan felt for the Pulls of the men’s swords. All were copper or lead. He took in their wagon and suppressed a grimace. Romas. He could only hope that the so-called seer wasn’t among their number.

“You haven’t figured it out, then?” said the man in charge. “We’re no friend of his lordship.” He spat, and the others followed suit, even the woman. “So, what brings you into these godforsaken woods?”

Aidan frowned and let out a soft chuckle. “Godforsaken, you say?”

“We do say, sir, we do,” said the older gent. “There be bandits hereabouts. S’not right to be romping about on one’s own. Ain’t safe.”

The men grunted in agreement. The woman spat again before saying, “What isn’t to say he ain’t a bandit?”

Aidan folded his arms. “What’s to say you aren’t?”

That caused the men to laugh and relax. “He’s got a point there, Trudy,” said the man in charge. “I’m Isaac. Isaac Pensworth, at your service.” Isaac extended his hand, and he and Aidan gripped forearms.

“Aidan Powell at yours.” Powell was his mother’s maiden name, and by the look on the other man’s face, he knew that it wasn’t Aidan’s own.

Isaac cleared his throat and let his hand drop. “Well then, you can stop hiding in that brush there. We’ve an extra tent that might accommodate you during the storm…for a price, of course.” His eyes wandered to Aidan’s saddlebag, which sat just behind him. “Might want to keep a good grip on that, sir. The family has sticky fingers, each and every last one of us.”

The Romas were spreading out, assembling camp as the wind picked up. Thunder rumbled a few miles off after lightning streaked across the darkening sky.

“I only have eight pence to my name, sir.” He brushed a spider’s web from his bare shoulder, ignoring the scurrying of eight legs down his back.

“Please, it’s just Isaac – and five will do, milord.”

Aidan met his stare, all the while his heart thudding hard in his chest. They can’t know who I am…can they? he wondered. Surely they knew he was the criminal just escaped from Prewitt manor. But what else did they suspect?

Isaac laughed and motioned for Aidan to follow him. “Come, fetch your things, milord. Keep ’em close. Eight pence is enough to buy labor as well.”

“I can pull my own weight, but I thank you, Isaac.”

“I’m sure he can,” the woman named Trudy said, her eyes traveling over Aidan’s bare torso. “Not a very gentlemanly gentleman, is he, now?”

“My apologies, ma’am.” He retrieved his shirt and quickly dressed, ignoring the woman’s laughter.

* * *

When no one was looking, Aidan Dismissed his belongings, planning on Summoning what he needed later whilst the company of Romas slept. He’d known Romas before, and they were as Isaac said: sticky fingers, quite a few of them.

With everyone working, the tents were pitched in no time, and the horses were taken undercover as well. “Will these withstand the wind?” Aidan said above the roar.

Isaac looked heavenward and tested one of the ropes. “Aye, they’ll weather all right.” Lightning crackled against the gray clouds, and what had been a light sprinkling of droplets now became a heavy downpour. “Join us in the main tent when you’re able. Supper should be ready shortly.”

For a moment, he hesitated. The offer was as tempting as it was repulsive, though he would not admit either to the man. Aidan needed to be alone, to puzzle through the day’s events and then catch a few winks of sleep before he snuck out of camp. On the other hand, the last conversation he’d had before the one with Tristram had been two and a half weeks prior. After pausing too long, Aidan finally came out with, “I would not dream of troubling you.”

“For eight pence and a turn at keeping watch? That’ll put some food in your stomach.” He gave Aidan a sympathetic smile and ducked out of the tent.

His shoulders dropped and he shook his head. There would be a price, Aidan knew. There was always a price. Still, he hadn’t eaten since the previous day. Whatever the Romas demanded, he could probably afford. He hoped he could afford.

He Summoned his saddlebag, pulled out eight pence, stuck them in his money purse, then Dismissed the saddlebag again. He tucked in his shirt, smoothed back his hair, and joined the Romas in the main tent.

There was no making a fire that night, what with the rain falling and the winds gusting. The group of vagabonds dined on tinned meats and dried fruit, which they shared freely with their guest. “Some wine, milord?”

“Lord?” the old man laughed. “I doubt it.”

“Now, Uncle,” said Trudy, filling a tankard and passing it to Aidan, “Isaac’s just usin’ his manners, ain’t he?” She shot Isaac a look.

“Oh, aye,” said Isaac after dragging a long draft from his stein.

“So, where’re ye from, Mr. Aidan Powell?” said a young woman he had mistaken for a boy earlier.

Aidan swallowed a small mouthful of the cherry wine and shook his head. “Just Aidan, if you please.” He set the glass aside, though kept his hand over the opening, should he care to take another sip.

The young woman leered at him for a moment, then her eyes fell down to her plate. “Is you from these parts?”

“Now, Pol, keep yourn mouth shut. Our guest don’ have to answer no questions.” Trudy winked at Aidan, then nodded at Isaac.

“Don’t he?” asked another man. “We could be takin’ a murderer into our company.”

Pol hissed, Trudy tutted, and Isaac wouldn’t meet anyone’s eye.

Silence fell over them like a