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

blanket. Am I a murderer? Aidan wondered for the millionth time. I surely hope not. Aloud he said, “No, he is right to be wary. Any man should be wary of a stranger.”

“But you ever kill a person?” asked the gruff old man.

Aidan took another sip of the wine, feeling all the eyes on him. He wiped his mouth clean with the back of his hand and set down his glass, this time for good. “Not that I’m aware of.”

That eased the tension a little. A few even laughed.

“As it is,” said Aidan, “you’ll be rid of me tomorrow.”

“Don’t be too sure of that,” said Isaac. “You’re low on supplies, and this storm could go on for days. No, you’d better plan on spending more than tonight in our company.”

And plan on spending more than eight pence. Rather than making a fuss, Aidan simply nodded.

The old man belched and stretched. “Who be on for the first watch?”

All looked to Isaac, who gave a dramatic sigh. “Very well. We’ll draw for it.” He reached into his inner vest and pulled out a handful of twigs. “The short straw gets the pick of the watches.” Isaac rose and went to each man, having them pick one of the twigs from his fist. “The longest gets the second pick.”

“Any paying a man to take my watch?” asked one of the men.

“That isn’t fair, an’ you know it,” Trudy spat. “You’re the keeper of everyone’s wages, you indecent—”

“Now, Trudy.” Isaac held up a callused hand. “No need to get after the old man for trying.”

Aidan took his twig from Isaac and fisted it. His whole body seemed to relax into the cushion he sat on. No, he would not be awake for long. He would allow himself to sleep lightly, and Dismiss all of his belongings. Then, he hoped, he would be left alone.

As it turned out, Aidan had drawn the middle straw and was at the mercy of the rest of the men. His watch was set for the very middle of the night, the slot nobody wanted.

“Sorry about that,” said the man named Algie, an owlish youth with a beaklike nose and large tawny eyes that were set too close together. “Rules are rules.”

“Speaking of rules,” said Isaac, “I think it’s fair to set a few of them, regarding our guest.” He cleared his throat and looked each man and woman in the eye. “There will be no disturbing, robbing, or murdering of our guest while he sleeps. Ain’t polite.”

The men grunted in agreement. “Aye, sir.”

Aidan nodded his appreciation, his jaw tensing. “That is quite good of you.”

Isaac shrugged. “We’re a decent lot.” He looked at Algie, a warning. “For the most part. As for our guest – there will be no disturbing, robbing, murdering of us in our sleep, for we’re a close-knit group, and there will be retaliation.”

Aidan quirked a half-smile. “Understood.”

“A deal, then?” Isaac spat in his hand, which he extended to Aidan.

Aidan spat into his own, and they shook on it.

* * *

Back in his tent, Aidan began to feel the effects of the alcohol. He hadn’t consumed much, only half a glass. But perhaps that had been unwise.

He dropped where he stood, the candle in his hand hissing, fizzing, and then extinguishing on the damp earth next to him. The world was topsy-turvy, and he scarce could think straight as he crawled away from the entrance of his tent, the wind whipping at the flaps.

The Romas had given him a blanket, but Aidan couldn’t muster the strength to find it. “How am I to keep watch in this condition?” he wondered, his whole body shaking with cold. “I haven’t been this drunk since I was five and twenty.” Seven years. He hadn’t even touched a drink since then. Alcohol did strange things to men, he’d observed, made them put their guard down.

“You think he’s out?” said a voice in the entryway, one that sounded like Trudy’s.

“Do it matter?” answered another, the girl’s. “He ain’t armed.”

“But he’s strong, no doubt.”

“Aye, and handsome,” the girl giggled, fingers feathering Aidan’s hair.

“Shh. Keep your voice low. Isaac already suspects us.”

Aidan tried moving, but it was as if his whole body had been weighted down with iron. I’ve been drugged, he thought, cursing his own stupidity.

“Where do you think he hid his money?” the girl asked with a sigh. She stopped stroking his hair, and her Pull told him she had begun prowling around the tent. “Can’t we light a candle?”

“Nay, fool girl. We’ll draw the others to us.” Trudy cursed. “Is he lying on it?”

“Only one way to find out.” They rolled Aidan over onto his back, and he flailed like a dropped ragdoll. “Nothing. You don’t think he buried it?”

“If he did, it’ll be buried nearby. Do you think he can hear us?”

“Nah. He should be dead, the dose I gave him. Can’t imagine how he managed to survive, less he be Blest.”

“How could you, Trudy?”

Someone snorted. “What? Poison him? I don’t see why not. He ain’t done nothing for us.”

“True, but I might have liked him.” The girl sniffed. “But do you really think he might be Blest?”

“Must be.”

Aidan could do nothing but listen to the two chat and prowl around the tent, searching for his money. At his watch, if he lived to see it, he would take his horse and ride as far from these cursed Romas as he could.

“Did you hear that?” asked the girl. “Is he getting up?”

“Nah. You’re too easily spooked.”

Someone’s skirt brushed Aidan’s side. “Well, this was fruitless.”

“Aye.”

“What should we tell Algie?”

“That he can do his own dirty work next time, that’s what. C’mon, girl. We’ll be missed.” And with that, the two left.

The storm raged on, and the tent leaked. Horses whinnied their displeasure nearby. Aidan wondered if his horse and saddle would still be there in the morning, or if the Romas would merely abscond with everything, including the tent over his head. The woman, Trudy, had meant to kill him.