thirteen days
Thirteen days, and 22,000 words of “Nightfighter” written. If I keep this up, I think I can finish it by December 22nd, all according to plan.
I don’t know if this scene is effective or not, but it was fun to write:
“Good,” said Halfdan, gesturing again. “That man, the one leaving the inn. Tell me about him.”
Caina watched the man descend the inn’s stairs. He moved with a heavy stride, sweat dripping down his forehead, and his gut strained against his belt and the fine velvet of his coat. He wore a short sword, but the weapon looked ornamental. Not like the simple, deadly things that Riogan carried.
“He’s a merchant,” said Caina. “I think he sells…spices. Yes, that’s it. Spices. Also, his money pouch is in the inside pocket of his coat.”
Halfdan lifted his gray eyebrows. “Now, how did you know all that?”
“He’s fat and sweaty,” said Caina. “So, he doesn’t labor for a living. His clothes are too nice. And there’s black powder on the sleeves of his coat. Probably pepper, I think. And he keeps reaching into his coat and looking around. His money pouch is in there.”
“Very good,” said Halfdan. “That fellow, there?”
“A courier. He’s wearing spurs, he has mud on his boots, and he’s got the sigil of a noble House on his coat. House…Basilicus?”
“Yes,” said Halfdan. “And that woman?”
“A shopkeeper’s wife,” said Caina. “She squints and has a stoop, so she must do his account books.” She blinked again. “Like my mother always said reading would do to me.”
“You have a gift for observation,” said Halfdan. “And for deducing facts from those things you observe.”
Caina shrugged. “What good is that?”
A smile flickered over Halfdan’s face. “You’d be surprised.” He gestured again. “What about that woman, the one in the blue cloak?”
“She’s the wife of a linen broker,” said Caina, “and she has four children.”
Halfdan frowned. “Now how did you work that out?”
“Because my father’s seneschal would buy linen from her husband,” said Caina.
Halfdan burst out laughing.
Elementary, my dear readers. Elementary.
-JM