The dentist licked his dry lips. “She’s ah, she’s . . .” Somewhere deep inside, he found a seed of courage. “She’s—she’s my patient, sir.”
Nimue managed a short breath of relief. She climbed onto his cart.
“One of my regulars,” the dentist added.
“Remove your hood,” the Red Paladin ordered.
“Yes, sir.” Nimue obeyed, pulling down the hood of her cloak, eyes on the dentist’s muddy boots.
“Where are you from?” the Red Paladin asked.
Nimue tried to keep her voice light and steady. “Born in Hawksbridge, milord. My mother’s a—a laundress for the lord of the keep, and I fetch the lye from the monastery. That is—that is, when my tooth’s not ailing.”
“What tooth ails you?”
Nimue hesitated before pointing to the right side of her lower jaw. “This—this one, milord?” She tapped the spot.
The Red Paladin looked at the dentist. “The girl is suffering. What are you waiting for? Pull it.”
The dentist cupped his ear. “Sir?”
“The tooth. Pull it. Now.”
The dentist shook his head, not understanding. “But I—um, I haven’t . . .” He looked to Nimue for some kind of guidance.
Her ears rang, and Nimue felt another panicked urge to run. She saw only one course. She shut her eyes and nodded to the dentist.
The guard winced. “What, you want him to do it here?”
“Shut up, fool,” the Red Paladin snapped at the guard. Turning back to the dentist, the paladin pressed, “Is that a problem?”
“Not—not a problem.”
Nimue watched numbly as the dentist fished out a pair of bloodstained pliers from his weather-beaten satchel. Nimue dared to look at the Red Paladin. His eyes bored into hers. She looked down again.
“Let’s—let’s see what we have here,” the dentist muttered, almost having to pry open Nimue’s jaw.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “Ah yes,” he called out. “Here’s the culprit.” He indicated one of Nimue’s molars.
Nimue imagined herself in the brook by the broken statue in the Iron Wood. She thought of the cold water flowing over her legs as the jaws of the dentist’s dirty pliers clamped over her healthy tooth. The first twist tore several roots and a guttural sound of pain came up from Nimue’s throat. The dentist’s hand was strong, and he worked fast. He wrenched left, then right. Nimue’s head tried to jerk back, but the pliers held her. She heard the dentist somewhere say, “This will give you relief, milady.” Blood filled into a vacuum in her mouth as the pliers did their work and the tooth came free. A rag was stuffed into her mouth. Nimue opened her blurry eyes to the repulsed guard and the smug Red Paladin. The dentist’s hand was on her neck and his lips close to her ear. “All done now, child.”
The guard waved them on, reclaiming his authority. “Enough already. Away with you.”
The dentist whickered his horse, avoiding eye contact with the paladin as Nimue moaned into the cloth, her cheek throbbing. The Red Paladin kept his eyes locked on Nimue as they passed, daring her to look back, but she did not, and she managed a slight breath as they cleared the gate.
TEN
NIMUE SLIPPED OFF THE CART and hurried into the crowd.
Time was now in short supply. If she could not find Arthur, she risked being trapped inside the walls of Hawksbridge with Red Paladins guarding the city both inside and out.
The shops were shuttering for the approaching evening, but the Raven Wing was filling up. Nimue squeezed between two farmers awaiting entry and shoved her way inside. She took a chair and stood on it, still holding the bloody rag to her mouth, and took in a view of the whole tavern. As she scanned the faces of the crowd, her heart slowly sank. The corner where Bors had fleeced local farmers was filled with sooty boys from the ironworks next door.
“Oy! Get down from there!” Someone pulled at Nimue’s cloak. Another customer gave her a push. Nimue climbed down. At her height, a wall of shoulders surrounded her. There was nowhere else for her to go. Her thoughts went to the sword. Perhaps the ironworks could melt it down for coin? Or the bank might trade for it?
Outside, the stars were coming out above the town square. Footmen were lighting torches. Nimue weighed the wisdom of visiting the ironsmith to cost out the sword. Revealing it in any way would surely provoke questions she could not answer. Her weary eyes began to search out doorways where she might sleep before the watch threw her out the gates.
Then a bell rang and a town crier hurried into the square, accompanied by two Red Paladins. Townsfolk and shopkeepers gathered.
“Oyez! Oyez!” the crier began. “By order of the Vatican, for crimes most foul, including infanticide, cannibalism, and the slaughter of the Lord’s servants in conspiracy with demonic spirits—”
Nimue shrank away and searched for a place to hide.
“—thirty gold denarii for the capture or death of the Fey murderess known only as the Wolf-Blood Witch! Any who offer aid or shelter to the witch are heretics punishable by torture and burning under Church law!”
Nimue pulled her hood over her face and hurried in the opposite direction of the town crier, nearly slamming into the hindquarters of a gray charger. The horse lifted a rear leg to kick, and the rider looked back with an annoyed sneer. It was Bors.
“Watch it, you dumb bastard!”
He could not see Nimue’s face beneath her hood, and she hurried ahead of his horse, past the other sell-swords to Egypt, Arthur’s black courser. She touched Arthur’s hand. He looked down as Nimue pulled back her hood.
“Nimue?”
Between relief and exhaustion, her words caught in her throat. She wavered and Arthur swung his leg around and landed beside her to catch her arm before she fell. Glancing to his fellows, he led her a few yards away. They stood beneath a flickering torch.
“I’m—” Nimue tried again, but could only sob.
“What’s happened?”
“They’re gone,” she managed, hating that she couldn’t stop crying.
“Who is gone? You’re not making sense.”
“All of them!” she snarled, rage and panic spilling over. She took his arm, fearing she’d scare him away.
A shadow fell over them. Bors spun Nimue around. She could see him trying to place her, but with her hair shorn, he struggled.
Nimue had no choice. She quickly wiped her tears and changed tacks: “I need to hire you. I’ll pay you.”
Bors’s eyes widened. “You’re the witch.”
“I’ll pay you,” Nimue repeated, “to help me find Merlin. I have business with him.”
Arthur’s eyes flicked between Nimue and Bors. He had no idea what she was talking about. Nor did Nimue, really.
Bors chuckled. “Merlin? Why, she knows Merlin, Arthur. You’re a batty little thing, aren’t you? I wager you haven’t got a pot to piss in.”
“Well, I have. I have something of great value that I must deliver to Merlin. If you help me, he’ll pay you handsomely.” Nimue glanced across the square. The Red Paladins had to be nearby.
Bors grabbed Nimue roughly by the collar of her cloak. “Witch, you’ve already got debts to pay.” As he grabbed her, he felt the outline of the sword. “What’s this?” He wrestled it from behind Nimue, who had strung it over her back.