Flight of the Earls by Michael K. Reynolds Page A

sections by what once appeared to be flames.
    Sitting on a stool in the archway, just deep enough to be out of the reach of the rain, was a man with a pockmarked face and a bulbous nose.
    Pence removed the bag from his shoulder and placed it gingerly on one of the few dry spots on the floor. Rattling tin buckets lined the hallway ahead as they caught the heavy dripping from the ceiling. “Here you are, Mr. Evans. The lady has come to enjoy your hospitality.”
    The man was cleaning his fingernails with a knife, and he barely acknowledged his guest. “Are you staying for just the night?”
    â€œYes.” Clare thought she smelled urine coming from inside. “Most certainly.”
    â€œThen it’s five pence. In full. Up front.”
    Clare grimaced. The hallway was damp and dark, and she didn’t know how much worse it would get once she got inside. But she was deathly tired, it was pouring outside, and she had no fight left in her.
    â€œVery well.” She opened the canvas bag and probed her hand blindly past clothes, books, and food until she came to the leather purse her mother had given her many years ago. She pulled it out, and after fumbling through the change, she pulled out five pennies.
    Pence reached out to receive them from her, but the proprietor slapped his hand away and scowled at him. “Where’s your manners, lad?”
    His coarse fingers snatched the coins from Clare’s palm and he inspected them closely, even biting one with his teeth. Apparently satisfied with his inspection, he put them in his vest pocket and reached behind for a ring of keys hanging off of a rusted nail on the wall. He unfastened one from the metal loop and handed it to Pence. “Number 12.”
    The boy reached down and lifted Clare’s sack again. “Follow me, miss.” They headed down the lantern-lit hallway, being careful not to trip over any of the buckets. They passed by numbered doors on each side, and Clare could tell by how closely they were nestled to one another that the room would be tiny.
    When they got to the end of hallway, Pence was careful again to set Clare’s sack on a dry spot on the floor, which was not an easy task. He grabbed a lantern from a hook on the wall and used it to illuminate the keyhole. He turned the key, and the door opened reluctantly with a squeak.
    As she followed behind Pence through the door, Clare was pleased to see that although it was barely furnished with only a bed and a table, its floors seemed to be free of moisture and the chamber pot appeared to be mostly empty.
    â€œIs there anything else I can do for you?” Pence stood almost at attention.
    â€œNo. That should be all. Oh yes, of course.” She opened her purse and withdrew a copper coin and handed it to the boy.
    â€œObliged.” He tipped his hat, bowed, and turned to go.
    Clare thought of something, which seemed futile but perhaps worth trying in light of the boy’s knowledge of the city. “Pence. There is something else. I’m hoping to rejoin my brother and his friend here in town. My brother’s name is Seamus Hanley. He is tall with black hair. His friend Pierce is a stocky redhead. How would one go about finding them?”
    Pence brightened. “You just did, miss. Seamus and Pierce, you say? If they are travelers like you, they are as good as found. Pence knows all of the places and the people to ask. They say Pence has a nose, you know.”
    Clare wasn’t hopeful, but she found his confidence charming nonetheless. She reached back into her purse. “Here is another penny for your troubles. And if you find them for me, I’ll have four more for you.”
    His mouth opened in surprise but then straightened, as if he didn’t want her to think she was overpaying. He flipped the coin she gave him in the air and caught it deftly. “Five pence. Consider it done.” With that, he put his hat back on his head and spun, the