Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards: Chapter One, Part Two

 Notes: More of Hiram and Lollop, coming atcha!

Title: Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards: Chapter One, Part Two

 ***

Herbalism Isn’t Magical, Damn It

 

 

Photo by Yesmore Content

 

“Oof,” Robard said after a minute. “Bit hard to talk to Raileene these days, eh? Unless you’re a necromancer.”

“We don’t talk about that kind of magic around here, you know that,” Jonn snapped in an undertone to him. “Pardon him, sir,” he added apologetically to Hiram. “Once he’s gotten a few drinks into him, Robard forgets all his niceties. What he means to say is, well, the Widow Shore was getting on in years, and last winter was a real bad one. Real bad.” He was wringing his hands in the edge of his apron. “And she’s had an ache in her bones ever since surviving the plague back in her teens, and, well…she’s passed on, sir.”

“Ah,” Hiram said. Well, this is going to make things a bit more complicated. “I see. Clearly, the home that I was told about won’t be available anymore, but—”

“Ah, not so fast, not so fast,” Jonn said, making a let’s-not-be-hasty gesture. “I know the house you’re referring to, sir, and it’s, uh…well, let’s just say it could benefit from some tender, loving care now that the Widow Shore is gone. It’s being looked after by a friend of the lady’s, and we can fetch her for you if you’d like.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Hiram said bemusedly. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do, and he certainly didn’t have anywhere better to go. “Shall I accompany you?”

“Oh, Robard will bring her to you, sir. Not a problem,” Jonn said.

“Eh?” Robard scratched at his thatchy hair. “Who said I’d do that, hm?”

“I said it,” Jonn replied, his little hands on his hips. For all that some of the most dangerous people Hiram had ever met in his life were gnomes, it was hard for them not to look cute when they got angry. “I’ve been standing you drinks all day, so the least you can do is get this gentleman a meeting with Mistress Tate.”

“Ah, fine, fine,” Robard said, using one hand to sling his sagging pants a bit higher on his hips. “Usually good for a hangover cure too, she is. I’ll be back.” He waddled out the door and into the bright light of day. Almost immediately thereafter, there was a braying sound and a “Whoa, who put this mule here, eh?”

Jonn closed his eyes, as if praying to one of the higher deities. “Would that be your mule, sir?” he asked.

“Sure is,” Hiram said. “But don’t worry, Mule can take care of himself.”

“And so can Robard,” Jonn said. “He might spend more time drunk than not, but he’s a tough old dwarf. Now.” Jonn rubbed his hands together in an effort to seemingly rub his nerves away. “How about that drink, sir?”

“Much obliged,” said Hiram.

“Excellent, excellent. This way.” Jonn led the way over to the bar where, after rounding the far corner, he climbed up several steps to put himself on an equal level with whatever patron happened to sit across from him. Almost the entire back of the bar was raised with the exception of a narrow space just behind it where Hiram presumed they stored glasses and such.

“One of our most popular brews for you, sir,” Jonn said, taking down a tall, thick glass mug with a heavy handle on the side and propping it under a spout attached to a keg by the wall. “Just opened this one up,” he promised. “It’ll be fresh as a daisy and smell twice as nice.” He slowed the pour at the end, so as to keep the foam from overflowing the top of the glass, then set it down in front of Hiram. “There you are,” he said, beaming. “Go on, try it.”

“Thank you,” Hiram picked up the mug, raised it to his mouth, and took a sip.

His first reaction was “gleh, warm.” His second reaction was shame for the first one. He’d become spoiled back in Galenish, where every bar had an icebox spelled to keep the mugs cool. Cold beer was a luxury, and one he hadn’t sipped from in the past week and a half of travel.

Apart from the temperature, it was an inoffensive enough drink. Too light for his taste, tending toward crisp and sour rather than dark and malty. But he smiled gamely at his host. “It’s good, thank you,” he said.

“Only the best at the Yew Brew,” Jonn patted the countertop proudly. “All the recipes I serve here were passed down to me from my father. They came to him from his father, and to him from his father, and to him from his mother, because his father died when he was a very young child. But that’s a tale of woe that only my great-grandfather could really tell you. And then she got it from her father, and—”

“Clearly they’re old family recipes,” Hiram interjected, knowing that gnomish lineage recitations could go on and on and on if he let them. “Truly time-tested, then.”

“Indeed, indeed. Now, sir,” Jonn looked at him expectantly. “Tell us a bit about yourself, hm?”

A bit about himself. Well, if that wasn’t one of the most unintentionally loaded questions Hiram had heard in his entire life. Up until a year ago—hell, even six months ago—he had known who he was. The entire empire had known who he was. He had been Xerome, Wizard of the First Order, greatest of the emperor’s spellcasters, warrior-general, wielder of fire, and protector of the Commonwealth. And now…

“My name is Hiram,” he said, “Hiram Emblic. I’m an herbalist.”

“An herbalist?” Jonn’s eyes widened a bit. “Goodness, that’s not what I’d have pegged you for, sir, but it just goes to show there’s no judging a book by its cover, hm? Where are you coming from, then?”

Hiram was half tempted to ask what Jonn would have pegged him for, but decided at the last second that he really didn’t want to know. “I plied my trade up north for many years,” Hiram went on, “mostly in larger cities, but things have been getting a bit hot up there lately, so I decided it was time for a change.”

If possible, Jonn’s eyes got even wider. “Were you involved in the War of the Burning Sands?” he whispered.

“On the fringes of it,” Hiram replied. “Too close for comfort, to be honest. And fire’s not a friend to the plants I grow, so.” Actually, fire was a necessary component for a few of the plants he planned to grow, the special ones. Growing magical plants wasn’t the same as doing magic, after all. But he didn’t need to get into the details with an innkeeper he’d just met.

“Does this town already have an herbalist?” he asked, deftly changing the subject. “I’d hate to be stepping on someone’s toes.” Liira had already assured him that there wasn’t any competition for that particular skill in Lollop, but that wasn’t something Hiram figured he should know yet.

“Oh, no, no. No herbalist to speak of. Well, not exactly,” Jonn amended. “Mistress Tate is something of a wise woman for these parts,” he said, with that particular delicacy that intimated the mystery of “women’s issues.” “But I’m sure she’d be happier to work with you than without you.”

“That’s a relief,” Hiram said with an easy smile.

“Speaking of the good lady herself!” Jonn’s beaming smile came back as he looked over Hiram’s shoulder at the door. “Mistress Tate, you came faster than I’d imagined you would.”

“Your friend happened to run into me on the road,” the lady said as she stepped deeper into the inn. “Quite literally, in fact.”

Hiram’s eyes were fairly well adjusted to the low light at this point, and he looked at the newcomer with unabashed interest. She was a tall woman, older than him but not elderly, and in no way stooped. Her hair was that peculiar shade of platinum blonde that could edge into silver without anyone even realizing it, and her face, though weathered, bore the lines of what was likely once immense beauty. She was wearing a simple green dress with no sleeves and a scooped neckline, as well as a shawl that preserved the modesty that seemed so important to people in these middle kingdoms.

“Ah.” Jonn’s smile turned apologetic. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s no matter,” she said. “I sent him back to his apartment with a tonic that should help him sleep through the night.” That business settled, she turned her gaze on Hiram. “So,” she said, “you’re the one that Liira sent our way. I’ve been expecting you for some time now.”

Just how much had Liira told these people? “I am,” Hiram said, continuing to affect the same ease with which he’d entered the inn, although he was starting to wonder if this place was such a good idea. “But I don’t want to put you out over it, Mistress.”

“No one would be put out were you to take possession of the house,” she said briskly. “Although legally speaking, it could only be temporary. Raileene, the gods rest her soul, willed that property to her daughter, Jessamine. But Jessamine lives a large life in the city of Orivode these days,” she continued, “and apparently can’t be bothered to handle little things like her mother’s last effects, or even come for her funeral.”

Ah, there was bad blood there, then. Normally Hiram wouldn’t want to take advantage of that sort of thing, but he did need a place to stay, and Mule needed rest. He’d been on the road now for almost a month, and as hearty as he was, hauling a wagon wasn’t the same as riding into battle.

“What would be entailed in my taking possession of the place?” Hiram asked.

“You’d be responsible for its maintenance.” Mistress Tate said as she sat down on the stool next to him. Jonn immediately padded off to get her a drink, which she accepted with a gracious nod. “I’m afraid it’s gone a bit to the elements since Raileene moved in with me several years back. But the bones of the structure are good, and there’s plenty of space to ply a trade on the grounds.” She looks him up and down. “Hmm…hedge wizard?”

Hiram almost choked on his drink. He’d gone out of his way to abolish almost every trace of his original calling from the way he looked now. How had she come that close in less than one minute of his company? “Ah, no magic for me,” he said, wiping a bit of foam from his mustache. “Herbalism, Mistress. I’m an herbalist.”

“Ah.” She nodded her head. “Well, there’s plenty of space for an expansive garden at this house, and a pasture for your mule.”

“And the rent?” Hiram asked. Not that it actually mattered to him. He had a purse of unending wealth thanks to a particularly dangerous dungeon crawl from his youth, but haggling, he constantly reminded himself, was a thing for most people. They couldn’t throw money at their problems and expect them to disappear. And now that he was Hiram Emblic, neither could he.

“Oh, there would be no rent,” she said.

Hiram narrowed his eyes. “This seems too good to be true,” he said bluntly. “What’s the catch?”

“The catch,” Mistress Tate said, “lies in the uncertainty. Raileene’s daughter hasn’t been back to this town for close to ten years now, but that doesn’t mean that she never will come back. And if she does, legally speaking, the house belongs to her. It was her mother’s wish and one that I can’t gainsay, however much I might like to.” She added the last part under her breath. “But it was a beautiful home once. Raileene was born there, she raised her family there, and if things had gone a bit differently, she would have died there. But.” Mistress Tate shrugged. “Not even the Emperor can control the vagaries of fate.”

Hiram raised his glass in a toast. “I’ll drink to that.”

“And will you take the house?” she pressed.

“I feel I should see it before I say yes,” Hiram replied.

“Of course. I’ll take you there myself.”

That was not what he wanted. Mistress Tate saw a great deal more than he was comfortable with. To spend more time in her company, with her in the presence of Mule, of Phlox, of his rather suspicious amount of baggage… And yet there was no elegant way out of it.

“Of course,” he said. “I’m much obliged to you, Mistress. Allow me to pay for your beer.”

She smiled at him. “Cheers,” she said. “Now drink up. The sooner we get there, the sooner you’ll begin to start cleaning.”

 

Hadrian's Colony: Chapter Twenty, Part Two

 Notes: Family, huh? Gotta love 'em.

Title: Hadrian's Colony: Chapter Twenty, Part Two

***

Chapter Twenty, Part Two

 

Photo by SpaceX, those fuckers. 

 

We’re on the way to Hadrian’s Colony.

They were…they…had…what? Kieron wasn’t the only one struggling with this, at least; Elanus was spluttering, his hands gesticulating in silence as his mouth tried to catch up.

“Who is ‘we’?” Kieron asked before Elanus could quite get himself together.

“Me, Ryu, Xilinn, and Pol.”

“You brought Pol?” Elanus exclaimed, finding his voice at last. “I’m sorry, did I just hear you say that you brought a six-year-old boy into a—”

“I’m seven now,” they heard him call out over Lizzie’s mic.

“Seven, oh, that’s so much better, bringing a seven-year-old child to a planet that not only has the worst weather I’ve heard of since Pandora, it also has a population that consists entirely of murderous monsters, from the huge reptilians to the enormous tunnelers to the frankly idiotic contingent of mercenaries with a daddy complex, and don’t even get me started on the—”

“We’re already on the way,” Xilinn cut in, her voice smooth and pleasant and unyielding. “We’ve been coming your way for almost three days, and with the help of some excellent flight path planning and a rocket booster, we’ve been able to shave a lot of time off our estimated arrival. We should arrive above planet by the end of the week. We will not, of course, be going down onto Hadrian’s Colony, but we can do a lot more for you here than we could just listening to you over the com back on Gania.”

Kieron swallowed the knot in his throat. “Xilinn,” he said, full of guilt, “you two were safe on Gania. Not to mention, you could be called in for an immigration hearing at any time; if you and Pol aren’t there for it, you could have your status as a refugee taken away.”

“Then it’s taken away,” she said simply. “That’s preferable to losing our status because our sponsor died in the middle of deep space when we could have helped save his life. Not to mention all the terrible things that have happened to you since arriving on that planet. Lizzie played back her conversation with you and those brutes who kidnapped you.”

Her voice softened. “You’re so strong and resourceful, and I was confident that you’d be all right in the end, but it sounds like this whole journey has been more of a trial than you thought it would be. We’re your family, though, honey. You know? Zak would have given his right arm for you at a moment’s notice, and I know you’d have done the same for him. If we can do something to give you better odds without hurting ourselves, then why wouldn’t we? Even more, how could we live with ourselves if we didn’t?”

“Excuse me,” Elanus said, finally regaining his voice as he steepled his fingers in front of his chin, “did you say Lizzie is wearing a rocket booster?”

“It’s a refit of the I-9.2 you built for the Alliance military cruisers,” a new voice said. Ryu. The supposed adult in the room, the native Ganian who was supposed to be looking after their house and extended family right now instead of flying them all to the middle of nowhere for no good reason.

“It had better be massively refitted, given the amount of power you can generate with one of those,” Elanus replied, his eyes hazy as he used his implant for calculations. “We’re talking about moving ships that are over a million tons compared to Lizzie’s delicate little six, and out of atmospheres far thicker than Gania’s—”

“Not every atmosphere they’re used for is thicker than Gania’s, don’t pretend that you didn’t build in half a dozen redundancies when it comes to modifications for that, and that’s the standard version, we’re dealing with 9.2—”

“Don’t talk to me about my own inventions like you know them like I do, you don’t, and Lizzie is less than a tenth of a percent the same weight as—”

“Do you trust Lizzie’s ability to evaluate her own components or not? And thanks for asking how it’s working, she’s doing great, we’re literally surfing some of these grav waves instead of being pulled into the fields, and—”

“I’ve got an extra one for Catie,” Lizzie said, and the arguing died immediately. “I’m fit with two, but we only used one of them to take off, Elanus. The other one has a full payload and is already retrofit for me, and I’m sure you can modify it for Catie once we get it down to you. You won’t have to go on raids.”

Elanus was quiet for a moment as he took it all in. “Lizzie, how did you know what I was going to want?”

“I extrapolated based on past data, other instances of successful enhancements for similar problems, and on my own knowledge of you,” she replied. “I think our biggest challenge is going to be ensuring that the rocket lands as close to you as possible; we want to protect your location for as long as we can.”

“My siiister is so smaaart,” Catie said, as pleased as if she’d come up with the solution herself. “Bobby, wait untiiil you meet Liiiizzie, you’re going to looove her.”

“Bobby?” Ryu asked. “Who’s Bobby?”

“A new bot, a lot smaller than the girls, don’t worry about it,” Elanus said, his mind clearly already running in a new direction. “You say you’re going to be here in seven standard days?”

“Approximately,” Lizzie said. “It depends on how we handle the Frigian Belt, but I think so.”

“All right. I want you girls to work together to extrapolate the best possible landing zone for the package when you get here—all we need is for it to be within, oh, a hundred miles of us, Catie?”

“Closer is better,” she said. “Especially if we get freeeeezing rain or iiice, Daddeee. My solar cells aren’t fully charrrged yet, and I’ve been faaabricating more insulation to help retaiiiin heat, but—”

The conversation became technical enough that Kieron couldn’t follow it easily anymore. He was really only sure of two things: one, almost everyone he cared about—and one person he could be persuaded on—were coming to Hadrian’s Colony; and two, that he was worried about that but couldn’t do anything about it at this point. Ryu and Xilinn were right. They were already on the way, and they weren’t going to turn back because they loved them. Loved him.

God, Zak. He thought of his best friend, his easy nature and fierce affection. You’d hate that I pulled everyone into my mess, but you’d be there digging me out of it with them anyway.

They were coming to the Colony. Fine—as long as they stayed in space. There were already too many of them stranded on this awful place. He couldn’t wait to be gone from here for good, and he’d be able to leave without regrets.

Well…with one regret, one massive black hole of a regret, but his mother had made her choice.

I hope she was proud of it in the end.

I wish she’d been proud of me.

 

Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards: Chapter One, Part One

 Notes: Let's get to know the little town of Lollop, hmm?

Title: Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards: Chapter One, Part One

***

Chapter One, Part One

 

Ga-Lollop-Ing Into Town

 

At first glance, Hiram had to admit that Lollop wasn’t all that prepossessing. Maybe it was because they’d taken the side road instead of the Imperial vein that ran in from the north—safety first, after all—or maybe they’d just happened upon the less-developed part of the village, but the first house Hiram saw as he looked out from his perch on the wagon was decidedly run down. It had a massive but entirely overgrown garden in the back, complete with what looked like a rotting wooden arch weighed down with dead grape vines, and in the side yard was a rabbit hutch without a roof. The house itself was missing its back door, and half the shutters had fallen off their hinges.

It was, in a word, shabby.

“Nice place you chose to plant yourself.”

“Why thank you,” Hiram said, keeping his tone light as they ambled past the old house and down the rutted road.

“Very…rustic.”

One of their back wheels dipped into a slightly deeper groove, and Mule had to dig his heels in to get them out. “I agree.”

“You might even call it ‘miserable renegade chic.’”

Hiram laughed. “How many miserable renegades do you think live in this little village? Liira told me it’s only got about five hundred inhabitants.”

“It’s got at least two now.”

He shook his head. “I’m not miserable, Phlox. And neither are you.”

“I am.”

“Oh, you’re not.”

There was a little huffing sound from the earring. “You don’t know how I feel.”

“Well, I know that compared to what you could be feeling right now, you’re having an absolutely amazing time,” Hiram said. “Or have you forgotten all the nonsense that happened at the conjunction?”

“You only bring that up when you know you’re going to lose an argument,” Phlox mumbled, but quieted down afterward.

Hiram was glad. In all honesty, he was feeling a little bit…well…antsy about his decision to move to Lollop. It was a small farming town smack dab in the center of Oribel, the smallest of the Empire’s collection of kingdoms and the most resolutely dedicated to growing grain over training soldiers. Oribel was the breadbasket of the Vordurian Empire, and its ruling family had absolutely no plans of changing that. They liked their heads where they were, thank you.

The remoteness was the selling point, though, wasn’t it? No one would ever think that a wizard of the first class would abandon the delights of Galenish for a ramshackle town in the middle of the least interesting nation for a thousand miles. It was the perfect place for rest, relaxation, and settling into a new way of life. Hiram needed the last more than he could say; certainly more than he’d been able to express to the emperor.

Some messages couldn’t be spoken, though. They had to be experienced.

I doubt he killed anyone over it. Hiram had been very careful not to implicate anyone else in the capitol in his escape plan. Almost everyone he loved there had been gone, and the few people who remained had unimpeachable characters and enough personal power that even Andurion would think twice about going after them.

Hiram felt his heartrate speeding up. Seven gods, every time he thought of his old life, it felt like every organ in his body wanted to jump right out of his skin. It’s all right now. It’s all right. We’re safe, everyone is safe. We’re free. Free, and almost to the town proper, if the rooftops up ahead were any indicator. Hiram smiled as he took in the neat thatched homes—no slate or tile rooftops here, of course, not with all the straw to be had. Each house had its own little vegetable garden, and some of them had pens for livestock; mostly pigs, cows, and chickens.

And, of course, rabbits. Every house had a rabbit hutch and a patch of land dedicated to the bunnies they were raising. The Lollop Grand, a larger breed than most, heavy-bodied and with huge variations when it came to their fur color and markings, were the one thing that put this place on the map. They were good for meat, for fur, and some of them—those with the most fantastic markings—even became posh pets for the children of the upper class back in Galenish. Misha had had one when she was a little girl, a rabbit half as big as she was with velvety blue fur and everywhere but its paws and nose. Those had been bright white. She’d loved it so much she’d even walked with it during parades, to the coos of thousands of watchers.

Thinking about Misha settled Hiram’s heart right down, and by the time he’d gotten to the center of Lollop he felt ready to find the woman Liira said would have a house to rent him. Not that he knew exactly where she was, but if there was one thing he did know, it was that taverns were the social centers of every city quarter, and a small town wasn’t much different from that. And bless his little woolen socks, there was a tavern right there, with a surprisingly new sign hanging above the door that read, in bright white script, Fuzzle Pinky’s Drinkies.

Huh. Must be Gnomish. They always have to rhyme. Hiram tugged the reins a bit, drawing Mule to a halt. As he descended from the wagon, he could feel eyes on him—that was something he didn’t need magic to detect, not in a place like this. He knew what they saw when they looked at him.

A traveler. A stranger. Perhaps someone just a bit…odd. Hiram had done his best to grow his beard out, and his hair was more salt than pepper these days—nothing like the famous descriptions of him, all “raven-locked” and “fair of face.” He was on the tall side for a human, but that didn’t mean much in a world where elves and serpentkin walked the streets. He was in nondescript clothes, a simple tan tunic that laced up the front and black leggings that flared a bit over the top of his boots, with a thick wool cloak around his shoulders and neck…which, whew, it was getting hot. He’d have to pack that up soon.

All in all, the only thing of interest about him was his shiny earring, and even that would slip right out of sight just a second after it was noticed thanks to Phlox’s anti-detection array. Hiram had done his best to make himself look like just another traveler, and he thought he’d done a decent job.

Now, to see if he could make himself look like someone who wanted to put down roots.

He loosely tied Mule’s reins to the post out front, then stroked the beast’s silky nose careful to dodge when Mule tried to affectionately headbutt him. “You trying to kill me?” Hiram asked with a smile. “Stay here for a few minutes, all right? I’ll be out soon.” He turned, catching the eye of a man across the street wearing an apron and holding a rather long razor blade in his hand.

City watch? Ha, no, what city? Let’s see…full leather apron, hair tied back, full coverage despite the heat…doctor. Or barber. Or both. Hiram nodded companionably, then headed into the tavern.

He was immediately welcomed by a small Gnomish man the color of a green oak board, wearing in a bright red longshirt nipped in at the waist with a half apron. “Welcome to The Yew Brew, sir,” he said, inclining his head. “I’m Jonn, the tavernkeeper. What’ll you have today, then?”

The Yew Brew, huh? Well, that made more sense given the enormous evergreen tree behind the place, but… “I confess, I expected to meet a Fuzzle Pinkie,” Hiram said.

Someone in the back of the tavern laughed. The proprietor’s face took on a slightly strained look. “It’s…a temporary designation, sir. Just—”

“He lost a bet to his wee son!”

“Shut up, Robard!” Jonn called out grumpily. “Ignore him, he’s a bit into his cups,” he went on. “Now, sir, we’ve a fine spread for supper cooking in the back, though it’s a bit early for serving yet, and a good selection of ales and ciders. What’ll you—”

“Lad don’t even come up as high as yer knee!”

Jonn sighed. “Robard, please, I’m trying to talk to this gentleman here.”

There was a scratching sound against the floor, like a chair being noisily pushed away from a table, then a thump-thump-thump, and a moment later what looked like five bird’s nests stuck together poked itself out from behind the wall that separated the entryway from the main room. Hiram could just make out the tip of a rounded nose beneath the strands. “Huh. Don’t look much like a gentleman,” the dwarf—probably a very drunk one, given how he’d let his hair go—muttered. “Eh, don’t matter. Aye, Jonny here made a bet with his boy that if the lad could memorize all his letters in a week, he’d let the lad rename the Brew!”

“Only for one day a week,” Jonn said, a faint flush rising in his cheeks. It made them look like little apples. “And I didn’t think he’d actually manage it.”

“But he did, got his teacher to help him special an’ everything! And he wanted to name the place after his stuffed bunny, who—guess its name!”

“Fuzzle Pinkie?” Hiram hazarded.

“Aye, good on ye! Fuzzle Pinkie, a stuffed rabbit who now owns the tavern a day a week because Jonny’s got a heart as soft as a pussywillow for his wee lad.” Robard the dwarf slapped his knee and bent over at the waist, he was laughing so hard.

“It’s only one day a week!” Jonn protested a bit more loudly. “And—never mind, I’m done with your for now, you old block. Go back to your chair and finish your pint, hmm? Darla will be here for you soon.” He refocused on Hiram with an almost manic determination. “Now! What can I get for you, sir?”

Hiram had mercy on the poor gnome. “A pint of beer, and the location of a person if you’ve got it,” he said.

Robard came fully into the entryway. He was an old dwarf, fully white haired and with a belly well out past his feet, but he still carried an axe on his back. An axe that he was reaching for now, actually. Ah. Not good. “A bounty hunter, eh?” he growled. “Come hunting up old Robard at last, then? You won’t find me easy to take!”

“I’m not looking for you,” Hiram said while Jonn dithered with a panicked expression. “I’m looking for someone name Raileene Shore. I was told she might have a house to rent.”

Both of them went completely still.

What did I say?