Maren Goldweaver's Arc

Chapter 5 of 42

Maren sat on the bench in the forge while Miller wrapped her forearm. The rope had opened a long scrape when she climbed down the Records Hall wall. Blood had soaked through her sleeve on the walk back. She kept her eyes on the floor. She did not want him to see her face while she thought about where they were going next. "Hold still," Miller said. He tied off the cloth. "Deep, but clean." "Thanks." He stood and went to the rack behind the anvil. He came back with a short sword in a plain sheath. The pommel was set with a dark stone. He laid it on the bench between them. "For your cipher man," he said. "Steel's folded twelve times. Worth more than he'll want to admit." Maren stared at it. She had spent the last hour trying to think of anything she still owned that Topper would take. Her gold was pawned. Her father's dagger was already promised. She had nothing. Without a price at the door, Topper would shut it in her face. "I can't ask you for that." "You didn't." He picked up the sword and held it out. "Take it." She took it. They walked to the edge of town where the stone houses started to lean. Topper's place sat back from the path. Grey stone, a rocking chair on the porch, an empty bottle half sunk in the grass. No smoke from the chimney. Maren slowed. Miller watched her. "You've been here before." "Once." "How once?" She did not answer. He looked at the door, then at her, and his jaw set. She knocked. The door opened on the second try. Topper leaned in the frame with his shirt half undone, hair pushed back, a grin already forming when he saw who it was. "Well," he said. His eyes went down her and back up. "Come back for some more, freckles?" He winked. "I knew you would." Heat climbed Maren's neck. She looked at the boards under her boots. Miller stepped forward before she could speak. He held out the sword flat on both palms. "Payment," he said. "For a cipher. One page." Topper's grin thinned. He looked at Miller. He looked at the blade. He drew it two inches, checked the edge, slid it home. "Folded work," he said. "Fine. Fine." He took the sword and tucked it under his arm. "Inside, then. Both of you. And keep your friend on a leash, Maren, he's staring like he wants my teeth." Miller did not move his eyes off him. Maren stepped past Topper into the dark front room. She pulled the file from inside her coat and set it on his table. The red closure tag showed against the wood. "One page," she said. "Read it now." Topper shut the door behind them.