Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 161535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 161535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
She swats me with the paddle, hitting my arm with a resounding smack that makes me jump.
Kalos gives me a calm, if annoyed, look. “You want me to kill her?”
I steer him back a step, standing in front of him. “Absolutely not. She’s just minding her shop.” I turn back to the woman and try another smile. “We’re just travelers down on our luck. We were robbed in Balsingra and now we’re trying—”
“Out,” she roars, waving the paddle at me again. “I’ll not hire vagrants! Out with both of you before I send for the bailiff!”
“Oh, come on,” Kalos mutters from behind me. “We’re making this far too difficult on ourselves.”
“No,” I hiss again. We’re not killing anyone over a stupid mouthful of bread. We’re not. I turn to the woman. “Alright, ma’am. If you don’t need help, perhaps you know someone else that might be hiring workers—”
She tries to swat me with the bread paddle again, but I move out of the way.
Kalos steps forward and grabs the paddle by the long handle. He stares at the woman, who glowers back at him. Uh oh.
“Let’s just go.” I tug on Kalos’s sleeve. “There’s got to be other people around here that will help us.”
“Probably not,” Kalos says in that too-calm voice. He never breaks eye contact with the woman. “It is the Anticipation, after all. Everyone’s got to look out for themselves.”
“Yes, but—”
I sneeze.
“Baker, you have worms in your guts,” Kalos says in that deadly calm voice. “That haunch of deer your husband brought home last fall was diseased. It made you all sick afterward, remember? But living things transferred from the deer to you, and they’re eating you from the inside out. Your stomach pains you, doesn’t it?”
The baker’s expression changes from irritation to fear.
“And your belly is bloated and hard after you eat. You vomit even though you’re not pregnant. Too old for that, right? And your husband hasn’t touched you in a year anyhow. It’s probably a good thing, since he gave you the pox. He got that from a woman the next town over.”
Oh my god. This is awful. I want to look away, but I can’t. Kalos is all insouciant confidence, casually holding the handle of the paddle while the now-trembling woman grips the other end, her eyes wide.
“The pox is going to kill him,” Kalos continues. “But by that time, you’ll be long dead. Your bloody stools will get worse. You’ll drop weight and no matter what you do, no matter how much you eat, you won’t be able to stay ahead of it. The pain in your belly will be excruciating, and you’ll grow steadily weaker until you die. They’ll eat you from the inside out, and when you die, the worms will explode from your corpse’s belly.”
The woman’s jaw hangs slack with shock.
“But,” Kalos says, tilting his head, his expression one of utter confidence. “If you give us some bread and some coin so we can be on our way, I’ll help you.”
“H-how?” she asks. “How did you know?”
He lets go of the paddle and slowly crosses the room, moving towards the frozen woman. When he stands mere inches away from her, he stares down into her face. “Ask yourself that again. How would I, a vagabond strolling the world during an Anticipation, know what ails you?”
I’ve never seen someone’s face go so pale so quickly. She drops to her knees and bows her head as Kalos gives up our anonymity. “My Lord Kalos. Take what you want. I am but a humble baker.” Tears clog her voice as she touches his mud-crusted cloak. “I didn’t know. Forgive me.”
He glances over at me, a hint of triumph on his face.
I cross my arms. Does he think bullying people into giving us bread makes me happy? If so, he’s wrong.
“We’re not here to rob you, good woman.” He places her hand atop her head and keeps his gaze on me. There’s a hint of grim amusement in his gaze, as if he takes none of this seriously. “But I will trade you a cure for some bread and coin for my Anchor.”
“Anything. Anything,” the desperate woman sobs.
“And silence,” I chime in, since I guess we’re doing this. “We don’t want anyone to know my lord Kalos is here.”
“I will say nothing,” the baker continues, weeping and pressing her face against Kalos’s cloak. “Only help me.”
“Of course.” Kalos’s voice is smooth like butter. “Am I not benevolent?” He smiles at me when my brow goes up, and heads farther into the bakery. I follow him as the woman staggers to her feet, trembling all over and clutching at her belly. He moves to the work area in the back, with small pots full of spices and flour. As I watch, he picks up a wooden cup and puts a pinch or two of this and that inside, then pours a little bit of sludge that might be a sourdough starter into the cup.