Beyond the Gate (The Golden Queen) (Volume 2) Read Online Free Page B

have to damn you all as liars.”
    “I’m not surprised that you saw nothing in the woods,” Maggie said. “The militia says the roads are clear.”
    “And I’m not surprised that I saw nothing, neither. Little surprises me anymore. In fact, the only thing that surprises me more than the human facility for prevarication is some people’s nearly equal facility for staring a known liar in the face and believing every fantastic word he utters. That’s a fair part of why I had to come—to see if there’s any truth to this gossip about demons and angels and fairy folks in the woods.”
    Maggie half closed her right eye, stared up at him. Out behind the inn, a sheep bleated. The same damned sheep she’d had penned out back for two weeks, waiting for slaughter. But since word of the goings-on in Clere had spread, no one had dared the roads, and the inn had remained empty, except for locals who came to drink and exchange theories on what had happened.
    Maggie smiled faintly. “There’s some truth in those tales, Uncle Thomas. Satan himself came marching up that road not two weeks ago, parading at the head of a band of demons. And they heartlessly murdered Father Heany and John Mahoney—but those demons were never conjured by Gallen O’Day.” She watched his face for reaction. “And angels came that snowy night and drove the demons from town, and one of them fought at Gallen’s side—the angel Gabriel—that part is true.
    “But now Gallen’s enemies—cutthroats and thieves all—have been telling tales on him, naming him a consort of the devil, hoping to discredit him.”
    Thomas scratched behind his ear, and Maggie tried to imagine what he was thinking. Maggie knew that he wasn’t a simple man. He’d never heard a tale that featured demons walking in broad daylight, or angels fighting with magic arrows. But everyone within fifty miles swore that it happened, and the tales were stranger than any lies these unimaginative folks could conjure.
    He looked about at the crowd that had gathered. “Well,” he said. “I suppose that there’s more than one song in such a tale, so I’ll have to stay a couple of days at the least. You wouldn’t mind preparing a good room for an old man, and maybe heating up a mug of rum for me to wrap my cold fingers around.”
    “I’d like to see the color of your money first,” Maggie said, giving him no quarter.
    Thomas raised an eyebrow, fumbled under his coat and muttered, “Och, so you’re a frugal lass, are you? Generous as a tax collector. Well, I like that in a woman, so long as she’s my niece.” Thomas pulled out a rather large purse and jingled it. Maggie could hear heavy coins—gold maybe—in that purse. Only a fool would display so much money in public, Maggie thought. So her uncle was ostentatious as well as cantankerous. And with so much of a purse, she wouldn’t be able to toss him out on the streets any time soon.
    Thomas grabbed his lute and climbed down from the wagon, and Danny the stable boy was forced to suffer the indignity of tending the horse of a man who’d abused him.
    Thomas stumped into the common room of the inn, looked about. The inn was built inside an ancient house—pine that had a girth of some sixty feet. The rooms rose up through three stories. Like all house-pines, over the years this one had grown a bit musty, and the walls creaked as the wind blew in the pine’s upper branches. The smell of pipe smoke and hard liquor filled the air. The windows were large and open, covered with new white curtains that Maggie had made the week before. The common room featured six small tables, and chairs set in a circle around a fireplace. A small bar separated the kitchen door from the common room. The bar had two barrels on tap—one of beer and one of rum. The ale, whiskey, and wine were stored in back this time of year.
    “A fine place you have here, Maggie,” Thomas muttered.
    “Oh, it’s not mine,” Maggie returned. “It belonged to John