One of the last places on her mental list was a peddler’s inn; a cheap place mostly used by traveling peddlers and minor traders. It wasn’t a place where she would have worked if she’d had a choice; but the fact was, she didn’t have a choice. She walked into the stable yard and right into a fight.

The conflict was complicated by the involuntary involvement of a donkey and a pony, both kicking and protesting at the tops of their lungs.

Kero was tempted to wade straight in, but years of tavern brawling had taught her not to get involved in an ongoing fight without reinforcements. There were an assortment of servants and stablehands gawking at the fracas. She grabbed them all and formed them into an assault force, which she led into the fray.

When the pony and donkey were on opposite sides of the yard, several heads had been knocked together, and calm had been restored, she turned to what she thought was the head groom who now sported an impressive black eye.

“I need work,” she said shortly. “I’m a bonded free-lance merc, but I’m willing to do just about anything. Especially if it has something to do with horses. Think your master could find a place in the stables for me?”

The man squinted against the light of the setting sun, holding a handful of snow against his eye. “There’s nothin’ open in the stables,” he said with what sounded like mixed admiration and regret. She turned to go, without waiting to hear what else he would say, the bitter taste of disappointment in her mouth once again.

“Wait!” she heard behind her. She almost hurried her steps, not wanting to listen to another offer of a meal, or worse, an offer that she whore for the owner. But this time something stopped her. Perhaps it had been the honest admiration in the man’s voice; perhaps it was her own desperation. She stopped, and slowly turned.

“We don’ need anyone in th’ stables,” the man said, limping toward her. “But we sure’s fire need a hand like you i’ th’ taproom.”

“I don’t whore,” she said shortly, knowing that this inn’s serving-girls were expected to do just that.

“Whore?” the man seemed genuinely surprised. “Hellfires, no! Ye’d be wasted as a whore! Need i’ th’ taproom’s fer a peacekeeper.”

“A what?” She raised both eyebrows, trying not to laugh.

“Peacekeeper. Break up fights, throw them as makes too much trouble out on th’ ear.” The man seemed earnest enough, and Kero kept a straight face. “Ye unner- stand, men won’ reckon on pickin’ fights wi’ a wench, see? Big hulkin’ brute, they kick up dust just t’ challenge ‘im. Wench, they don’ see as worth makin’ trouble with. Then, trouble does start, they won’ be lookin’ t’ a wench t’ stop it. See?”