A long term contract. She pulled her eyes up from the bread basket and looked to his face, trying very hard to keep still and let the storm of emotions whirling inside her from showing on her face. A long term commission was always a honey-pot if you could land one. Guaranteed pay, usually along with provisions meant you didn’t have to worry about too much else while you were working. Not as lucrative as a bunch of well-paying one-shots but those weren’t always forthcoming. Better to have a long-term gig that covered your needs. You wouldn’t get rich on it, but then so few of her kind ever did. 

She swallowed and wondered if she had it in her to do such a thing? She wasn’t the fighter she used to be. She was out of practice and scarred in ways that did not show on her skin. She wasn’t certain she wouldn’t break along the way. 

[i]But,[/i] she told herself as she regarded this pleasant, ink stained man,[i] it need only be a trip to Avantshire[/i]. He’d not offered her the longer bit, just mentioned it. That seemed wise to her, make certain they fit. Or make certain she didn’t slit his throat and make off with his pay more like. Her eye twitched. She hated people who were so low, so short-sighted and selfish that they made things harder for people like her who honored the code and lived by it with a word worth more than any noble’s. 

“I see.” She said, not wanting the silence to grow thicker and awkward. “Avantshire and maybe beyond.”

She paused when the shadow of Florie blocked the light like a solar eclipse and waited for the ample woman to put the platters of food in front of them along with their drinks and, she could kiss the woman, a second basket of bread and sweet honey. 

“Thanks Florie.” She said as she grabbed a fork.

“M’pleasure, Galt, Sir.” She said as before turning and swaying off.

Katherine pushed some greens on her plate well away from the meat and forked a small square of orange vegetation and popped it in her mouth, chewing delicately with manners ingrained in her by her mother who had been a seamstress to fine ladies and had been determined to gift her children with better manners than they would ever need. When she had chewed and swallowed she washed down her bite with a swallow of ale before speaking again.

“So what are the details of the first leg or the journey? When would we leave? How fast would you need to get there? All that fun stuff.”

Another swallow of ale washed down the dryness in her mouth that grew from growing fear as she realized that she was indeed going to do this. 

“I can show you my chits if you like.” Chits, little bits of metal or glazed clay given as partial payment from clients of some repute to speak of service rendered. They spoke of skill and honesty and while she wasn’t drowning in them (not all hires handed them out) she had a respectable amount and some with well-known marks on them.