Transcendence and Rebellion

by Michael G. Manning

  While he had been lost in thought, they reached the city bathhouse. The building was divided into two separate sections, and Priscilla looked back at him briefly before heading for the women’s entrance. “Thanks for your concern. I have to get back to work, so I won’t linger. If I do see you again in future, I pray it will be under better circumstances.”

  Chad’s jaw fell as he tried to decipher the subtext of her words. “Linger?”

  She gave him a look of barely disguised pity. “I mean I’ll wash quickly and be on my way, so this is goodbye.”

  Her meaning finally sank in. She thinks I’m interested in her, he realized. “Oh, that’s fine. I was coming here anyway. I’ll be having a long soak.” He waved his hands in dismissal, but as she turned away a sudden question came to him. “What do you do?” he asked to her back.

  She paused, then answered. “I’m a dressmaker.”

  Something clicked in his head then, but he didn’t have time to understand his hunch. On instinct, he continued, “So you’re a seamstress?”

  Her lips formed a line, and he knew he had offended her somehow. “I have several seamstresses who assist me and handle everyday items. I create dresses for women of quality,” she corrected with a reproving tone.

  “Oh.” Chad watched her enter the bathhouse while scratching his head. When she was gone he muttered to himself, “Why do I care?” It felt as though his brain had an itch, but he wasn’t sure how to scratch it. With a shrug he went in to the men’s side and paid for a private tub, fully intending to have that long soak. It had been a week since his last bath in Lancaster, and that had been little more than a cold splash of water.

  His muscles were looking forward to the heat.

  He had only been in the water for a minute before his gears clicked into place. If Rose came here after that hurried escape, she probably didn’t have any clothes, he reasoned, at least nothing she would consider acceptable. If she had the means, she’d find a dressmaker. He couldn’t recall the last time he had seen her wearing anything less than what most would consider regal. “In fact, I’ve never seen her in anything but dresses of high quality,” he told himself.

  With a sigh, he knew his bath wasn’t fated to be of the long, relaxing sort. Dunking his head beneath the water, he scrubbed his hair quickly and stood. “What a waste of five pennies.” He rushed to dry and reclaim his clothes from the boys who were beating them to get the dust out. Still damp, he put them on and went back outside to wait. He needed to talk to Priscilla again.

  Half an hour passed, and she still hadn’t emerged. “I could have had that soak after all, damn it,” he swore quietly. He was beginning to wonder if she hadn’t been even quicker and already left when he saw her emerge. Her eyes spotted him immediately and a look of surprise showed on her face. “Is that what you call a quick bath?” he asked sarcastically.

  Priscilla watched him warily. “Why are you still here? I’m a married woman, you realize?”

  He nodded impatiently. “Yeah, I understand. I’m not after yer virtue. You said you were a dressmaker, right?”

  Her answer was hesitant. “Y—yes?”

  “I’m looking for a lady, and I think she probably has need of your services, or those of someone like you,” he went on. “How many dressmakers are there in Iverly?”

  “Several, if you’d call them that,” said Priscilla, her eyes questioning. “But I’m the only one who specializes in gowns and dresses for ladies of breeding.”

  He clapped his hands together briskly, causing her to step back. “Then you’re the one I need!”

  “Pardon?”

  Warming to his subject, he found his words tumbling out quickly. “You probably know most of your clients, right? Given that you make dresses for the rich?”

  Priscilla glanced around, probably wondering if any of the city watchmen were nearby, but she looked at him from the side of one eye as she answered, “Yes.”

  Realizing he was scaring her, Chad softened his tone. “Look, I’m not a bad fellow. I’m sorry for startling you. The woman I’m looking for is a friend, but I think she might be in trouble. I can pay you for your time.” Pulling at his belt, he reached for his coin purse.

  A look of anger crossed her features. “Don’t be so vulgar. I’m not a street urchin looking to do favors for coin. What is it you want?”

  “I’m grateful for whatever ye can tell me,” he responded, his accent thickening briefly. “My friend came here not long ago, but I don’t know how to find her. I think she would probably come to you for dresses. She’s a noble lady and she was traveling light, so she wasn’t able to pack much to wear.”

  With a sigh of long-suffering, Priscilla faced him squarely. “What’s this lady’s name then? If I’ve seen her I’ll have heard it.”

  Chad’s eyes went to the side for a moment. “Well, that’s the trouble. I can’t really say. She wouldn’t have given her right name. She’s in trouble. I can describe her for you.”

  “Are you some sort of bounty hunter?” asked Priscilla, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

  He shook his head. “No, not at all, but there are some who are hunting her. I need to find her first.”

  It was clear from her expression that she didn’t believe him. “I don’t know who you are, but I’m not telling you anything more.”

  “Listen,” he said desperately. “I’m tellin’ the truth here. I’ll swear to it. I mean her no harm, exactly the opposite, in fact.”

  “You expect me to believe a stranger’s oath?”

  Chad thought for a moment, trying to come up with something to convince her, but his mind was blank. At last, in desperation, he pulled out the metal flask he kept inside his jacket. Grabbing her hands, he pressed it into them and then wrapped his own hands around hers. “Fair enough,” he responded. “You don’t know me, but this is the truth. I don’t care for much in this world, other’n my friends and my drink. I’ll swear it to you now, on this flask, which is as dear to me as me own life. I mean that lady no harm. I need to find her before those that mean to hurt her do.”

  Priscilla stared into his eyes for a long moment, before asking, “Are you serious?” She half laughed as she said it.

  “What?”

  “You’re swearing on a flask?”

  He nodded. “Yeah.”

  She did laugh then. “This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “But you believe me, don’t you?” he prodded.

  She pulled it out of his hands and lifted the flask to examine it. “What’s in here?”

  Chad answered proudly, “Nothing less than Joe McDaniel’s finest.”

  Priscilla unscrewed the cap, sniffed, then took a long swallow, grimacing slightly. “That’s not bad.” Then she pushed the container back into his palm. “Fine, I believe you.”

  Chad shook the flask lightly, judging how much remained with some regret. “It’ll be sometime before I can replace that,” he announced sadly.

  Her look was one of mirthful sympathy. “I’ll tell you what I know—for a price.”

  He gave her his best haughty gaze. “I thought you were too good for coin.”

  “I don’t want coin,” said the dressmaker. “I want two bottles of—what did you call it—McDaniel’s finest?”

  Chad rubbed his chin. “That could take a while. It comes from Lothion…”

  Priscilla waved her hand. “Not now, later. I’ll trust you to owe it to me.”

  “Deal.”

  “As you said, I know all my customers, but I did have a new one several weeks ago, a woman near my own age,” began the dressmaker. “She bought four gowns, two for herself and two for a younger girl. I didn’t see the girl, though; she came alone.”

  Two women? “What did she look like?” asked Chad.

  “She had brown hair, turning to gray.” She held out her hand to indicate the woman’s height. “About so tall, with grayish-blue eyes.”

  “What name did she give?”

  “She d
idn’t,” responded Priscilla. “But the dresses are to be delivered to her home. I have the address at my shop if you want it.”

  “I do,” he answered immediately. “But I’m surprised. Why are you trustin’ me?”

  She stared at his shoulder for a moment, as though she was giving it thought, then she answered, “I’m a good judge of people. You lied earlier, when you said you were Ham’s cousin, but you were serious when you swore on the whiskey.”

  The hunter felt his cheeks begin to color. “Now hold up, just because you—”

  “It was you who dumped the chamber pot out the window,” she accused, her eyes flickering with subdued anger.

  “I already told ye it weren’t me!” he declared.

  The dressmaker poked his jacket, prodding the place he kept his flask. “Swear it on McDaniel’s finest then,” she challenged.

  That stopped him cold. He wasn’t about to dishonor Joe McDaniel’s memory by swearing false on his treasure. Chad deflated and let out a long sigh. “Fine, ye got me.”

  Priscilla nodded. “Good. You admitted it. Lying is a bad habit. You should avoid it in the future.” Then she started walking. When the hunter didn’t follow immediately, she looked back. “Are you coming?”

  He hurried to catch up, and together they walked up the slight incline that led to High Street, where the shops frequented by the noble and wealthy were located. Chad suppressed the urge to whistle as they went, keeping his attention instead on his surroundings. Even the watchmen in this section of town stood straighter, and it made him feel somewhat self-conscious.

  “That’s my shop ahead,” said Priscilla, pointing to a store with a neat front and a well-made sign that included not only a picture of a red dress but actual lettering beneath it, ‘Bell’s Finery.’

  He glanced at her curiously. “Bell?”

  “My mother,” she informed him. “I inherited the shop from her.”

  “Ah,” he said noncommittally. His eyes scanned the street up and down as they entered, and he fought the urge to pull the brim of his hat down. Once they were inside, he waited until the door was closed before turning to Priscilla. “There are spotters outside.”

  She seemed confused. “Spotters?”

  “Two boys and a man,” he explained. “They were positioned to keep an eye on your shop. Have you made any enemies lately?”

  Priscilla gave him a funny look as she rummaged through a box behind the front counter. “You’re paranoid. I make clothing. If I upset someone, they’d just demand a refund or have me redo my work.”

  “I am paranoid,” he admitted. “It’s why I’m still alive. I also know my work. They’re watching this place. Has anyone else been askin’ questions of you?”

  Taking out a short piece of ribbon, Priscilla tied her hair back in a business-like fashion. “One person did, but he’s a regular customer. I’ve known him for years. I don’t think he was that interested.”

  “If he wasn’t interested, why’d he ask?” replied Chad with some exasperation showing in his tone.

  “It was casual conversation,” she answered. “Tarol was here to order a new gown for his daughter. There was nothing strange about it. It was small talk. He asked if I’d had any new customers, and I told him about her. He didn’t seem particularly interested in it.”

  Chad chewed his lip. “He was interested enough to put men outside.”

  “Tarol is a liveryman, a gentleman’s gentleman,” she said reassuringly. “He keeps an honest living. He wouldn’t be mixed up in anything like a search for refugees. It’s silly to even think such things.”

  “Ye think they’d send someone rough in here to ask questions?” asked Chad. “The people I’m talkin’ about have money. They’d send someone nice and well mannered. He was just a face to keep you from gettin’ suspicious.”

  She gave him a dry look. “Yet you asked me. You’re pretty rough around the edges. You’re overthinking it.”

  It was useless arguing with her, and yet he wanted to pull his hair out in frustration. The woman she had described was obviously not Rose, but he couldn’t shake the feeling she was connected somehow. And if she isn’t Rose, why are they lookin’ for her? he wondered. None of it made sense.

  Chapter 20

  Priscilla tugged on Chad’s sleeve as he prepared to leave. “If you really think they’re watching the place, shouldn’t you sneak out the back or something?”

  The archer snorted. “I thought you didn’t believe me.”

  Easing to the left of the door, she peeked through a crack in the shutters. “Well, I’m not saying I do believe you, but now that I look at them it’s occurred to me that I’ve seen them several times over the past few days. Maybe you should go out the back. What if they waylay you and steal the dresses?”

  He gaped at her. “You’re worried about the dresses?”

  Priscilla gave him a sour look. “Do you have any idea how much those dresses are worth? Besides, I hardly know you.”

  Chad sighed. “I promise you, they aren’t watching this place to steal dresses. It’s more likely they’re hoping to find out where your new customer lives. Watch when I leave and see if one of them follows me.” Then he paused. “How much are these dresses worth?”

  “More than you make in a span of months, I’d wager,” she replied seriously. “If anything happens to them I’ll have to return the payment, and I’ll be out the cost of the fabrics.”

  You’d be surprised what I make in a month, he thought to himself, although it was obvious the dresses were costly. Her words still rankled, though. “I don’t work for money.”

  She looked him up and down, judging him once again by his appearance. “What do you work for then?”

  Danae’s face flashed through his mind, but he ignored it. Then he smiled and patted his jacket, his hand over the spot where his flask was safely nestled. “Good booze, fine songs, and warm company. The world provides everything else I need.” When Priscilla laughed, he felt compelled to go on. “Listen up, good woman, you may have mistaken me for a bounty hunter or hired man, but in truth I follow the highest of callings. I’m huntsman by trade, and though I have a lord who provides for me, I have no need of one. The forest provides everything I need; food, shelter, and wood for a fire. What I do for my friends, I do because they give me things I cannot find in the wilderness: a table, beer, smiles, and songs.”

  The shopkeeper shook her head. “It seems I was mistaken. I thought you were a bounty hunter, but it turns out you were a fool all along. You’re not married, are you?”

  “What of it?” He bristled.

  “Strong drink leaves only a hangover, and songs fade as soon as the singing is done. A woman wants love and shelter. You’ll die a bachelor if you don’t learn that lesson.”

  Chad squinted at her. “You forgot the friends I mentioned.”

  “You’re getting up in years,” she responded, undaunted. “Your friends will be too busy with their own wives and children to waste time drinking with you, if they aren’t already.”

  That hit a little too close to home, and Chad felt a familiar pain in his chest. Over the past few years he had spent entirely too much time drinking alone. “Heh, shows how little you know,” he bit back and then he opened the door to step out. “I’ll take my leave,” he said, tipping the brow of his hat. I plan on dying of a pickled liver anyway, he thought to himself. If someone doesn’t stick a knife in me a’fore then.

  On the street again, he started down the gentle decline that would take him toward the riverside docks and away from the glowing affluence of High Street. After traveling only a single block, he made a right turn down a side street and used the opportunity to check on the spotters. As expected, one of them was missing from his perch, the older man. That meant he was being followed, though he hadn’t laid eyes on the man stalking him yet.

  I figured they’d just stick one of the brats on me. They must think I’m a serious lead, he realized. Chad smiled to himself. He preferred it this way. Thre
atening a child would have left him with a bad taste in his mouth.

  Continuing on down the street he had taken, he stopped the first person he met, an old man. “Beggin’ yer pardon, mister, but does this road lead to the docks?” He made sure to position himself so he could watch the corner, and while the old man replied he caught sight of the one following him as he turned on the same street.

  “You’ll never get there going this way,” the old man answered. “Take a left at the next street there and you’ll find it.”

  He tipped his hat and thanked the man, then resumed his walk. He hadn’t needed directions, of course. He had spent the first day in Iverly walking the streets and learning its ways as he roamed from pub to pub. It always paid to be prepared. Chad took the left that the old man had advised, but afterward he plotted his own course, making turns here and there to take him to a good spot he had noticed two days earlier.

  A quiet alley, one where two men could have a conversation without being seen or overheard.

  Ten minutes later he had arrived, after having set a pace that probably was of some concern to his tail. It was hard to follow someone moving at a fast walk while also seeming inconspicuous. But then again, makin’ his job easy ain’t my concern, he observed silently.

  A brick chimney jutted out from the building on his left, a feature he had made note of previously when scouting the town, and after he had entered the alley he stepped past it and into the shadow on the side opposite the street. Then he put his bundle down and waited. He considered drawing one of his long knives but decided against it. His weapons were enchanted and consequently far too sharp for what he had in mind. If his target struggled or moved suddenly, he could wind up with a large mess to clean up.

  After a minute or so he heard footsteps as his tail stopped at the entrance to the alley. Chad figured one of two things would happen at that point, either his pursuer would be foolish enough to enter, or he’d decide it was a trap and walk away. If it was the latter their roles would reverse and he would begin stalking the fellow, which might yield more information anyway.