Lethal Red Riding Hood (Dark Goddess Chronicles Book 1)

by Leonard Wilson

  “I…Thank you, Felicity,” Bellany said. Her words came out more confused than heart-felt, but at least the venom had gone. Keely readily accepted that as a win.

  “Take care of him,” Keely admonished sternly, then swept out of the parlor and up to her room, waving off Raymentine on the way. She locked the door behind her and fell back on the bed with splayed arms and a heavy sigh. Biting her lip so hard it almost bled, she screwed her eyes shut and lay there ferociously humming a nursery tune until the urge to cry had passed.

  Crying would have been nonsense. They’d come back to her soon enough.

  She went over to the flower box outside the window and dug around in the dirt until she found the leather pouch she'd put there. Gently upturning the pouch so a small cascade of sparkling stones poured into her hand, she satisfied herself that her little hoard remained intact, then she returned the stones to the pouch and carefully tucked it into the larger pouch full of coins Margar had given her.

  A woman of her talents and selective morals never remained impoverished for long, but she’d found she quite enjoyed avoiding the business of poverty altogether. Always best to arrive at the next town with her pockets already well lined.

  By the time she slipped out the back window, she’d abandoned the wig for her natural silver hair and traded in her noble’s attire for the serviceable tunic dress and sensible knee-high boots of Serylia’s working-class women. The dress may have been smartly fitted and dyed look-at-me red, and her soft black boots may have been adorned with several more straps and silvery buckles than strictly necessary, but the point wasn’t to avoid attention. It was simply to avoid the wrong kind of attention.

  She carried the wigs and other disguise essentials she couldn’t afford to leave behind in a small pack on her back, along with the pouch of valuables. Everything else she’d owned was now someone else’s problem to sort out.

  She slid down the roof sloping away from the window and dropped gracefully down to the alley behind the house. She allowed herself a small sigh and one brief final glance at the place before turning her back on it and walking away into the city.

  Keely found the medicine wagon parked in the shadow of the Swan Gate bridge, amidst a colorful array of other entertainers and vendors. How anyone could hear anyone else over the din of the marketplace escaped her, yet a brisk business seemed to be going on despite all the brisk business going on—and Madame Ophelia’s traveling medicine show was certainly holding its own.

  Consummate professionals who’d already been a seasoned team back when Keely had a home and a conscience, the three women worked the crowd without missing a beat. Ophelia hocked her wares, Colette played a thoroughly convincing “fine, upstanding citizen whom I’ve never met before”, and Madeline cut a purse like nobody’s business.

  Keely caught up with Madeline inside the wagon as she sat counting her take.

  “Hey, kiddo,” Keely said, dropping down beside her. “Job all done? We ready to get out of this town?”

  Madeline rolled her eyes. “Mum’s still thinking. You spooked her enough that she’s dragging her feet meeting up with Lady A to hand over the book, but not so much that she’s convinced herself she won’t. She’s got a hard time letting go of that kind of money.”

  Keely sighed and nodded. “Speaking of money,” she said, unslinging her pack and fishing out a generous handful of coins from her hoard, “here’s your cut from the alderman. Thanks for helping with that one.”

  “It was fun.” Madeline grinned, her eyes sparkling with avarice as she paused in counting the more modest morning’s take to count the new treasure. “Never went after a mark that big before.”

  Keely watched the girl in silence for a few seconds before pressing on. “I’m out, you know, no matter what your mother decides. I don’t mess with the Inquisition. When they show up, I disappear.”

  “You can’t leave,” Madeline protested with a frown.

  “I can’t stay,” Keely assured her, “and neither should you. Just convince your mother, and let’s get back on the road. There’s a big, wide world to see out there.”

  Madeline rolled her eyes. “Like I could convince Mum of anything you can’t.”

  “I appreciate you trying to take care of us, dear,” Ophelia said, bustling into the wagon herself, “but we don’t need it. It’s you I’m not sure about, striking out on your own.”

  “I did just fine on my own,” Keely assured her.

  “I don’t doubt it,” Ophelia said with a conceding nod. “But ‘just fine’ can turn into disaster in a heartbeat when there’s no one about to watch your back.” She sighed, scooted a lazing cat aside despite its protests, and eased herself down onto the bench where it had been, trying not to antagonize any of the miscellaneous aches brought on by a morning spent on her feet.

  “Look, you’re young enough to be cavalier about money, but I can’t keep this up forever, and I’ve got the girls to think about. You’re asking me to walk away from a lot on nothing but a hunch that it’s something sinister.”

  “You’ve already got enough money from this to buy your way into the gentry or to start a nice merchant house,” Keely said with a frown. “That alone should be scaring you. Have we really put so much effort in or risked so much on this job for the payoff not to fall into the realm of ‘too good to be true’? All we’ve done is lift half a dozen books from under the noses of half a dozen different nobles, plus sneak a couple more out of abbeys. So far we haven’t come close to getting caught, and if anyone’s started chasing after us, they’re keeping it in the shadows. And don’t get me started about ‘Lady A’ herself.”

  “Agreed. You’re not to get started about Lady A.” Ophelia scowled. “She’s a legit black-market dealer in rare books, and a friend. That’s all you need to know, and you’ll respect her privacy—or we’re quits.”

  “If she’s such a friend,” Keely said, returning the scowl, “why won’t she just tell you what’s in these books?”

  “I said she’s a friend, not a fool.” Ophelia snorted. “This is business. She never says what’s in a book, and she never hires anyone who can read. That’d be just asking for someone to re-negotiate the deal. And she’s making me rich enough that I just don’t care how much richer she’s getting.”

  “Yeah. Okay,” Keely said, drawing a composing breath and staring down at the floor for a moment. “It always comes down to the money. I know that.” She got up slowly and gave Madeline a distracted hug and a kiss on the cheek. “See you around, kiddo. Tell Colette I said goodbye.”

  She left the wagon with all the poise and grace she could muster, but still couldn’t help noticing the door she closed behind her sounded like it had been slammed.

  She’d gotten about thirty yards through the crowd before Madeline caught up with her. The girl was clutching the book to her chest. “Keely?”

  “Yeah?” Keely asked with the best poker face she could currently manage.

  “Remember the postulant at that first abbey who reads aloud to herself?”

  “Yeah?” Keely perked up slightly, glancing down at the book.

  Smiling as she followed Keely’s gaze, Madeline held the book out to her in a conciliatory manner. “Mum thought it might be nice to know what we’re arguing over before you head out.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Enter Elissa

  Belgrimm Abbey stood as a graying memory of a gleaming citadel, her once-proud, ivy-shrouded walls now in that twilight state somewhere between respectable old age and disgraceful decay. Truth be told, though, she wore her age very well indeed, considering she’d seen most other buildings in the city rise from the ashes of fallen buildings that had risen from the ashes of other fallen buildings, and so on, back into the hazy distance of recorded history.

  It was only in the last century or two that the new round of gleaming marble edifices had begun to crowd in around her, blocking out the sun and leaving her to slouch in their shadows. The priestesses who roamed her halls could still hol
d their heads up with pride at the old lady’s history, but the real power had moved on, and the world’s eyes with it—so there was no one about to remark when an old medicine wagon rattled up to park outside her walls.

  Keely stepped quietly out of the wagon, once more dodging a cat as it slipped out past her feet, and then another cat that had been trailing along behind the wagon, looking for an opportunity to dart inside. Keely stretched as best she could while clutching the weathered book, then crouched to scratch at the ears of the milling cats that were rubbing at her ankles.

  “Sorry,” she said. “No treats today. I’ve had a lot on my mind. But we’ll see what we can hunt down after I’m done with this.”

  Strolling along in the shadow of the abbey walls, Keely stopped at one of the lowest spots—a simple garden wall only a couple of heads taller than herself—and leaned back against a bare patch in the ivy to wait. She whistled quietly to herself, inspecting and cleaning her nails as she waited, until the abbey bells began to chime. She straightened up, turned, and sized up the wall for a moment before carefully heaving the book up and over with just enough force to clear the wall.

  The book landed neatly in the middle of a little gravel path through the abbey gardens. It lay there with no one around to witness it until a cat jumped up from back out in the street and peered curiously after it from the top of the wall. The little, white longhair wrinkled its nose as it glanced back and forth between garden and street, then perked up its ears at the sound of footsteps on the gravel.

  “Hey, Bookend,” the slender, dark-haired young woman coming down the path greeted the cat cheerily. “Nice to see you about. Did you chase all the butterflies out of the garden for me today?” The girl, who wore the simple sky-blue robes of an abbey postulant, gave an exaggerated shiver and a wink. “I always appreciate that, you know. Here…” She dug a scrap of bread out of the pouch on her belt. “It’s not much, but all the more reason to enjoy it before any of your friends show up.”

  The cat hopped down, landing on the book on its way to sniff at the proffered morsel.

  “What’s that?” the postulant blinked, doing a double take, then scowled. “How could anyone leave a book just lying around in the garden? It’ll be ruined in no time.” She dropped the scrap of bread and left it for the cat as she ran to grab up the fallen book and dust it off carefully, inspecting it for damage. “And who’ll catch the blame? Me of course. Thank you again little friend: bane of butterflies, savior of books.”

  She smiled at the cat, then peered around for any sign that other bits of literature might have been left lying around forgotten. At last she shrugged, sighed in disgust, and started to walk on down the path.

  “How…curious,” she remarked, her steps faltering for a moment as her finger traced the designs on the cover. She cracked the book open and peered inside, quickly scanning a couple of pages. “Very curious.” She closed the book again and hurried on, clutching it to her chest.

  Elissa slipped hurriedly into the grand gallery of the abbey library. In ages past it would have been brightly lit by sun streaming in through the windows, but today that same sun could only brighten the darkness to a gray gloom after dodging its way around the larger buildings that now stood outside the abbey walls. Paying more attention to the book in her arms than to where she was going, Elissa nearly collided with another woman as she rounded a corner in the gloom.

  “Whoa! What’s the rush, little sister?” The woman laughed, dancing aside just in time.

  “Just a…a book to re-shelve,” Elissa stammered apologetically. “I’m sorry, Miraculata.” She gulped in surprise, recognizing the golden robes of authority the woman wore over a silk gown of pink and white even before she was able to make out the woman’s face in the dim light. “So sorry.”

  “No harm done, Elissa.” The miracle woman smiled gently. Short, beautiful, and slightly plump in a way that did little more than underscore her femininity, one could have imagined Miraculata Cosima—with her bright blond curls and her big blue eyes—to be the very picture of a cherub who had been allowed to grow up. “Have you been able to find any more of the books I wanted? I’m done with that last batch.”

  “A few, yes. They’re in the south reading room.”

  “Excellent. Thank you for all your help.”

  “Do you mind my asking what it is you’re looking for in all those old books?” Elissa asked.

  “Even aside from its obvious significance, the first Serinian Empire represents a fascinating chapter in history,” Cosima answered, “that offers interesting parallels to our own. I hope to find some wisdom that will guide us as the second empire is forged.”

  “So nothing to do with that lost book of prophecy the abbey is buzzing about?”

  “Maybe a little,” Cosima chuckled, giving the younger woman a shrewd look. “I don’t believe for a minute that it actually exists, but it suddenly seems that a lot of people do. And once a lot of people believe something, that something takes on a sort of reality of its own. The rumor alone will be fuel for all sorts of political fires. So, yes, I want as many facts as I can find on what happened back then, so I’ll be better armed to combat any hysteria that may arise.”

  “Makes sense.” Elissa smiled. “Well, I’ll just get this back to the shelves and see what else I can find for you, then.”

  Cosima nodded and moved on, leaving Elissa to scurry on to the sorting room. Once there, Elissa paused to trace a finger over the lioness embossed on the cover as she chewed on her lip thoughtfully. She was just starting to crack the book open and have a look inside when the voice of the head archivist cut the silence.

  “Elissa!”

  “Coming, Sister Shayla!” Elissa called back. She dropped the book heavily onto the nearest stack, and turned to head for the door, nearly tripping over the little white cat from the garden as she did.

  “That’s all I had,” Elissa said, crouching down to stroke the cat. “But you’re welcome to anything you can catch roaming the library, as always.” She straightened back up and hurried out, pursuing the sound of Sister Shayla’s voice.

  The sun had completed most of its journey up the sky before Elissa was able to return to the sorting room, and she set right to work organizing the many stacks of books awaiting her attention.

  “Demons and Witches of the Northern Steppes,” she read the title of one aloud. “You can always count on Sister Adalva to go for the heartwarming parables, can’t you?” She flipped through the book to an eye-catching illumination of a wicked-looking giant of a woman with pallid green skin, standing amidst the mountain peaks as lightning from the swirling black clouds behind her struck down the diminutive figures at her feet.

  “Chooali the Troll Queen,” Elissa read. “Chooali roamed the mountains between the headwaters of the Sanguine and Emerald rivers until slain by Agnar the Righteous in the ninth century of the modern era. The sword he used to defeat her was blessed by the sisters of Belgrimm Abbey, and bathed in the blood of…” She stopped reading in mid-sentence and snapped the book closed. “Oh, right: it’s gory bloodbaths you can always count on Sister Adalva for,” she said sarcastically, and slipped the book into its temporary home on the shelves.

  Elissa returned to her work but paused a few books later to read another title aloud.“Winterswort: Its History in Medicine and Ritual.

  “And what about its uses in Sister Shayla’s mushroom soup?” she asked the book rhetorically. “But I’ll bite. It’s an interesting herb.” She began to open the book, hesitated, then added it to the small stack she’d set aside for later reading.

  Elissa shelved a few more books before her eye fell on the one she’d found in the garden that morning. “Oh!” she exclaimed quietly and hurried to retrieve the book. “Now where did you come from?” she asked it as she added it to the “to read” pile, then she slipped the whole pile into the pack waiting beside it.

  With the pack slung over her shoulder, she stole to the door of the sorting room and peered furtively
out, glancing all around to see if anyone was present before stepping out and pulling the door closed behind her.

  Just before the door latched, she stopped and peered back into the room. There lay the little white cat in its favorite spot at the end of a shelf where sun from the high windows would always hit in the late morning, cleaning the little brown socks that made it look as if it had dipped its hind toes in mud.

  “C’mon, Bookend,” she whispered, slipping back in to reach for the cat. “Time for me to do some concentrated goofing off, and for you to not give me away by yowling because you got locked in.” The cat hopped down before Elissa could touch it but was thoughtful enough to scamper out the door instead of hiding behind a shelf.

  A few moments later, Elissa was quietly climbing the circular stairwell that led to the Chamber of Banality, the tower room at the highest and least accessible point of the library, where unwanted books went to die. There lay the final resting place of any old tomes too dry and trivial to ever be opened without risking death by boredom, but donated by some personage too important to ever offend—or even to offend the memory of.

  More formally known as the Tower of Special Collections, it was nevertheless special enough to attract about as many visitors as a lecture on the nuanced difference between seventy shades of white—which, not coincidentally, the room contained a treatise on in thirteen volumes. There, amid the spectacularly unimaginative journals of a centenarian’s daily life (”Hot today. Ate turnips.”) and the world’s most authoritative collection on how to classify mold stains, Elissa found her own little sanctuary in the form of a room no one else ever wanted to set foot in.