The circle around the pit grows with cheering spectators.
Deet and Yaz dance in an intimate embrace, trading blows and snarls.
Deet snatches Yaz’s wrist and yanks it forward and pulls him close to him. He right elbows Yaz across his jaw.
Blood shoots out the corner of Yaz’s mouth and his head wrenches back.
Deet sweeps Yaz’s wrist and arm down, folding his body over and forward into Deet’s right knee. He stares at the back of his helpless brother’s skull for a second with his sword held high. He drops the sword butt, tapping the back of Yaz’s head. Deet releases his brother’s wrist.
Yaz falls to all fours. He glances up after a few seconds staring at the muddy grass and dirt. Yaz goes to his knees with hands on hips—blood and saliva drips from his lip, over his chin, and trickles to the ground. He spits, raises a knee, plants a foot, and stands.
Deet slaps Yaz’s back between the shoulder blades. “You all right?”
Yaz grabs his shirt and wipes the blood from his chin. “Good one, Brother.”
Preta opens her mouth toward Grandpa, but she doesn’t say a word.
Grandpa smirks. “There’s always someone better out there, never forget it.”
A FLOWER IN BLOOM
The next morning, Preta sits next to Nala at the kitchen table.
Nala sews a yellow dress draped over her knee, passing thread through the silk-like fabric.
“You need help, Nala?” Preta says.
“No thanks, kiddo. I’m almost done.”
“Only one more day to the wedding, are you excited?”
Nala lets out a puff of air. “One long day, and Yaz better not muck it up tonight.”
Yaz slaps his palm flat on the table, making the girls jump. “Hey now, I have it on good authority that Yaz never mucks up anything.”
Nala tosses the dress over the chair’s arm. “Do you have Deet’s party set for tonight?”
With a stupid grin plastered on his face, Yaz plops down and leans back in his chair. “Sure do, all set, good to go, no mucking up at all.”
Nala crosses her arms. “No whores.”
Yaz mimics Nala’s pose and crosses his arms. “Come on, Nal, don’t take all the fun out of it.”
She pounds her fist on the table. “Yaz, this isn’t a joke.”
“Don’t worry about it—it will all be good, and no whores, I promise.” Yaz grins and pinches his chin. “At least I don’t think so.”
Nala slaps the table and Yaz flinches. “No whores, Yaz.”
Yaz chuckles. “No whores, Nala. I got it the first time.”
“Can I go too?” Preta says.
Yaz winks at her. “Sure, the more the merrier.”
Nala’s eyes dart to Preta. “Absolutely not you can’t go.” She gives Yaz a dirty look. “Don’t encourage her.”
Preta leans forward and scowls, staring down Nala. “And why not? I wanna go to the party too.”
“Yeah, Nala, why not?” Yaz says, leaning back in his chair, smug grin on his face and hands behind his head. He rests both heels on the lip of the table.
“Shut it, idiot, you know why.” Nala whips a wooden spoon at Yaz. “And get your dirty, stinky feet off my table.”
Yaz ducks to the left and his feet slide off the table and hit the ground just as the spoon zips by his ear. His mouth curls into a cocky grin, and he leans back in his chair, propping his feet back up on the table. Satisfied with himself, he gazes at the ceiling, lost in his own greatness. “Not so easy hitting a moving target. I should know, I’m a professional.”
“Uh-huh,” Nala says.
Yaz lowers his head. “You know—”
Nala releases another spoon.
Yaz’s eyes snap open, and his smugness fades. The spoon strikes him in the middle of his forehead and bounces off. His feet slide off the table, and he tips over in his chair, crashing to the floor. Yaz grimaces and rubs his head as he gets to his feet. “Ouch, dang it.”
Nala rocks her head side to side. “I would say that was easy enough.”
Preta shakes Nala’s arm. “So where’s the party at?”
Yaz opens his mouth about to say the name, and Nala glares at him and smacks her hand on the table. He flinches and gulps. “I guess that’s my cue to go outside.”
Nala’s eyebrows rise in surprise. “It only took sixteen years, but now it seems you’re finely beginning to learn—humph—soon you’ll be on Roscoe’s level, never thought I’d see the day.”
Yaz sneers and walks away.
Again, Preta shakes Nala’s arm. “I wanna go to the party.”
“Forget about it, Preta, it’s out of the question. You’ll be with me at Lurrus’s cottage tonight. Get your stuff ready for class, and pack enough clothes to spend the night; we’re leaving for town soon.”
“Fine.” Preta pouts and goes to her bedroom. She slams her door and packs her things. Preta lies on her bed and visualizes her scheme to get to Deet’s party.
Over the next few minutes, she stares in deep thought as she draws shapes with her finger in the thin dust layer covering the floor. I’ll show Nala. I have to get to Deet’s party. After all, it only happens once in a lifetime. Nala nor Deet nor Yaz nor anyone else will keep me from going. Preta gets up off her bed, nods, and stuffs more things into her pack, ready to put her plan in motion.
Nala cracks the door and peeks inside the bedroom. “You almost ready to go? The boys are already in the cart.”
Preta slings her pack. “I’m ready when you are, Nala.”
Arms full of bags, they walk next to each other, one on either side of the muddy path weaving through the grassy yard.
“You girls good to go?” Deet says. “Do you need any help?”
Nala grunts and Preta smiles as they climb into the cart.
Yaz giggles watching Nala struggle with all her things.
Nala snaps her gaze toward him, and he goes silent, turns his head away, and coughs.
“Let’s go,” Nala says.
On the way to town, Preta reenacts her plan over and over in her head.
The boys drop Preta off at school, and she spends the entire morning pretending to learn, though in reality she refines her scheme: Operation Deets.
Class lets out, and Lurrus meets up with Preta. “Are you ready to go to my place and have some fun?”
Preta smiles, thinking of the party. “Definitely ready to go.”
Lurrus holds Preta’s hand and leads her to her cottage.
“So, Lurrus, are you excited for the big day?”
“Well, we’ve been waiting forever; it’s time we take the next step together.”
Preta, probing for answers about Deet’s party, slows her pace. “How come we’re not going to the party tonight?”
“Oh, that, well, it’s a boy’s thing.”
“Why can’t it be a girl’s thing too?”
Lurrus chuckles. “I guess they think they’ll never get to have any fun again, or it just gives them an excuse to act like fools.”
“What do they do at this party that we can’t go to?”
“Oh, they just play poker and gamble while whoopin’ and hollering drunk, gawking at girls and congratulating each other on how great they are.”
Preta, serious and focused, eyes Lurrus then she shrugs. “How about we go and gawk at the drunken fools and congratulate us on how great we are?”
Lurrus chuckles again. “It doesn’t work like that. They don’t want us ruining their fun.” She opens the door to her cottage, and they go inside. “Can I get you anything?”
Preta sighs, still not understanding what the big deal is. “Water, I guess.”
Lurrus shows Preta her elegant white silk dress and explains the plan for tomorrow’s wedding. “All right, Preta, so what do you want to do now?”
“Can you teach me how to play poker?” Preta says, thinking learning may help her later at Deet’s party.
“I didn’t know you were interested in cards.”
&n
bsp; “Of course I am; the boys can’t have all the fun.”
“But I would think you’d rather draw or paint.”
“Not today, Lurrus. Today, I’m interested in cards. I know how to draw and paint, and today is for new experiences.”
Lurrus smiles. “I like your attitude. All right, let’s play cards then.” Lurrus teaches Preta poker, and they play for an hour until a cart rattles outside of Lurrus’s door. A horse clacks its feet on the cobblestones and puffs out air.
Yaz howls like a wolf. “This is going to be—just wait—you’ll see, Brother.”
“They’re here.” Preta jumps up from her chair. She opens the door and sees the boys on the cart.
Nala stands up and flicks Yaz’s ear with her finger. “See? That was easy too.”
They hop off the cart, and Nala strolls toward the door.
The boys turn in the other direction and strut away from the cottage.
Yaz spins back and points at Nala. “You know you have anger issues, Sister. You need to control that temper before it gets you in trouble.”
Nala sternly shakes her finger at Yaz. “Shut up, bear slayer, and no whores, I’m warning you.”
Yaz gyrates his body and sticks his tongue out at her. He spins away, shakes his butt, and waves Nala off. “I got it already.”
Lurrus squeezes by Preta and through the door and waves goodbye to Deet. “You better be good.”
Deet smiles and waves back. “I will, don’t worry, my love.”
Yaz snatches Deet’s forearm and pulls him forward. “Let’s go let’s go, we’re wasting time, my Deets.”
“I’ve got a cold pint of Dazzle Razzle Golden Ale with my name on it,” Grandpa says, licking his lips and rubbing his hands together in eager anticipation.
Preta watches on as the boys turn into an alley across the street. So, Kleg Alley to the Northside pubs. Got it, Operation Deets phase two is now a go. Preta grins and goes back inside the cottage and sits at the table.
Over the next few hours, Lurrus and Nala talk in deep conversation while Preta times her moment to escape.
“What do you think, Preta?” Lurrus says.
Preta snaps out of her daze. “Huh?” she says, no clue what Lurrus is asking her.
“What do you think?”
“Umm—Yes.”
Lurrus beams. “I thought so too. Great minds, eh?”
Preta smiles and agrees, not wanting to have the conversation go any further.
As the time passes, Preta keeps an internal clock in her head: the timing’s got to be perfect. Preta watches on as Nala and Lurrus go on and on and on like mumbling hand puppets. Their mouths move, and words vibrate in Preta’s ears, though she doesn’t pay attention to what they’re saying. She just nods and stares through them. The hand on the clock hits 8:22. It’s time, commencing Operation Deets phase two in five, four, three, two, one, go.
Preta lets out a sickly breath. “I’m… I’m not feeling quite right. I need to go to the privy.”
“I’ll go with you,” Lurrus says, quickly standing up.
Shoot, didn’t plan for that, uh— “Thanks, but I’ll be all right by myself. I just need some fresh air and a short walk.”
Nala squints, scanning Preta’s soul.
Preta gives Nala a sickly smile and cough. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”
“Uh-huh, all right, don’t be too long.”
“I won’t,” Preta says, stepping through the front door. She gives a slight fist pump as the door clicks closed behind her. “Yes!” She rushes to the cart, grabs her pack, and races toward the privy as fast as her legs will move.
The dark streets mask her movements though every fifty paces, a single glass-encased lantern hangs from a tall iron post painted black.
At the public privies, Preta picks one, goes inside, pees, removes her clothes, and rummages through her pack, pulling out her plan. First, she removes a thin cloth and wraps it around her breasts, pulling them in tight. Then, she slips on soiled grey wool trousers and a raggedy old black sweater with holes in it. Preta ties her hair back in a tight bun and places a black leather cap over top. Last, Preta grabs a handful of a greasy black dirt mixture and smears it on her face. “Good enough,” she says, eyeing her reflection in a broken mirror hanging crooked on the wall. She smiles. “Operation Deets phase two complete—commencing phase three in, three, two, one, go.”
Preta exits the privy in the best impression of a dirty boy she can muster. She hides her pack in the bushes and takes a few steps toward the road.
A man and woman approach giggling, and Preta squats low in a shadow cast from a large bush.
The man and woman, arms locked, sway together step for step, kissing and staggering at the same time.
The man opens the privy door.
Preta waits a minute to make sure they’re inside before moving. She leans forward and freezes in place; a loud bang against the rickety privy wall startles her. Preta holds her breath.
The privy walls creek and moan in rhythm.
Preta slithers away through the bushes until she reaches the road, glances back at the privies for a second, then she sprints to her date with Operation Deets.
Jogging through Kleg Alley that Deet and Yaz turned onto, the procession of fiddles, drums, and laughter grows louder, announcing the party is near.
The melody leads her to a two-story cobblestone building in the middle of town. The bright yellow painted wooden shutters glow like lanterns leading the drunks to their port of call. She rests her hand on the stone’s masonry to catch her breath; the stone speaks, vibrating, alive. A yellow-and-green flag flaps in the wind. A coat-of-arms with two fish and two wine bottles is embroidered in the center, and an old bald man holding a plaque labeled Etzle’s Pub is underneath.
Gazing up, a wooden sign swings in the breeze. On it, a hand holding a pitcher pouring yellow ale into a man’s mouth.
Preta snakes through the alley next to the pub. She cuts the corner fast.
“Hey, watch it, kid,” a woman wearing a sleazy red dress says, leaning against the wall.
“Sorry,” Preta says in her normal voice.
The woman twists her face and flicks her hair. “Whatever.”
Preta touches the pub’s lime green back door and spins back toward the woman. She repeats herself, this time saying it deep and scratchy like a man. “I mean, sorry.”
The woman, not caring, waves Preta off and strolls away.
Preta stumbles through the pub’s back door. A rat scurries across her path, and she skips to the left.
The aroma of wine, ale, and sweet pipe smoke fills the hallway. The sticky floor grabs Preta’s feet with every step.
A procession of music and laughter and frivolity grows louder as Preta reaches a flimsy wooden door with the appearance of swiss cheese. She squats and peeks through one of the many holes.
Circular and linear wooden tables of varying sizes fill the pub.
People cheer, wave their arms, jump, skip, and dance in folly and joy.
Straight across, next to the front door, a long glossy mahogany bar top is loaded with empty pints. A sweaty bald bartender with sparse long grey hair strands plastered to his shiny head, pours drinks as fast as he can. The tin pints, touching each other, are lined up from one end of the bar to the other. The bartender side steps from pint to pint with a small barrel, pouring golden ale into the cups. The yellow liquid bubbles and foams, oozing over the metal lips.
The patrons clamor, counting down from ten as they pound their fists on the bar top, rattling the pints.
Left of the door, in the corner, a charred pig twirls on a spit overlying a square stone pit filled with coals and wood. A brown-haired wench wearing a tattered blue dress stands next to the hog, rotating the beast attached to a metal handle.
A broad-nosed man standing seven feet tall and wearing his thick blond hair back in a ponytail, lumbers toward the wench. With his enormous hand he extends a metal plate.
The wench rips a
sickle-like knife out of the twirling pig and slices a steaming piece of meat off the cooked carcass. With little care, she tosses the pork on the metal plate with a plop.
Along the pub’s left wall, two fat men wearing brown suits stand one on either side of a rail-thin woman wearing a lacy-white dress as they all thump on drums.
In the center of the pub, two old men with white beards down to their belly buttons skip and twirl. They nod at each other and play fiddles, taking turns strumming the strings one at a time.
On the far right side, stairs lead to an open balcony spanning the entire front wall above the bar top. The balcony is jam packed with patrons pouring ale on the onlookers below.
Men and women throughout the pub drain entire cups, either in their mouths or in the air, throwing their arms up in joy.
Men collapse to the ground in a drunken stupor while other men punch each other in the face until one passes out.
A barrel of a woman with a hairy mole on her chin scoops up a fallen comrade and bear hugs him while onlookers cheer.
Men play cards, and pipes droop from their mouths. Some players are serious; some are animate; others’ heads bob to and fro, drunk.
Deet holds the ace of hearts high above his head and tosses it on the table. He stands up, grins, and points at his full house lying face-up.
The other players throw their cards in disgust and wave at Deet in disapproval.
One man, still holding his cards, drops his hands on the table followed by his head. His forehead bounces off the wooden table twice, and he collapses sideways out of his chair.
Men and women point and cheer, pouring pints on the man lying in the fetal position on the floor.
A large blonde woman with matted hair and wearing a light-blue dress leans over the balcony above.
Men below wave and shout.
She gyrates her hips and teases the men by shaking her finger at them.
The men whoop and holler, jumping and waving their arms.
The woman blows a kiss and rips down her dress top.
Two pale breasts larger than Preta’s ever seen or imagined flop out.
Preta presses her forehead harder against the door. “Oh—my—gosh.”
Wintermore (Aeon of Light Book 1) Page 10
