by Barb Hendee
“May I be of service?” he asked in an oily voice.
“Are you Master Volos?”
“No,” the man said, coming closer, “I am Master Poyesk. I can attend to whatever business you require.”
“I need to speak with Master Volos.”
“I’m Volos,” another voice said.
Rashed turned to see a man coming out of a side door from a room with a desk. He was broad-shouldered with thick dark hair, wearing a short canvas jacket. He had a wide face with a flat nose. Measuring him up quickly, Rashed decided on a direct approach.
“I’ve come to make you an offer,” he said.
Volos raised an eyebrow. “An offer?”
“I’ll pay you the equivalent of six gold sovereigns for the lot up the shore, where you’re preparing to build.”
He watched the reactions from both men. He’d offered more than twice what he estimated that lot was worth, even for prime shore land in a port town. Volos blinked, taken aback, but Master Poyesk’s face lit up with a mix of greed and relief.
Rashed especially took note of the relief.
Once he’d recovered, Master Volos shook his head. “A generous offer, sir, but the land isn’t for sale. We’re building the largest warehouse Miiska has ever seen.”
The man’s eyes gleamed as he said this, and Rashed knew that haggling would gain him nothing. Master Volos had a dream too and would not be shaken from it.
“You’re refusing him?” Master Poyesk sputtered, staring at his partner. “How can you possibly—”
“Enough!” Volos barked and turned back to Rashed. “Thank you for the offer, but the lot isn’t for sale.”
With a polite nod, Rashed turned and left.
He didn’t go far.
· · · · ·
Ratboy again crept alone through the streets of Miiska. He’d fed last night, and he certainly didn’t need to feed so soon, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself from slipping away from the Velvet Rose. He slunk through the town’s night shadows, smelling and feeling the life all around him.
Fear and worry tugged against his yearning.
What would happen if Rashed discovered what he’d done last night, what he longed to do again? The hunger was upon him—not for blood or life but for the feel, the smell, and the taste of a prey’s fear.
He knew he should go back to their room at the inn.
Instead, he slipped along the buildings, from under the awnings and through the front landings and porch shadows, peering about.
A door across the street opened, and a slightly plump girl in a lavender dress came out carrying a basket. She was humming off key, and he didn’t recognize the song.
She looked so ripe to him that he was nearly overcome by the impulse to rush across the street, grab her, and drag her into the darkness. Could he hide two killings in a row?
Still torn, he watched as she strolled off along the street, and he silently began to follow her. But he’d only taken two steps when a soft voice sounded behind him.
“Ratboy?”
Whirling, he saw Teesha standing there in a black velvet dress with a matching ribbon tied around her throat. In her arms, she carried the bulky bundle of what looked like three new quilts. All he could do was stare at her and the slight frown her pretty face.
He realized his own face must be awash with guilt, and that it would be foolish to deny what he’d been up to. She came closer, her frown vanishing as her eyes softened.
“I know what pulls at you,” she said quietly. “I know how hard it is to resist—but you must. If we are to have a home here, we cannot be the cause of death and fear.” Reaching out, she touched his arm. “You don’t want to live in the forest like an animal, do you?”
He didn’t. “No.”
“Come back to the inn with me. Do you remember at the keep, when I started to teach you to read and write? We should continue with your lessons.”
He badly wanted to improve himself, and learning to read was important to him. With only a few words, Teesha reminded him of all that he had to lose, and she’d come looking for him. Even in his living days, no one had ever cared enough to do that.
She turned, and he fell into step beside her. He would not give in to his feral instincts again.
· · · · ·
Rashed waited outside the small warehouse until he saw Master Poyesk come out and head around the side of the building, walking inland, further into town. Rashed followed him.
At the far end of town, Poyesk entered a two-story building with a sign above the door that read DUNCTION’S. From the muffled sound of many voices within, it was likely a tavern or common house. Rashed glanced up at the top floor. There was no light leaking through the upper shutters. Still, the top floor suggested this place might also be the owner’s home—that someone lived up there when the tavern was closed. So, he approached and, out of caution, he opened the door and looked inside.
A small, aging woman was serving bowls of soup to a nearby table. She spotted him, and he nodded to her.
“Is there a welcome here for a stranger?” he asked.
She smiled at him. “Of course, sir. Please come in.”
He forgot her immediately as his gaze swept the room. Master Poyesk was sitting alone at a table near the front wall. Though the place was packed, apparently the warehouse master had no friends here.
Rashed’s gaze stopped for a long moment on one other table. Four men sat around it, eating bread and drinking mugs of ale. Three of them wore swords and leather hauberks, and the fourth was a behemoth. Fat as opposed to large, he was dressed in a purple brocade tunic with a sash of forest green and a matching purple cap topped with a white feather. Although the material of his clothing looked expensive, the sash only accentuated the size of his protruding belly. He had an air of self-importance about him, and Rashed pegged him as the town constable.
Storing that piece of information away, he headed for Master Poyesk’s table.
“May I join you?”
The weasel-faced man saw him coming, and his dour expression turned to surprise.
“I suppose,” he replied, gesturing to an empty chair.
The small, aging woman came over. “What can I get you, gentlemen? Your usual, Master Poyesk?”
Poyesk nodded.
“Red wine,” Rashed added.
She hurried away to the long bar, behind which a middle-aged man with a moustache was already preparing some tankards of ale. The demeanor of nearby patrons at the bar suggested he owned the place.
Rashed returned his attention to Master Poyesk. “I was disappointed by your partner’s answer tonight.”
Poyesk leaned back, slumping in his chair. “So was I.”
That had been clear, but it was too early to push him. A goblet of red wine and a pint of ale arrived, and Rashed quickly paid for both.
“I am from the north,” he said, “and I’ve recently come into an inheritance. Others might squander such good fortune, but I’ve no intention of letting my coins trickle away until they’re gone. I’ve been looking for a port town in which to build a warehouse and try my hand at such a business.”
Master Poyesk raised his mug and drained half its ale. Rashed gestured to the elderly woman to bring another. Poyesk took another gulp and slumped further in his chair.
“Well, I thought it was our lucky night when you walked in the door,” he said.
Good, Rashed thought. Poyesk was relaxing, and his tongue was loosening.
“You’d have taken the offer?” Rashed asked.
“I’d have danced all the way home.”
“Can you not convince your partner? I have taken a liking to this town, and you are in possession of a prime piece of land for such a venture.”
Poyesk finished his ale and then shook his head, grumbling bitterly, “I hold no sway over him, never have. Volos put in more money in the beginning of our partnership, and so he owns the greater share of our warehouse. But he’s… ambitious. Now it seems he’
s spent all our profits on that lot. He’s planning to borrow money from a bank in Bela for the construction of the new building, a place all to himself. But what money will he then use to stock the place, let alone tend to one I’m still invested in? He’s a fool, and he’ll the ruin us both in his bid to take up on his own.” He shook his head. “A fool, but I can’t stop him.”
The old woman set a fresh mug of ale on the table and hurried off. Poyesk downed half the mug, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
So, he had no influence over his partner. That only left one option.
Rashed sipped his red wine. He thought himself a good judge of character, and he believed the man sitting across from him, drowning his frustration in ale, was weak and greedy, and there was probably no line he wouldn’t cross to ensure his own comfort and safety. Rashed decided to take a risk.
“Should something unforeseen happen to Volos, would you take full ownership of your current warehouse?”
Poyesk started slightly, squinting. “I suppose.”
“Along with the property upon which he’s planning to build?”
Poyesk stared at him in sudden alarm, but then the ramifications of his words began to sink in. “Yes, since the shares he spent came out of our business.”
“And in that event, you would find it a wiser to sell the empty lot and put the money you gained back into your current business.”
Poyesk raised his mug to his mouth. Though it covered the lower part of his face, he didn’t drink. “To me, that would seem wise, should such a terrible event occur.”
· · · · ·
When Teesha and Ratboy returned to the inn, she spent some time making their room feel more like a home—occasionally asking Ratboy for assistance, or even advice, so that he felt included. First, she took the three purchased quilts and spread one over each coffin, decorating the tops with candleholders, vases, and books that they’d brought with them from Stravina. The effect made the coffins appear to be large trunks now serving as low tables. Then, she and Ratboy pushed the two beds up against one wall and used pillows to dress them up as makeshift couches.
This helped open up the room and make it feel larger.
She sent Ratboy out to pick a few Evergreen sprigs while she hung a fine painting of the sea they’d brought, which had been their—her—inspiration for this journey. When Ratboy returned, she put the sprigs inside the vases and stood back to examine her handiwork.
No matter what happened, they were going to be residing in this room for a while, and one of Rashed’s weak spots was his need for a home, for her to make a place into a home. This was how she’d first seduced him back in Stravina, at the keep. By turning that cold, dank place into a home, she’d begun to transfer his loyalty from Corische to her.
She could not forget that.
Once the room was finished, she and Ratboy settled on one of the beds and began his reading lesson. She knew he’d only do so while Rashed was away. Ratboy couldn’t bear to show any kind of deficiency in Rashed’s presence.
But that was the setting when Rashed came through the door without warning.
He looked around the room at the changes, and then he looked at her, in her black velvet gown, teaching Ratboy to read, trying to civilize him, trying to keep him from the feral path. Something flickered across Rashed’s face, and she knew she had moved him. She always knew how to move him.
“Have you made arrangements to purchase the property?” she asked.
“Not yet, but I will.”
She smiled warmly. “Of course you will.”
· · · · ·
The following night, Rashed again waited outside the small warehouse. As with the night before, Master Poyesk came out first, heading off toward Dunction’s. Rashed ignored him and waited. Finally, Master Volos emerged as well, heading the other way.
Rashed followed silently, a dagger couched in his right hand with its blade flat against his forearm. He’d hidden enough bodies in his time that if he wished it, Volos would never be found. But such a skill wouldn’t serve him tonight. He wanted the body found as soon as possible. Any investigation into a missing member of the community would only complicate matters. He wanted that fat constable to declare Volos officially dead by the following morning.
Volos walked on the far left side of the street with others passing him, likely on their own way home for the night. So Rashed waited until the warehouse master turned down an empty side street and approached the mouth of an alley halfway down.
Rashed closed the distance before Volos could even turn at the sound of rushing footfalls. He shoved the man down the alley, following in blur of movement, and clutched Volos’s hair from behind to pull his head back and expose his throat. Rashed expected that the advantage of surprise would result in little or no resistance.
But Volos bucked and tried turning in his grip, striking backward with an elbow that caught Rashed in the chest. The fierce impact almost dislodged his grip, but he held on and shoved the man into a sidewall, head first. Volos’s body recoiled, and as he was momentarily stunned, Rashed jerked his head back again and cut his throat from ear to ear, dropping the body immediately.
Rashed stood there, watching Volos bleed out on the dark alley floor. Then he searched the corpse’s pockets for anything of value and took a coin pouch.
All that was left when he turned away was the victim of a robbery gone wrong.
· · · · ·
Rashed waited two nights to be certain the town was abuzz with the news of Volos’s death. The town constable officially declared it a murder, likely by someone passing through who had probably fled. Still, the townsfolk were advised not to walk alone at night, in case the culprit hadn’t yet moved on.
As Rashed stepped into Dunction’s on the third night, the elderly woman serving food and drink looked at him with concern.
“There’s no moon tonight, sir. You should not be walking alone.”
“I can attend myself,” he answered.
“That’s likely what Master Volos would have said.”
True, Volos was a large man with strong reflexes. Rashed nodded to her politely, but did not allow himself to be sidetracked for long. Master Poyesk was sitting at his table by the wall, and Rashed joined him, not bothering to ask if he could sit this time.
“My condolences on the loss of your partner,” he said.
The weasel-faced man stared at him warily. “Thank you.”
“This may seem soon, but business must go on. I wanted to repeat my offer.”
“Six gold sovereigns for the lot?”
Rashed nodded. “I have an equivalent sum in Stravinan coin.”
Poyesk sighed dramatically and took a large swallow of ale. “It is a great tragedy, but as you said, business must go on.”
· · · · ·
Winter passed into spring, and that spring was the busiest of Teesha’s life. As soon as the weather turned, Rashed wasted no time in getting started with plans for building—not that she’d expected him to waste any time. But the first thing he did was order an underground tunnel to be dug at the back of the building site, which would lead to a small underground cavern—which also had to be excavated and finished with wooden supports. This was where he planned to keep their coffins. She thought the workmen assumed it would be a hiding place for goods and money, but still, she wondered if the men doing the actual work would survive for long after it was finished. Then she put such thoughts out of her mind. That was Rashed’s decision, not hers.
However, just as the tunnel was completed and work on the small cavern had begun, an unfortunate event occurred that involved her directly.
She was alone at the Velvet Rose, as Rashed had left in the early evening to oversee the work. Ratboy was off hunting, but he’d been careful to follow the rules since she’d spoken to him.
Teesha was mending a small tear in her favorite red dress when the air shimmered in front of her. Edwan materialized, though he’d been quiet lately, rarely appear
ing.
“My dear,” she said.
The sight of his bloody, severed head didn’t bother her. She had once loved him very much.
“He’s digging only one cavern!” Edwan said angrily.
She blinked, uncertain what this was about and not knowing how to respond.
“For the three of you… to sleep,” Edwan went on in his hollow voice. “I thought you were using him to get away from Corische, but now he’s building you a home. Do you plan to settle down with him?”
Teesha wished she still possessed the ability to sigh. Edwan was miserable, and she knew it, but there was nothing she could do for him… and nothing he could do for her.
“My dear,” she said, “we need Rashed if I am to have a home and safety. Surely you can see this?”
Floating just off the ground, he spun a full circle in agitation, but he didn’t argue further. He must know she was right.
“Then grant me one thing,” he said. “Have him dig out a separate little sleeping cavern just for you, so that you are not eternally sleeping beside him… and I might have a few moments alone with you before you fall dormant and when you awaken.”
A nearly overwhelming impulse to refuse him filled Teesha. She was taken aback by how much she did not want to agree to his request. But he was hurt, and she understood.
Keeping her expression serene, she answered, “Of course.”
· · · · ·
Rashed crawled up out of the tunnel, pleased by the speed at which it had progressed. He hoped the cavern would go as smoothly. Lumber was already being delivered, and he wanted to start laying in a foundation for the warehouse itself as soon as possible.
Brushing sand and dirt from his breeches, he saw Teesha approaching from the shore side. She wore the black velvet gown he liked so much—with its matching ribbon tied around her throat. Her hair was loose, blowing in the sea wind, and her feet were bare.
