by TJ Muir
The last thing Kirrin wanted was to get drunk and risk doing something foolish that would expose himself. But he felt like he might have found a safe hiding spot and alienating his momentary host wouldn’t help.
“Thanks,” he said, reaching for the bottle and pouring wine into his cup.
“Ren’jor.”
“What?”
“My name. I was introducing myself. Ren’jor.”
“Oh, right. Sorry.” Kirrin’s mind raced. But of course at an event like this the guests would be So’har. He hadn’t planned for anything beyond getting in the front door. “Kirrin.”
Ren’jor raised his glass. “Nice to make your racquaintance.”
“Likewise,” Kirrin said, returning the gesture.
“Most people seem to flock to events like this as though it were their life blood.”
The idea that someone might not want to attend such an extravagant event baffled Kirrin. “So, why are you here?”
“Hiding, you mean?”
“Here.” He waved a hand vaguely toward the house and guests, taking a sip of wine.
“I live here.”
Kirrin choked on the wine, almost dropping the glass. Of all the things he might have anticipated, this wasn’t close to any of them.
“So, then, why aren’t you-- out there?” Kirrin asked, waving his hand toward the house again.
“It’s my sister’s thing, tonight. And we aren’t on good terms right now.”
“But there are hundreds of people.”
Ren’jor shrugged. “I’m not very keen on crowds, if you must know. Or,” he added, looking sly, “perhaps I am here, waiting for a secret assignation.”
Kirrin wasn’t sure what an assignation was but he read the tone and mischievous wink that followed.
“Oh,” Kirrin said, feeling foolish. “Am I interrupting something?” He looked around to see if someone was waiting in the shadows.
Ren’jor laughed. “Not yet. But perhaps soon.”
“More wine?” ren’jor asked, holding up the bottle.
Kirrin looked down at his glass, almost empty and considered how much he had drunk between the Ambrulla and the wine. He was about to decline, worried that he might get drunk and do something that exposed himself.
“It’s a party,” Ren’jor exclaimed, standing up and pouring wine into Kirrin’s glass spilling some of the dark red wine onto Kirrin’s hand and splashing onto his sleeve.
“Oh, sorry,” Ren’jor laughed, thinking nothing about expensive clothing and stains that wouldn’t come out. “Here,” he said, taking out a small cloth from his shirt and handing it to Kirrin.
“It’s okay,” Kirrin said, mopping at the stains, wondering if he had just ruined the best shirt he had ever owned.
“Renjo,” a voice called from just outside their hidden nook.
“In here,” Ren’jor answered.
“Oh. I see you have company.”
Kirrin looked up, didn’t recognize the newcomer. The man looked sober enough to ask questions though, which might not go well. “It’s okay. I was just leaving anyway- I should go find my friends and make sure none of them has drowned in the fountain.’
Both men laughed, hearing that. The newcomer nodded. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone ended up taking a red shower.”
“Nice meeting you,” Kirrin said, nodding to the two men, who seemed to have immediately forgotten Kirrin.
As he walked away, he realized he was still holding Ren’jor’s hand cloth. Holding it up, he saw that it was embroidered with his initials. He turned to go back and then considered this would serve as perfect proof of his attendance. Hak’kar had requested proof of attendance. Kirrin though he would relate something that had happened, something he would only know if he had been there to see it. But this would be perfect. Physical proof as well.
He heard a change in tone, coming from inside. A hushed murmur replaced the buzzing chatter in the main hall. A quick look around showed that many people were gravitating in that direction. Curiosity got the better of Kirrin and he nudged himself forward, enough that he could watch from just outside. A young girl, young woman really, was led down a broad stairway. Seven girls led the way on either side. She followed them, on a man’s arm. Her father most likely.
Kirrin had to move, in order to see the procession as it continued into the main hall. Music began to play, coming from a balcony that looked out over the crowd. The escorting group led the way, before disappearing off to the sides, as father and daughter went ahead, stopping in front of a man who could only be the Da’har. Kirrin couldn’t see the man, whose back was to him. He was too far away to hear what was said over the music and the crowd. It seemed pretty clear that she was being presented to the Da’har, who took her hand afterward the exchange, and led her out onto the floor and led her in a dance. Kirrin was fascinated by the dancing, as the dance came to an end, and the Da’har chose her following partner. A tall young man with dark brown hair, dressed in a dusty green and plum colored outfit. Perhaps he was selecting a possible suitor? Was the choice significant? Kirrin had no idea.
He watched the two of them dance, looking for any sign of a connection between them. Then he reminded himself that this was a very official event and it was unlikely that they would be flirting or snuggling.
There were three more partners and then others began to join them and the dance floor became to crowded to watch what was going on. At one point, Kirrin thought he spotted a dark haired man in burgundy. He tried to get a closer look, moving over to another window, and standing on the railing outside. Two more glimpses. Dancing with a small woman in dark green with a touch of matching burgundy. His wife? Kirrin had never seen the woman at the estate, had never heard Hak’kar talk about a wife, or family-- or anything personal. He tried to imagine Hak’kar with a family, sitting at a dinner table with his wife, kids arguing over something silly. He couldn’t do it. The only image he had of Hak’kar was the one he had from the man in his study, with the occasional servant or messenger.
He tried to see more. The couple seemed amiable together. Or perhaps it was just a public appearance. He stretched his neck and stood on his toes. He thought he saw a frown pass between them. Before he could tell what was going on, his foot slipped out from underneath him and he went tumbling over the railing and landed on the ground below with a thud. He lay there for a moment, the wind knocked out of him. He sat up, clothes now dirty and a tear in the shoulder. His grand night was over, with no way he could return to the party looking tattered and torn.
SOFT BREAK
If his night had ended in a messy failure, he at least woke up feeling triumphant- knowing he had earned his ticket back to the So’har’s estate. First thing in the morning, he woke up and wrote out a note, marking the details he had seen, including Hak’kar’s own appearance. Should he rouse the stable boy to see about getting it delivered? After a moment’s consideration he decided to deliver it himself. Otherwise, he would have to wait until he received a response, and that could take days, or even weeks. No way he wanted to be stuck at home for however long that might take. He could hardly wait. Once he had made that decision, his mind was racing with excitement.
“What happened to your hair?!” his mother exclaimed when he came into the kitchen.
He stopped dead, thoughts interrupted. “What?”
“Your hair! It’s black!”
“Oh.” He had forgotten about that with all the other things going on. He shrugged, trying to think of something. “I just got tired of my hair being so red. It stands out everywhere.”
“You have beautiful hair,” she argued.
Another shrug, half-hearted and annoyed. His hair had been the cause of so much of his misery- marking him instantly as foreign, even though he’d been born here.
“It isn’t even well dyed,” she said, coming closer to examine his head.
He saw the disappointment and confusion on her face, felt a pang of guilt. “It’ll grow back in before you k
now it.”
“At least let’s trim it up and give it a good wash with something that will make it look less--” she stopped, at a loss for words, as she dragged him over to the sink, bent him over and began scrubing his scalp.
Being handled like he was ten bothered him, but he let her clean up the dye job and towel his head afterwards. When she was done, she stepped back and took another look.
“Better,” she said. “Still dark, but at least now it looks more natural. Next time, ask for help please.” She kept looking at his hair.
“What?”
It was her turn to shrug. “You just don’t look like my Kirrin.”
“Well, it will grow out fast, I’m sure,” he tried to reassure her. “Besides, It’ll be grown out by the time I get back and then it’ll be just like it was before.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Back from where?”
Kirrin stopped, caught off guard. He hadn’t thought about how he was going to tell his mother. “Back from the So’har’s estate.”
She just stared at him, lips pursed. She definitely didn’t look thrilled this time. Why was she being so picky lately? “Mum, this is an opportunity. It’s important to me. And, maybe the So’har will be impressed enough to--”
“To what? Offer to pay for your schooling?”
Kirrin shrugged. That wasn’t what he was thinking, but that was his mother’s single focus, so he decided to use it. “Why not? That’s got to be pocket change to him. He likes how smart I am, and that I have been resourceful in solving his puzzles and challenges. What else could he be looking for other than to see if I’d be worth that kind of investment?”
“It would be nice, if you could go to school, a good school, with masters to really challenge you.”
Kirrin nodded, encouraging her. “I’ll bring my books with me, okay?”
His mother looked doubtful.
Kirrin decided to play one of his trump cards. “What’s the alternative? To refuse an invitation of a So’har? How’s that going to look, mum? And think, if I can make a good impression you never know- it might be really good for business at the inn, too.”
He knew he had pushed it a little too far just by the furrowed brow and odd expression on his mother’s face. But he was pretty sure he had won.
“Bring your books,” she said with a firm tone. “And you’ll have regular assignments to keep up with. Several weeks worth. Understood?”
“Yeah, okay mum. Regular assignments. Several weeks. I got it.” But his mind was already racing, thinking about what to pack, and what to bring. He turned, about to race up the stairs.
“Hold on, there,” she called to him as he turned to go upstairs. “Dishes, and barn chores.”
Kirrin stopped, foot on the bottom step. He stifled a moment of resentment. “Okay mum, sure thing.” It was just one more night - and then freedom.
SOFT BREAK
Kirrin woke up extra-early and packed his things. He really didn’t have that much - a few changes of clothes, as well as his schoolbooks. And he made sure he brought work clothes that could get dirty or even torn without upsetting his mother when he got home.
He pulled out two of the shirts he had worn when he was at the estate. The grass stains were still there. He thought of Miral, and remembered Fin’s advice to forget about her. The example with the candy had been like a bucket of cold water. Candy. Maybe she just wanted someone to spoil her. That was it, he decided. He grabbed a couple of silver pennies and dashed out the door. He would bring her some of the fancy spiced chocolates from the shop by the north bridge.
He ran most of the way, both ways. By the time he got back, breakfast was over and he was sweaty enough to need a shower. He whistled brightly as he washed up, sure his plan would finally win over the elusive Miral.
Satisfied that he looked and smelled presentable, he grabbed his things, hugged his mother, and headed out. He intended to walk up through the market square, and find a public carriage to drive him out to Hak’kar’s estate.
As he was walking, he spotted the dice-man. Another plan pushed away all thoughts about Miral. He changed direction, heading over to the man, as though he were walking past, casual. “Nice day out,” Kirrin said, nodding his head.
The man looked up. “At it is,” The man’s eyes narrowed, sizing Kirrin up, deciding what it was the young, well-dressed kid might want.
“Nice day for a stroll,” Kirrin said, hoisting his pack.
Both of them knew Kirrin was not strolling, not with the pack he was carrying.
“Or a quick game of dice,” the man said. “If you have a few coins.”
Kirrin paused, considering the offer. He didn’t care to gamble- especially not on games of chance. And not with people who might have a shady reputation. But he chewed his lip as a plan began to form in his head. He looked up at the sky. Mid-morning. He had time for a bit of a detour.
“Sure,” he said, nodding. “I’ve only got a few copper pennies.”
The man nodded, agreeing. But Kirrin saw the glint in the man’s eye.
“You got a name?”
“Kirrin.”
The man’s expression changed. The greedy glint was gone. So word of Kirrin’s vengeful fight had reached the man. That made sense though, since Aldon seemed to be a regular customer. Kirrin smirked slightly, feeling grand.
“Yeah, that was me,” Kirrin said before the man could respond.
The man nodded, a slight dip of his head, respect. “Gotta respect a man who steps up and makes sure no one haint gonna walk all over him.” And then he spit on the ground.
Kirrin nodded, and spit also.
“Name’s Trip,” he said, extending his hand. Kirrin took it, firm grip, and shook it, feeling like a man. “I could use a fellow like you, if you’ve a mind to earn a little bit extra?”
Kirrin frowned, sucking on his teeth as he considered. “What might that be?”
“Nothing hard, not for a fellow like you, anyway. Just a few errands, and reminders to a few people now and then.”
Muscle, was what he meant. Kirrin thought about it, felt a little uncomfortable. “Well, I have to go out of town for a bit. Let me think on it. I’ll come find you when I get back.”
Trip nodded. “Sure. You know where to find me.”
Kirrin nodded, and headed off. He knew his mother would never approve of this, but maybe she didn’t have to find out. He could keep a secret from her.
CHAPTER FIVE
The carriage came to a stop at the entrance of Hak’kar’s estate. Kirrin stepped down and paused for a moment, reflecting on how the wrought iron gates, with their emblem of a hawk carrying a scroll clenched in its talons, no longer intimidated him as they had the first time he saw them.
Kirrin walked up to the gatehouse and nodded to the man inside. He didn’t know the man’s name, but they recognized each other and he let Kirrin pass through without question. Kirrin stood a little straighter as he walked past, but once he was clear and heading up the long drive doubts began to creep in. Last time, he had reported back in to Cook, and then went about his routine. Should he report to the House, to Hak’kar? Part of him wanted to march up, hoping the So’har would be impressed and amused. The closer he got to the house though, the less he liked the idea.
Shoulders slumped, he angled off on the delivery path and headed around to the back buildings toward the rooms he usually used, dropping his pack on the bed when he got there. The room was stripped down- not even a blanket on the mattress. He shrugged. He’d have to chase down linens from the laundry.
He went to the table, dumping out his books as he dug around for paper. He started to write out his note, looked at it, tore it up. Started again. Tore up that one as well. Several moments a small pile of shredded paper later, and he finally ended up with a simple, single line.
So’Har Hakkar,
I have completed the most recent challenge and returned to the estate as you requested.
Kirrin
He stared at the note. He d
idn’t like it. It looked stupid and immature. But it was better than his previous attempts. So he folded it neatly, along with what he had written that described the event and the handkerchief, then headed back outside. Kip and Duffy would know what he should do with it.
He checked the barns, but saw no signs of either man. They were almost always together. In Kirrin’s mind they were Kip and Duffy, like a pair of oxen that were always in tandem. He headed towards their rooms, hesitating outside. He remembered his last lesson at their hands. He headed up the steps, calling out as he got to the top and went into the short hall outside their doors. He knocked. Nothing. He tried the door. Locked. For a brief moment he contemplated picking the lock. Instead, he turned and headed back outside.
“Kirrin.” Cook looked up from he was pounding out bread dough. He smiled. “You’re back.”
“Yeah. It felt like forever. But I’m back,” Kirrin said. “Hey, have you seen Kip and Duffy at all? I can’t find them.”
Cook shook his head. “No. But then I stays put around the kitchens. So’s if they don't walk in lookin’ for something, I don’t knows if they’re here or gone or dead,” he said with an amused snort.
It was true, Kirrin thought. Cook lived in the kitchen mostly and seemed content with his sequestered life. He nodded. “Well that leaves me with a bit of a dilemma,” he said as he watched Cook pound and roll the lump of dough. “I usually report to them, and they kind of supervise me when I’m here. And they’ve always been here. So I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do if they aren’t around.”
