Shara and the Haunted Village: Illustrated Edition (Bryanae Series Book 1)

by Jeffrey Getzin

  The maid that Gil had spoken to returned carrying a platter of mutton. Shara's eyes grew wide at the sight of such bounty. Her stomach growled. She stuffed her fist into her gut trying to quench the sound, and prayed that Gil and the maid hadn't heard.

  “There's a problem, Gil,” the maid said. “Cook screwed up the order.”

  “Screwed up how?” His face didn't really do annoyance very well. He was such a cheerful person by nature that even when he was irritated, he looked like he was in the mood for a good fart joke.

  “Customer wanted it bleeding. Cappy overcooked it.”

  “Damn his eyes,” Gil said. “Give it here.”

  The maid handed it over. Gil gave it a cursory glance and then dumped the platter in front of Shara. “Here, luv, can you find a use for this meat? I can't sell it in this condition.”

  “Me?” She had to swallow twice to get rid of the saliva that was filling her mouth.

  “Yeah, wouldja? Otherwise, I'd have to throw it to the dogs or something, and you know how I hate to waste things. It just makes me mad.”

  “I …” She couldn't find the words. “Sure. Okay.”

  Gil did a poor job acting relieved. “Thanks, dear,” he said, getting up from the booth. “I appreciate it.”

  Shara nodded, but her eyes remained glued on the mutton.

  “… and if I come across any sewing work,” Gil was saying, “I'll be sure to let you know.”

  He had already taken several steps away before she came to her senses.

  “Gil!” she called. When he glanced back at her, she felt tears well up. “Thanks.”

  She saw color rise to his bearded cheeks. “Think nothing of it,” he said, and then winked. “Like I said, I hate seeing anything valuable go to waste.”

  He vanished into the growing activity in the tavern, leaving her alone in her booth with the platter of mutton.

  She'd just eat a little, she told herself, her hands shaking in her lap. If she ate too quickly, she'd make herself sick. Plus, if she could get a hold of some salt, she could salt the meat and it might last her for weeks.

  She peeled a sliver of meat from the mutton and nibbled on it slowly, tantalizingly. Her mouth's joy seemed to permeate her entire body down to her curling toes. When she had finished that piece, she teased herself by counting to ten before breaking off the next piece.

  She was surprised at how soon she had had her fill. Her appetite seemed to have shrunk along with her body. The mutton sat there, almost entirely whole, daunting in its vastness. A tear rolled down one of her cheeks, and she wiped it away absently. She looked about the tavern for Gil again and spotted him at the bar, where he was chatting with two customers.

  They were an odd pair. One was enormous, at least several inches taller than Gil, whose own head barely cleared the tavern door. This man wasn't just tall, but seemed disproportionately broad and muscular, too.

  The other looked equally preposterous, though in a completely different manner. He was shorter than Gil and the other customer, with a head of unruly, curly hair. He held in his gloved hand a wide-brimmed hat with a garish white plume, and from his shoulders cascaded a cape as blue and bright as a cloudless summer sky. It was he who seemed to be doing most of the talking, gesturing theatrically with his free hand, while both Gil and the giant fought to get a word in edgewise.

  Gil was shaking his head in an emphatic no, but the curly-haired man didn't seem to understand how final a no from Gil was. He continued talking and the giant placed a small purse onto the bar.

  Shara winced. Bad move. When Gil said no, he meant it, and she knew that throwing money at him at that point would only make him mad. In fact, she was pretty sure that Gil would give them the boot.

  Which is why she was so surprised when his head drooped in acquiesce and he pocketed the purse. He held up a finger, bidding them wait, and he left the bar and then merged back into the crowd of customers.

  Shara plucked another sliver from the mutton, not really hungry now, but not yet ready to give up on the unexpected feast after so many hungry days. Now that the immediate problem of food had been solved, her mind began to wander onto her other woes. In particular, there was the question of where she would sleep tonight now that she no longer could sleep in the spare room above the carpenter's shop. She had fallen behind on her rent and he had found a more reliable tenant. She couldn't really blame him, but it stung just the same.

  A full leather purse clanked onto the table before her, startling her.

  “Listen, Shara,” Gil was saying as he slid into the booth across from her. “You don't have to do anything you don't want, but I may have come across a way for you to earn a fair bit of coin.”

  “What?” she said, her head spinning. “Money? How? You need sewing?”

  Gil chuckled. “Nah, luv, nothing like that. Look, you see those two queer folk over there by Marlena: the big guy and the fop?” She glanced over at the men in question; the one with the hat smiled and bowed to her with a little flourish of his hat.

  “Yeah?” She felt a chill of apprehension roll down her spine.

  “Well, they're looking for a guide, and they're willing to pay handsomely. In gold.”

  Shara did a double take. “Gold?”

  A single piece of gold was worth more than she made from sewing in an entire year. And the way Gil said it, it sounded like there was more than one. As in gold pieces. Plural.

  With that kind of money, she could forget about renting rooms. She could buy her own place, and purchase all the needles and threads she'd ever need. Maybe even hire some additional help and start doing some embroidery work for some of her wealthier clients.

  “Guide?” she said, still feeling the weight of fear but with the lure of long-term safety as a counter-balance. And there was something else to it, too. It wasn't merely the promise of money that so tantalized her. No, it was the promise of adventure.

  “A guide?” she repeated. “Where to?”

  “That's the thing, luv. Remember the time we got lost in the woods when we was kids?”

  She nodded, feeling numb. She knew, just knew where he was going with this.

  “Of course,” she said.

  “And remember that place we found?” He lowered his voice, almost as if he were speaking evil. “You know, the village?”

  She inhaled deeply and exhaled. Yes, that was what she had expected. The strangers wanted to go to the haunted village, and they needed her to find it for them.

  Chapter 2

  Shara hadn't thought of the village in years. She and Gil had discovered it on one of those humid summer nights that seemed to last forever, when time seemed to stand still. She had been perhaps nine years old then, and those summers had been filled with adventure and imagination, and now seemed mystical; so much so that as she grew older, she began to doubt how much of that night had been real, and how much had been imagined.

  “Why…” she started. “Why do they want to go there?”

  “Don't know, dear,” Gil said with a shrug. He pushed the leather purse across the table to her. “But they seem pretty eager to find it.”

  She opened the purse. It was filled with copper coins. She looked up at Gil.

  “Why me?” She was having trouble wrapping her mind around this situation. For all her dreams of adventures as a child, nothing even remotely adventurous had ever happened in her daily life. This was an unprecedented occurrence and she felt at a loss at how to deal with it. “Why not you? You were there, too. You know, at the village.”

  Odd: she had lowered her voice when mentioning the village, too. If she were so sure that it had never happened, why was she so reluctant to speak of it?

  “I can't, luv. I've got the tavern to run.” He sighed. “And to be honest, I have me wife and kids to look after. I can't just go off with two blokes I meet in a tavern to guide them into the dark woods. Hell, I wouldn't even have said anything to you if I didn't think you could really use a lucky break.”

  She bl
inked, trying to take this all in. “You think it might be dangerous?”

  “Shara, luv, I just met these fellas. They could be anyone. If you was making money like you was last year, I wouldn't even have mentioned it to you. As it is, I feel sick to me stomach. I feel like I should tell you not to do it, but if these guys are for real, if they can come across with the kind of coin they're saying, I'd kick myself for not giving you the opportunity to at least decide for yourself.”

  “But do I think it might be dangerous?” he added, his eyes shadowed in the booth. “Yes, I think it might be fucking dangerous.”

  A cold wave of reality splashed over her. Gil never used language like that except when he was scared, and nothing scared Gil. Not ever. But the money… and more than that, the call of adventure. Could she really turn down an opportunity such as—?

  “Please excuse the interruption,” said a voice, and turning, she saw it was the stranger with the plumed hat. Up close, she saw that he was of average height, wore a thin mustache, and that he was around the same age as she and Gil. He was also armed. He wore some kind of sword at his side, but not one of the heavier swords that she had seen soldiers wear in the past. It had a thinner blade, and the pommel was ornate and decorative. In fact, the sword, like the man who wore it, seemed almost too pretty to be of any practical use.

  “Yes, all right,” Gil said, annoyed. “I told you I'd have a word with her and I'm bloody well doing so. Now, if you don't mind—”

  “I apologize profusely. I don't wish to come across as intrusive or overbearing. I just felt that the lovely woman here”—and here he bowed—“would benefit from an introduction, so that she could fairly assess who we are and judge for herself how reliable we may (or may not) be. Seeing that ultimately, our transaction would be with her and not with your kind self”—another bow—“it seemed prudent to put myself at her disposal.”

  His voice was smooth and practiced. It reminded Shara of the various troupes of actors that passed through Cerendahl from time to time. The actors had extraordinary charisma and worldly charm, but they also had ill reputations as cutpurses and assassins. Shara had also met more than one person who claimed to have been fathered by such passing thespians.

  Gil seemed at a loss. He was a smart enough man, but he enjoyed simplicity in thought and action. Flowery speech such as actors were wont to use tended to confuse and irritate him. He jerked his thumb at the man with the hat.

  “Say the word, Shara,” he said, “and I'll bounce him.” He glared menacingly at the man with the hat and added: “Hard.”

  The man raised his eyebrows, more, it appeared, in mild surprise and amusement than with any genuine concern. He smiled, and Shara noted the laugh lines around his mouth. He performed a little flourish and said, “Then please, my lady, do not say whatever that particular word is. I would very much prefer not to be … ‘bounced', was it?”

  Gil's face flushed red, and he started to get up. “Why, you little—”

  “It's all right, Gil,” Shara said, putting her hand on his shoulder. “I don't think he intended to be rude.”

  The stranger blinked once and then laughed, delighted. “The lady is as wise as she is beautiful. Please, sir, I offer you my apologies. As the lady suggests, my remark was not intended to offend. Might I perhaps buy you a drink to indicate the depth of my sincerity?”

  “Look, I own this tavern,” Gil said indignantly.

  “Ah, good, then you'll know what to order. I'll leave it to your experience and discretion.” He turned his attention to Shara. “Now, perhaps you have questions you would like to ask of me?”

  Shara glanced across the room, trying to locate the stranger's friend. She spotted him leaning against the bar, watching the three of them across the room. Whereas the man with the hat seemed harmless enough (at least at first glance), there was a pervasive sense of menace to the other one. It wasn't just that he was so big. It was more than that, but it was hard to nail down. Perhaps it was the blank expression on his face as he watched them, as though he were watching the goings on of so many insects instead of people like himself. Or maybe it was because he didn't seem to blink enough.

  She was beginning to have doubts on the wisdom of such an undertaking. In fact, it puzzled her that she had even considered it in the first place. But what puzzled her more was that the more worried she became, the more she wanted to take part in this dangerous affair.

  Shara took a deep breath.

  “All right,” she said. “Who are you?”

  “Ah,” the man said. He bowed deeply, with another flourish of the hat in his hand. “I apologize for not introducing myself sooner. I am D'Arbignal: performer, acrobat, poet (though not a good one), philosopher, and explorer. I am also the greatest swordsman in the world! And you, my lady?”

  “Me? I'm Shara, the, uh …” She fumbled for something clever to say. “The … uh … quickest stitcher in the world.”

  D'Arbignal laughed, pleasure evident on his face. “A seamstress! Alas, I never learned to sew, not even during my sailing days. I regret not having acquired the skill.”

  “I never learned to fight,” she said, eying his sword. She said it more as a question than a statement: Who are you, and why are you armed?

  He smiled but didn't take the bait. “You can't solve every problem with a rapier.”

  “You can't solve every problem with a needle and thread, either,” Shara said.

  Chapter 3

  The more Shara looked at D'Arbignal, the more misgivings she had about his ability to deliver the kind of money Gil had been talking about. He might have been a dandy, but he didn't seem to be a particularly wealthy one. The cut of his long coat was a little dated, and the lace of his cuffs was torn in places. His shirt had seen better days, too. It had been mended inexpertly many times, to the point where it was beginning to hang a little oddly. Likewise, she observed that the leather was starting to crack on the glove of the hand he rested on the pommel of his sword.

  D'Arbignal noted her look and his smile was rueful.

  “Ah, money,” he lamented. “So transitory. So ephemeral.”

  “So bloody necessary if you're going to waste Shara's valuable time,” Gil said, outraged. “You was talking about paying her for a service. Now either you can pay or you've been jerking us around. Which is it?”

  “I?” D'Arbignal said, pointing at himself incredulously. “I haven't a copper coin to my name.”

  “That does it—!”

  “I'm just the hired muscle. My associate over there is the one bankrolling this undertaking.”

  “Wait,” Shara said. She took a second, closer look at D'Arbignal and then back at his friend, the giant. “You were hired to protect him?”

  D'Arbignal laughed. “Life does play its little tricks from time to time, does it not?”

  Gil looked like his patience had just about run out. He slid out of the booth, and stood dangerously close to D'Arbignal, towering over him.

  “If he has the money, and he's the one in charge,” Gil said, “then why are we talking to you?”

  “Good taste?” D'Arbignal suggested. Gil's face reddened further, but as he opened his mouth to reply, D'Arbignal added, “My associate is somewhat lacking in people skills. I thought it best if I were to speak on his behalf, to work out the arrangements and smooth the way, as it were. If I might be permitted to—”

  “Get him,” Gil said, and jerked his thumb towards the door, “or get lost. Am I making myself clear?”

  “Perfectly,” D'Arbignal said, with an elegant bow. “I shall return forthwith.”

  “Shara, luv,” Gil said once D'Arbignal had departed. “I'm getting a real bad feeling about these guys. I'm sorry I ever got you involved. Say the word and I'll send them on their way.”

  Shara put her head in her hands. So much was happening so quickly. This morning she had been starving to death. Now her belly was full and the tantalizing smell of the mutton on the table promised many meals to come. She still had her sew
ing kit. She might find a way to make her life work. Sure, things had been bad lately, but she could work things out. Couldn't she?

  Where would she sleep?

  She could sleep on the street for a few days or even for a couple of weeks. Lots of people did it. Or she could make a lean-to or something in the woods outside the town. It was dangerous, sure, but she could manage. Or perhaps she could borrow some money from Gil, maybe using her sewing kit as collateral. Come to think of it, he'd probably just give her the money.

  But this … This was an opportunity. She sensed a rare intersection of two worlds that almost never met. D'Arbignal and his friend, as dangerous as they might be, were from a world of adventure and heroism and villainy, things she'd heard about in stories, but that had never touched her life or the lives of any of the people with whom she had grown up.

  She remembered teasing Gil when they were children that while he might grow up to run his father's tavern, she was destined for better things. She would slay dragons, fly high above cities on giant birds, or open portals to other worlds with magical songs. He had laughed at her then, bringing her back to earth by reminding her she was only a girl born to impoverished parents, living in a small town. The only adventure she'd ever experience would be deciding which piece of fruit was the better bargain at market.

  Then had come the tragedies, falling one after another like rain drops. First, her father: one moment alive, working the animal hides in the shed, the next dead for no apparent reason other than it was his time. Shara, barely ten years old, bereft of a father, lived with a mother too grieved to earn a living. Then her mother died three painful years later; having drunk away their meager savings, she stupidly stumbled under the hooves of a courier's horse. Shara alone in the world now.

  And then there were years, oh so many years, of scrambling just to stay alive. To put food in her belly, to keep a roof over her head. To fend off the thieves and the rapists who would take advantage of her desperate situation. Suitors came and suitors went, and some such as Gil she loved, and others she desired, but none had touched her adventurous heart.