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

by Jeffrey Getzin

  “There,” she said, shaking off the loose threads and holding the shirt up for D'Arbignal to see. “How does it look?”

  D'Arbignal looked aghast.

  “The shirt is supposed to be white,” he said, panic-stricken. “Why did you use red thread to mend it?”

  For a moment, Shara didn't understand what he was saying, and then she smiled.

  “Oh, this,” she said indicating the loose red stitching. “This is just basting. It's temporary, to hold everything together while I sew. I'll take it out once you're sure you like it.”

  “I beg your pardon, milady,” he said, chuckling. “I should have known better than to question a master craftswoman. But the red stitching did give me a bit of a turn!”

  “A haunted village doesn't scare you. A mob of murderous scavengers doesn't scare you. Bodies posed like scarecrows don't scare you. Being trapped in a magical bag doesn't scare you. But this,” she said pointing at the basting, “this scares you?”

  D'Arbignal laughed, delighted, and he tipped his hat to her.

  “It's simply a matter of expertise, you see. I've learned that I'm quick on my feet, and resourceful enough when it comes to dangerous situations, and it when it comes to the sword, there are none better.”

  “But you don't know how to sew.”

  “Exactly! You understand. Now, I've been in a lot of strange and threatening circumstances over the years—although, admittedly, I've never been trapped inside a bag before!—and I've always managed to make my way to the other side, usually with only a scratch or two to show for my adventure.”

  Adventure! The word called out to her. Yes, this was an adventure. Sure, she was in trouble now, facing an unknown and deadly foe, but if she were to be honest with herself, didn't she feel more alive now than she had for most of her life leading up to this?

  “Every man was born to die; we have no choice about that,” continued D'Arbignal. “But I'll be damned if I'll die in an ugly shirt!”

  “You almost died wearing the frock of a Katchin priest,” Shara said.

  D'Arbignal laughed. “Well said!”

  Shara started picking out the red basting. When she spoke, she didn't look up and she tried to keep her tone casual: “But you can get us out of here, right?”

  “Of course!” D'Arbignal said with a bow and a flourish. “How hard can it be? Now if you're done with the shirt, toss ‘er back to me and I'll give the bell a little ring, shall I?”

  Shara was not entirely convinced. How hard could it be indeed?

  Chapter 28

  Shara was collecting her sewing paraphernalia and returning it to its case when the Rat answered the bell. He stood at the doorway, motionless.

  “Ah, there you are,” D'Arbignal said, finishing tying his shirt. “We've completed our ablutions. Your mistress can run a white-gloved finger along us and find nary a mote of dust upon our persons. We are immaculate and, I might add, impeccably attired.”

  The Rat did not reply.

  “What's the matter, Rat?” D'Arbignal said, slyly. “Cat got your tongue?”

  Shara glanced up. The Rat stood there in the doorway, his arms shaking at his sides. He seemed to be staring over her right shoulder. She followed his gaze.

  He was staring at the mutton.

  “Are you hungry?” she said. “Do you want some?”

  There were tears in the Rat's eyes. His lips quivered and the shaking in his arms increased in ferocity.

  “Are you all right?” The intensity in his eyes was frightening. He looked like someone who had just awakened from a horrid dream only to find himself in an even worse nightmare.

  “I think we broke him,” D'Arbignal said.

  Shara gave him a sharp look. He rolled his eyes and gave her an after-you gesture with his hand.

  The Rat tore his gaze from the mutton, looked over at D'Arbignal, then down at his rapier. Then he looked at Shara.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  The Rat screamed a fierce battle cry that froze her like a rabbit, and he charged across the room at her.

  “What in the name of—?” D'Arbignal said, his rapier whisking from its sheath.

  She and the Rat collided. The momentum of his charge sent her tumbling to the floor. Her head banged against the wooden floor and she saw a white burst of light in her peripheral vision. Before she could yelp, he wrapped his hands around her throat and squeezed.

  “Unhand her!” D'Arbignal shouted, advancing a step.

  She fumbled at the Rat's hands. He released her throat and punched her in the face, once, twice. And again.

  “I mean it!” D'Arbignal said. “This is your last warning.”

  The Rat looked up. His eyes were squeezed half-shut with ferocity, his nose sharp; he looked exactly like his name suggested. He grabbed a nearby candelabra, raised it high above his head, and charged at D'Arbignal, screaming like a madman.

  D'Arbignal side-stepped with the grace of a dancer, and drove his rapier deep into the Rat's side. The Rat's eyes goggled and he spit blood.

  The Rat dropped the candelabra. He fell to his knees, then to his hands.

  “He came right at me!” D'Arbignal said, looking anguished.

  Shara climbed to her feet and stood unsteadily, still in shock. How quickly things had turned deadly! She felt her face; there was some blood on it. It hurt to swallow.

  The Rat fell onto his side and pulled his knees into his chest. He tried to speak but seemed unable to get the words out.

  “He wants to tell you something,” Shara said.

  “So what?” D'Arbignal said. “He just tried to kill you. I don't care what he wants.”

  The Rat coughed up more blood. He beckoned feebly to D'Arbignal.

  “Go to him,” she said. “Please.”

  “You've got to be kidding!”

  “Please, D'Arbignal!” Even though the Rat had tried to kill her, she hated seeing anybody suffer like this.

  D'Arbignal gave an exaggerated sigh.

  “All right,” he said to her. Then, to the Rat, he added, “If you try anything, I'll take your other kidney, too.”

  He drew his knife and knelt beside the Rat with it at the ready. He leaned in and the Rat spoke in a broken whisper for a little while. Then he died.

  For a moment, neither she nor D'Arbignal moved. Then she cleared her throat.

  “What did he say?” Shara said, her voice hoarse.

  “What?” D'Arbignal seemed distracted, lost in thought.

  “What did he say to you?”

  “He said, ‘You can't hurt her while she's on her mission,' whatever that means.”

  “And?”

  D'Arbignal's face was pale. His eyes looked disturbed. “He also said that under no circumstances should we eat anything she offers us.”

  “What about why he attacked us? Did he say anything about that? Or who that woman is?”

  D'Arbignal shook his head. “No, he just said thank you.”

  Chapter 29

  Shara pulled the carpet over the Rat's body. It wasn't much of a burial, but it was all she could do.

  D'Arbignal peered out the door of the parlor, craning his neck to see down the hall.

  “No one in sight,” he said. “Want to meet the woman in charge?”

  Shara stood over the Rat's shrouded body, her emotions in turmoil. He had tried to kill both of them, so why did she feel sorrow for him? She hadn't even known him. Yet she felt an acute sense of loss and despair, and worse, a foreboding that his fate might someday become hers.

  “Shara?” D'Arbignal said, intruding into her melancholy. “Would you prefer if I go alone? I can come back and get you when I'm done.”

  She looked up. “Done doing what?”

  D'Arbignal shrugged and grinned hugely, his eyes manic again.

  She shuddered.“No, I'll go with you.”

  D'Arbignal led the way from the parlor, past the stairs, and down the hall toward where the woman's voice had come.

  “I wonder what
's up the stairs,” Shara mused.

  D'Arbignal held a finger to his lips and winked. He crept down the hall.

  There were two doors at the end of the hall, both on the left-hand side, and both were closed. D'Arbignal flexed his fingers and then gently grasped the door knob and turned it.

  The door exploded outwards into the hall. A river of gold, jewels, and other valuable trinkets poured forth, nearly knocking D'Arbignal over.

  “Well, I'll be …” D'Arbignal muttered.

  Shara had never seen so much wealth in all her life. She doubted that even the Duke of Cerendahl had. The loot covered the floor up to the top of D'Arbignal's boots.

  He squatted and reached for an enormous blue stone that gleamed in the lamp-lit hall.

  “D'Arbignal,” whispered Shara, “don't you dare!”

  He grinned and pocketed the stone.

  “I think that's a sapphire,” he said. “And if so, it may be the world's largest for all we know. I've always meant to start a collection of valuable gems, and this seems like the perfect start.”

  The second door opened. In the blink of an eye, D'Arbignal had stuffed another gem into his boot and was now looking about, sporting an innocent expression.

  A bald held poked out. He surveyed the spilled treasure and then popped back into the room and closed the door.

  “This is the oddest magical bag I've ever been trapped in,” D'Arbignal said.

  Shara heard the man say, “It's the visitors, ma'am. I'm afraid they've spilled your treasure.”

  Then Shara heard the woman say something in reply, but she couldn't make out the words.

  “No, ma'am. The Rat's not with them.”

  More of the woman's voice, sounding peevish.

  “I don't know. What should I do with the visitors?”

  Again the woman's voice, indecipherable.

  “You sure? One of them has some kind of weapon on him.”

  “A rapier,” whispered D'Arbignal, looking annoyed. “Why doesn't anybody know what a rapier is?”

  “Yes, ma'am,” the man was saying. “At once.”

  “Here we go,” D'Arbignal said.

  The door reopened and the bald man came out.

  D'Arbignal beamed.

  “I know you,” he said. “You're one of the Rat's associates, aren't you? You're … now don't tell me. I'm usually pretty good with names. You're …”

  “Sulaire,” the bald man said.

  D'Arbignal grimaced. “Ah, it was just on the tip of my tongue. Aren't you the Rat's mage friend?”

  Sulaire nodded wearily. “Yes, he and I were—”

  “Mister Sulaire?” came the woman's voice again.

  Sulaire looked back into the room. D'Arbignal tried to crane his neck around him to see in.

  “Yes, ma'am?”

  “Are you going to invite them in or not?”

  “Yes, ma'am.” Sulaire closed his eyes for a moment and then sighed. “Come this way, please, sir and madam. Perleanane will see you now.”

  Chapter 30

  The second door led into a wooden room with an open doorway at the other end. A pair of shoddy-looking wooden desks filled the room, each covered with assorted bits of parchment and some mostly-full purses.

  An enticing aroma filled the room, causing Shara's stomach to growl. She hungered for whatever was cooking in the other room, but a chill went down her back when she remembered the Rat's warning: under no circumstances should they eat anything Perleanane offered them.

  “Right,” Sulaire said, approaching one of the desks. “Let's get started on your application then, shall we?”

  Shara's peripheral vision caught a movement from in the other room, but when she glanced up, she saw nothing save for a dismal brown darkness.

  “Application?” she said.

  “Make sure they have references, Mr. Sulaire.” The voice was close now, coming from the brown room.

  “Yes, ma'am,” Sulaire said. Then to Shara, he said, “Application for your stay here. We don't let just anybody stay here, you know. We have very high standards.”

  Shara stared at him, bewildered.

  “You're … serious, aren't you?”

  “Yes, ma'am.”

  D'Arbignal had been pacing the floor, trying to get a good look into the other room. Now his eyes were getting that manic gleam again.

  “I think we've been more than patient,” he said. “But now it's time to meet the woman in charge.”

  D'Arbignal started for the gap between the two desks, heading towards the other room.

  Sulaire leaped to his feet and interposed himself. “I'm afraid that's not possible, sir.”

  D'Arbignal sighed, and patted Sulaire on the shoulder. “Don't be silly. Anything's possible.”

  D'Arbignal sprung up into the air and forward, placing all his weight onto Sulaire's shoulder. Sulaire buckled, dropping to his knees as D'Arbignal half-cartwheeled over and past him.

  “You can't go in there!” Sulaire exclaimed.

  Before she realized she was doing it, Shara clambered over the other desk and was also past Sulaire, joining D'Arbignal as he reached the doorway.

  D'Arbignal came up short and she almost ran into him.

  “Ugh,” said D'Arbignal.

  Shara looked around D'Arbignal's shoulder to see into the other room. She nearly choked in horror and disgust.

  The other room, the final room, was a dismal dark brown, lit only by a smoky fire pit. Over the fire was some kind of dark meat on a spit, lathered in a sticky, translucent sauce of some kind. The walls were covered in a coarse woven fabric that in no way improved the decor. Winged insects flitted about, often landing on the cooking meat.

  Sitting with her back to the fabric-covered wall was a large woman.

  No wait, that wasn't right. As Shara's eyes acclimated to the darkness, she saw that perhaps “woman” was too generous a term.

  Perleanane was an obscene caricature of a woman. She was enormous, nearly spherical, with a grotesquely huge bosom. She wore an ill-fitting dress with a pattern of flowers, which hung from her shoulders like matted hair. She wore garish makeup that would make the cheapest whores in Cerendahl look like royalty in comparison. She sat at a desk; before her was an enormous tray of assorted meats and fruits upon which she gorged herself, feeding herself with both hands.

  To her left, an elderly man rested his head upon his cradled arms, a similar pile of food set out before him. Perleanane grunted, belched, and occasionally passed gas, but none of these noises seemed to disturb his slumber.

  Her skin was mottled and covered with a mixture of sores and warts. Her eyes were pus-yellow, with pupils as black as death. And when she ate, the teeth with which she chewed were numerous, pointed, and irregularly shaped.

  When D'Arbignal reached the doorway, Perleanane raised her ponderous head. She stared at him in amazement and indignation, while continuing to chew open-mouthed.

  “What the fuck do you want?” she said, small pieces of meat falling from her mouth as she spoke.

  D'Arbignal stood for a moment in silence, then took a deep breath.

  “Madam,” he said, smiling broadly, “I have traveled the width and breadth of this land, in search of such legendary beauty as that which you possess. What do I want, you ask? I want only to bask in the aura of your loveliness, to sit at your feet and imbibe the glory that surrounds you. I want, in short, to be your loving, adoring, faithful servant in all things. I ask you, nay, beg you to permit me to partake of that heavenly nectar that is your presence.”

  Perleanane stared at him, so caught off guard that she stopped chewing. She spat the contents of her mouth onto the food tray.

  “You've got to be fucking kidding me,” she said.

  D'Arbignal shrugged.

  “It was worth a try,” he said, and drew his rapier.

  Chapter 31

  Perleanane rolled her yellow eyes.

  “Put that thing away before you hurt yourself with it,” she said.

 
D'Arbignal puffed up his chest. “Madam, I assure you that if anybody were to be hurt, it would not be I.”

  Perleanane leaned forward onto her doughy arms and her mammoth breasts spread against the desk like fatty pools of blood.

  “Go on then,” she said. “Stab me with it. Show the little waif here how manly you are.”

  D'Arbignal glanced at Shara, and then sheathed his rapier.

  “Very well,” he said, “but I demand that you let us out of this bag immediately.”

  Perleanane leaned back and laughed, setting her jowls rippling like an ocean.

  “What's so funny?” Shara asked.

  “Ah! The mouse speaks!”

  “Tell us how to get out of this bag,” D'Arbignal said.

  “I'll tell you,” Perleanane said, her eyes lowered, her painted lips curled in a crafty smile, “but first, you tell me where Mister Rat is.”

  “He's dead,” Shara said.

  “Did you kill him?” Perleanane asked D'Arbignal.

  “Yes,” he said, looking remorseful.

  “No,” Shara said. “He killed himself!”

  Perleanane looked back and forth between them. “Sounds like you two need to get your stories straight. Now if you don't mind, I have other business to attend to. I'm sure you can find your way out of the office. So fuck off.”

  Perleanane resumed gorging on the food from the tray before her, ignoring Shara and D'Arbignal. Then she glanced up. “You two still here?”

  “Right,” D'Arbignal said, drawing his rapier again, but Shara halted him.

  “He committed suicide by recklessly and knowingly attacking the Greatest Swordsman in the World.”

  “And that'd be you, would it?” Perleanane said to D'Arbignal.

  D'Arbignal bridled but Shara placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “So tell us how to get out of here,” Shara said, “like you promised.”

  “Easy,” Perleanane said, chunks of meat spilling from her mouth while she talked. “Have someone outside the bag reach inside and pull you out. But he has to be looking for you specifically, otherwise he won't feel a thing.”

  “And how do we reach someone on the outside?”

  When Perleanane smiled, it was greatly discomforting.