by J. C.
"All right," she said to Caleb. "You two work for me, and I'll pay you a twentieth share of the house's profits, plus room and board." She pushed past Leesil down the hall and away from the small room. She stopped at the top of the stairs and looked back at them. "And I don't need that big bedroom. We'll switch places later this afternoon."
Leesil stared at her, then looked at Caleb and shrugged. A flicker, just a hint, of astonishment passed across Caleb's face, but he nodded as if such an offer was commonplace.
"That will be just fine," he said calmly. He moved down the hall past her and went quietly back downstairs, no doubt to inform his spouse of the changes to come.
Magiere stepped into the doorway of what would be Leesil's room and leaned against the jamb. Leesil strolled over to stand in the doorway next to her, pretending to examine the near-empty space. There was nothing to look at except the bed and an open-shuttered window in the far wall that looked out toward the ocean, its view only slightly obscured by the branches of a nearby fir tree. Magiere willed him to be silent.
"How uncharacteristic," he finally said.
"If you disagreed, you should have spoken up."
"I don't disagree."
Neither spoke for a short while. Between the two of them, they'd likely starved out entire villages for the price of her services. Magiere finally said, "I want a new life."
Leesil looked at her out of the corner of his eye, loose hair exposing his ears. He nodded and smiled.
"I suppose it's a start."
By sundown that night, Magiere's personal appearance and her world had altered considerably. Beth-rae arranged for a long, hot bath in the kitchen so she could scrub every bit of mud from her hair and skin. While she bathed, her clothing miraculously disappeared and was replaced by a muslin dressing gown. Still planning too many activities that night to remain in what she considered nearly night-clothes, Magiere went back upstairs into her small room. What was once a mere closet for three would do well enough for one.
Furnishings had been moved from one room to another, and all the comforts of a home surrounded her. Where there was once a bed barely large enough for two now stood a bed for one with a plain-posted canopy of faded curtains dyed a deep sea green. It seemed the previous owner had either been single or slept alone. Someone had entered while she bathed and placed a thick down comforter on the bed. And on top of that lay her pack and knife and the sheathed falchion.
Heat from the kitchen fire traveled up the stone chimney in the corner and helped warm the room, though her bare feet still felt a little chill on the wood floor. A wardrobe of dark wood stood against the wall across from the bed. Replacing Rose's mat was now a small table with one chair and two stout, white candles that flickered throughout the dark room. She opened her pack to empty its contents on the bed.
From the bottom of the pack, she pulled a canvas-wrapped bundle. Tied with twine, the rough material had sharply creased after years of storage in its place. It had been so long since she'd opened it that Magiere was forced to cut the twine with her knife, as the knot would not uncinch. Inside was a dark blue brocade dress with black laces on the bodice. Aunt Bieja had given it to her years ago.
Magiere put it on quickly, fumbling a bit with the laces before tying them securely. She absently fingered the metal chain of her bone-and-tin amulet, then dropped it to let it rest between her breasts near the topaz stone. Meaningless trinkets that merely added to her persona as the hunter, she had no idea why she kept them on now, but it seemed too odd to take them off after so many years.
There was no mirror in which to view herself, but when she looked down at the drape of the skirt, it felt odd and alien not to see her own breeched legs or booted feet. She felt a sudden urge to pull the dress off, but with her everyday clothes missing and having limited other clothing in her pack, there was little else to wear at the moment. She turned instead to putting away her things.
Her worn blanket and teapot and few spare undergarments made the wardrobe look barer than before she'd placed anything in it. The small size of the room was actually a relief, since she had so few personal belongings with which to fill it.
"By all the dead deities," came Leesil's voice from behind her. She quickly spun about. "What did you do to yourself?"
Bathed as well, he stood with a hand on the open door latch, wearing a dressing gown similar to the one she'd just taken off. His wet, shoulder-length hair, pulled back over his ears, looked like beach sand in the low light, but he still looked himself. He stared at her as if she were some stranger who'd sneaked in unannounced.
Magiere felt acutely aware of her own appearance, the tightly laced gown and how her black hair hung loose to her shoulder blades. She suddenly wished she'd left on the oversize dressing gown.
"Beth-rae took my clothes to wash," Magiere snarled at him. "And you might take care. She'll probably burn yours, by the state they were in."
"Where did you buy that?" he asked, stepping into the room.
She noticed that when they were both in their bare feet, he was perhaps a little taller than her.
"Don't you knock, or has sleeping on the ground rubbed out all your manners?" she replied. "And I didn't buy it. My aunt gave it to me a long time ago."
That comment halted his line of questioning immediately. Talking about their pasts was something they both made a point of avoiding.
"Where's Chap?" she asked.
"In the kitchen." Leesil rolled his eyes. "He's fallen in love with Beth-rae. Every time I see them, she's feeding him something. That's got to stop. What good is a fat guard dog?"
He still eyed Magiere up and down, and it was starting to irritate her even more.
"We'll search the place tomorrow, take a look at the cellar or whatever passes for storage, and get an inventory. If there are enough ale casks down there, we might be able to open for business tomorrow evening. If you need anything else for the games, let me know." She picked up the falchion and turned to place it inside the corner of the wardrobe while Leesil plopped down in the chair, watching her. "In the afternoon, we'll go back to the market, and maybe the docks to see what's in the warehouses that we might want or need. There's not much money to spend, but it'll get us by until business builds up."
A shift of shadows outside the doorway caught Magiere's attention from the corner of her eye, and instinctively she knew it wasn't Caleb or Beth-rae. Leesil turned as well, staring at the door he'd left open, and a stiletto appeared in his hand.
Magiere didn't stop to ponder where he'd hidden that in his dressing gown. She slipped the sheath of her falchion, letting it drop to the floor.
There was no light near the door, and even the candles didn't show who was there. A deep voice came into the room, gentle, even soothing.
"Don't be alarmed."
Darkness seemed to follow the figure as he stepped forward into the doorway, then the shadows drained away, or perhaps he'd just shifted forward into the reach of the candles' light.
"How did you get up here?" she demanded, wondering why Chap hadn't alerted them to an intruder.
The man was about forty years old, of medium height and build. His peppered-brown hair lay carefully combed back. Perfect white patches at both temples framed even features that were striking rather than handsome. There was a slight widening bump at the bridge of his nose. His clothes were hidden beneath a floor-length, mahogany cloak. Only the rounded points of well-made boots were visible. He did not appear to be armed, but there was no way to tell what might be hidden beneath that cloak. His hands were clasped in front of his chest, and she noticed the top half of the little finger on his left hand was missing.
"Answer up!" Leesil snapped. He was now on his feet and had somehow produced a second blade in his other hand.
The man stared for a moment at Magiere's falchion, as if studying it, then he looked her over with as much concentration. His eyes stopped to rest on her amulets. She wanted him to stop looking at her and quickly tucked the amulets inside the
dress, out of sight. While shoving them beneath her bodice, she noticed the topaz stone seemed brighter than normal, but she turned her attention back to the stranger. He gave no notice at all to Leesil.
"My name is Welstiel Massing. But you're the one, aren't you? The one who kills vampires?"
Magiere couldn't think of a response. The man spoke so blatantly, without any pretense, as if it was a common thing to ask a stranger.
"We don't know what you're babbling about," Leesil answered. "But we aren't open to customers yet. I suggest you come back tomorrow."
Again this Welstiel Massing acted as if no one had spoken, his attention centered on Magiere.
"You are not what I expected, but you're the one."
"I don't do that anymore," Magiere answered.
Something about this stranger frightened her—as much as anything ever frightened her. She wanted nothing to do with any aspect of her own past, and his presence disturbed the recently gained balance of her new life.
"I doubt you can avoid it here," Welstiel said. "I just came to warn you."
"Get out," she said coldly, losing her patience, "or I'll throw you out."
Welstiel backed up, not in fear, but as if he were a creature with impeccable manners. "Forgive me. I simply thought to warn you."
"Well, now you have," Leesil spoke up, "and I'll show you the front door." He moved forward.
For a moment it appeared this night visitor was not going to move. Then his eyes rolled casually toward Leesil. He turned and headed down the hallway as if leaving was his own idea.
Both Leesil and Magiere were caught in their own surprise for a moment, and then Leesil bolted out the door to "escort" Welstiel Massing down the stairs. Magiere followed in time to see her partner standing at the top of the stairs, wide-eyed. She heard the tavern's door downstairs close. Leesil looked back at Magiere with an expression on his face as if he'd come in on the tail end of a bizarre conversation that he couldn't quite figure out.
"He's rather quick for an older man," Leesil said quietly, then added, "I'll be back." And he scrambled down the stairs out of sight.
Magiere returned to her room and sank down onto her bed. Whatever this visitor had come for, she would not be dragged back into the old game—not for money, not for anything.
Leesil appeared again in the doorway. "Chap, Caleb, and Beth-rae are all asleep in the kitchen. I told you she was feeding him too much."
"I'll speak with her in the morning." Magiere nodded, glad to focus on tasks at hand again, anything to distract her. "But wasn't the front door locked?"
"I'm not sure. I just assumed so. Caleb and Beth-rae don't seem the types to leave the place wide open." He was about to leave again, but stopped, turning to Magiere with serious intent on his face. "Don't let that lunatic bother you. We'll keep him out of the tavern. We don't have to do business with anyone we don't want to."
Magiere laid her falchion back down, watching candlelight reflect off the shining blade.
"That's not necessary. I think he's harmless, but he's out on his ear if he starts talking about vampires again."
"How do these people find us?"
She looked at him with a little annoyance. They'd spent years spreading every possible rumor across the countryside about her, just so people could find her.
"Yes, right," Leesil added. "Stupid question."
She shook her head. "We'll try to open for business as soon as possible."
"Have you come up with a name?"
"I thought you'd do that when you painted the sign."
"How about 'The Blood Pie Inn'?"
"You're not funny."
He laughed and stepped out, closing the door behind himself.
Chapter Six
Two evenings later, a somewhat refurbished tavern named "The Sea Lion" opened shortly before dusk. Leesil had never lived close to the ocean before, and watching a herd of sea lions swim along the cresting waves heading north had sparked inspiration for a name that suggested location and strength. At first he hadn't even known what to call the creatures he saw, until he asked one of the sailors down at the docks. Magiere knew she possessed little imagination with words, but Leesil usually expressed enough words and imagination for both of them.
Most of their patrons were sailors far from home, or unmarried dockworkers. A few young couples showed up as well. There were also two middle-aged women shopkeepers claiming to love Beth-rae's fish chowder, who came trundling in behind the main crowd. After eating, the pair took eager interest in the new attraction of Leesil's faro table and sat chatting comfortably with the nearby sailors as Leesil flipped the cards.
Ironically, the old caretakers, especially Beth-rae, seemed like gifts from the heavens. Before arriving in Miiska, Magiere had never really given thought to serving food, but now realized her shortsightedness. Everyone who sat about talking and drinking and playing cards ordered something to eat, sooner or later. They came for the food almost as much as the ale. One pair of dark-skinned dock-workers even ordered spiced tea. Magiere discovered she didn't have any such thing in stock, but when she told the two men, they looked at her as if a house special they'd ordered for years had suddenly disappeared from their favorite place. She ran upstairs and blended something from her leftover travel rations, then handed it off to Beth-rae to brew as an "on-the-house" replacement until she could purchase the proper blend. Other than this one free offering, the money was coming in. It was not a fortune, and it might take weeks or more to make as much as she and Leesil had taken from a village or two, but it was certainly a more comfortable way to make a living. Caleb had helped establish the price of served goods, based on what the previous owner had charged, and that was as good a place to start as any.
Magiere returned to her favored post behind the bar and watched as Caleb served out drinks and delivered orders of delectables from Beth-rae's kitchen. She leaned back against an ale keg on the rear counter and relaxed just a little, feeling clean and comfortable. Beth-rae had washed out her old black breeches the night before, and Magiere wore them now, along with a loose white shirt and unbuttoned russet vest she'd picked up at the open market. She wore her amulets tucked inside the shirt, as was her custom. In spite of the many life changes of late, the dress Aunt Bieja had given her simply didn't feel right, so she'd decided to stick with habit in her attire.
She looked around the room in satisfaction. Everything appeared almost exactly as she had imagined. Chap sat by the fire, his usual attentive self, watching for trouble. Leesil laughed and joked while dealing cards, taking bets, and managing his trick of putting everyone at ease with his lighthearted nature. She hadn't seen him drunk in three days, although he looked haggard in the mornings, his eyes more bloodshot than usual, as if he'd needed the wine to get to sleep all those years. She'd slept beside him on the open ground enough times to know about his difficulties with nightmares. The few times they'd run out of wine between towns she'd woken in the night to hear him mumbling and thrashing, sometimes shouting unintelligibly, in his sleep. She never mentioned it to him.
Little Rose sat near the fire behind Chap, who occasionally checked on her while she drew with charcoal on some faded parchment Leesil had bought for her.
Every time the door opened, Magiere couldn't help anxiously glancing over to see if it might be the intrusive visitor, Welstiel, from their first night here. As the evening wore on with no sign of him, she stopped eyeing every person who walked through the door and relaxed just a little more. If this was the first of many such nights to come, she might actually find the peace she'd imagined.
She did not hear the door open, but rather felt the wind and heard Leesil call out a ritual welcome. When she turned from an ale barrel, her first glance told her something was out of place.
He wasn't a merchant, not like those she'd seen in town. Nor was he a dockworker or bargeman, though his build would have made such work no strain at all. A sailor or even captain was out of the question, for his skin was so pale it hadn't se
en a full day's sun in a long while. He stood across from her on the other side of the bar, unusually tall with a heavy bone structure and cropped black hair. A well-tailored burgundy tunic did little to hide the tight muscles in his arms. His eyes caught and held hers. Clear blue, almost transparent, they reminded her of Chap's. He bore himself like a noble, but if that were true, what was he doing here in a dockside tavern?
A low rumbling sound took a moment to register in Magiere's awareness beneath the din in the room. It pulled her attention mostly because she wasn't sure why she could hear it at all amidst the chatter of the patrons. But it was familiar in an unsettling way. Her eyes shifted toward its source.
Chap was on his feet in front of the hearth, lips quivering just short of a snarl. He was growling.
Her gaze clicked back to the man in front of her, then back to the dog—and little Rose, who sat round-eyed in surprise behind the hound. Chap had not reacted once all evening to any other patron.
"Quiet, Chap," Magiere snapped loud enough for the dog to hear.
He stopped growling but remained rigid, even when Rose began pulling on his tail.
Magiere turned her full attention back to the nobleman. "What can I get for you?"
"Red wine." His voice was hollow and deep.
This new habit of forming rapid impressions of people was beginning to bother Magiere. Ever since she'd come to Miiska, certain inhabitants had caused her to reach quick assessments, or perhaps she'd never before spent so much time around so many people. She distinctly experienced immediate dislike for Constable Ellinwood, an uncharacteristic goodwill toward Caleb and Beth-rae, an unexplainable fear of Welstiel, and now a new emotion created by this nobleman—caution.
She poured wine from a cask into a tin goblet, then set it on the bar. The man held out three copper coins. He knew the price and so had been here before under the previous owner. For some reason, she wanted him to lay the coins on the bar rather than take them from his hand. Nonetheless she reached out and snatched the coins. The nobleman didn't touch his wine. His gaze remained on her face, as if he were memorizing each feature.
