by Kyra Dune
In short time, they arrived at a long, low building constructed of wooden slats. The heavy odor of horse manure hung over the place. ‘Bartleby Jones: Purveyor of Fine Horse Flesh’ the sign above the open door proclaimed.
“Wait here.” Micayta lifted a hand to forestall any protest from Pytaki. “Stay with Tech and let me handle this.”
Pytaki made a face, but fell back to stand beside Tech while Micayta led the mare inside. There she found Bartleby Jones sitting behind a poorly crafted desk and somehow the size of the man fit his name perfectly.
He rose as she entered, a considerable effort on his part, and leaned forward with both hands palm down on the desk. “What we got here?”
“A healthy young mare,” Micayta said. “I need to sell her.”
“Well, let’s have a look see.” With much huffing and puffing, Bartleby walked all around the mare, checking her legs, her teeth, and the overall condition of her body. “A bit thin.”
“We had a hard trip. Almost didn’t make it.” She patted the horse with mock affection. “She’s a good horse and stronger than she looks. If it hadn’t been for her pushing along, I don’t know what would have happened to me.”
Bartleby snorted, pulling a grimy kerchief from his pants pocket to blow his nose on. He eyed both the horse and Micayta with a touch of suspicion. “Where’d you get her?”
Micayta adopted a sad, nostalgic sort of expression. “We raised her from birth. Her dam was ours; her sire belonged to a family friend. Truth is, I hate to part with her, but living costs coin and I’m flat broke. I don’t have a job, yet, but as soon as I can, I intend to buy her back. Same price as you give, plus extra for the feeding and housing.” She smiled as sweetly as she could.
The skeptical look vanished at the prospect of such a return on his investment. He stuffed the kerchief back in his pocket. “In that case, I guess I could give you fifty for her.”
Micayta’s heart jumped. It was twice what she’d expected to get. “Sounds fair to me.”
Bartleby returned to his desk, dug around in a drawer, came up with a tin box. He opened the box and counted out fifty coins into Micayta’s hand. “How long do you figure it’ll take you to buy her back?”
Micayta looked down at the coins and sighed. “A few months at least. But don’t worry, I’ll be back.”
She could almost see the wheels turning in his grubby little mind as he calculated how much extra he could charge her once the time came and it was all she could do not to laugh.
“I’ll take good care of her ‘til then.”
And she believed he would take care of the mare, very good care, at least until he realized she wasn’t coming back. By then the mare would be strong and healthy again. It was the best Micayta could do to repay the animal for getting them here.
Pytaki met her as she stepped out the door. “What did you get?”
“Fifty.”
“Fifty?” Pytaki’s mouth made a little circle of surprise as he stared down at the coins in her hand.
Micayta was pleased herself. Fifty wasn’t a fortune, but it was more coin than either of them had ever seen gathered up all in one place. She dropped the coin into an inner pocket and looked down at Tech, feeling better than she had in a good long while. “Let’s go see your friend.”
Tech led them away from the main road and down a side street that took them into a residential area. The houses were small and mostly in need of fresh paint, but they were tidy. The cobbled paths leading to each door were meticulously kept free of snow which was no small feat with the weather the way it was.
They took one of these paths up to the front door of a home painted in a cheery shade of yellow. There was some kind of flowers carved into the front door, though Micayta couldn’t place a name to them.
Micayta raised a hand to knock but the door opened before she had the chance. There before her stood the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. The woman was a good five inches taller than she, and dressed in dark green robes that accentuated her slender figure. An unlined face and clear blue eyes seemed in contrast with her silver hair, which lay in a braid to her waist. She gazed at them with an unreadable expression before stepping back and lifting a hand in welcome.
“Come in.” Her voice soft and almost musical. “Welcome to my home.”
Micayta glanced at Pytaki, who stood slightly back from the door, mouth agape, a stunned look on his face. A slap on his arm and his mouth snapped shut. Blushing furiously, he kept his gaze fixed on his feet as they passed the woman and entered the house.
Tech preceded them down a darkly paneled hall and through an open archway on the left, which admitted them into a warm, cozy sitting room. Plush chairs sat around a mahogany table topped with the delicate figurine of a black wolf, which somehow annoyed Micayta without her knowing why.
Everything was in soft shades of brown and muted red, with small glass figures of animals, many of which were unrecognizable to Micayta, scattered about on the shelves. The fire popped and crackled in the brick hearth, making shadows dance across the paneled walls.
Tech shifted into human form and with a smile the woman crossed the room to wrap him in a warm embrace. “I missed you,” she said. “You were gone so long, I’d started to worry.”
His embrace was equally affectionate. “I missed you too. But you should know by now that I’m indestructible.”
Micayta lingered near the archway, feeling for the first time how dirty and disheveled she was. How very unlike this elegant, graceful woman, whose gentle laugh set her teeth on edge. And really, did they have to look at each other like that? It was nauseating.
She cleared her throat. “I hate to interrupt this lovely reunion, but there are other people in the room.”
“Yes.” Tech stepped away from the woman, though her hand lingered over his. “Micayta, Pytaki, this is my good friend, Alansa.”
“Ni-nice to meet you,” Pytaki said, his blush growing darker.
Micayta rolled her eyes. Okay, so the woman was beautiful and elegant and perfect. That didn’t mean they had to be drooling over her. “Can we get on with this? It’s getting late.”
The corner of Tech’s mouth twitched as he turned back to face Alansa. “We were attacked by wolves several days ago. Micayta was injured and I’m afraid my meager skills weren’t of much help.”
A curious look passed between them. Then Alansa was crossing the room toward Micayta. “You poor child.” She put her arm across Micayta’s shoulders and steered her from the room. “Come along; let me see what kind of mess Tech has made of things.”
Micayta gritted her teeth at being referred to as a child. She was nineteen years old and had likely done more real work in her short life than this woman with her smooth hands and easy grace.
Alansa took her down the hall to a room paneled in light wood, the center of which was taken up by a large table. Shelves lined with glass jars took up the entire back wall, while wicker baskets brimming with filmy gauze sat on the floor.
“Have a seat.” Alansa indicated the table.
“Thanks, but I think I’ll stand.” Micayta folded her arms and somehow managed not to wince at the sharp pain in her shoulder.
Alansa smiled as she took a bottle from the shelf. “You don’t trust me?”
“I don’t know you.”
“Tech and I have been friends a long time,” she said. “Do you believe he would bring you here if I couldn’t be trusted?”
“I don’t know him either.”
Alansa placed the bottle on the table and looked at it thoughtfully. “How did you meet Tech?”
“Does it matter?”
“It might.” Alansa twisted the lid off the bottle and put it aside. “Then again, perhaps not.” Her smile took on a sadder turn. “Where are you injured?”
Micayta hesitated, eying the jar, then proceed to remove her cloak and upper clothing, noting how warm the room was despite its lack of a fireplace. She also noted the fact that her clothing was stiff wi
th dried blood, among other things, and knew she must smell rather nasty. The fact that she couldn’t smell herself only told her that she’d spent so much time with the stench that she no longer noticed it. Not a pleasant thought.
“These bandages are stuck fast.” Alansa fingered the loose end of what was once a sheet. “It may hurt when I remove them.”
“I can handle it.” Micayta gritted her teeth as Alansa reached for the bandages. She expected pain, even expected to bleed a little, but she did not expect the sudden rush of nausea, nor for her knees to buckle.
Alansa caught hold of her with a surprisingly strong grip. “I told you to sit down.” She helped Micayta up onto the table. “Better?”
Micayta managed to nod, though it made her head swim to do so. She couldn’t recall ever feeling this bad, but then she’d never gone weeks without a full night’s sleep either. “Is it bad?”
“It doesn’t seem to be infected. That’s good.” Alansa dipped her fingers into the jar and began to apply the silver liquid to the wounds.
Micayta flinched, thinking it would sting or burn. Instead, she felt a cool sensation that spread rapidly across her skin, easing the numbing sensation in her arm and fingers.
“How much has Tech told you about himself?” Alansa asked. Her voice was offhand, just making conversation, and yet the question didn’t seem casual.
“I know he’s a shape shifter.” Which of course, the woman already knew. But did she know about the dragon? Might be better to leave that part out. “And I know he saved my life. That’s about it.”
“Tech is a good man, though he has his flaws. As do we all.” She went over to one of the baskets and retrieved a roll of gauze. “What did he tell you about Demos?”
“Who?”
“Oh, he hasn’t told you.” Alansa set about wrapping Micayta’s wounds in the fresh gauze. “I shouldn’t have said anything. But he’s never brought anyone to see me before. I thought perhaps he had …well, never mind.”
Micayta frowned, aware that she wasn’t getting the whole picture. “Who is Demos?”
“That’s something you’ll have to ask Tech about.” Alansa took a step back, appraising her work. “There, how does that feel?”
Micayta rolled her shoulder a few times then wiggled her fingers. Everything seemed to be in good working order. She carefully put a little weight on her left arm as she slid off the table. There was a twinge, a little tightening, but all-in-all it seemed to be much better. “It feels okay.”
“Good. Try not to tax it too much for a couple of days.”
“How much do I owe you?” Micayta asked.
“There’s no charge.”
Micayta paused in her dressing and gave the woman a wary look. “Why?”
Alansa’s expression became serious. “Because Tech never brings people here and maybe that means something. Though, I can’t say what.”
“In my experience no one does anything for free. Everyone expects payment of some kind. So if you don’t want coin, what do you want?”
“Aren’t you a little young to be so cynical?” Alansa turned to the table and twisted the cap back on the bottle.
“Not cynical, realistic.” Micayta drew on her cloak. “So let’s have it. What do you want from me?”
Alansa sighed, staring down at the bottle as if she wasn’t really seeing it. “Only that you try to keep an open mind where Tech is concerned. Do you think you can do that?”
Micayta clasped her cloak at the neck. Something about the tone in the woman’s voice made her uneasy. “I suppose I could try.”
“That’s all any of us can do, isn’t it? Try.” She gave her head a little shake as if to clear it, then looked up at Micayta with that benign, friendly smile. “It’s getting late and you need to find a place to sleep. I’d offer you my spare room, but I don’t think you’d take it.”
“No, I wouldn’t.”
Chapter Twenty
The sign hanging over the tavern door read “Paradise Lost.” It was a two-story building with peeling paint that might once have been white, but was now a dirty shade of gray. Not exactly what Micayta would have picked if given a choice, but it was getting dark and they were now the only people on the street. There was no other tavern in sight.
“It doesn’t look very clean,” Pytaki said, making a face.
Micayta glanced at her brother, who looked rumpled and disheveled and only slightly less disgusting than her. “Neither do we.” She patted him on the shoulder, then entered the tavern.
The moment she stepped inside, the resemblance to the “Broken Wing” hit her like a physical blow. A fireplace to the left, fronted by tables and chairs that were mostly empty; a staircase straight ahead, leading to the rooms upstairs; to the right a long, scarred bar with high stools along it.
She could almost see Delane behind that bar, counting bottles, and felt a swift, sharp pain in her chest. He was always gruff, old Delane but he’d given her a job when no one else could and he’d taught her things. She’d spent more time with him in the past five years than she had ever spent with her father.
“Micayta? Are you all right?” Pytaki regarded her with a concerned expression.
“I’m tired, that’s all.” She walked toward the bar. The common room was packed and there were too many eyes following them for her comfort. Because of the wolf, no doubt.
The man who actually stood behind the bar bore no resemblance to Delane. He was tall and rather skinny, with lanky brown hair hanging around his shoulders. “What can I do you for?”
“I need a room and a job,” Micayta said. “I was a barmaid back home, worked a tavern just like this one.” A little too much like this one, but she could handle it.
“A room I got, one coin per night, first door on the left, but no job. This place barely keeps me and the wife going.”
“Do you know of any place in town where I could get a job?”
He scratched his neck with fingers that didn’t look as if they’d ever been washed. “You might go down to New District. That’s where most of the refugees are. I’m surprised the local guard didn’t scuttle you down there as soon as you hit town.”
The tone of his voice and the look in his eyes suggested he was fishing for a little information, maybe a bit of gossip to pass around. Micayta had no intention of providing either. “Thanks.” She dropped a coin on the counter for the room, and they headed upstairs.
“If that wolf makes a mess up there, I ain’t cleaning it up,” he called after them.
“He’s housebroken,” Micayta called back.
The first door on the left opened into a small room with no furnishings save for a bed barely big enough for two and a table with a rusted lamp. A half full can of oil sat beside it. “I guess lamp oil isn’t as hard to come by here as it is back home.” Micayta moved to light the lamp.
Pytaki pushed the door shut, sat down on the bed, and started taking his boots off. Tech shifted into human form and leaned back against the door, staring at Micayta. “We’re here. Have you made up your mind?”
“Who was that man out on the street?” Micayta draped her cloak across one corner of the table.
“His name is Demos. And before you ask, no we are not friends.”
“And who is Demos?” Micayta had a strange feeling that this was very important and relevant, though she had no idea how.
“I…” Tech sighed, his shoulders slumping. “He’s the dragon.”
Pytaki froze with one boot half off, gaping at Tech.
“The dragon.” Micayta repeated the words slowly, gripping the edge of the table with both hands. “So that means he’s a shape shifter, like you.”
“No, he’s not,” Tech said. “What you see now is neither more nor less myself than any other form I might choose to take. Demos uses magic to make himself appear human, but make no mistake about it, he is a dragon.”
“Don’t you think that’s something you might have told us, oh, I don’t know, before we followed you all the
way here?”
“It didn’t seem important. It has nothing to do with why we’re here.”
“What else aren’t you telling us?”
Tech’s eyes shifted away from hers. “Nothing.”
“You’re lying and you aren’t good at it,” Micayta said. “How can you expect me to agree to help you when you won’t tell me the truth?”
“You aren’t exactly best friends with the truth yourself.”
Micayta’s jaw tightened. “I’m not the one asking complete strangers to help me. You came to us, remember?”
“Complete strangers?” Tech managed to look both angry and hurt. “I’ve spent every day of the last few weeks by your side. I’ve watched over you, helped you. I saved your life. Don’t you think you owe me something for that?”
“And there it is.” Micayta planted both hands on the table. “I didn’t ask for your help and I didn’t promise anything in return. I said I’d think about it and I’ve decided to have nothing more to do with you.”
“Oh, so it’s okay for you to lie and keep secrets, but it’s not okay for anyone else to do it.”
“If I lie, it’s to protect myself and my brother from people like you. People who pretend to be your friends, pretend to care. Everyone has an ulterior motive. Everyone wants something, and everyone is willing to do whatever they have to in order to get it. Regardless of who winds up hurt in the process.”
Both Tech and Pytaki were looking at her with curious, concerned expressions. Tech shook his head. “How did you get to be this way?”
Micayta felt the heat rush to her face, which only made her angrier. “That’s it. We’re done. I don’t want to see you again. Get out.”
“You said you would help me.”
“Go help yourself.”
Tech glanced at Pytaki, who’d grown considerably paler since the beginning of the conversation. Then he turned and opened the door. “If you intend to stay in the city you should be careful. It won’t matter to Demos what you’ve decided. You’re part of the game now, and he doesn’t play fair.” Then he was out the door and gone.
