Immortalibus Bella

by SL Figuhr

  Hrm . . . I needed a stable boy to care for the horse when I wasn’t using him. “Keep him away from the mares, loosen his girth, but don’t unsaddle him.” He asked no questions, gathering the stallion’s reins up as I pressed a coin into his free hand.

  The boy looked up quickly in shock as I moved toward the tavern’s door. If only I knew you would be a kind mistress, I’d beg to be sold to you. Light and sound spilled out the door. I should not have worried overmuch about concealing my identity; the flickering shadows hid much. Once inside, the foul stench of unwashed bodies, rotting food, spilled beer, and thick smoke assailed my nose. Ugh! One thing about industrialization was the lovely cleanliness of places. I’ve seen better pig sties! I took a moment to scan the room as I stepped through the doorway into a patch of shadow. Patrons stood at the bar or sat at a long table by the fireplace, with a few at scattered tables. Half-clothed slave women served food and drinks while being groped and pawed. Occasionally, high-pitched screams could be heard from rooms above, but no one seemed to pay the interruptions any mind. My nose wrinkling with disgust, I used my powers to influence four men into leaving their table near the door.

  Other patrons are jealous of your winnings. If you don’t leave, they will kill and rob you. The men gathered up their winnings, dispersing. Weighty stares from a group near the bar along with their loud and notso-loud comments followed me as I sat upon a rickety chair. A pack of born fools, but even they could be dangerous in groups. Most of the patrons were filthy, and all bristled with weapons and bits of armor, including the few women who appeared to be warriors or mercenaries rather than prostitutes, whose skills afforded them respect from their cohorts.

  Wish that person would remove the cloak. If it’s a woman we could have ourselves some fun being as there’s no other person with ’er. The idea came from one of the groups at the bar.

  I seethed inside. So, we were back to “a real lady does not venture out after dark without her kinfolk in attendance, and not into a bar such as this,” were we? We would see how long such things lasted now that I had awoken from my long sleep. I almost missed the low-voiced exclamation from another patron as I turned back toward the room. Drat! He noticed the strange gleam my eyes take under certain light levels. With luck, he’d consider it just a trick and forget about it. I was set to dismiss the man from my mind when I caught a scent—thin, hard to track amongst all the other smells in the room. I felt I should know it, though I couldn’t understand why I found it unusual.

  “May I get you something, food or drink?” The painfully thin, trembling body. The haunted eyes, the fresh bruise on the cheek, the old ones decorating her exposed skin. Please let this one be nice. Oh, please!

  Oh, no! Pray the men do not find out you are like me.“Some ale, thank you.”

  “Would-would you like some-some food too?” she asked. “No, thank you. The ale is enough.”

  The girl scurried off, soon back with a brimming tankard. I dropped some coins into her hand, and she slowly counted out change. Do I dare to warn her if she doesn’t know? But what if she does? No, it is not worth the beating if my father finds out.

  “What about what the owner wants?”

  “My father is also owner.”

  “No, my lady. Those are-are the rooms travelers use when they’re not-not needed for new or disobedient female slaves. They are-are being broken in and taught their place before-before being put to work or sold again or-or . . .” She gulped, unable go on.

  She placed the difference on the table, about to scurry off to answer the shouts of men for drink. Honesty deserves a reward. I pressed a coin into her hand.

  The girl stared at it in shock. “Oh no, my lady! I can’t accept it! It’s too much!” The last time I was given a tip, my father found it and took it and beat me for keeping it.

  “No, it is for you. Hide it well; make sure your father does not find it. Someday, you will need it to leave and start a better life somewhere. Perhaps I may also be of assistance. I am Illyria.” Giving my name was a gamble, but the girl’s thoughts told me she wished to escape. With a quick mental nudge, she secreted the coin in her blouse.

  What’s that person want with her? The girl knows not to speak with the patrons. I caught the stray thought from one of the members of the group at the end of the bar. I didn’t like the subtle nudging I was seeing between the men at the bar. “Thank you, child. That will be all for now,” I was more curt than intended; confusion and hurt clouded her eyes for a moment before she scurried off.

  I lifted the vessel to my lips as if to take a sip, continuing to view the group. I noticed a subtle relaxing of muscles, noted how most of them turned back to their drinks, but one of the men facing in my direction was talking to his companions, telling them what I was doing, I surmised. Now why would they take such an interest in the girl? Or maybe it was an interest in me since I had yet to remove my hood or cloak, though there were others similarly garbed. I tried to read their minds, but all I got was junk.

  “I just want outta here. I can’t do this anymore!”

  “No more, no more! Oh, God! I wish I was dead!”

  I hit a blank spot. Two, in fact. I couldn’t make out to whom the absence of thought belonged. Odd; another mystery. I surreptitiously poured half the ale out onto the damp, dirt-encrusted floor. I raised the mug again as if drinking.

  His accuser flung his ale in the cheater’s face as the other two players began grabbing what coins and valuables off the table they were able. A second later, it was overturned by the cheat, scattering whatever was left over the floor as the two remaining men hurriedly backed up. The cheat charged his accuser, punches flying. Someone let out a whoop of joy, and one of the bar slaves screamed as men crashed into her, sending her tray of drinks flying to soak the men at another table.

  I watched the brawl encompass the back half of the room. Even though the men had weapons, they used mainly fists. The nearest turned in their seats to egg the combatants on. Bets flew fast and thick as to who would win. Other tables nearer me ignored the commotion while carrying on with their drinking, gambling, and whoring. I surmised the behavior was the usual fare for the spot. I poured the remainder of the ale out on the other side of the table, raising the mug in the air, wiggling it as I had just seen another patron do. I got a different bar slave. She appeared to be about twenty, with stringy, greasy brown hair, on the hefty side, with the ubiquitous iron collar around her neck.

  I merely nodded, shooting the mug over to her, turning to watch the proceedings. I noted the dirty look from my peripheral vision along with the puff of air as she flounced off to the bar. The fight raged on, chairs being used as clubs on some of the men, others shoving heads into the tables and any other available hard surface. I glanced over at the bartender. He seemed unconcerned about the damage being done to his tavern, calling out only, “No weapons or out ya all go!”

  The bar slave came back over, her top falling farther down. She leaned over, trying to see into the hood, giving me a look at her charms, along with a whiff of sweat, stale sex, and body odor so strong she must only bathe once a year if that.

  I shook my head, put down coin for the drink, gave her one as a tip. She propped a hand on her ample hip after collecting the coins. “Ya don’t say much, do ya? That’s okay, hon’. Ya don’t have ta say anything, and I can take real good care of ya if ya want.” Ya gots ta say something, so’s I can tell if’n you a man or another whore what don’t belong here. Her thoughts let me know if I did speak, she would rat me out in a heartbeat. I wanted to stay longer, unmolested. I held a hand up, palm out, then flicked my fingers in a “shoo” gesture. Her face went from tempting to peeved, her pout into a grimace.

  “Asshole,” she spat at me, flouncing off to serve a different customer, boards creaking under her heavy footfalls. Probably dickless too.

  I watched her repeat the “bend over, top fall off” action on the next table, screaming with laughter as the man spilled her onto his lap and grabbed her breasts.
What is wrong with that person? That’s some grade “A” ass they just passed up.

  Ah, charming: the group by the bar. I turned to the ending brawl. Two winners, staggering from blows, faces swelling, rapidly turning black and blue. Not the original starters of the fracas. Other patrons scuttled away from bodies, no doubt already having picked the pockets, or cut the money pouches. I saw men whose dress reminded me of Vikings walking over from the long table. They grabbed legs, dragging the fallen out, trailing through pools of blood. I could tell two of the six were dead. One was already missing his boots, another his fur-trimmed cloak. I had a feeling what weapons the men had left on them would soon be lifted.

  A few slaves brought straw and spread it over the blood. Other men righted the remaining furniture. What couldn’t be saved was tossed in the fireplace, making it flare brighter. Those who made bets finished collecting them or paying as everyone settled back into what they had been doing before the diversion.

  Note to self: if I was forced to fight anyone, make it short and sweet. I casually gazed around. No one was paying attention to me. I poured the ale on the still-damp floor.

  I held the mug up, wiggling it, keeping an eye out for who came over. I wanted the young girl from earlier. It took a few moments for the bartender to notice. I caught his mental signature, used my power to subtly suggest he send his daughter over. He bellowed for her, shoving her my way cruelly. I noticed how she ricocheted off a corner of the bar, tears spurting. She came over walking stiffly.

  She slowly picked up my waiting mug, sniffing, trying to keep the tears of pain from spilling while sucking in a breath before quivering, “Would you like anything besides another drink?”

  She nodded, making her slow, painful way to the bar. A few at the bar shifted positions, but I noticed the quick scans they gave me. The man facing me glanced my way frequently. They could be protecting her from the patrons since she was the bartender’s daughter and didn’t wear a slave collar.

  “Please, my lady, if-if I might not seem too rude. I-I’m not looklooking to-to be a-a . . .” She trailed off. I could imagine what she was thinking before she continued, “It would not do for the men here to find out you are a woman. They-they assume a female without a-a male companion in a bar at this hour is-is selling her services. They-they have no respect for us.”

  “I . . . see. It’s kind of you to warn me. I agree, a woman who sells her charms would not last long in a town such as this. A poor father indeed who lets his daughter be abused, and who abuses her himself in turn. I am not talking about work in a whorehouse, child, but work in a respectable establishment, perhaps as a live-in housemaid. You appear to need . . . protection . . . from the men here.”

  My ploy was working: the nodding in my direction became more pronounced. I wondered what they would do, and how long before they took action.

  Oh, sweet Goddess, if only it were possible.Oh, dear God!Her father intercepted, grabbing her arms, shaking the girl, berating her, before letting go to serve an obnoxious group. He spoke with them briefly, several of the men turning to stare at me. I waited for someone to come over and discover I was female. I really wasn’t in the mood to kick ass. I shouldn’t have pushed matters with the girl. I felt off-kilter. It was alarming how I had spent my first week awake in an unnatural haze, as if not in control of my own thoughts or body. I had never experienced such a thing after waking from a long sleep.

  I watched a quick, heated argument among the group. After a few more moments, one of the men detached himself, starting over. His clothing and person were clean, undamaged. Their skin and clothes were dirty, showing signs of hard wear. Without a word, the man sat himself across from me at an angle, so his back wasn’t fully to the room. His attractive face was thin, with dark brows and eyes, high cheekbones, a hawk’s nose. His thick, dark hair, short cut with a sweep of bangs. His age, middle forties.

  He tried peering into the depths of the hood hiding my face. “Hail King Maceanas and Lord Nicky, may they live forever. Might I have the privilege of knowing who you are, stranger, and buying you a drink?”

  Interesting information he dropped. I dipped my head in acknowledgement, remaining silent, as the man’s eyebrows briefly raised at my lack of response. Most towns did not include a noble’s name in their greeting. Was it a way of identifying members of a secret sect? I raised a black, leather-gloved hand to signal to a slave girl, otherwise remaining quiet. I wasn’t sure if I could trust him not to alert everyone in the bar of my gender.

  “Perhaps you are newly arrived to our town, and not one of the king’s vassals.” He tried a different tack as a slave came to the table. He gave his drink order without looking at her. I shook my head in the negative, laying coin down on the table.

  Honestly, does no one believe in introducing themselves anymore or asking if it’s all right to intrude upon a person’s space? I pretended to take a sip of my ale. His frustration rose at my perceived rudeness. I wondered if it would occur to him I might be mute.

  He leaned his forearm on the table, trying to discern my face. “What is your name, stranger? I wonder why you persist in remaining silent, when the girl told us you can speak.”

  I knew she had said nothing of the sort. I had been able to make out every word she told her father, even with all the noise. I would have to say something, the gesture I knew to call him a liar a rude one.

  I tilted my head to the side, jerked my still-covered chin in the direction the girl had gone, then brought a finger up in the shhhh gesture to draw it across the level of my neck. He gave a quick glance back at the men, who were all avidly watching us, though puzzled.

  The frown grew into a scowl. This was turning out to be fun. How long would it take him to either come up with the correct guess or get pissed off and flat-out try to hit me?

  “I am only going to ask once more. What is your name, and what did you want with the girl? We observed how you detained her; no one will put up with it. Answer, or I shall let my men convince you of the need to speak.”

  And yet , I thought, they would put up with the obvious signs of her abuse. I dropped the act, the next few minutes letting me know if I could remain unmolested or if I would have to fight my way out.

  The man leaned forward, his left fist smacking down, eyes and lips tightening in repressed anger, “As one of the king’s enforcers, I demand you identify yourself as either vassal or stranger. An insolent woman alone, playing games, is not in a position to ask questions.”

  I cocked an eyebrow, smirking. “You have no identifiers to support your claim, nor are you in uniform. Why should I take you at your word that you are whom you profess to be? Furthermore, the men you have been making merry with do not appear to be clothed in anything resembling a king’s livery or to comport themselves as a member of the active guard. If you are, therefore, off duty, I find your method presumptuous, and the excessive zeal for your work a trifle frightening. In either case, I think it remains in my best interest to ask you to provide proof of your claims. Barring that, kindly leave as I am not bothering anyone nor breaking any laws I am aware of. Enjoy your drink, and good night to you, sir.” A flush infused his face, heightening anger pouring off him in waves. It’s not my habit to tell nebshits or bullies what they needed.

  He leaned forward to speak, interrupted by the slave flouncing back, leaning so he had a view of her breasts, and placing a fresh tankard down. The man curtly demanded, “Leave us!”

  “Insolent woman! I could have you dragged out of here and whipped for your impertinence toward a king’s guard!” I could tell from his mental signature he was aggrieved over something, at the end of his tether.

  “Tell me, sir, what laws am I breaking? I could understand your opinion if I were a male intent on some dastardly deed. We have established I am neither, thus I must ask you to leave. I merely want to quaff my ale in peace.”

  To my amusement, he unconsciously squirmed a bit, hearing from my manner of speech I was not an uneducated slave. She could still
be a fancy whore plying her trade, thinking to ignore the king’s laws, or an outsider. Or mayhap a daughter of the nobility, out on a lark, who is too scared to admit she is in over her head?

  I wondered why it did not occur to him I could be a warrior woman. His face grew concerned, forcing a tone of levity. “I see we have gotten off on the wrong foot. I am Saizar, one of the sheriff’s men, as is the group I am with. If perhaps you are a noble’s daughter out for a bit of fun, this is not the place for you, as I’m sure you have already seen. The men here are rough; should they discover you are female, they will not believe or care of your high birth. In fact, they will consider it a great bonus. You will be ruined and disgraced. Now, what noble house may I escort you to?” What would he do if I wasn’t either whore or lady and a visitor? My rage rose at the implication that if I wasn’t a highborn virgin, I deserved whatever vile fate the men visited upon me.

  “Saizar, you said? Why, precisely, have you come to converse with me without knowing my gender or identity? I have noticed others entering the bar similarly cloaked, yet you make no move to question them. Is it because I choose not to remove my garment? Is there a law against keeping one’s cloak on? Or maybe each new person subsequently coming in is known? Certainly it is within my rights to ask the reason why you feel the need to interrogate me and not the others?” What little he’d said had already provided me with information about the nature of the town. I pretended to take another sip of my ale as I watched him from beneath my hood. I could hear him grinding his teeth in vexation. If she is highborn, everyone who touches her can be put to death. Damn!

  He forced his fists to relax on the table, leaning closer, hissing at me in menace. “It is my sworn duty to identify everyone in this town not a vassal of the king. I will only say, do not look to me or my men to protect you should your gender become known, since you refuse to cooperate. If you are a visitor, you are required by law to present yourself at the palace tomorrow and register your intents with the Royal Immigrations Office, if you haven’t already done so. I will be informing them of your presence in town soon. If you are found to be breaking His Majesty’s laws, it will be my responsibility to see you are duly punished for your transgressions. Enjoy your visit.”