The Waif's Tale

by C. L. Stegall

  "I'm sorry about that, young lady," he called, doing his best to soften his tone. "Come on out and we can talk about it. I didn't mean to hurt you."

  I almost laughed at the ridiculousness of his statement. I darted to the left, making enough noise to draw his attention. "I bet!" I said. I wanted him to know I was still close by, let him try and come after me. I'd play the timing right and, hopefully, bring this to a close quickly.

  "We can talk, figure things out." He was moving toward where he heard the sounds. As he did, I used all of my strength to leap over him, to the other side of the car. My landing wasn't as graceful as I would have liked but the move sufficed to confuse the monster. He stepped to the back of the car, peering out into the darkness.

  My movement was immediate and efficient. The force of my blow to his head may have been a bit of overkill but I wasn't taking any chances. The monster collapsed to the ground in a heap.

  CHAPTER 56

  1959, The Citadel, Age 82

  I was still shaken up out by the wolf-man-mind-creature when I entered the Abode.

  "How's it going, Lady Paris?" Cairo asked from behind the bar. I smiled at the name but let it go, out of habit. Cairo was nothing if not a flirt. The only woman around that seemed immune to his charms was Dawn. And, I wasn't all that convinced of her irritation at the youngest Guard member's smoky mannerisms.

  "Weird," I said. “But I think we can fix that with a tall glass of ice cold Stoli, barkeep."

  "Coming up, m'lady," he said, turning to the freezer to retrieve a bottle and some ice. As he handed me my drink, he said, "Weird, huh? Care to elaborate?"

  "Not really. Just want to clear my mind and see if any assignments have come up. Maybe something to keep me busy, at least."

  "I've not seen Dusk nor Dawn this evening," he said. "It's been quiet the last week or two, huh?"

  "Yes. It's beginning to annoy me."

  "You don't like to be bored at all, do you?" he asked. "I've noticed that. If you're not out on assignment, you're chumming with the Madge, or sparring with Asaro or Garrett."

  I was a little annoyed with his constant referring to the magistrate by that pet name, 'Madge.' It just sounded so disrespectful. Still, who was I to ruin his fun? "It's in my nature," I replied. "What can I say?"

  "Why don't we ever spar?" he said, leaning his elbows on the bar and looking me in the eye. I raised an eyebrow but decided to be honest and not patronize him.

  "Because I've seen you fight."

  "And, what does that mean, exactly?"

  "I'd kick your ass and you know it."

  "Can't say I'd complain."

  My eyes bore into his and he didn't flinch. I didn't need to read his mind to know the kid meant business. I was at a quandary as to how to respond. I had never been hit on before. I was always the aggressor. After Thorne, I'd had a roll in the sheets with a couple of other guys but it was never more than a way to waste a few hours. I had surmised that my reputation preceded me and that no guy was about to actually ask me out. I didn't make such approaches all that easy, I had to admit. but, now, here was Cairo making the moves on me. In a way, I was flattered. On the other hand, I had no doubt that it would be a bad idea of astronomical proportions.

  I slowly said, "This—what you're playing at—this can never be. I appreciate the interest, Cairo. but, I just want to be clear. Not going to happen. Okay?"

  His face fell and he stood up, eyes still locked to mine. In a split second he recovered his bearings and smiled at me. "Not a problem. I understand. No hanky-panky. I get it."

  "So, we're good?" I asked, seeing the darkness behind his eyes and knowing we might not be.

  "Yeah, sure. We are all good." Within moments, I found myself alone at the bar, empty glass and empty room. I hoped he had been truthful. I hoped we were still going to be friends. I decided to pour myself another drink.

  I was finishing up my fourth glass of vodka when I heard someone enter the Abode. I turned and was somewhat surprised to see Cassandra Dreys walking toward me.

  "Mind if I join you?" she asked, halting before the stool next to me.

  "No, please," I said, indicating the stool. "What brings you to this neck of the woods, Cassandra?"

  "Nothing in particular. Oh, and do call me Cassie, please."

  "Cassie it is." I drained my glass and asked her if she'd care for one.

  "I'd love a dark rum, if you have it," she said.

  "Oh, Cassie, there isn't much we don't have in this alcoholic's nightmare." I spread my arms over the bar indicating the whole of it. "We aim to please, that's for sure. One Mount Gay, coming up."

  "So, how are things going?" she asked, glancing around the room. "Is it always so quiet and empty here?"

  "In the Abode, you mean?" I handed her the tumbler of rum, as she snickered.

  "The Abode. Yes. Apt name, I suppose?" She sipped her drink and I joined her with my own.

  "Oh, yes," I said. "Of course, it's due for a renovation. We liven it up every ten or fifteen years."

  "Nice."

  " but, no," I continued. "It is usually a lot more populated and a lot more boisterous. The Guard members tend to work best when there is a little conflict amongst us."

  "Win has the utmost faith in the Guard," she said. I raised an eyebrow, wondering what she meant. She noticed and nodded.

  "Sorry. I meant Winceslao. The magistrate."

  "Ah," I replied, not knowing what else to say.

  "Especially you," she noted.

  "What do you mean?"

  "He has exceptional regard for you, Paris. I swear, if I didn't know better, I'd even say he admires you."

  "Me?" I said, my drink poised inches from my mouth in confusion. "I doubt that. I'm just a child, so to speak."

  "Relatively speaking, perhaps. Yet, I've seen how he watches you, with that look of pride in his eyes. He does not share that look with many people. And, I've heard him speak of your skills and knowledge, how apt a pupil you have been over the years."

  I froze, wondering if she knew the extent of my abilities. Had the magistrate been so reckless as to share such private information? I was on the verge of slipping into her mind to find out for certain when London pranced into the room.

  "Hi!" she said. "What are you ladies up to? Gossiping about me behind my back?"

  "Oh, no," I said, shifting the conversation to avoid any further temptation. "I only gossip about you to your face."

  Cassandra stifled a giggle at that. Then, she stood and placed her glass on the bar top. "I'd better be going, anyway. I was just passing by when I saw Paris in here all alone." This got London's attention and I smirked.

  "It was nice chatting with you, Cassie," I said. "Take care."

  Cassie nodded to us both and then departed without another word. London watched her exit, waited two seconds and then whirled on me.

  "What the hell was that all about?" she asked, an expression of intense curiosity widening her almond-shaped eyes.

  "Nothing. Just what she said. but..." I hesitated.

  "Wha-aat did you do?" she asked, her tone implying there was no other option than I had made some careless faux pas.

  I sighed and then gave her the lowdown on Cairo's advance and my deft halting of any further attempts.

  "I swear, Paris," London said, shaking her head in disbelief. "Sometimes I think you missed out on the social graces gene."

  "Oh, for Christ's sake! I didn't punch the bastard, did I?"

  "No, but that might have been a better choice."

  "Men!" I huffed and went in search of more vodka.

  CHAPTER 57

  PRESENT

  D oug spluttered and spit, shaking his head. The water I'd doused him with wasn't cold, the bottle having sat in his car for a while; nevertheless, it did the trick.

  "What the fuck?" he said, trying to focus his eyes in the direct light from the car's headlamps. I moved to stand between him and the illumination. His eyes narrowed and he bit at the inside of his thick lip
.

  "Coo-coo-ca-choo, big guy."

  "You little bitch," he said. He tried to come at me and then realized that I had handcuffed him to the pine tree. "Goddammit!"

  "Perhaps," I remarked. I closed the bottle, keeping half of the liquid for later use. Then, I knelt down in front of him, stared him in the eye. "You like the young ones, huh?"

  "What?" His implied denial was admirable. Good tone. Confused expression briefly replacing the previos anger. He was quite practiced. Unfortunately, it was all futile at this point.

  "Your targets. None of them were over twenty, as far as I can surmise."

  "What are you talking about? You're insane!"

  The echo of my hand against his face rang out into still night. A bird leapt into the air from the branches of the tree above us. The monster stared at me with the most evil of intent. I could see the flashes of his desires in his mind. He was a nasty, sadistic bastard. That was for certain. I leaned in a little, my eyes moving from the reddening jowl to the green of his eyes. "Don't ever call me that again."

  "Who are you? What the fuck do you want?" Over his anger lay a carpet of curiosity and concern. Essentially, he was now my prisoner and that put a damper on his motives for the moment.

  "How old do you think I am, Doug?" I asked. I let him peer at me in silence for a few moments, before I began to raise my hand once again.

  "I don't know," he said. "Maybe eighteen? All that makeup makes you look older but I can see through that."

  "Of course, you can. And, physically, you are just about right. In fact, physically, I'm not quite eighteen." I watched him squirm, as that information leaked into the deepest, darkest recesses of his twisted mind. "However, in actuality, I'm an old lady. I'm almost one hundred thirty-seven years old. Can you believe that?"

  "No." It was a simple and honest response.

  "It's true, though," I said, permitting the casual tone of my voice to carry the veracity of it. "I remember World War I, the sinking of the Lusitania. I remember the influenza epidemic. I remember when Hitler went to prison. The first time I heard Gershwin's Rhapsody In Blue. Oh, it was so gorgeous.

  "As a matter of fact, Doug, I was listening to the radio when news of Hiroshima seared across the world. I remember the birth of computer science. Hell, I even met Turing once, back in 1951. That was before his life went to hell, due in no small part to the small-minded England of the day." I watched Doug, the monster, as he tried to register whether I was insane or not. “But, you don't really care about any of this, do you, Doug? You only wanted me for my body—to ravage it, desecrate it and then destroy it. Right?"

  "Take these handcuffs off and you'll find out."

  "Shame, shame, Doug. You seem like a smart man. I would've thought that by now you would have fully grasped the gravity of your situation."

  "What are you talking about? What are you going to do?" It seemed to finally be sinking in.

  "I'm going to ask you for a favor, Doug. The more willing you are to provide that favor, the less pain you shall endure. Fair enough?"

  CHAPTER 58

  1962, The Citadel, Age 85

  B y the early 1960s, I realized that Cairo worked hard to maintain the perfect co-worker relationship with me. He only spoke to me when it had to do with our work or when I spoke to him for whatever reason. Yet, he never made any other conversational attempts. He was polite, congenial and distant. I suppose at first I was put off by the whole thing. Then, I felt offended. In the end I just gave up and let it be. What else could I do? I had only been honest with him.

  In the meantime, I continued my work with the magistrate, Cassie and I became closer – sort of friends but with a tenuous connection – and I worked on my martial arts skills with Asaro and Garrett.

  I took up archery and found that I sucked at it. Asaro, of course was a fucking master and Garrett was pretty good himself. For some reason I just could not get the hang of it. Instead, I turned my attention to knife fighting. That seemed like a skill I could sink my teeth into.

  If you want to be really good at knife fighting, you need three things: knowledge, skills and attitude. Since I had an overabundance of the latter, I began to build on the two former areas of expertise. I read everything I could on the art of knife combat; I practiced and trained with Asaro two to three times a week. This was a good schedule as, at first, I had quite a few cuts and wounds to heal. The first thing I learned was that I was going to get cut. No way around it.

  Garrett was a natural at knife combat. I found myself amused at the fact that he refused to train with me until I had garnered quite a decent skill at it. He began attending my training sessions with Asaro and ensured that I was keeping my knives well-maintained. I thought it was hilarious. It almost seemed like he was being protective of me and I wasn't sure what to do with that.

  Eventually, though, we came face-to-face, or knife-to-knife, as it were. I could still feel his hesitation and chided him on it.

  "You're not going to hurt me, you ass," I said, as we each took our stances and began measuring each other up.

  "Oh, I'm afraid I will," he said. "It's the mindset. Remember what Asaro taught you. Attitude weighs heavily in a knife fight. Once we're into it, I can get lost in the moment. I can't help it."

  "Fair enough. You want to use a safe word?" This caught him by surprise and he paused for moment. It was a perfect opportunity for me to slide in for a jab. We were both using fencer's grips but, even as I moved, I saw him avoid the jab and switch quickly to an ice pick grip. "Oh, shit," I said with a smile. "You mean business, huh?"

  "You wanted this," he replied. "Not me."

  I froze in place.

  "Wait," I said. "Are you serious? You really don't want to fight me?" He shook his head, keeping a wary eye on me in case I was running a bluff, which I was not. I lowered my weapon and stared at him. "Then, why did you agree to this, then?"

  "You seemed to really want it," he replied, with a shrug of his shoulders. I saw that he had relaxed his grip and that his expression was not one I was all too familiar with.

  "I just like sparring with you. This, to me, is just another sparring match."

  "No. Paris, knife fighting is not just another sparring match. You should have learned that by now in your training, in your study of the art. I'm sorry. I just don't want to hurt you." Garrett walked over to the bench by the wall and placed his knife into its sheath. He turned back to me and said, "Let's call it. Maybe another time."

  I stood there, not knowing how to respond. I could only nod. I had no words as he grabbed his things and left. Standing there in silence I was startled by the sudden sound of someone clearing his throat. I turned to see Master Asaro strolling toward me.

  "What are you doing, Paris? Weren't you and Garrett supposed to be training?" There was a suspicious glint in his eyes and I mumbled my response. "Excuse me?" he said.

  "He didn't want to," I repeated. The confusion was thick in my voice. Asaro only nodded.

  "Makes sense."

  "No. It doesn't. What the hell just happened?" I glanced back toward the door where Garrett had exited.

  "You'll figure it out, I'm sure," he said. He winked at me and left once again without explaining. Seriously, I thought to myself. What the hell just happened?

  The next day I related the incident with Garrett to London, who only shrugged. I noticed that she appeared to be fighting back a slight smile. She claimed it was in regard to some quip Cairo had made to Dawn earlier. I had my doubts.

  Garrett had left on assignment, so I didn't get the chance to speak with him prior to his departure. In the meantime, though, I began having some very strange dreams.

  In one dream, I found myself in the body of a woman of the 1700's, fancy dress and bonnet. I was somewhere in a city that I could only assume was London. As I walked along the street, I sensed someone walking behind me yet, whenever I looked, there was no one there. I realized that the strange feeling I had brewing inside of me was fear. I wasn't as familiar with the
feeling as I should have been, I suppose. That was when I realized that I was not me. I was a human.

  The approach of the hidden figure surely indicated his intent to attack and harm me. Yet, before I could turn, another dark figure appeared out of the night and pounced upon the assailant. The dark figure rose, leaving the incapacitated attacker lying on the ground. The darkened figure turned to me and I saw his face. I awoke with a shock, my heart beating and my eyes wide. The dark figure, the man in my dream, was Garrett.

  I had other, similar dreams or nightmares where someone was after me or I was faced with some impossible obstacle and each time it was Garrett who appeared to save the day. The whole experience was driving me crazy until I slowly began to realize what was going on and I fought it tooth and nail. I managed to avoid Garrett for nearly a year, through slippery escapes and remarkable bouts of timing. Finally, it was London who cornered me on it.

  "What the fuck is the matter with you?" she asked me one day as I dashed into her quarters to avoid an approaching Garrett. I turned and shushed her until I knew he was long gone. When I turned to her, she reminded me of Dawn, standing there with her fists on her hips, a stern expression blanketing her face. "I said, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

  "Nothing," I said, strolling over to her sofa and plopping down in the soft cushions. "Why?" I tried to be nonchalant about it but I was pretty certain I knew what was coming.

  "You know damned well why." She came over and stood looking down at me like a reprimanding parent. "I've watched you for months now and only an idiot wouldn't know what you're up to."

  "I'm up to nothing."

  "That's my point, damn it. You're starting to become a joke to us. 'Uh-oh, there she goes again.' 'Paris is slipping through the shadows in the halls. Is Garrett back in town?' We all know you're avoiding him like the plague. Hell, I'm sure he knows it, too."