“He will get it right, and soon,” Marielle offered in an attempt to quell his irritation, easily sensing his disturbance and uneasiness at hearing the bells. She, of course, wanted her patrons to be unperturbed when they were within her walls, though Ganthorpe noted she couldn’t help a wry smile at his reaction as she closed the door behind him.
He strode respectfully past the women gathered in the antechamber of the brothel, who were all gawking at him, and he smiled back at them with his charming grin. Then he suddenly turned to Marielle, who was escorting him to the room.
“Sorry for my delay,” he apologized as he tossed a golden coin toward her. She caught it and smiled, never even looking at it.
“A peace offering?” she asked him derisively, rolling the coin over with her fingers and locking eyes with him.
“Of course,” he answered, bowing before her. “My Rose is a delicate flower and is not to be plucked by any but me, as per our agreement.”
“I have my own stream of coins. Save this one for your girl,” she answered flippantly, lobbing the gold coin back to him. He caught it deftly, his hand navigating the space quickly and accurately. Then he shrugged, never really getting used to the boldness and candor of this woman. He certainly admired her business sense and merely nodded in response at her impertinence.
She was a surprising one. One of the few, he considered.
“Besides, you may need it to stem a lashing,” she added with a chuckle, both of them knowing that Rose would be none too pleased at his tardiness.
“Very well,” he finally managed to say, licking his dried lips before turning the corner of the hall and climbing the staircase to the next floor. Marielle watched him as he paused at Rose’s door before disappearing herself. He removed a red rose from beneath his jacket, and then knocked lightly.
“It’s about damned time,” he heard from within, and he grinned, recognizing that tone as what he perceived to be playful.
He opened the door and found the most recent of his infatuations sitting in a chair, drinking a glass of wine, her legs crossed with a good deal of her flesh exposed. She frowned at him as he entered and he offered her the flower.
“You are rather behind schedule,” Rose interjected, expecting some kind of explanation, but none was forthcoming.
“A rose for my Rose,” he smiled, bowing low and ignoring her remark. Then he moved in and kissed her. She shoved him away playfully before giving herself over to him. She kissed him deeply for a long moment as they fell to the bed.
“I have a proposition for you,” Ganthorpe began, as they lay next to one another a few hours later.
Rose leaned up on her elbows and stared at him intently with her gray eyes.
“I’m listening.”
Then she rolled away to sit in the chair adjacent to the bed, gently scooped up her goblet, and tasted another sip of her fruity wine. A moment passed and she placed the goblet down on the desk, stood and stretched. She turned to stare at him expectantly. Her raised eyebrow instructed him to continue voicing his current notion. He swallowed hard, fighting through an obvious distraction that she presented to him, her supple body shimmering in the dimly lit room, but he appeared up for the challenge as he looked away from her. She was a bit disappointed that he was able to turn away, but did not let on.
“I know that you have certain skills—”
“Well, of course I do,” she snapped, cutting him off and responding to what she thought he was referring to. He shook his head dismissively and continued.
“Not what I mean. You have a certain flair for…thievery. I’ve heard you’ve been pilfering goods in the marketplace,” he remarked simply, drawing a curious look from her as her features screwed up. “The Trade District, my dear,” he clarified.
She turned that puzzled look his way and frowned, not quite sure what he was talking about. It was clear that he wanted to converse, though. So, she pulled a light silken robe over her elegant frame and sat in the chair facing him, still unsure what he was getting at.
“You know my meaning,” Ganthorpe said, his eyes turning icy as they regarded her.
“I’m afraid I don’t.” That offering had her unsettled and then she panicked, sensing something serious about him that she’d never seen before. It was almost threatening…dangerous. His tone was altogether different, too, and more than a little intimidating. Rose tried to remain calm, steadying her breathing, but she could not help shooting a surreptitious glance his way. She slipped a small knife out of the drawer of the table behind her, thinking the man to suddenly be something other than she had originally perceived him to be. She was completely unsure, but had to protect herself in case things got out of hand.
“Is this some kind of threat?” Rose asked, wondering if she had stolen something from him inadvertently and that now, perhaps, he meant to make her pay. She’d been the recipient of many betrayals from others in her past, who’d promised her one thing or another. But, if this were the case now, it would sting most of all.
He laughed in response to her question as if to dismiss the absurdity of the accusation. However, her paranoia was mounting and she did not see it as such.
“Yes,” he answered, half smiling again and moving toward her.
Rose, now terrified, dove at him clumsily with the tip of her knife extended. He slid to the side, caught her by the arm and forced her slash downwards and into the goose down that filled her bedding beneath the linens. He then twisted her wrist and placed his thumb in an uncomfortable area, forcing her to relinquish the dagger.
“And no,” he finally added.
He nodded with admiration, seemingly at the speed at which she had launched the attack. Then he steeled his face again, his mask an expressionless canvas that she could not read. She had no idea if he meant to kill her, rape her, leave her or something altogether different.
“Did you mean to kill me?” he asked incredulously.
Rose nodded slightly, then shrugged and winced in pain at the wrist-lock still held in place. He hadn’t even realized he still held her and so released her immediately, moving off the bed to stand away from her.
“By the gods, girl—calm down! I’m not going to send you to Archinon,” he mentioned strongly, throwing his arms up. He was referring, of course, to the home of the gladiatorial arenas in southwestern Wothlondia, where the law-breakers and other miscreants taken captive by the Watch were sent by caravan monthly to receive judgment for their crimes in one manner or another. King Tallaruk, Archinon’s fierce ruler, was a sadistic but fair king, Rose considered, thinking the man to be a bit like Ganthorpe from the tales she’d heard.
“What then?” Rose questioned him, flustered and gesturing wildly as she stood and then sat again in frustration at the whole scene.
“Keep your voice down,” he instructed in a commanding, hushed tone. He closed in on her again and stood facing her. Then he sat on the bed, beckoning her to shift and look at him. She did so, reluctantly and vigilant, holding his gaze steadily, a tentative contemplation overwhelming her.
“I have eyes everywhere in this city,” he began to explain. This confused and surprised Rose at the same time.
“Who are you?” Rose asked him, whispering now.
“I am Ganthorpe Randolph—the soon-to-be-Assistant Mayor of Oakhaven,” he announced clearly to her, boasting proudly as if the deed had already happened. Then he modified his tone and spoke words meant to gauge a reaction. “That could mean a much busier schedule and a public image that may add up to less frequent visits on my part,” he went on, watching intently the expression on the young woman’s face. Rose knew that she offered a slight hint of disappointment there, and he reacted as such. She knew him then to be extraordinarily skillful at reading even the slightest change in body language or mannerisms, as well as the most insubstantial of vocal fluctuations. Yet another surprise to this man and yet another of his many gifts, she understood.
“I am aware of these things,” Rose answered, pursing her lips a
nd then biting the lower one as she turned away from him briefly.
“Ah, but what you do not know—and what no one but a select few know—is that I run the Thieves’ Guild, an organization of pickpockets and rogues here in Oakhaven called the Shadowhands.”
“I know who they are…,” she whispered. Rose spun back towards him, letting the information sink in. And then sudden realization crept over her.
She recalled in the recent past having been approached by thugs and rogues on the street on numerous occasions, threatening her and worse, but she had never suffered any repercussions. She had simply ascribed their words as empty threats from wretched, cowardly men. Now she was beginning to picture a different scenario. One in which a certain lover forbid any actions to be taken against her.
“I want you to join us… join me,” he went on. She scowled at first and then placed a hand to her chin in a contemplative posture for a moment, followed by a long bout of silence. “I will tutor you personally in the ways of the underworld and you will have riches beyond compare,” he added as outward encouragement. That enticed her more than a little.
“I—but, what of Marielle?” Rose asked, sincerely concerned with how her Madam might react to the news.
“I will make it worth her while,” Ganthorpe replied, smiling that wide grin that seemed wolfish to her now, with just a hint of the boyish charm that was more familiar. “I know what it is like, Rose, to have nothing and to have to steal to survive.”
“I own enough coin now,” she lied, fending off his accusation, but Ganthorpe recognized the hint of falsehood beneath her words clearly. She knew he’d detected the slight variation in her voice, even though she’d tried to mask it from him.
“Besides, you can’t help yourself, can you?” He asked rhetorically, seemingly knowing her answer. He gazed upon her as if he knew exactly how she felt, as if he thought them to be truly kindred souls. He was slightly older than she, but the excitement of perpetrating the heist or the pick-pocket was without comparison, and they both knew the thrill and exhilaration it offered.
“I do have a strange desire to thieve,” she admitted with a sheepish grin.
“Well? What say you?” he asked her, crossing his arms over his chest. Rose simply moved forward, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.
“I will follow you anywhere,” she admitted, startling even herself with that admission.
“So, you don’t want to kill me anymore, I hope?” he asked, pushing her back to witness her reaction.
“Not at the moment,” she winked. He looked to her as if he could not tell if the threat was truly meant behind the smile that followed.
He was inwardly happy, she could tell by his expression, and he relaxed again.
“There is nothing quite like the thrill of employing your skills to relieve a wealthy merchant of his wares, eh?” he asked her again, raising an eyebrow. “Now, all I need is to teach you how to use that dagger of yours,” he added arrogantly.
“I can use one just fine,” she retorted, producing a hidden blade from somewhere beneath the loose fitting silk robe she wore and holding it to his neck. It was a very thin blade, like that used to skin a piece of fruit, and was small and very lightweight. She had removed the handle, leaving only the sharp steel behind. “You see, I am not without certain skills of my own.”
She pulled the knife away from his neck and tossed it on the desk.
“I see that I have underestimated you, Rose,” he smiled, obviously impressed. He spoke as though her actions further supported his decision to approach her on the subject. “It won’t happen again.”
“A girl’s gotta protect herself, right?” she said, removing her robe, this time genuinely disarming herself. “Would you like to check me further for concealed weapons?”
“Truly remarkable,” he laughed as he grabbed her by the neck and kissed her hard on the lips. “A Rose with thorns,” he observed, holding her at arm’s length.
“You have no idea,” she replied. As she shoved him forcefully onto the bed, some of the goose down billowed out from the tear of her failed assault.
They remained intertwined until the sun appeared from behind distant clouds in the eastern sky.
“How was your evening?” Marielle asked Ganthorpe as he made his way out the back door and into the alley. That hidden door was privy to only to a chosen few of her ‘special’ clients.
“Very… interesting,” he summarized, bowing low. He stood, then came back to the doorway and leaned in close. “We need to speak later, at length,” he added cryptically, then smiled and walked out onto the desolate street.
Marielle stared after him and wondered what that was about. Then suddenly he spun lightly on his heel and approached her once more.
“Meet me for breakfast at the Steel Dragon,” he invited. “It will be on me. Make yourself available before Sun’s Peak.”
The half-elven woman paused briefly in contemplation of the news. She looked around for prying eyes and then closed the door when she saw no one. She knew immediately that this must have something to do with Rose… or at least that the young woman would know something about it.
Marielle strode off down the hallway to the base of the stairs, climbed them and hurried to the room where she knew Rose slept. She knocked on the door.
“Are you in there?” she called.
The sun shone through a window in the hall in front of Rose’s door and it reflected back into Marielle’s eyes, causing her to squint. She rapped on the door once more, waited a moment and then entered. Rose was lying immobile on the bed, still enveloped within shadow.
Then, to Marielle’s shock and distress, she seemed to literally melt into the bed. Rose simply disappeared, wholly and completely, her eyes wide in apparent astonishment for the brief instant that Marielle’s eyes met her own. The Madam raced to where Rose had been only a second ago and felt around for her, not knowing what to think about what had just happened. Was she imagining the whole thing?
“By the gods! Rose!” she cried out, again and again, frantically searching for the girl, tearing the covers off the bed and eventually throwing the them to the ground. Then she flung the curtains of the room open and stared incredulously, mouth agape, heart beating furiously, as she drew in a deep breath.
“What is happening?!”
Rose felt like she was falling. That was the only way to explain it.
The last thing she could remember was hearing the turn of the handle and the creak of the door to her room as it began to open. She instinctively receded into the covers of her bed… then she felt a sudden and distinct chill. And she was blind?
Was this a dream, she wondered? But it didn’t feel like a dream. She opened her eyes and saw nothing but darkness all around her. She thought she heard something and glanced behind her. Then again, something sounded in the distance and to her right. She began to move forward and her eyes began to adjust to the gloom. She also saw…Marielle. The half-elven woman was below her and to the left, but moving so slowly that Rose could not comprehend what was happening or what she was doing.
“Am I dead?” Rose whispered to herself. She started to see figures in the shadows now—shifting and gliding along, advancing in all directions. Rose remained still, observing the barely moving figure of Marielle below her, clearly in her room at the brothel. She continued watching all the forms in motion around her. The shadow-things were all shapes and sizes. One seemed to notice her as if for the first time. It approached her and she felt the thing touch her—and then move through her!
Rose sensed a chill creep through her with the shadowy creature, which continued past her. She felt very cold and took a few steps, still seeing the barely-moving Marielle below and behind her. Rose began to run. There were no borders, no walls, no gates, and no structures at all, just nothing but empty blackness in this…realm…for lack of a better word.
She saw all kinds of happenings beneath her in what she reasoned must be her city, her room, the brothel. Bu
t where was she, then? She fought to subdue the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. A few more minutes passed as she continued moving forward. She recognized the layout of the Trade District below her, and a few of the merchants. She noted, puzzled as to how everyone down there was moving in the most sluggish manner imaginable. Rose was truly perplexed. She seemed to be moving faster than anything else that was happening around her…or more specifically, below her.
Then she saw something else. No, someone else. There was movement approximately a hundred paces ahead of her. The figure turned and faced her, clearly seeing her. All Rose saw was a pair of deep, violet eyes that penetrated the darkness. She turned and fled, as fast and as carefully as she could. But she could feel that the owner of those eyes was still behind her. She whirled round to see the form, its violet eyes still the only thing indicating its presence at all, closing in on her.
Her muscles propelled her forward at inconceivable speed as she viewed the landscape below, now seeing sectors of Oakhaven and, more specifically, the Commons. On she sprinted, eventually beholding a familiar structure now below her—the brothel! She raced toward it and finally saw the interior. There was Marielle, but she could barely make her out, as if she were partially erased from her reality. Then she too was gone. Rose kept going, sensing the thing, whatever it was, still behind her, closing in on her, and she knew it would overcome her in a few more heartbeats. She dove for the darkness below and felt something on her shoulder—a hand perhaps? She could not make out what it was, but it certainly did not feel like flesh.
The Beginnings Omnibus: Beginnings 1, 2, 3 & Legend of Ashenclaw novella (Realm of Ashenclaw Beginnings Saga) Page 2
