Second Hand Curses

by Drew Hayes

  Second Hand Curses

  By Drew Hayes

  Copyright © 2018 by Andrew Hayes

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author.

  There are legends you will not find in any book of fairy tales. Such stories were not meant to be passed on to children, nor were they of the sort any proper scribe would write down. These tales were whispered between close friends over many drinks, the kind of rumor that most disregarded immediately out of general propriety.

  In the tales of fairy, the lines are crisp and clean. Good on one side, evil on the other, and all that lies betwixt the two is conflict. At least, that is how it is supposed to be. Some stories spoke of those who straddled that line. Who lived for it. Who loved it. They who were neither knight nor dragon, damsel nor witch, villain nor hero.

  These are the tales of the Bastard Champions.

  The Tale of the Lost Slipper

  “And what happened after you lost the shoe?” Jack asked. He was wearing his client face, radiating confidence and just a touch of swarthy danger as he listened to the straw-haired young woman’s tale. One could say many things about Jack, though few that Marie or Frank hadn’t already uttered, but the fact remained that he had the touch when dealing with people. At least, when dealing with the sorts of people who put themselves in the kinds of situations that necessitated meeting Jack.

  The girl swallowed hard and glanced out the small window of her cottage. Sunlight shone on the garden outside, and the sounds of birds could be heard even through the walls. No doubt she was yearning to be out there, in the sun, away from such sordid discussions. Such desires were understandable, but ultimately futile. The sun would set, and when the moon rose her troubles would return. Better to sacrifice time in the sun now and face the darkness with some preparation.

  “I ran home. The carriage was a pumpkin again, so I couldn’t very well take that. By the time I got back it was nearly sunrise. I thought it had been a wonderful night. Then, the next evening…she returned.”

  “Let me take a guess,” Jack said. “Told you that it was time to pay your debt. Said you’d be going with her, maybe she even dressed it up a bit by making the place sound nice. Of course, that’s all nonsense. You’re going to be a slave, at best.”

  The woman nodded, her eyes beginning to fill with tears. “After…after I told her I wanted to stay she got angry. I think she would have forced me to come, but for some reason she couldn’t.”

  “Your deal was incomplete.” Frank’s tone was deep and somber, slipping out from the robe and hood that hid the majority of his features. At the sound of his voice, their young client jumped the smallest bit. “A Feystian bargain is a complicated piece of magic. Until your wish has been fully granted—in this case I’d assume winning the prince’s heart—she cannot take possession of you.”

  “Too bad there are royal emissaries all over town looking for the mystery woman he danced with,” Marie muttered. Unlike Frank, Marie wore no robe, only simple, functional clothes that bore a minor shape-changing enchantment. Not that the spell was discernible with the naked eye. Much like Marie’s own gifts, it remained unseen until it was needed. “You must have left one hell of an impression.”

  “It was a magical night,” the girl replied. “We were true loves; I knew it the minute our eyes met.”

  Jack didn’t say it, but he suspected that this girl’s adoration for the prince, and his for her, had also been supplemented by fairy magic. True love certainly existed, it just didn’t seem likely that she’d cast this kind of bargain and end up meeting hers. But even if the love were the genuine article, it didn’t help them. True love could do a lot, but contracts were contracts no matter how one looked at them.

  “After she showed up, that’s when you started doing a little research and asking around,” Jack said, moving the conversation back on target.

  “Yes, but no one would help me. Everyone I spoke to told me I had made my bargain and they couldn’t lend aid.” Her hands shook intermittently as she talked. “But the fairy kept returning, and now I think she might be helping the prince find me. I was frantic to find a solution, so when someone told me about you…”

  “It’s fine, we’re not the folks people come to unless they’re frantic in the first place.” Jack leaned back in the chair, keeping his body language as relaxed as possible. “Technically speaking, you’re in the wrong here. You made a deal, and the fairy has upheld her end of the bargain. What you’re trying to do is welsh, which puts you on the side of the wicked. That means while you may not have the Narrative set against you, it certainly isn’t on your side. No noble knight is going to lift a blade for that situation. Lucky for you, Cinderella, we don’t give two dragon scales about whether you’re on the side of good or evil. All we care about is the color of your gold. And after hearing the entirety of your situation, I think we can come to an arrangement.”

  “I…I don’t have much. My stepmother and her daughters control most of our wealth, and even that is paltry compared to what it was when my father ran the farm.”

  “No, you probably can’t afford us.” Before she could panic, Jack flashed a comforting smile and continued. “But the prince could, easily. I imagine his newest sweetie will have access to plenty of gold. More than enough to cover our paltry fees.”

  “I thought the fact that I wasn’t with the prince was all that was keeping me safe right now.” Cinderella’s eyes had stopped flowing with tears; now they were wide in confusion.

  “That’s what we call a temporary solution,” Jack explained. “Sooner or later, he’ll find you, and when he does we both know that sweet love will take over. As soon as his heart truly belongs to you—poof. No more clause in the contract.”

  “So what can you do? Do you have a way to break the contract?” Cinderella leaned forward, unaware of the view she gave down the top of her dress. Jack noted her breasts with clinical appreciation, but kept his demeanor professional. Greed trumped lust in his hierarchy of sins, and besides, she was as innocent as a doe in fresh snow. Jack preferred women with a bit more wit and spice.

  “No one can break a fairy contract,” Marie said. “At least, no one we’ve run across yet.”

  “Too true, I’m afraid there is no getting out of the contract,” Jack agreed. “There are, however, longer short-term solutions that we can employ.”

  “Like what?” Cinderella asked.

  “Like don’t worry too much about the specifics. We’ll handle the details. All you need to do is give us a few days to lay the groundwork and, of course, reimburse us for materials after the job is done. Meaning no meeting the prince until three days from now, at the soonest, understand?”

  “I can do that,” Cinderella promised. “My stepsisters have been petitioning him to come and let them try on the shoes, but I can hide in the root cellar if it comes to that.”

  “Please do. Until then, we’ll head to our temporary headquarters to get preparations under way.”

  * * *

  The “temporary headquarters” was a cheap tavern not far from the castle. There was ample food and ale, along with recently vacated rooms now that the ball was over, which made it as nice a place as they could hope for. Often their travels left them without even a roof overhead, which meant having warm food and cold drinks was the epitome of luxury, at least so far as Jack was concerned.

  “There’s a rat fighting a cat in the corner.” Marie’s voice was uninterested as she watched the battle casually, no sign of the disgust one might have expected at such a display so close to her food. When she’d
first joined them, Marie had been a bit more prone to blanching, but after more than two years with Jack and Frank, very little surprised or sickened her anymore.

  Jack looked over and grinned. “Two copper on the rat.”

  “The cat outweighs him by several pounds, and is evolutionarily designed to be better at this manner of combat.” Frank, as usual, saw things analytically by nature.

  “No question, but the rat looks like he’s got guts.”

  “Very well then, I accept the wager,” Frank said.

  That done, they turned back to the large parchment that Frank was scribbling on. In his meticulous handwriting were a list of supplies, some basic designs, and an estimation of cost for the assembled components.

  “This would be so much easier if we could kill fairies.” It was a comment Marie tossed out any time they worked a fairy job. Or if someone mentioned fairies. Or, sometimes, apropos of nothing. Marie really didn’t like fairies, with fair reason, and their near immortality was an ever-present bother to her.

  “Bloody things are made of magic. It takes a weapon of mythical power to actually slay them,” Jack reminded her. “Which we can neither afford, nor find.”

  “I know. Just saying.”

  “If fairies were so easy to kill, then they wouldn’t require special tactics to deal with, and that would mean our services would be in less demand,” Frank pointed out.

  Jack drummed his fingers and took a long draw from his stein of ale. “Never looked at it that way before. Suppose in a way we’re lucky they’re such tough little pests.”

  Marie narrowed her eyes and glared at Jack. “Oh yeah, I feel like the damn luck dragon of Dagil.”

  “Just pointing out that some of our most lucrative jobs come from dealing with the unfair folk. On that note, how tough will it be to get the cage built?”

  “Based on the level of industry in this town, I anticipate that it can be accomplished in three days,” Frank told him. “That assumes, of course, that we’re willing to pay for a rush job and that I pitch in with the assembly.”

  “Hmmm.” Marie and Frank could both see the wheels turning in Jack’s head. It was a time-sensitive job, and Cinderella would only be able to hold out for so long. At the same time, Jack loathed spending more than he had to. Of course, since he was passing on expenses to her anyway, it didn’t really make a difference. In fact, it represented one more place he could pad the bill and sneak a little extra in.

  “Rush job sounds about right. Make it so.” Jack reached the decision that Marie and Frank had both seen coming from a kingdom away. “While you handle that, I’ll take care of the botany aspect. At least the gal already has a garden; that will make concealing the circle easier.”

  “And what should I be doing during all of this?” Marie asked.

  “You handle resupply. After that last gig, we’re low on too many of our tools. We need iron, silver, herbs, rations, and every half-decent potion you can get your hands on. That’ll take a lot of negotiating and haggling, and you’re our business expert.”

  “I would also like the materials to construct more of my powder,” Frank added. “I’m nearly out after we had to destroy that tunnel.”

  “Make a list.” Marie’s eyes glowed yellow for the barest of moments, the pupils half-forming to slits before she re-asserted control. While Marie was annoyed by supply runs, the truth remained that only she among them had both a formal education on the value of various wares and could sling diplomacy and terror in even measures. “I’ll get started shopping in the morning.”

  “Excellent. We all have our duties, now let’s save Cinderella. By the by, Frank, you owe me two copper.”

  Sure enough, in the corner the cat had scampered away with blood on its flank while the rat stood there, triumphantly daring anyone to try to shoo it from its perch of victory.

  “That is not the way logic dictates the fight should have ended.” Frank pulled two copper pieces from the coin purse tucked discreetly inside his tunic. His hand stretched briefly into the light, revealing pale skin and a patchwork of stitches that ran across it.

  “Guts matter.” Jack held out his own palm and gleefully accepted his winnings with a beaming smile. From copper to gold, Jack had never met the coin he didn’t like.

  * * *

  Planting elderlillies was a far from fast-paced or glamorous job, yet Jack still treated the process with as much care as he would a sword fight to the death. The devil was in the details, and Jack preferred to keep his devils restrained, especially when he planned on threatening them. He measured the distance between each flower precisely, being certain that the roots were connecting beneath the recently turned topsoil. The first time he’d made one of these, Jack had gone so far as to make the petals touch, but over the years he’d learned a root link was more than enough to fulfill the magic’s requirements.

  “What are you doing?” The voice was guarded, as though its owner expected Jack to pull his blade and draw blood at the slightest provocation. He looked up from his work to find a dark-haired woman staring down at him. From the side of the cottage he saw another of similar appearance, though that one seemed to prefer keeping her distance. The young woman before him was comely, and while she lacked the radiant glow of Cinderella, she still possessed enough charms to draw a common man if the need were upon her.

  “That depends on how much your sister told you,” Jack replied. Cinderella had warned Jack that there was little love lost between her and her family, and it wasn’t hard to see why. Their client was extraordinary, and compared to Cinderella, her siblings were mundane. The ordinary often loathed the exceptional, tried to grind it in the dirt until it became like them.

  “She said there was some kind of monster that’s been coming to the garden, and you lot are helping her with it.”

  Jack was surprised; Cinderella had spun a tale that was true while still concealing her own scandal. Perhaps there was more cunning in the straw-haired lass’s mind than he’d given her credit for. That would be something to watch for, when the time of payment drew near.

  “Then you’ve got the gist of it,” Jack said. “My companions and I are specialists of a sort. We handle monsters.”

  “You don’t look like a knight or a prince,” the woman replied, eyeing him up and down. His dark hair was damp with sweat under the midday sun, and his hands were stained with dirt from digging in the garden. More than that though, Jack simply lacked the aura of regality one associated with such bold men. He took no slight at her words; after all, she was quite right.

  “That would be because I am neither.” Jack stood from the ground and gave his back a long stretch. Common though he was, Jack still knew how to turn a smile and add a twinkle to his eye. He was good-looking, though not great, but with the additions of confidence and charm he could often make a receptive woman forgive his less handsome features. “I am simply a man who has gained bits of practical knowledge here and there, and uses them to make a living in this strange, cruel world.”

  “By planting flowers?”

  “You’d be surprised at what a circle of elderlillies can hold, under the right conditions.” Jack’s ever-present smile widened as he moved closer to the young lady and took a slight bow. “I’m Jack, by the way.”

  She curtsied. “Truffetta. Mayphera is the one hiding behind the corner. She thought you looked dangerous.”

  “And you disagreed?” Jack asked.

  “No, I thought she was spot on,” Truffetta said. “But I don’t always dislike danger. Sometimes it can be downright fun.”

  Jack nodded, his smile shifting into a knowing smirk. “That it can.”

  * * *

  Marie and Frank were settling in for dinner at the tavern when Jack burst through the door. He scrambled to their table and grabbed Frank’s ale, draining the whole thing in seconds. Only when that was done, and Frank was glaring at him unhappily, did Jack begin to speak.

  “We’ve got a problem.”

  “No, I assumed you w
ere rushing in here and stealing Frank’s drink because everything was going so swimmingly,” Marie said. “How big a problem?”

  “About as big as it can get.” Jack was badly winded, which was saying something since he spent more time outrunning danger than most men spent under the sun. If Jack was short of breath, he must have raced from the cottage to the inn in one long sprint. “Cinderella met the prince this afternoon.”

  “Oh, for the love of… It’s still a day early. How much clearer could we have been with the girl?” Marie’s eyes glowed again as she tossed up her hands in frustration, nearly knocking over her own tankard in the process.

  “To be fair, it wasn’t entirely her fault,” Jack replied, settling in at the table’s open seat. “Her stepsisters had been petitioning for some while to be seen, and when the prince showed up Cinderella followed our instructions by beating a hurried path into the root cellar. Unfortunately, the prince somehow knew there were three girls living there, and forced her stepmother to bring Cinderella up. As soon as they saw each other…well, you both know how these things go.”

  Frank leaned in, his scarred face still furrowed at the sight of his stolen drink. “And how, exactly, did you witness all this? I highly doubt the prince allowed an outsider, let alone one as dirt-covered as you, to sit in on the ceremony of trying the shoe.”

  Jack cleared his throat and adjusted his collar ever so slightly, inadvertently bringing a purple mark near his collarbone into view. “I snuck in and listened, of course. Keeping a close tab on the client is a very important part of the job.”

  “Based on the mark near your neck and the flush in your skin, I would wager you were already inside the cottage when the prince arrived. Perhaps you heard the entire conversation while crouched in a closet hoping desperately not to be discovered,” Frank surmised.

  Jack opened and closed his mouth several times; however, no worthwhile lies sprang to mind, so his tongue lay silent as his lips flapped. Jack’s tongue was a willful thing with a reputation to maintain; it couldn’t be bothered offering up half-baked fibs that none would believe.