by Barb Hendee
“No, this place was filled to the brim every night. The dockworkers and bargemen have missed it fierce. So have I, to be honest.” He rapped his knuckles once on the door before opening it. “Caleb?” he called. “You home? New owners are here.”
Ellinwood didn’t wait for an answer and opened the door to step inside, waving Magiere and Leesil after him. Chap slipped in last before the door could shut. With pleasant surprise, Magiere found the inside much better cared for than the outside. The wood floor was swept and clean, if a little worn. To the right in the main area, respectable-looking tables were positioned to fit as many as possible, with room enough for the passage of serving staff handing out tankards and bottles. A huge stone fireplace, large enough to crouch in, dominated the end of the room beyond the tables, offering warmth and a welcome.
The bar on the left was long and made of stout oak turned dark and shiny from years of polishing and the oil of patrons’ hands as they leaned their way through the evenings. Behind its far end was a curtained doorway that probably led to the household kitchen or stockroom, and beside it was a stairway leading up to the second floor where the living quarters would be.
Overall, the inside was far better than Magiere had hoped. As little as she had paid for it, she’d wondered some nights what she could expect sight unseen. And for some reason she couldn’t explain, the hearth was more important to her than anything else. It was sound and looked strong.
“This is perfect,” Leesil said, as if he didn’t quite believe it. He moved past her, turning around in amazement, running his slim hand over a table as he walked through the room right up to the hearth Magiere was still eyeing. “I’ll set up the faro game by the front window nearest the fire. We might have to sacrifice a table or two to make room.”
She suddenly noted he had not directed one word or acknowledgment in Ellinwood’s direction.
Hearing footsteps, she turned toward the staircase. Descending slowly were an old, stooped man, an old woman, and a little blond girl about five or six years old.
“Oh, there you are, Caleb,” Ellinwood said, rubbing his hands, apparently deciding his business here was finished. “These are the new owners. I must get back to work.”
He bid Magiere a good day, ignored Leesil, and left.
Uncertain of exactly what was going on, Magiere turned back to the old couple and child. The old man was half a head taller than her, with straight ashen hair pulled back at his neck. His face was wrinkled but smooth of expression, his eyes dark brown and steady. He wore a plain muslin shirt that matched his wife’s tan skirt, both clean as the well-swept floor. The old woman was tiny as a sparrow, her hair pulled up in a neat bun.
“We’re the caretakers,” Caleb said upon seeing Magiere’s bewilderment. “This is my wife, Beth-rae, and my granddaughter, Rose.”
Chap trotted over to the old lady, who pulled the little girl out of the way. The dog’s ears popped up straight as he looked at tiny Rose, his nose reaching out little by little, sniffing, until the child held out a tentative hand.
As a rule, Chap didn’t like being petted by anyone but Leesil, and Magiere tensed, ready to reach out and jerk the dog back by the scruff if he growled. But Chap licked at the small fingers and the child giggled as his tail began to switch. Magiere experienced a wave of instant good will toward these three that washed away the bad taste Ellinwood had left.
“Oh, look, Caleb.” Beth-rae brushed back a loose strand of gray hair. “They have a dog. Isn’t he beautiful?” She leaned down and scratched Chap gently behind the ear. Chap whined with pleasure and pushed his great head into her side.
“He’s a dear thing, but fierce, too. I can tell,” Beth-rae said. “It will be good to have him standing guard.”
Little Rose thumped both her hands across Chap’s back and laughed.
“His name’s Chap,” Leesil said, also puzzled by the dog’s unusual friendliness with strangers.
“Come to the kitchen, Chap,” Beth-rae said. “We’ll find you some cold mutton. But don’t get too accustomed. It’s fish for us most days.”
As Beth-rae and Rose and Chap left the room, Magiere again looked at Caleb as if to question his presence.
“We’re the caretakers,” he repeated, meeting her gaze. “When Master Dunction disappeared, the constable commissioned the bank in Bela to keep us on until the place could be sold.”
While wondering about Caleb’s use of the term “disappeared,” Magiere turned her attention to a new dilemma.
“Do all three of you live here?”
Leesil came over to join her. “Of course, they live here. Who do you think has been keeping the place up?”
Magiere crossed her arms, shifting from one foot to the other. Taking on a tavern was one thing; supporting a family of three she’d just met was another. Leesil must have read the expression on her face, for he cut in before she could speak.
“We’re going to need help anyway,” he said. “If you’re running the bar and I’m running the games, who’s going to serve and cook and keep the place up?”
He had a point. Magiere hadn’t given much thought to food, but most patrons coming in for ale would probably want to eat as well.
“What did Dunction serve?” she asked Caleb.
“Simple fare. When the place was still open, Beth-rae baked bread all morning, then cooked different types of stew or fish chowder. She’s good with herbs and spices.” He paused. “Come upstairs, and I’ll show you the living quarters.”
Although his tone remained casual, Magiere sensed a cautious tension in the old caretaker, as if there was more going on here than he indicated.
“How long have you been here?” she asked, following him up the staircase.
“Nine years,” he answered. “Rose has been with us since my daughter . . . left us.”
“Left you?” Leesil asked. Then he muttered under his breath, “Seems like people keep leaving this place.”
Caleb didn’t respond. Magiere held her tongue as well. The old man’s affairs were none of her business.
The upper floor was as well tended as the lower. The top of the stairs emptied into the center of a short, narrow hallway. First Caleb showed her a large bedroom at the left end of the hall, somewhere above the common room downstairs, and proclaimed it to be hers. There was another room for Leesil at the midpoint of the hall, just across from the stairs, and a third small room at the right end of the hall. The last had likely been used for storage or other purposes. There was a sagging bed tucked into the corner, two pillows at its head, and a little mat on the floor.
“This is where we stay, Miss,” Caleb said. “We don’t take up much space.”
For the second time that day, Magiere sighed in resignation. Leesil was right; they couldn’t manage everything by themselves. Besides, she had no idea how to make spiced fish chowder and no time for tasks like cleaning the hearth if she was to learn how to run this place.
“What arrangement did you have with the bank?” she asked.
“Arrangement?” Caleb’s brows gathered.
“What does the bank pay you?”
“Pay us? We’ve just been living here, tending the place, and were careful not to use up all the stores before the new owner arrived.”
Magiere didn’t know whom she despised more at that moment, the very poor or the very rich. The bank was able to arrange free caretakers, taking advantage of two people suddenly left without an employer.
“All right,” she said to Caleb. “You two work for me, and I’ll pay you a twentieth share of the house’s profits, plus room and board.” She pushed past Leesil down the hall and away from the small room. She stopped at the top of the stairs and looked back at them. “And I don’t need that big bedroom. We’ll switch places later this afternoon.”
Leesil stared at her, then looked at Caleb and shrugged. A flicker, just a hint, of astonishment passed across Caleb’s face, but he nodded as if such an offer was commonplace.
“That will be just fi
ne,” he said calmly. He moved down the hall past her and went quietly back downstairs, no doubt to inform his spouse of the changes to come.
Magiere stepped into the doorway of what would be Leesil’s room and leaned against the jamb. Leesil strolled over to stand in the doorway next to her, pretending to examine the near-empty space. There was nothing to look at except the bed and an open-shuttered window in the far wall that looked out toward the ocean, its view only slightly obscured by the branches of a nearby fir tree. Magiere willed him to be silent.
“How uncharacteristic,” he finally said.
“If you disagreed, you should have spoken up.”
“I don’t disagree.”
Neither spoke for a short while. Between the two of them, they’d likely starved out entire villages for the price of her services. Magiere finally said, “I want a new life.”
Leesil looked at her out of the corner of his eye, loose hair exposing his ears. He nodded and smiled.
“I suppose it’s a start.”
By sundown that night, Magiere’s personal appearance and her world had altered considerably. Beth-rae arranged for a long, hot bath in the kitchen so she could scrub every bit of mud from her hair and skin. While she bathed, her clothing miraculously disappeared and was replaced by a muslin dressing gown. Still planning too many activities that night to remain in what she considered nearly night-clothes, Magiere went back upstairs into her small room. What was once a mere closet for three would do well enough for one.
Furnishings had been moved from one room to another, and all the comforts of a home surrounded her. Where there was once a bed barely large enough for two now stood a bed for one with a plain-posted canopy of faded curtains dyed a deep sea green. It seemed the previous owner had either been single or slept alone. Someone had entered while she bathed and placed a thick down comforter on the bed. And on top of that lay her pack and knife and the sheathed falchion.
Heat from the kitchen fire traveled up the stone chimney in the corner and helped warm the room, though her bare feet still felt a little chill on the wood floor. A wardrobe of dark wood stood against the wall across from the bed. Replacing Rose’s mat was now a small table with one chair and two stout, white candles that flickered throughout the dark room. She opened her pack to empty its contents on the bed.
From the bottom of the pack, she pulled a canvas-wrapped bundle. Tied with twine, the rough material had sharply creased after years of storage in its place. It had been so long since she’d opened it that Magiere was forced to cut the twine with her knife, as the knot would not uncinch. Inside was a dark blue brocade dress with black laces on the bodice. Aunt Bieja had given it to her years ago.
Magiere put it on quickly, fumbling a bit with the laces before tying them securely. She absently fingered the metal chain of her bone-and-tin amulet, then dropped it to let it rest between her breasts near the topaz stone. Meaningless trinkets that merely added to her persona as the hunter, she had no idea why she kept them on now, but it seemed too odd to take them off after so many years.
There was no mirror in which to view herself, but when she looked down at the drape of the skirt, it felt odd and alien not to see her own breeched legs or booted feet. She felt a sudden urge to pull the dress off, but with her everyday clothes missing and having limited other clothing in her pack, there was little else to wear at the moment. She turned instead to putting away her things.
Her worn blanket and teapot and few spare undergarments made the wardrobe look barer than before she’d placed anything in it. The small size of the room was actually a relief, since she had so few personal belongings with which to fill it.
“By all the dead deities,” came Leesil’s voice from behind her. She quickly spun about. “What did you do to yourself?”
Bathed as well, he stood with a hand on the open door latch, wearing a dressing gown similar to the one she’d just taken off. His wet, shoulder-length hair, pulled back over his ears, looked like beach sand in the low light, but he still looked himself. He stared at her as if she were some stranger who’d sneaked in unannounced.
Magiere felt acutely aware of her own appearance, the tightly laced gown and how her black hair hung loose to her shoulder blades. She suddenly wished she’d left on the oversize dressing gown.
“Beth-rae took my clothes to wash,” Magiere snarled at him. “And you might take care. She’ll probably burn yours, by the state they were in.”
“Where did you buy that?” he asked, stepping into the room.
She noticed that when they were both in their bare feet, he was perhaps a little taller than her.
“Don’t you knock, or has sleeping on the ground rubbed out all your manners?” she replied. “And I didn’t buy it. My aunt gave it to me a long time ago.”
That comment halted his line of questioning immediately. Talking about their pasts was something they both made a point of avoiding.
“Where’s Chap?” she asked.
“In the kitchen.” Leesil rolled his eyes. “He’s fallen in love with Beth-rae. Every time I see them, she’s feeding him something. That’s got to stop. What good is a fat guard dog?”
He still eyed Magiere up and down, and it was starting to irritate her even more.
“We’ll search the place tomorrow, take a look at the cellar or whatever passes for storage, and get an inventory. If there are enough ale casks down there, we might be able to open for business tomorrow evening. If you need anything else for the games, let me know.” She picked up the falchion and turned to place it inside the corner of the wardrobe while Leesil plopped down in the chair, watching her. “In the afternoon, we’ll go back to the market, and maybe the docks to see what’s in the warehouses that we might want or need. There’s not much money to spend, but it’ll get us by until business builds up.”
A shift of shadows outside the doorway caught Magiere’s attention from the corner of her eye, and instinctively she knew it wasn’t Caleb or Beth-rae. Leesil turned as well, staring at the door he’d left open, and a stiletto appeared in his hand.
Magiere didn’t stop to ponder where he’d hidden that in his dressing gown. She slipped the sheath of her falchion, letting it drop to the floor.
There was no light near the door, and even the candles didn’t show who was there. A deep voice came into the room, gentle, even soothing.
“Don’t be alarmed.”
Darkness seemed to follow the figure as he stepped forward into the doorway, then the shadows drained away, or perhaps he’d just shifted forward into the reach of the candles’ light.
“How did you get up here?” she demanded, wondering why Chap hadn’t alerted them to an intruder.
The man was about forty years old, of medium height and build. His peppered-brown hair lay carefully combed back. Perfect white patches at both temples framed even features that were striking rather than handsome. There was a slight widening bump at the bridge of his nose. His clothes were hidden beneath a floor-length, mahogany cloak. Only the rounded points of well-made boots were visible. He did not appear to be armed, but there was no way to tell what might be hidden beneath that cloak. His hands were clasped in front of his chest, and she noticed the top half of the little finger on his left hand was missing.
“Answer up!” Leesil snapped. He was now on his feet and had somehow produced a second blade in his other hand.
The man stared for a moment at Magiere’s falchion, as if studying it, then he looked her over with as much concentration. His eyes stopped to rest on her amulets. She wanted him to stop looking at her and quickly tucked the amulets inside the dress, out of sight. While shoving them beneath her bodice, she noticed the topaz stone seemed brighter than normal, but she turned her attention back to the stranger. He gave no notice at all to Leesil.
“My name is Welstiel Massing. But you’re the one, aren’t you? The one who kills vampires?”
Magiere couldn’t think of a response. The man spoke so blatantly, without any pretense, as if it was a
common thing to ask a stranger.
“We don’t know what you’re babbling about,” Leesil answered. “But we aren’t open to customers yet. I suggest you come back tomorrow.”
Again this Welstiel Massing acted as if no one had spoken, his attention centered on Magiere.
“You are not what I expected, but you’re the one.”
“I don’t do that anymore,” Magiere answered.
Something about this stranger frightened her—as much as anything ever frightened her. She wanted nothing to do with any aspect of her own past, and his presence disturbed the recently gained balance of her new life.
“I doubt you can avoid it here,” Welstiel said. “I just came to warn you.”
“Get out,” she said coldly, losing her patience, “or I’ll throw you out.”
Welstiel backed up, not in fear, but as if he were a creature with impeccable manners. “Forgive me. I simply thought to warn you.”
“Well, now you have,” Leesil spoke up, “and I’ll show you the front door.” He moved forward.
For a moment it appeared this night visitor was not going to move. Then his eyes rolled casually toward Leesil. He turned and headed down the hallway as if leaving was his own idea.
Both Leesil and Magiere were caught in their own surprise for a moment, and then Leesil bolted out the door to “escort” Welstiel Massing down the stairs. Magiere followed in time to see her partner standing at the top of the stairs, wide-eyed. She heard the tavern’s door downstairs close. Leesil looked back at Magiere with an expression on his face as if he’d come in on the tail end of a bizarre conversation that he couldn’t quite figure out.
“He’s rather quick for an older man,” Leesil said quietly, then added, “I’ll be back.” And he scrambled down the stairs out of sight.
Magiere returned to her room and sank down onto her bed. Whatever this visitor had come for, she would not be dragged back into the old game—not for money, not for anything.
Leesil appeared again in the doorway. “Chap, Caleb, and Beth-rae are all asleep in the kitchen. I told you she was feeding him too much.”
