“An inn? What for? We should just grab some provisions and go on through.”
Dashing tsked. “You have to do your bookwork for Mr. Hershal, remember?”
Simon frowned. Of course he remembered, and he certainly didn’t need to be reminded by a scoundrel like Dick Dashing. “Yes,” he began. “And, the horses need more food and a good grooming!”
Miss Baxter laughed. “You just want to visit the alchemy shops.”
Dashing offered a sheepish grin.
“More ammo for that pistol of yours?” she asked.
Dick laughed. “I wouldn’t mind augmenting my blunderbuss. I’m sure old Kim wouldn’t mind. He knows I’m good for a loan.”
“Is it safe?” Fae brushed back her hair, her face curious and just a tad eager.
“I think so,” Miss Baxter replied, her expression bright. “A day shouldn’t hurt any. But I think I’ll forgo shopping, if that’s alright. Better to be safe than sorry.”
“Fine.” Simon huffed, crossing his arms. He was quite appalled that everyone seemed perfectly willing to put Miss Baxter at risk for a single day of spending. Of course he needed to do his work for Mr. Hershal, but he was perfectly willing to forego his task if it meant keeping the young lady safe.
“I’m not paying for everyone’s boarding this time,” he muttered, looking rather ornery.
Fae bumped him on the noggin as she rode up close to him. Mr. Darcy bobbed behind her. “Don’t go being a grump, Mr. Todd. I thought this was supposed to be an adventure! You gotta take risks and live a little.” She smiled.
From behind her, Mr. Darcy nodded. “Sound advice,” he said. “As the party scholar, I’d recommend you listen well.”
Simon gave him an odd look. Besides good company, Jane didn’t really offer up a lot of scholarly help.
The party marched on for a little while, meandering by several large shops and curio cabinets before finding the Milkbath. It was a large building, with a high roof that sloped steeply downward from its peak and hung over the entryway like a hill that had been bored into. Wooden barrels were lined up on the side of it, and several lanterns hung like ornaments above the doorway.
The sign was a pitcher made of white granite, and etched into the stone was the name of the establishment in cursive writing. Ivy wrapped around the sign post, sprouting from an already verdant garden marking its home round the foundation of the building. Moss crept along the cobbles.
“This looks too nice,” observed Mr. Todd. He was of the opinion that anything named the ‘Milkbath’ was obviously above their pay grade. “The sign’s in written script. It must be expensive! I’ve only got about ten crowns left. I’m sure the proprietors here will want at least one.” He wrinkled his nose. “I don’t think this is in our budget.”
“Let’s at least have a look, ol’ chap!” Mr. Dashing said, hopping from the horse. “After staying in that old steam factory, I think we could all use a bit of pampering.”
“Not if we want to get to where we’re going without having to scrounge for berries and eat wood worms,” Simon argued. The thought made his stomach turn.
Again, Mr. Dashing laughed. “Let’s have a peek inside. You may not know it by looking at me, but I’m quite the haggler.”
From where Simon was sitting, Dick looked like a stuffed pigeon. But, he thought, Mr. Dashing wasn’t the one sitting on a dead jackass.
Maybe he’d let him try his chances. A good feathered bed would be nice, especially if it promised a hot bath beforehand. Simon couldn’t remember a time he felt half so filthy.
“Fine.” Anything was, after all, better than the Thirsty Bush. Or so he thought.
The inside of the Milkbath was decorated with ferns and ornate, free flowing fountains bubbling with milk. It was warm inside, with candlelight dancing off the walls and lush carpets settled beneath cushioned chairs. It smelled like cinnamon and sandalwood, and carved into the walls were ornate depictions of grapevines and knife-leafed ferns.
A woman came to meet them when they entered. She was dressed in a creamy robe, dark hair pinned on either side of her head like buns. Slim, with a cord of rope tied about her waist, her bronze skin was illuminated in the candlelight, making her look rather handsome.
“Welcome to the Milkbath,” she said, her voice soft and pleasant. She had almond eyes the color of nutmeg and a copper band coiled about her arm, resembling a serpent.
“Why, hello, Miss!” Mr. Dashing smiled, stepping forward in front of them all to steer the conversation. “We fine fellows are looking for accommodations this evening. We only need a few rooms, but we’d prefer something private and comfortable.”
“With a nice bath,” Simon muttered.
“With a nice bath!” Dick echoed back, placing his hands on his hips. The state of the man’s duster was atrocious, Simon thought. He’d obviously not employed the use of the carnival’s laundry services.
The young girl smiled, regarding their party one by one before responding. “We have a few rooms you may be interested in, and they all have porcelain tubs and running water.”
“Do you have laundry services too?” Simon asked, regarding the poor state of Mr. Dashing’s current wardrobe. The girl nodded. “How much for the night?”
“For all of you? Two crowns for five rooms.”
Simon was momentarily distracted as Mr. Dashing and Jane Darcy spoke with the ladies and proprietor over the price of lodgings. The main room of the Milkbath, which they were currently occupying, was a large square room with a vaulted ceiling. A hall, leading off the left side of the building, was slightly less floodlit from the overhanging, pewter chandeliers. Simon had assumed it was from there the rooms were located, and so he hadn’t immediately paid much mind to the individual coming from that area until they were seated upon one of the cushioned sofas.
“Molly Stein?” he whispered to himself, unaware that he was gawking until Fae unceremoniously tapped him on the elbow.
“Hey! Pay for me way until I get to me dad’s loan shop.”
Simon nodded absently, scraping in his pocket until he had fetched a single crown to give to her.
“Thanks mate,” she said.
Simon hadn’t even heard how much the cost had been haggled down to when they had begun to follow the proprietor to their lodgings.
“Are you coming?” Miss Baxter inquired, as unaware as the others in regards to Miss Stein’s presence. Mr. Todd nodded, looking back towards the shepherdess as the three others followed after the woman to their rooms.
“You go head, Miss Baxter. I’ll be with you shortly. I want to make sure the horses are taken care of.”
The young lady smiled, pulling her crook against her face affectionately. “Thank you for minding old Salvador, Simon. I’m glad you aren’t afraid of him.”
Afraid wasn’t the word for it, but instead he said, “Well, we’re two sides of the same coin.” Which sounded awful and he regretted it less than a moment later. To his credit however, Miss Baxter laughed.
“I hope to see you for supper, Mr. Todd,” she said, turning to catch up with the others. He nodded back, wondering offhandedly if supper and breakfast were included in the price.
Molly Stein had one leg crossed over the other as Simon approached. She was leaning back against the chair, long, dark locks bound up in braids and twirled intricately about her head. Long tendrils of gray smoke wound in the air in front of her as she inhaled upon a thin pipe, eyes closed, lashes fluttering against pale cheeks.
“Molly?” Simon whispered, leaning to the side to catch her attention. The woman opened her eyes sluggishly, breathing out rings from red lips. When she noticed Mr. Todd, her eyes narrowed. Simon was sure he saw her teeth clench through the exhaling smoke.
“Simon?” She was as still as stone.
He was entirely much too confused. “What are you doing here?” he asked, looking to and fro before sidling up a chair next to her. “Where is Sally?”
The name of her sister seemed to break her st
oic expression for a moment, so in defence, she took another puff off her pipe.
“Still travelling with your band of ragamuffins, are you Simon?”
“If you’re referring to Mr. Dashing, then yes. But Miss Baxter and Mr. Darcy are still here as well.”
Molly snorted, turning aside, ruby earrings catching the light of the Milkbath. She was wearing a black corset atop a pinstriped tailcoat and a short, clam-colored lace skirt. Mr. Todd couldn’t help but notice how low her collar-line was, or how full her breasts looked within her top. So, instead, he looked at the thick choker that adorned the long column of her neck. It was leather with a clock man’s cog fastened to the front, alongside a silhouette brooch of what Simon thought to be her sister Sally.
“Miss Baxter,” Molly spat the name. “You’d be better off leaving her here and going back to Darlington.”
Simon knit his brows together, unsure as to where the animosity she held for the young shepherdess came from.
“It’s not that you don’t like her because of some silly dress is it?” he whispered, looking over his shoulder.
Molly regarded him scornfully. “You are a pathetic man, Simon Todd. A sorry, sorry excuse for a man.” She stood up. Simon noticed she had a rather old book attached to her hip. An iron lock adorned the front of it with a latch on the back that kept it firmly in place upon her belt.
“That’s only mostly true, I’m afraid.” Simon didn’t rise up with her. Instead he looked down at the floor, studying the abstract designs woven into it before he tipped his head up to regard her. “I’m also a bit of a coward.” He smiled.
The offhand comment seemed to derail her, and looking at him thoughtfully, she resumed her seat beside him. “Listen, Simon,” she said, her voice cold. “I don’t care about some bastard dress.” She blinked, her eyes glossy. “My sister Sally has been missing for a while now and I know who took her.” She raised her long pipe up to her mouth, dragging another cloud of smoke into her lungs. “I’m going to get her back.”
Simon pulled back. “Sally?” That sweet, young girl? “Who would do such a thing?” Molly’s lips turned into a thin line as she regarded him. Mr. Todd could recall Sally well: chestnut hair and emerald eyes. She was shorter than Molly, more plump with a smaller mouth and legs less shapely but long all the same. Beautiful, in her own right, though without the graceful elegance her sister could manipulate. Sally was much more like a kitten in comparison to the lioness that Molly inspired.
“I can’t say.” She cast her eyes downward, and the warm light threw shadows over her face as her eyelashes kissed her cheeks. Simon wished he could help her in some way. He held a fondness for both girls. Though they could never replace the adoration he had for Miss Baxter, both young ladies were the catalyst of all Simon’s romantic advancements. If anyone knew how sorry, or pathetic he was, it was certainly those two. They were the ones to whom he practiced all his heartfelt confessions. How many times had they reacted when he told them how much he loved them? How many times did they smile and pretend that they were the naïve Miss Baxter as they sipped at their cup of tea?
He could recall their first meeting. How red in the face he had been when he had sat in the room with Sally Stein and informed her of his request. She had been surprised, but not unpleasantly so. Simon never took advantage of any of the girls. To do so would be a disservice to his affection for Miss Baxter. So instead he pretended. He pretended he was the man he always wanted to be with the woman he always wanted to be with.
“I’m sorry.” Simon took her by the hand. “You know if you need anything however, you can always ask.” Molly picked her head up, studying his face. Simon Todd, always polite, she thought.
Slipping her hand from his, Molly stepped back. Her face was a puzzle, arranged almost perfectly but with a missing piece. Simon watched as something fell into place and her eyes lit up, lips framing perfect teeth as she smiled.
“I want you to help me, then,” she said, turning on her heel as she began to leave the parlour.
“With what?” Simon called, standing from his chair and wondering if he should go after her. He wondered if he had missed something, some nuance women always thought was plain as day.
“Wait!”
She stopped at the door, her tailcoat falling around her knees. She was wearing thick, leather boots, worn and flat, with vertically striped, frayed hose. She looked thinner than before, Simon thought, wiry from her travels. Even her hair was less luxurious and thick, and the loose stray locks that hung around her face were lank.
Molly Stein’s eyes were feral as she looked back at him from the door. It was a look Simon had never remembered seeing on her before. It was predatory, protective.
“Wait here and…” she grinned. “Just trust me, Simon Todd. Just trust me.” And with resolve burning like embers in her eyes, Molly left, leaving Mr. Todd utterly flabbergasted.
Chapter 16
A Dating Experi-Mint
Fae Hershal retied the white cravat around her neck, looking at her reflection in the looking glass beside her bed. Her room was large, seven by seven strides, with a polished wooden floor patterned in strips of alternating black walnut and birch wood, running vertically from top to bottom. She smiled as she kicked on her leather boots and began to lace them.
Sitting on the lush bed beneath the canopy, her whole body sank deeply into the feathered mattress. Her pack, a pathetic-looking thing when compared to the rest of the room’s décor, was slumped next to a light rose colored trunk with brass latchings. Fae leant towards it after the first boot was tied, fetching a small round bag from within.
“Can’t go without you,” she whispered, tossing it on the bed beside her. Four ivory dice inside the bag snicked against each other as Fae bent to finish dressing. Fae remembered the day her father caught her with them. She was younger, perhaps by five years, and her mother had already passed away. She had asked her father to buy her some one day while visiting Piper’s Toss. She liked the way they had shined in an old man’s hand. How he waved them around in wrinkled palms, fishing for people to bet with him on the street. Of course her father refused to buy them; mostly due to the important work waiting for him at the bank. So Fae had endeavored to make her own.
He had been furious when he finally noticed. It took two billiard balls from her father’s study to make them, and ivory was not an easy commodity to come by. She had only escaped with them intact due to the fact she hid them in her mother’s jewelry closet: a thing her father hardly ever opened, until he plum forgot about them weeks later.
Laughing at herself and at the memory of her father’s red faced anger, Fae stood up. The porcelain tub behind the privacy screen in the corner was still draining from the hot water bath she enjoyed before dressing. Fae liked the scent of oils in her hair and was appreciating the complimentary butter she had smoothed against her skin when there was a knock upon her door. She went to answer it.
“Mr. Darcy?”
He was standing on the threshold, his blonde hair combed back and smelling of the same oil she had smeared in her own tresses. He looked ready to go out, with a topcoat, boots and breeches. White lace was spilling from the cuffs of his royal blue coat and top hat.
“Don’t you look right stuffy!” Fae laughed, stepping aside to let the man in. “Are you headin’ out to town as well?” she asked, turning towards the bed to fetch her dice bag.
Jane, meanwhile, was perplexed. Did women often invite men into their boudoirs? Was it alright to come in? Perhaps he should have waited outside. Would that have been more polite?
Feeling much like a fly begging for a drop of sugar, he stepped inside and closed the door, wondering if perhaps that was too forward of him. “I…” He was stuffy? He certainly felt stuffed. The breeches were too tight and the shred of cloth wrapped around his neck was stifling, but wasn’t this the required attire when trying to woo someone?
Was he trying to woo someone? No, no. It was more an experiment. He was attempting to resolve
whether all the literature books he had devoured over the course of several years were in fact realistically portraying human courtship.
“I was hoping,” he began, wondering absently why she never wore dresses, “if perhaps I could join you.”
“You wanna come gamblin’?” She smiled. “Coz that’s where I’m going!”
Jane breathed in through his nose. The concept of gambling, though intriguing, was also quite foolhardy to him. Of course, the idea of acquiring more gold through such a simple means was enticing, but the risk of losing anything would be a catastrophe.
Gambling between dragons would just simply be war. When one dragon won, the other would fight over their loss. If one lost, they’d fight over the other’s win. Gold was best taken from weak humans by strong dragons.
“I don’t have a lot of gold.” Which was in fact a lie. Mr. Darcy had taken quite a bit of money with him before departing for this adventure, anything that had been left beyond the ward. But he had been as frugal as an old banker. Simon Todd and his wealth of coins had paid for the majority of the adventure already. Jane didn’t need to eat as much as the others since he often hunted at night when he was able, and all his clothing was picked out specifically for the shiny embellishments of lace and brocade, making it as much a part of his hoard as gold was.
“Well good! You can make some coin, then.” Fae walked back towards her door, leather boots thumping over the floor. “I already asked the girl at the desk if there was a dice house ‘round these parts. She said there was over by the zeppelin ports.” Opening the door, Fae smiled. “Let’s go then! We only got a day to be earning a few coin.”
Jane looked down at the small bag of dice she carried, nodding. He couldn’t remember any of the female characters in his books being as gun ho as Fae. Perhaps there was a genre he was missing?
“Alright,” he said, walking up next to her and holding out his arm. “Shall we?”
“We shall!” she replied, grabbing him by the arm with a yank.
Jane stumbled down the hall after her, hat nearly toppling from his head before they were out the door. Fae seemed to know the way by the sureness of her step, and Jane took pains to follow her lead before she released him. “Have you been here before?” he asked, looking about the thick, square buildings. There were barrels everywhere down the small alleys between homes. Jane knew most of them would be filled with pitch. Though many of the structures of Fallfield were lit by engines and steam-powered electricity, the lanterns would all be ignited with fire. Men with fire staves went about around suppertime, lighting them all, one by one. Mr. Darcy had witnessed it before when he was a resident of the Grimguild University. He couldn’t imagine how bothersome not having fire eternally at the tip of one’s tongue would be. Pitch was also rather sticky.
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