By Moonlight Wrought (Bt Moonlight Wrought)

by Crandall, John

  There was also an additional floor above the third filled with unused odds and ends, actually one-half of a level, reachable only by a ladder; the other half of the level being a porch accessed through a balcony door. This is where Dirk decided he should set up his belongings. He cleared out all the clutter and moved any furnishings he wanted up from the store itself, marking the cost of each thing off of his allotted tab.

  He also went shopping for his personal items. First he picked a fine array of clothing, including a pair of expensive new boots he had wanted for some time. Then he purchased a small keg of tasty, yet inexpensive, wine. Dirk chose a suit of leather armor covered in metal studs and a tall pair of matching gauntlets (still unable to afford steel armor) and he bought a helmet and a wooden shield banded in iron. But Dirk’s pride and joy was his sword, the same he had been admiring for over two years but had never really thought he would own. It was still in the store, being such an expensive and large piece of work that few could afford it or were skilled in its use, and it cost him fully two-thirds of his allotment, but he absolutely had to have it: of excellent workmanship nearly five feet long with an extra long grip for two handed use, double edged, keenly sharp, and in the right light it seemed to glow with an orange hue.

  Dirk, like Melissa, was soon comfortable in his new home. He found himself in the store at least twenty hours each day, on the average, but never tired of it. He sometimes felt as if someone had opened a store in his home and he tried to be around as much as possible to keep an eye on his things, which in a sense they were, since Dirk had now become responsible for it all.

  Cinder knew that Dirk had moved so after work one day she went to see him. She walked as quickly as her heels on the cobblestones allowed, swinging her hips in synchrony with the twirl of her purse. She smiled, as always, at the group of men across the street that whistled and accosted her, flicking her fingers “hello” and batting her lashes as she bound up the step and inside. She walked past the desk, the girl was elsewhere, and went to a remote corner of the first floor where she knew the office to be. In an aisle, before reaching the office, she was confronted by a man.

  “Can I help you?” the man asked, smiling.

  Cinder answered sweetly, “I’m looking for Dirk.”

  “Oh! Well, my name is Jenderson. I run the affairs here, you might say. Let me see if I can find him.” Jenderson backed away, climbed to the third floor and called up the ladder. The trap door at the summit of the ladder was opened and Dirk’s face appeared.

  “There is a young lady here to see you,” Jenderson said.

  “I’ll be right down,” Dirk called, closing the door again and putting on his shirt. Dirk had been exercising. He did it often; it was the only way to keep his strength since he no longer had the opportunity to deliver as many heavy goods as his old back-breaking job had required. And he never knew if or when he would be sent back to that same task, permanently or temporarily to help with extra-large deliveries.

  Dirk was mildly surprised in Jenderson’s politeness. The day that Dirk had started his new job, he had had an argument with Mr. Jenderson and things had remained tense between them. Dirk’s confidence and enthusiasm, along with his new friendship with Mr. Bessemer, clashed with Jenderson’s authoritarian attitude. Jenderson was the store manager and with Mr. Bessemer usually busy or gone, he ran the store, as well as the massive task of handling the accounting books and ledgers. Over the past several years, Jenderson had made all important decisions; buying merchandise from new sources, or discontinuing a contract with a current supplier, for instance. Dirk and Jenderson’s relationship was strained since Jenderson was responsible for the store in total, but he could not, by Bessemer’s orders, command Dirk any longer. Dirk had free reign to do anything he felt necessary to keep the store’s security intact. In fact, since Dirk walked the store, sword strapped to his back, shoplifting thefts were down and there had not been a single robbery or burglary: but it had only been a week.

  Dirk donned his leather jerkin and gauntlets, and strapped his sword on before sliding down the ladder. He made his way down the stairs and found Cinder sorting through a rack of simple undergarments and he smiled, knowing that she would never put anything so plain on her spectacular body, so he made no offer to buy her anything.

  Cinder was eye pleasing as usual, to say the least, dressed in black this time: her dress, hose, and shoes. Only the delicate white of her face and arms showed any contrast. Wearing dark face paints and red of the deepest cherries on her lips and long nails, as well as the ribbons in her hair, Cinder was indeed eye-catching. Her gaze narrowed in a seductive stare as Dirk walked up, and she held her arms out for him. She seemed a completely different woman: darker, sexier, and she possessed not one quality of immaturity that day. Dirk obliged her with a hug and Cinder dug her fingernails into his back, though he could not feel it through the stiff leather of his armor.

  “Would you like dinner?” she asked, taking one of his large hands with both of hers, then smiling impishly, making Dirk blush by the way she twisted and turned nervously; the way her eyes were locked onto his.

  “Sure, why not,” he said, mildly displeased. “I don’t have much money, though.”

  “Oh, that’s okay, I’ll buy,” she said. “I’ll think of how you can repay me later,” she joked, looking back enticingly over her shoulder with a very large smile as she dragged him after her, her nose wrinkling impishly. They laughed together as she dropped his hand and took his arm in the usual fashion. As they neared the store entrance Jenderson moved behind the counter.

  “I’m going out,” Dirk said.

  “I see,” said Jenderson, looking Cinder up and down suspiciously over the spectacles he wore only while doing ledgers.

  “I’ll be back before close.”

  “Do as you see fit,” Jenderson said to Dirk, then turned to Cinder with a pleasant smile. “You have a nice evening.”

  “I will,” quipped Dirk as he led Cinder out the door, allowing her to decide on the tavern that evening. She chose The Crossbow.

  Vandelar stood at the bar, sipping his most recent of many ales, killing yet another evening in Andrelia, looking for any excitement or chance to draw him back outside the city walls once more. Boris Treeskeller, a large clumsy man, bumped him again and Vandelar cast him a tired glare.

  “Sorry Van,” Boris said meaningfully, but his intoxication was apparent. He was in the midst of telling his friends a boisterous tale of how he had pummeled a man whom they all knew, named Aris, then had had his way with Aris’s long time lover, Selene. She, according to Boris, desperately wanted him despite acting to the contrary. All those at the bar, except for Vandelar, were laughing, slapping their hands on the wood, and shoving each other in their loud, lewd bragging. After bumping Vandelar, Boris gave himself more room, for though he was taller and broader, this last part mostly in the belly, Vandelar was known as a skilled warrior and woodsman who often traveled the Wild alone, something Boris did not have the grit for. And he was not yet drunk enough to think that he could match Vandelar.

  Vandelar drained his mug and ordered another. Frogger Mason, of the Mason profession, one of Boris’s friends, became inspired to once more lead the room in a song, another senseless one, Vandelar felt. Music, as in any civilization, was almost always welcome, and an establishment such as The Crossbow could seldom afford to hire a musician, so the clientele made their own.

  Indeed it was a silly song; one Vandelar could not believe he saw any of the rough, hard working men sing. He thought it had something to do with a mermaid, caught somehow; a fisherman’s net, on a reef or something. Vandelar wasn’t listening. His attention was instead riveted on a stunning, raven-haired beauty in black, who sat alone at a table. Only the men being gathered arm in arm in a great circle near the counter kept the room from growing silent at her entrance: none had seen her yet. Vandelar turned and leaned back against the bar to gain a better look at her. She saw him and smiled, then turned away with a grin. Va
ndelar had to step aside to keep his gaze on the female unbroken as a tall, muscular young man came squeezing between him and Boris to place an order with the barkeep, yelling over the rough chorus. Vandelar took his fresh mug and walked over to the radiant vixen. She looked up curiously as he said something, but all she heard over the singing was “alone?” and she smiled, so he sat down.

  “Hi,” Vandelar said.

  “Hi,” came the reply from the young man he had seen at the bar. The young man, Dirk, sat down on the other side of the young woman, Cinder, and handed her a glass of wine. Vandelar was about to announce that he had been there first, but judging by the woman’s reaction to the other gent’s return, it was he who belonged there. Vandelar sighed and shrugged his shoulders as the young couple smiled on him, not in an unfriendly manner. He smiled back, got up, and took his place once more at the bar. Vandelar looked back one more time: the couple was holding hands. He turned away with no ill feelings just as the song came to an end, a welcome end for him, but it was followed by cheers from the crowd. They, at least, had enjoyed the tune.

  After many minutes, several drinks, and one more song, Boris began to lose control, as he did every night. Vandelar heard him mention, in several derogatory terms, what he planned to do with the attractive young woman who, according to him, wanted his affection. He pulled up his pants, took a breath, and, receiving several slaps on the back, staggered over to the table where Dirk and Cinder were seated. Vandelar pondered whether to leave or not. He did not have any personal ill-will toward Boris, but he did not like, nor appreciate, a man who became rude under the charm of liquor. The young man looked quite capable of handling himself, but if he did then Boris’s friends would likely step in. Vandelar just did not want to see it happen this time: not to them. They looked like two happy, nice people, an oddity in Andrelia.

  “Hey wench,” Boris stuttered. Cinder looked up and disgust obviously crossed her face. “I saw you lookin’ at me.” He bent over close to her.

  “Excuse us,” Dirk said. He looked at the man and knew by his glassy stare that he was drunk beyond reasoning.

  “Shut up boy!” Boris bellowed. Cinder rolled her eyes playfully at Dirk, as if asking, “Now what are you going to do?”

  “Why do you do this to me?” Dirk muttered softly, trying not to move his lips.

  “I’ll do something to you if you don’t scat, bone head,” Boris said, overhearing Dirk despite his whispering.

  “I should let him beat the crap out of me and do what he wants to you, just to teach you a lesson. Stop flirting with everybody!” Dirk snapped at Cinder.

  “That’s a good idea. I think I will,” Boris said gleefully, reaching towards Dirk.

  “Let it go, Boris,” Vandelar commanded sternly enough that those who had not yet paid this discourse any attention, now sat up attentively. All grew quiet and the eager smiles of many there, hoping to see a tussle, faded once Vandelar became involved. Cinder said nothing, especially to discourage it, simply watching the hostile humans interact. Dirk looked at Vandelar.

  “You let it go,” Boris responded to his acquaintance at the counter, blinking slowly in his stupor, trying to clear his head, nearly falling over each time his eyes closed. Boris’ friends laughed at his drunkenness, which made him do the same. Cinder watched Dirk; his face was red and angry, his muscular neck bulging. “She wants me. She’s a big girl. She doesn’t need you to protect her,” Boris continued to Vandelar, no longer concerned with Dirk.

  “Let me buy you a drink,” Vandelar said, palms upward, as if beseeching.

  “I don’t want a drink. I want this!” he growled, grabbing Cinder’s wrist.

  Dirk would put up with many things, but someone grabbing Cinder roughly was not one of them. He was up in a flash and had Boris by the throat before the befuddled man knew what was on him. With one strike to the jaw, Dirk felled him like a great oak, but Boris was not out. Vandelar winced and chuckled as the large man hit the floor and the crowd gasped, then laughed for only a moment. From the floor, Boris, with great strength, pulled a chair right out from under a patron and struck Dirk with it, knocking him over his own chair and onto his back. Shaking his head, stunned for a moment, Dirk wondered where he was. He looked up between his legs, which were still lying over his chair, and saw Boris approaching with a long knife in his hand. He couldn’t roll away; a table to one side prevented it, and to the other, a seated customer. Dirk fumbled for his huge sword, but being so long, it jammed into the table behind him before he could clear it from its scabbard; it was essentially locked in.

  Boris would have driven his knife into Dirk if it weren’t for a flash of steel: Vandelar’s steel. With an upper-cutting thrust, Vandelar dislodged Boris’s knife and sent it sailing, coming to stick in the tabletop between the fingers of a flabbergasted patron. Vandelar stood there, pointing four feet of slender steel at Boris’s throat, his eyes narrow and nostril’s flared in warning.

  “Now you’re going too far, Boris. You don’t kill someone because you want his woman.” Boris looked around, his face scared, twisted, and desperate like that of a rabid, cornered animal. His breath was fast, eyes darting. Nearly all influence of liquor had been shaken from his head. “Don’t!” Vandelar warned when he saw Boris eyeing the sword of a seated patron nearby. Boris relaxed and before Vandelar heard the warning from Dirk he was seized from behind. Boris leapt forward, wrestling the sword from Vandelar’s hand, but as he turned to ply it on Dirk, he was met with two more iron hard blows as Dirk had quickly risen. This time Boris was out before he hit the floor. In a flash, Vandelar and Dirk punished Boris’ three compatriots and all four lay still; some moaning, others snoring. Dirk respectfully shook Vandelar’s hand and invited him to join them.

  “No. Thank you,” Vandelar replied, not wanting to intrude.

  “Just for a drink or two,” urged Dirk.

  “Maybe one,” Vandelar admitted and sat, this time across from Cinder, not beside her. He eyed the lovely nymph; both men did, as parents admonishing a disobedient child. She blushed, then unable to hold it any longer, smiled, and then she began to laugh heartily, not her spritely elven laugh, but a good solid human one. Vandelar and Dirk looked at each other, exchanging wry miles. Two of Boris’ friends rose and dragged their mates out the door, presumably back to their beds. Vandelar watched attentively, just to be sure that they were indeed leaving.

  “Thank you,” Dirk said again. “This troublemaker is Cinder. I’m Dirk.”

  “My name is Vandelar. And you’re very welcome,” he said to Dirk. “Now Cinder, on the other hand, I’m not so sure,” he added, looking on her suspiciously, hand on his chin and head cocked in judgment Cinder giggled.

  “Yes I am,” she said with bratty confidence, still smiling unabashedly. Vandelar raised his brows in disbelief at her brashness, knowing that she was indeed welcome. He would have done just about anything in the world to have her smile on him and thank him in earnest as she did then.

  “Well,” Dirk said, drawing Vandelar’s attention, “if there’s anything I can do to repay you, I’ll try my best.”

  “No thank you. I don’t need anything. I just didn’t want to see either,” he glanced at Cinder, “of you get hurt by those ruffians.”

  “Maybe I could get you something from Bessemer’s at a good price.”

  “Oh?” Vandelar asked.

  “Yes, I’m the security boss, I guess you could say.”

  “Now don’t be surprised if I take you up on that. I’ll need some things before I head back into the Wild.”

  “You’re going into the Wild?” Dirk asked excitedly.

  “Yeah. Interested?”

  “You bet,” said Dirk, sitting up and situating himself attentively in his chair.

  “When I get my plans straight, I’ll stop by and we’ll talk, Dirk. But right now, I’ll leave you two alone.”

  “You don’t have to leave yet,” Cinder said teasingly.

  “Yes I do,” he answered in a scolding tone.
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  Dirk stood and shook his new friend’s hand again as Vandelar rose to leave. Vandelar walked around Dirk and sternly patted his shoulder while casting Cinder an even sterner look. She threw a naughty grin and waved farewell. Vandelar shook his head, smiling uncontrollably. Dirk stared at Cinder. Though angry, it quickly passed.

  The weeks he had been seeing her had caused a change in Dirk; he felt different, mostly about himself. Aside from learning the pleasures of the feminine form, he had almost forgotten Melissa. Now that she had moved and worked elsewhere—about as far away as she could be from him and still within the city—he seldom saw her and he decided, as he sat there, that he would bring himself to finally go see her again. He missed her. Mostly he missed her friendship, and though he did not think it selfish at that moment, he missed the embrace that was so much different than that of the half-elf whom he obsessed over.

  But Dirk had changed in other ways as well. The greatest difference was his ambition. All the attention he received—from Cinder especially—gave him a confidence like he had never had before in his solitary life. His gamble with Mr. Bessemer and the man’s trust in him. Melissa’s camaraderie. It was all like a puzzle whose pieces were starting to fall into place. He now had dreams of the great things he would do, actually going so far as to think that one day he might himself own a place like Bessemer’s.

  Melissa lay on her bed, chin in her hands. Fiona was straddling her, sitting on Melissa’s rump massaging her back and neck. She had tied Melissa’s thick, shoulder-length hair into a ponytail to keep it out of the way of her work. Melissa had finished her shift an hour earlier, and since it was her day off Fiona thought she would help Melissa relax. Over the past week they had spent many hours each day together, and had come to think of each other as a kind of sister, both having been raised without siblings.