Stepping outside, Dirk breathed a sigh of relief. The world looked different; brighter. But this euphoria was short-lived. He clutched the cloak. Everyone was watching him, or so he thought. They all wanted his garment! He stuffed it into his shirt, leaving a tremendous bulge, and ran into an alley, trying to be rational: no one could possibly know about it. Even so, on his way to Duvall’s, Dirk drew his sword on, and nearly struck, a man who had stopped him simply to ask directions. The man fled, screaming. Paranoid and cautious, Dirk made it to Duvall’s and stole inside, looking around; only Duvall was present, standing languidly behind his counter.
“You brought the cloak?” Duvall asked, perking up eagerly when he recognized Dirk. “The buyer is quite anxious to get it. He is a gladiator and feels the cloak will help him prevail.”
“Yes,” Dirk said, withdrawing the cloak and laying it upon the counter. He felt as if he had laid down a great weight and he could finally straighten and breathe easily. Duvall looked at it, turning it over this way and that, ever more anxiously. Dirk watched and grew worried.
“This isn’t the cloak! What are you trying to do?” Duvall snapped, throwing it at Dirk. “Now get out and don’t you come back!” Dirk’s mind raced. “What is this?” he thought. “What’s going on.” He almost fainted and found himself soon standing in the street, his mind cloudy. Then it hit him like a maul. “Who knew about it?” he wondered. “Fiona! And Melissa.” Dirk ran all the way there, entered the home without knocking and after looking in the sitting room, went flying up to their room. He burst in as they were sitting on their beds; Melissa sharpening her sword; Fiona reading a book.
“Where is it?” he screamed, nearly hysterical, panting and out of breath. Melissa had sprung to the floor, sword brought to bear on him, while Fiona had barely reached her mace. She almost laughed seeing Dirk, normally calm and unemotional, so disheveled. He saw her smirk and swept Melissa aside like cobwebs and leapt onto the bed. Fiona laughed and rolled off and under her bed. “Where is it?” he repeated. “Give it to me.” She slipped just out of his grasp. Rising, Dirk went to her wardrobe and found his cape on a shelf under some of Fiona’s lacy lingerie. He shook it at her as she peeked out from her sanctuary, but he could get no true words to pass his trembling lips.
“It was a joke, Dirk. We were going to give it back,” Fiona said, crawling out from her hold. Finally Dirk stopped his incoherent mumbling and relaxed enough to form words.
“You...” he stuttered, “...you could’ve ruined my entire life.”
“Gosh,” Fiona said astonished. “I’m sorry. I thought you’d know it was me. Besides, we stole it days ago...you never missed it.” Fiona tried to caress and console him, but Dirk didn’t believe her. He knew she liked the pain she was causing him and she would probably like to ease it by sleeping with him. Melissa still stood, sword now lowered, watching them, her brows bent with confusion. Dirk turned and left without another word, though the look he cast Fiona was so sour it was likely to have curdled milk. Melissa belted on her sword and ran after him.
Neither spoke, but she walked with him to Duvall’s, who, satisfied with the explanation and Dirk’s truly flustered manner, agreed to have twenty thousand gold transferred to a Bessemer’s bank account in Dirk’s name. Later, Dirk used fifteen of it toward the purchase, taking a loan for the other fifteen. But, right then, he and Melissa walked out into the burning sunlight. Dirk was finally at ease; it was done and he had risen more in the past few months than the first twenty odd years of his life, more than he ever imagined. Then he thought how it might not have been, how it might not have been in two distinct ways.
“Did you have anything to do with it?” he asked.
Melissa shrugged her shoulders. “She said it would be funny and we’d give it back. I wouldn’t have let her keep it, if that makes any difference.”
“Yes, it does,” he sighed and they began to walk. After several city blocks Dirk calmed and said, “But really, you had more to do with things than you know, I guess.”
“How do you mean? It really wasn’t my plan. I just knew about it and that’s...”
“No,” he said with a smile. “I mean you had something to do with my success. If I hadn’t met you and Cinder and Selric...even Fiona, I never would be buying an entire store. I wouldn’t have twenty thousand pieces of gold. I’m practically rich.”
“Well, most of its gone now,” Melissa said, wiping the hair out of her eyes with her thumb, sweeping it back behind her ear, looking at the ground intently as they walked.
“Yes, it’s gone, but I got something for it. And if you ever need anything there...or anywhere, it’s yours.”
“Thanks.”
Dirk had begun to notice how Melissa was becoming more and more like Fiona. She was slowly losing her quiet country charm; but as he thought about it there, moving beside her, he knew it was just as likely that he had caused the change as much as Fiona had. Melissa was still sweet and overall he liked her more than anyone else in his life. She still put him at ease when she was with him, and that had always been the most important trait he found in Melissa. Perhaps the fact that they still were close friends, and could make love on occasion while still having Selric and Fiona and Cinder in their lives, put them on a level of closeness that neither could explain, nor would trade for anything. Dirk offered his arm to her. She reluctantly did such a dependent, feminine act and allowed him to take her for the most expensive dinner she had ever had to celebrate. After the meal, they said good-night and Dirk went straight to Cinder’s, stopping and buying her flowers and a beautiful blue silk dress.
The dressmaker locked the door as Dirk stepped out into the dusky evening of what was to be the best and worst day of his life up to that point. By the time he reached Cinder’s, it was fully dark and a golden light slipped between the cracks of her shutters. He knocked and she opened her door.
He knew immediately that she was busy, again: she was dressed in a stunning shoulder-less black dress, her lips painted the deepest red, and heavy amounts of dark blue make-up over her eyes, which were shining in delight as she kissed him. Though downhearted once more, Dirk smiled and handed her the flowers and the box tied with a big red ribbon. “Oh! How sweet. Thank you, darling,” she said, taking them. Just as she set the box down and prepared to open it, a knock came on the door. Remembering the night before, Dirk opened it in the same way, expecting a coachman. He was greeted by an entirely different sight.
Two men stood outside, broad, grim, and dressed in suits of full plate armor—armor only the wealthy could afford. One man was taller and more regal than the other standing behind him. Dirk, seeing that they were bereft of gauntlets and helms, knew them to be warrior nobles, like the Stormweathers, not actually soldiers on a mission. They wore their ceremonial suits as a sign of status. A cold glare was in the eyes of the taller one as Cinder came up behind Dirk.
“Let them in, Dirk,” she said, trying to slide him out of the way. “Come in Lord Tyrluk,” she said with a brief, informal curtsy. “Lord, this is my friend, Dirk. Dirk, this is Lord Tyrluk and his squire, visitors to our city. I’ve been asked to show them around.”
“It was nice meeting you, Dirk. I guess you have to be running along,” Tyrluk said smugly and not very nicely. Dirk stared at him in an impolite manner. The squire stepped forward, but was restrained by his liege. Dirk clenched his fists in response, ready to send them flying.
“Okay,” Cinder said in her spritely way, bouncing between the men. “Well Dirk, we do have to go,” she urged, turning to him so only he could see her expression. Her look was pleading, but for him, not her.
“I thought we’d get acquainted here first,” Tyrluk said, looking down at Cinder’s chest, enticingly pressed up and out by her corset and concealed very little by her low-cut dress.
“Oh did you?” she gasped angrily. Dirk had never seen Cinder turn down or be insulted by any sexual advancement. “I’m not a cheap trollop,” she snapped, hands on hips as she spun around
, her hair flying out behind her. “And I said we had to be going. When I said we, I meant Dirk and I, my lord. I’m afraid you weren’t to come until tomorrow night. And now, if I recall, I’m busy then too. So if you’ll please leave we will say our good-byes. Good-bye,” she said smartly, trying weakly and with no effect whatsoever to close the door on the two large men. Twillyfoot trilled and flapped nervously, sensing the growing hostility in the room. Dirk stepped forward. Usually a match for any, Dirk was surprised at the next turn.
“Get him outside,” the lord ordered, and the squire grabbed Dirk by the arm. Dirk hit him, splitting his lip and spraying blood into the squire’s own face. It briefly stunned him, but again, undaunted, he grabbed Dirk. As Dirk belted him once more, the lord brought a mighty kick up under Dirk’s leather jerkin, into his unprotected groin. Dirk fell immediately to the floor, coughing. Both men grabbed Dirk, Tyrluk realizing it would take two men to subdue the deliveryman, and they dragged him out into the street. Dirk rose unsteadily but was hit by Tyrluk before he could stand fully. The squire shoved his steel-encased knee into Dirk’s chin and he felt his teeth smashed together. Dirk fell back, dazed, and Tyrluk kicked the downed man in the face.
Dirk heard Cinder’s pleading voice and the click of her shoes as she ran up, trying to reach him. With his vision clouded by tears, blood and dizziness, Dirk could barely make out the sight of Tyrluk lifting Cinder by the waist and dragging her back inside. The squire kicked Dirk in the stomach several times and even through his leather armor, the blows knocked the wind from him. Then Dirk was repeatedly kicked in the face and head. He heard Cinder begging and screaming for him as she was pulled back inside. Dirk tried to rise one last time, but another kick to his head brought darkness and release from his immense pain.
Dirk woke choking on his own blood and to the sound Cinder’s sweet but distressed voice begging and pleading for something he did not know. He could not tell which way was up, but before his eyes, he saw the stars come slowly into focus, blinking at him. Cinder’s voice seemed to be coming closer, as in a dream. He tried to sit up, but the world spun so quickly around him that he lay back down. Dirk realized he was lying on something soft. It was Cinder; his head was in her lap, and though his face was too numb to feel, she was caressing and kissing him. When she looked down, Dirk noticed lip paint smeared on her chin, then realized it was no paint at all, but blood. “Mine?” he wondered, “from kissing me?” But then he noticed that the corner of her mouth was purple and swollen; she had been hit.
He rolled over, resting the side of his face against her unfelt softness, but he noticed then, that she was covered in blood. This time it was his. The bottom of her short dress was soaked and it had run down onto her thighs and covered her hose as well. Cinder was kneeling in a thick puddle of red, almost black liquid. She stood, and teetering on her heels, pulled with all her strength to help him stand. Dirk rose and, leaning on Cinder’s arm, staggered into her room. She led him to the bed and he lay down on the cool sheets, too weak to notice the splotches of blood here and there. She retrieved a small jar of white salve and rubbed it on his numb face. He was wondering how long he had been lying in the street and what the salve might be when he lapsed into unconsciousness again. His last memory was of Cinder discarding her bloody clothing for something clean then running out the door, her face pale and worried. She had said something to him but Dirk could not hear her last words.
When Dirk woke he was in his room and the sun was shining in the western window. Melissa was there in a chair next to the bed, head sagging on her breast, softly breathing and asleep. Dirk marveled, even in his pain, at how she looked so like a child. There sleeping, no sign of her fierceness showed. The dying sunlight danced in her thick hair, making it shine in a golden light. He tried to sit up, but his head pounded so severely that he quickly lay back down. His beating came flooding back to memory. Dirk rolled over onto his side and to his horror saw a hideous man, his face like a bruised tomato, staring at him. His head was swollen to the point of bursting, it seemed. Dirk let out a feeble cry, like a mother whose child has been taken by Death.
At the pitiful sound, Melissa sat upright, sword flashing from its sheath, the look of a lioness in her eyes. She quickly put the blade away and knelt by Dirk. He had realized that it was no man across the room, but his own blasted reflection. Silent tears trickled down his cheeks as sorrow turned to rage. Melissa sat by him, shielding the gaze of his reflection and he tried to roll away, knowing that it must be difficult for her even to look on him. But Melissa held him firm; his head against her breast. Dirk could hear her strong heart racing; she was distressed for him and he felt it. The comfort she had always brought Dirk was soothing and he closed his eyes. After several minutes he tried to speak, but could only make a weak croaking sound. His mouth was so swollen that he could barely open it to speak. Though Dirk would face much greater perils and foes later in his life, he would never be hurt so badly again. He wondered what kind of monster man must be; much worse than any beast or fiend of the wild. Knowing Dirk would want to know what had happened, Melissa told him the tale as she knew it.
“Cinder came and got us,” Melissa said. She rose and got Dirk a ladle of water, slowly feeding it to him. “She said you had been in the street for an hour before she got you inside,” Melissa continued. “When we got there, Fiona used some kind of magic on you and the bleeding just stopped. It was weird. You look much better than last night, I must say, and she’ll be by later to do some more. Well, then this man came by and helped us carry you to your room. We laid you on a sheet and me, Fiona, and this guy carried you over here. The man hauled you up the ladder and I put you into bed. Fiona tended you a little more then walked Cinder home, and the man left too. I stayed here with you last night and today...and that’s…that’s pretty much it,” she finished in her sweet, simple way; the way she was when they had first met. Dirk closed his eyes, his curiosity sated for the time being, and he quickly fell asleep. He could faintly remember Fiona treating him again later that evening, but he did not wake fully until the middle of the night.
It was dark in the room when Dirk awoke. He was lying on his back, Melissa next to him, her head on his chest. In his sleep he thought he had heard someone calling him; someone far off. Then while fully awake, he saw a form, a large black form, silhouetted by the moon shining in the window directly behind it. Dirk reached for his sword, at least where he had always kept it. It wasn’t there. Just then the form turned aside, the moonlight streamed in and Dirk saw the form bore a large sack. It tossed it, with a “thud,” next to the bed.
Dirk looked up. Now in the light, he could see who the intruder was. It was the tall blonde man that he had met in the store, robed in a long, black cloak. Dirk stirred and Melissa rolled the other way, curling up into a ball and driving her butt against his hip. Dirk rolled over as well, but toward the man, and he sat up on his elbow. The man lit the lantern and left it low, casting a weak orange glow across the shadowy room. Dirk could see himself in the mirror and was pleasantly surprised that Fiona’s treatments had indeed reduced the swelling, though he obviously still needed more of the mysterious magic, along with much additional rest.
Unsure of whether to open the bag or not, Dirk just looked at it. The stranger stood still, studying Dirk. “Open it,” he said softly, yet somehow commanding. Dirk picked it up and looked inside, but could see only darkness. “Dump it out,” the man said and Dirk did. He was mortified as two heads rolled out with a “thud” and a “thump,” then came to a rest. Dirk could see who they were: Tyrluk and his squire. Tyrluk stared up at Dirk, a look of horror and anguish on his face. Dirk didn’t know whether to laugh or scream.
“Why?” Dirk mumbled. “How?” He laid back down wearily.
“I saw it. I was there,” he said. Dirk grew angry.
“There! If you were there, why didn’t you stop them? They could’ve killed me!” he complained, his head throbbing.
“There are wiser things to do than attack
two armored knights. Besides, I wouldn’t have let them kill you. A man in no hurry to die should be in no hurry to kill. I was ready to step in...if there was no other way. They got theirs, that’s all that should matter. And I tended to your wounds before your friends arrived. You would have died.”
“Why were you there? You’d better not be following Cinder,” Dirk said.
“You’re both lucky I was. She’s a pretty girl, bless her heart, though she knows little of healing. Melissa is a fine example of womanhood as well,” he said, motioning to her, “especially when she sleeps. She loses that look,” he said, moving his hand down slowly over his face, like an actor portraying some change of emotion. Dirk grew angrier; worried over his friends. The stranger could feel his apprehension. “You have nothing to fear from me, Dirk.” Then he changed subjects without any indication. “You should have seen them when they died. Not quite so brave and fierce.” He held his hands up as if in fear and mimicked Tyrluk’s horrified expression, before breaking into a quiet laugh.
Dirk was appalled at the man’s callousness, but felt if any one ever deserved death, it was the two men whose heads now littered his floor. “I’ll be in touch”, the man said. “Do as your healer says, and you’ll bear no scars. And don’t report this instance. No need to involve the Watch, eh?” Dirk rose but when he steadied his swimming head and looked again, the stranger had gone. Dirk stumbled out to the overlook, but there was no trace of him.
By Moonlight Wrought (Bt Moonlight Wrought) Page 22
