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Chapter Seven - Politics And Shadow Plays
Landros was sitting on the sofa in the front room, oiling his leather armour, salvaging the damaged shoulder and trying to figure out a way to put more protection there without reducing his mobility. Lark drifted in, slid her arms around him from behind and kissed his cheek. She took a deep breath. “Mmm,” she sighed. “Always loved the smell of leather. Especially new leather.”
Landros leaned back, kissed her, noticed that she had put on the blue dress he had brought for her from her wagon. She had not worn more than the shift or one of his shirts for the three days she had been here. She had also put on her jewelry, her earrings and the magic pendant. “Going?” he asked, felt an uncomfortable pull inside at the thought.
“Have things to be doing, a life to lead,” she sighed, letting go of him and coming around to stand in front of him. She set her pack down for a moment. “Is not like you will not see me. Know where I live. And where I work.”
“I know,” he sighed. He had known that before. It still had not kept her from disappearing on him. But, to think about it, how much of that was his fault? She had not known where to find him and he knew exactly where to find her. He pulled her down into his lap. “Are you sure you are up to working again?”
She touched the tip of his nose with a playful finger, “Are you not also ready to do instead of sitting about?”
He sighed, had to admit that she was right. But then, he had known this day was not long in coming, had not really expected to be able to hold her here. He reached down to the floor on the side of the sofa, felt for the sword belt he had lain there. Grabbing it, he pulled it up, handed her the short sword and scabbard. “Here, I want you to take this. I noticed you have not replaced your scimitar yet, and this will…. What?” he asked as she gently pushed it back at him, shaking her head.
“This blade is useless to me. Do not know how to use. Thank you, but…. have looked for scimitar, even a saber would do, though not as well. But all swords are sold to army and bladesmiths no have time to forge something special. I… I will have my brother get one for me when I see him next.”
“And when will that be?” She shrugged. He took her hand as she started to get down. “No, Lark. That is not good enough. You said yourself that you might have stood a better chance in the warehouse if you had had a sword. I do agree that if you have never used a short sword, your knowledge of the scimitar will hurt you. But you cannot go about, especially not at night as you have to, without something. There are monsters in the streets now. I’ve been hearing from the servants here that almost every night something strange is reported in the streets, some mythical creature or well known monsters. It is more dangerous than ever out there.”
“But is nothing to be done….” she protested.
“Not true,” he said. He set the sword aside, wrapped his arms around her. “I know someone. He… collects things. The more unusual, the more he likes it. An exotic blade like a scimitar is something he just might have. Would you wait at least, until I can set up a meeting?”
She shook her head. “I have errands to run, and a boy to teach fiddle. Is daylight,” she said consolingly. “Is not so dangerous now.”
He thought a moment, decided not to say anything about the warehouse incident occurring in full daylight. “When will you be done with Dane?” he asked.
“Should start just after lunch is over and inn quiet. Maybe hour or so.”
“I’ll meet you there. Then you and I will go to my friend’s and find you a scimitar. Do you have anything unusual to trade for one? If you don’t I might.”
She smiled, thanked him for the offer. “I think can find something.” She slid off his lap. “Now, be good boy. I will see you then,” she said, gave him a deep kiss.
Landros watched her gather her things and head out the door. Sighing, he went back to his armor and tried to rub her from his mind for the time being.
Lark felt good to finally be out and about. She took her time, strolled towards the temple without a care in the world. She was mostly oblivious to her surrounding and the darker mood of the people around her. She smiled at people, hummed a soft little tune she had been working on off and on for a year or more. She did not notice the strange looks she received for her cheerfulness.
The temple was her first stop. She went in to the Maiden’s House, asked the first person she saw where she might find Sister Rue. She was taken to a small cell where she was asked to wait. Before the acolyte could close the door, she asked if the door might be left open. The young man shrugged, but did as she asked. Lark did not feel comfortable with the door closed. It was too much like a prison cell to her then, than the Spartan waiting/meeting room it was.
Rue was not too long in coming. She looked much more rested than she had the last time Lark had seen her. She hugged Lark fondly. “How are you feeling, dear?” she asked, sat down beside her.
“Better, many thanks to you and Landros.” She reached down into her pack. “Brought your book back. Thank you. Is wonderful. Many of stories had not heard before.”
Rue took the book, smiling, caressed the leather cover fondly. “My mother gave this to me when I told her I planned to enter the priesthood,” she laughed.
Lark laughed, “Book of love ballads and love stories is hardly gift for one taking vows of chastity.”
Rue nodded wryly. “I think that was the point. My mother had ‘plans’ for me in the marriage department, I think. She was trying to talk me out of it.”
“See she failed,” Lark commented with a grin.
“Good thing, too. The man she wanted me to marry has, well… the wife he did take has been here several times already for ‘household’ injuries. I somehow doubt that she is that clumsy,” Rue said quietly. She took a deep breath, brushing all of the gloom aside. “So much for true love, eh? No, I am quite happy here. This is where I belong. And if the Maiden does choose to send me a lover, then I will simply move next door. I hope you enjoyed the book?”
“Yes. Is well read, I noticed.”
“Yes,” she mused fondly. “That it is.”
“Was wondering,” Lark began. “Is possible to see Keltree a moment?”
Rue nodded. “Certainly, and I am certain he would love to see you, but he has gone to his brother’s house. Tell you what, I am going to stop by tomorrow. I go every few days, just to make sure he’s not doing anything stupid and is actually resting. Why don’t you meet me here after noon tomorrow and I’ll take you with me?”
“Oh, would love that! Been wondering how had fared.” She got up, shouldered her pack, now lighter for the lack of the book. “Oh, has been any luck discovering who was other man with Ebastion and Lula?”
Rue shook her head silently.
Lark sighed. “This bothers Landros. Which bothers me. Is almost obsessed with this, that and this hooded person.” She snapped quickly back into her cheerful mode again, gave Rue another quick hug. “See you tomorrow noon!”
Rue sat back and watched the gypsy girl practically bounce out of the cell. “Too much energy in that girl,” she sighed. “Could certainly use some of that vivaciousness around here,” she added, getting up and moving back to her rounds of patients.
Landros heard the doorknob turn, looked up, hoping to see Lark breezing back in. The black clad figure of his brother banished that hope and he went back to his work. "Greetings, brother," he said going back to his work.
"I am surprised to see you actually here, brother," Portholus said. "I had expected you to be out and about on some secret mission again."
"Not this time," he said, finishing up. He set his armor aside, began putting his tools away. "Where have you been the last few days?"
"Oh, here and there," he mused evasively. "You know me." He slipped into the washroom for a few minutes.
Landros went to the desk, grabbed a piece of paper and jotted a quick note to his friend that he would be stopping by the shop that afternoon looking for a special item. He blew on the paper until the ink dried and folded it carefully. Tucking it into his pocket, he began gathering his things together, preparing to pay a visit to Colwyn to ask a few questions that had re-occurred to him.
He saw his brother leaning against the doorframe with his brush in one hand, pulling long black hairs from it with the other. He looked pointedly up at his brother, asking the question without saying a word.
Landros crossed over, took the brush from him and put it back where it belonged. He wordlessly went back to packing.
Portholus continued to stand there, smirking in his irritating way. Landros did his best to ignore him.
"So, why IS there long, silky, black hair in your hair brush?"
"Maybe because she borrowed it while she was here," he answered, trying to keep his temper in check. "I did not know you were so concerned about my grooming habits." He did not like being teased about Lark, especially by his baby brother.
"She? No name, just ‘she’?” he asked, moved to the fireplace where he tossed the hairs.
“I am not like you, brother, I don’t keep company with half the ladies in this town at once,” he said curtly.
"This the gypsy girl?" Scraps wandered in from the bedroom, saw Portholus and ran over. "Hello to you too, little one," he said as the raccoon leaped into his arms, and began searching his vest for treats. "I am sorry, nothing for you today," he said. The raccoon sulked and jumped to the sofa. He noticed Landros pointedly ignoring the question, so he asked another. “Tell me about this girl.”
“There is nothing to tell about this lady,” he answered shortly, folding the blanket up and putting it into his bag.
Portholus raised an eyebrow at the correction but would not leave the subject there. “There has to be something to tell, she was here for several day, was she not?"
“She was hurt,” he said. “I was hurt. We needed rest. She got it here. Again, there is nothing to tell.”
Portholus smirked, amused by his brother’s reluctance to discuss this woman. “Maybe I should ask her?”
Landros rounded on his brother, “No,” he snapped. “You will not go anywhere near her! Do you understand me?!”
Portholus looked deep into his brother’s eyes, realization flickering across his own. He grinned in disbelief. “You’re afraid I’m going to take her from you!”
“No,” Landros denied, growled, “You heard what I said. You are not to go anywhere near her!”
His face softened. “You really are afraid.”
Landros looked away, unable to look into his brother’s face and lie to him, lie to himself. “Just stay away from her,” he said quietly, started to move away.
Portholus just looked at his brother, incredulous. "You really think that I would take her from you?"
Landros did not even look up. "Yes." He paused for a moment, staring at the shirt in his hands before shoving it into his bag. "You have never had a problem with the ladies. Most of them fall over themselves and each other to get to know you. Yes, I have noticed it and have envied it. For some reason, this one has chosen me, and I do not want that ruined in any way. Just... Just leave this one be."
Portholus stopped him, made him look at him so that he could see the truth in his eyes. “I would never do that to you. She obviously means something to you, what I don’t know, and I don’t think you know either. But you have nothing to worry about, not from me. Why would I want to destroy what little I have left?”
Landros sighed, moved away. “Just leave her be. For me,” he said weakly. He shouldered his pack, hefted it to his right shoulder as his left was still a little sore. “I have to go, I’ve got people to meet and things to do. Try and stay out of trouble, will you? Scraps, you coming?”
The raccoon hopped off the sofa and ran across the floor, scrambling up Landros’s leg and into the pack on his shoulder.
“Landros,” Portholus called. Landros looked back. “Just be careful with these humans.”
“Don’t forget to lock the door,” he said as he left.
Landros had mixed feelings about his brother and Lark. He needed time to sort them out. His feelings for Lark had to be strong to pit him against his brother. He did not want to have to choose between them, did not know if he could.
Lark entered the dressmaker's shop with Nightingale on her shoulder. Bianca came out of the back and fairly lit up when she saw her. "I was beginning to wonder! Oh!! Turn about for me, girl!" Lark laughed, but turned for her. "Oh, I am SO glad I never lengthened that dress! It is absolutely ravishing on you! Come on, I've got most of your others ready. And I need for you to try on the fourth for me. I was wondering what was keeping you! I thought oh horror of horrors what if you had gotten hurt out there when them fireballs came hurtling through. I was just so lucky it didn't hit us!"
Chattering away, she led Lark into the back room, and took her bag for her. There was a young girl there that Lark had not met before who handed Lark a red dress. She was fairly pretty, with a round face and dark red hair. "Oh! where are my manners!?" Bianca exclaimed. "This is my niece, Sara. She helps me out when I get orders in. Wouldn't be as far along as I am without her help," she said, giving the girl a pat on the shoulder. The girl smiled demurely, began helping Lark change without a word.
Lark was almost overwhelmed by all of the attention, but allowed the two seamstresses to pin her into the dress and tuck her up, put up with the poking and shifting of her body. When she turned to look in the mirror, she almost did not recognize herself. The dress was breath-taking. The bodice was daringly cut, showing a good bit of cleavage as well as giving her a bit of a boost. It was in a rich velvet of deep red with a lattice work in gold thread embroidered all across it. The sleeves were long and billowy, of a nearly sheer red fabric akin to silk. She held out her arms for Sara to gather and tie the sleeves at her wrist, leaving a wide ruffle. The skirt was in subtly varying shades of red, the same material as the sleeves, but the panels curved from the waist, creating a spiral effect when she turned.
"Yes," Bianca sighed. "You were very right, dear," she said to Sara. "I DO like the gold threading. I think some sort of trim at the hem, though. Something subtle. Maybe a spiral wrap of gold thread over a strip of velvet? Sort of like a unicorn's horn. What do you think?"
Lark could not think of anything to say. "At this point," she said, "anything you think will look good, …will look gorgeous. Could not have imagined something so beautiful!"
"You'll probably need to get some red slippers to go with it, but that should not be too hard. It's not like there's a demand right now for dancing shoes.”
Bianca and her niece made their adjustments and eased Lark out of the dress. Lark fitted herself into the blue dress, was thrilled at how it looked and the way it moved with her. Tonight was as good a night as any to try it out, she thought with a smile. “Beautiful work,” she said. “Looks better than drawing.”
“They always do, my dear. If they don’t, I scrap ‘em!” She made a tiny adjustment at the waistband of the blouse. “Bend back a bit, dear,” she asked. “Hold that.” She pinched the fabric together. “How’s that feel?”
“Tight.” She loosened it another pinch. “Better. Snug, but not cutting me in half.”
“All right, can you get out of it without my letting go?”
In answer, Lark unfastened the front clasps and shrugged out of it. Bianca took the bodice over to a chair and began to sew the adjustment immediately. Lark looked back at herself in the mirror, turned, moving in a slow sinuous dance. She smiled. Just once she wished she could have seen that dance in the woods through Landros’ eyes. Perhaps the opportunity would avail itself for her to repeat the performance?
Lark felt a tug at her hips, looked to see Sara, who had yet to say a single word, unfastening the side clasp of the broad belt and slid the skirt to the floor. She handed Lark a second skirt, and a blouse, took the blue skirt and folded it carefully. Lark dressed herself. The skirt was the bright calico and motley they had laid out together. It was beautiful. Lark missed her black and red calico skirt, the one that had been torn to near shreds by the pirates. This just about made up for it. The new vest fit better than her old one, especially after Bianca had her put it on inside out and pinned her into it. While Lark tried on the last outfit, Bianca stitched the front seams of the vest, making it tighter.
The last outfit was for everyday wear, a plain, but vivid green skirt with no trim or markings or fancies, a plain white blouse and a striking vest of a tapestried cloth in dark burgundies, browns and golds with green accents. It was almost plain but Lark liked it, especially with the vest not being designed to be so shaping, though it flattered her silhouette nicely.
Bianca bit off the last thread and gestured for Lark to put the red vest back on. She puffed and lifted and adjusted Lark’s blouse line and bust in a rather familiar, but disinterested manner. When she finally stepped away and let Lark see, the vest did absolute wonders for her figure. Her breasts arched in soft mounds over the edges of the blouse, seemingly on the verge of self-exposure, but were actually far from it. Lark bent forward, tilted her head up to check how much she showed when she leaned over. There was nothing to see, nothing was revealed that could not already be seen when she stood straight. But, oh, would it encourage men to try! She wondered for a moment what Landros would think of it, whether or not he would be jealous of her taunting of other men. She brushed that aside. He knew what she did for a living. If he was not comfortable with it, then she could not be comfortable with him, as she would never be able to give it up. It was part of her.
Bianca was pulling the rose colored suede laces loose, pulling Lark from her reverie. “That just about does it. I’ll have the red dress finished by tomorrow, so you can stop back in and pick it up late in the afternoon.”
Lark slipped out of the red vest, put the tapestried one back on and buttoned it. The girl, Sara, handed her the rest of her new clothes, including the blue dress she had worn in, all wrapped neatly up in a black silk scarf shot with copper and silver and gold threads. “There you go, dear,” Bianca said. “Now, come back tomorrow for your last dress and any time after that you need new clothes, hear?”
Lark thanked her profusely. “Are certain Landros paid enough? Surely….”
The woman began to shoo her out of the shop. “Now, none of that. I’ve already been paid and he was most adamant about that, what you not addin’ one copper royal to my fee. It’s all taken care of. Now, if’n you want something else? Then we can talk laurels, if not, mosey on!”
Nightingale flew out the door, leaving Lark little choice but to follow. She thanked the woman again and turned down the street towards Colwyn’s with her bundle clutched to her chest.
Landros was, at that moment, in Colwyn’s office. Neither man was very happy with the news Landros had just called attention to. “You can see why I have to ask the question, my lord?” Landros asked. “I know the source was questionable, but it was so casually thrown out….”
Colwyn nodded, waved him to silence while he paced the room. Landros remained seated, staring into the fire, absently turning the copper ring on his finger. He did not know whether or not to believe what the hooded mage had said, about the king and the Lord Mayor’s responsibility in the siege. There was a great deal about recent events which bothered him. They had yet to identify the dead Hawk, not even Colwyn had known him, and there was nothing on his person which might identify either him or his purpose. People had already been sent out to try and discover his identity, without much success so far. Efforts were also being made to keep the luring of hapless adventurers to their deaths to a minimum, also, without much success. Four others had already disappeared without a trace; no one he had personally known, but still….
Colwyn’s voice snapped him out of his musings. “This is something that definitely bears looking into. There is far more going on here than meets the eye and as you have mentioned, I have long known that there is a traitor in the government, but not whom. There are spies everywhere, but what kind is the question. We already know they have magical aid.... If only we had enough of a force to leave the city and make an outright assault we might be able to break the siege or at the very least, get someone out far enough to reach the king’s ear.”
“We do have the forces, we just have to convince them to give up their time and greed and safe little lives to go out there and do it.”
Colwyn looked over at him. “And who might that be?”
Landros made an exasperated noise. “Think about it. The enemy has already seen it. Twenty of those vital resources have already vanished, or been killed. Others have been convinced to be less than helpful if not outright part of the problem. There are still plenty more hiding about in places like Bayside.”
“The trouble is convincing them,” he mused.
“You convince the Mayor to make a speech in the square and put forth a call to arms. You encourage those who can to gather and outfit a unit, register them as irregulars and get them out there on the field with the regulars and we CAN make a difference. These are people with skills at fighting and skulking and strategies with the odds out of kilter. Better yet, they have the magic to help. Magic swords, small rings, minor spells, wands, little things that the army does not have access to and would never be able to get handed over to them, not without an out and out revolt. Some of those items are heirlooms, but useful none the less.”
Colwyn mused a moment, “Makes perfect sense. And no harm can be done in trying. This might also help us in other ways as well.” He stopped pacing, stood straighter. “This was your idea, I think you should be the one to present it to the Mayor. You convince him. I will bring this to the Knight’s Council. And between the two of us we might just pull this off.”
Landros hesitantly interrupted. “I… I don’t think that may be a good idea, my lord. I have this… difficulty in dealing with beaurocrats. I simply have not the patience for them.”
Colwyn shook his head. “The Lord Mayor is not exactly a politician. You put the plan to him as you put it to me and he will give you a fair hearing. Just leave a letter with his secretary up at the hall, or even better, at his home,” he amended, thinking on his feet as he paced. “And an appointment will be set up for you. I think it best if this sort of idea comes from one of those you will be attempting to recruit. Oh, and while you are in his office, any information you can gather, covertly or otherwise….”
“I understand,” he sighed, standing as he realized there would be no arguing this. “Though I must confess I feel downright shifty investigating a man like the Mayor for treason without harder evidence.”
Colwyn gave him a clap on his right shoulder, even though he had to reach across him to do it. “Very often it is just such a person. Saintlier men than he have assassinated kings. By the way, how is your shoulder? I remember you said something the other night about my picking a shoulder everyone seems to favor?”
“Oh, yes,” he winced, rubbing his left shoulder self-consciously. “It is fine now, if a little stiff still. Lately, every time I’ve been wounded, it’s been to that left shoulder. I am beginning to wonder if it is not some flaw in my defense or attack strategies. I thought maybe, when you had some time, we could spar a bit, help me figure out if that is the case, and if so, what can I do to correct it. A real fight is no time to be studying your moves to see if you are leaving an opening.”
“Certainly. One of a knight’s responsibilities to his squire is to teach him to fight. I would be glad to help. When you are ready, let me know. Your shoulder probably needs a bit more rest and a little loosening up first. Now, out with you. You have things to discover, and a traitor to root out.”
“Yes, my lord,” he said with a bow. He gathered his things and left.
Lark stopped by her caravan to put her clothes away and repack her bag. She carefully folded her new blue outfit and put it in with her violin and timbrel, adding appropriate scarves and accessories along with her brush. She looked around her wagon, thinking. Landros had said to bring something unusual. The only thing unusual that she really had was the wand he had given her so many months ago. She had tried it, but could never figure out what it was supposed to do. It had been in her secret drawer and so had not been stolen with everything else. It would not be an even trade, she knew, but perhaps he would have something else that interested her to make it even.
She added it to her pack and hurried out the door, stopped to grab a pair of boots and put them on. She checked up on the horses, managed to catch Dolal and swung up onto his back. She galloped across the pasture towards the carriage gate, slowed down to a walk when she entered the stable yard. Lord Colwyn was there, waved her down even as the stable boy went to open the gate.
She stopped and Colwyn caught the horse’s halter, gave him an affectionate slap on the neck. “I see you are feeling better, my lady,” he said jovially. “I hope you are none the worse for the abuse?”
“Am well, Lord Colwyn,” she smiled. “In fact am looking much forward to working tonight.”
“I was thinking I might do some repairs to the wagon, and the bird house.” Nightingale piped up excitedly at this, making Colwyn laugh. “And I wanted to ask you before I just went and did it.”
“Oh, you are too generous. Is not necessary,” she protested.
“It is not a problem, really. If you are uncomfortable with me poking around your caravan just say so and I will curb myself. But,” he added with a sigh, “truth be known, I have some serious thinking to do and carpentry always helps me do it more clearly.”
Lark laughed. “In that case, help yourself. Am certain Nightingale would appreciate a solid roof overhead. While at it,” she added, leaning forward, “if birdhouse not enough, is drawer inside not closing right. Fix this, too?”
“Gladly,” he laughed, letting go of the horse’s head. He hesitated a moment, as if not wanting to say something he felt he had to.
"Yes?" she prompted.
“I realize it would be hard for you, but sometime soon, at your conveinence, I would like to speak with you about your ...misadventure, the attack on your person. Perhaps there might still be some shred of important evidence that was overlooked?"
Lark took a deep breath, nodded. "If you think it will help find this hooded person, then yes."
He breathed a sigh of relief, and gave the horse a slap on the rump. "Thank you. Now go on, before you are late wherever you are going.”
Lark trotted out of the gate, wondering where men such as he were hiding in the world that her family had met so few, or if he was simply unique.
When Lark trotted into the stableyard at the Cinnamon Tree, Ivaska came charging up to the big paint, dancing on his hind legs to try and reach her. She laughed, slid off the other side of the horse. Ivaska simply went under, jumped up and put his paws on her shoulders and licked her face. Dolal, now untethered, wandered on his own into the stable looking for something to eat. Lark managed she get Ivaska off of her, scratched his excited head and went inside once she was certain the horse was being taken care of.
Lily was coming out of the pantry with a smoked ham in her arms when Lark came into the kitchen. She dropped it on the table with a thump and locked the pantry behind her. “I was wondering when you’d show up. How are you feeling?”
“Wanting to dance.”
“Good. Folks around here been a bit edgy. It’ll be good to have a distraction about. DANE!!” she bellowed up the back staircase. “He’s been going absolutely nuts worrying about you, though.”
A sudden thumping on the stairs heralded the small boy charging for the kitchen. He groped his way to the table, tripped over Ivaska. “Hello, boy,” he laughed, thumping the great hound. “Aren’t you supposed to be outside? Mama, you called?”
“Your music teacher’s here,” she said and set about pulling down spices to flavor the meat.
“Lark?!” he cried in excitement.
“Right here, Dane,” she laughed. The boy found his way to her and hugged her, began almost as quickly to led her into the main room to the great fireplace.
Lark just laughed and went with him, fished out the violin and, taking it from its case, laid it in his eager hands. She sat back, sipping at a mug of wine that Neneis was kind enough to bring her and listened to the boy play. He was a little rusty, but then, he had no violin of his own and therefore could not have been practicing the last few days. As he played, she made small corrections to his finger placement, showed him a few new tricks to get the strings to do what he wanted them to do, but for the most part, she left him alone and allowed him to play as he wished. He learned very quickly, feeling the instrument more than most students. There was not much more that Lark could teach him. Practice was what he needed now, practice and encouragement. An hour or more passed quickly.
From the door to the street there came a clapping as Dane finished a spirited piece with few mistakes. The boy stood, and bowed, turned to his teacher. “Does this mean the lesson is over?” he asked.
Lark looked over at Landros, now crossing the room. “Yes, it does,” he said. He took Lark’s hand, kissed it, smiled as she blushed. He held her at arm’s length, to get a look at her new clothes. He raised his brow in appreciation. “I definitely like it. It’s a little more plain than I’m used to seeing on you, but very becoming.”
“You are doing well, Dane,” she said, without answering the compliment, pulled her hand away with a glare of mock embarrassment. “You need to keep at practice. And remember, what you feel, you must play. What ears hear they will feel. To play passion, you must feel passion and send through strings; To play sorrow, you must feel sorrow and same. If you not feel what you play, audience will not believe you, and not pay attention, which means not pay,” she added, rattling her tambourine.
“Is it like magic then?” he asked.
“Yes, is very like magic. But getting every note right but not feeling true, then is no good. Music fall flat. If you feel music inside you, play what you feel.”
“I’ll remember,” he said. He began to put the violin back in its case, but Lark put a hand on him to stop him. “Ma’am?” he asked.
“No, you are not out of practicing. You keep playing. Lesson over, not practice. I have errand to run. Will be back for tonight.”
She set the case by his chair and, tossing her bag over her shoulder, sauntered out of the taproom with her hand in Landros’s.
“How was your day?” he asked.
“Not bad. Have to say, Lord Colwyn is piece of work,” she laughed. “Have feeling would rather be carpenter than knight.”
“He is a very 'common' man, and in his position that is very uncommon. Hard to believe he was born in that house, practically raised to his position. This makes him perfect for what he has to do. He is very down to earth,” he admitted. “Why? What has he offered to do now?”
“Is at very moment repairing Nightingale’s house,” she laughed. Nightingale chirped his appreciation.
“If I remember right, that thing needed repairs,” he chuckled. “This way,” he said, leading her down a side alley.
“What? Where we go?” she asked quietly.
“To my friend’s,” he said evasively.
They walked hand in hand for several more blocks, not saying much to each other, but then there was no real need. It was pleasant stroll, until their direction took them up the back of Bayside and into less than savory territory.
“Is friend live here?” she whispered.
“No, he keeps his shop here. He lives further in.”
“But if has so much… unusual… is not safe?” she protested.
Landros chuckled. “Oh, it’s safe all right. He pays handsomely to keep it that way.” He kissed her to silence any further protests and escorted her into a nearby tavern. “Stick close and mind your pack,” he warned.
In response, Nightingale hopped onto the lip of the bag, rode there daring any wayward fingers to stray too close.
Landros led her over to the bar, ignoring the patrons he wove passed. He pulled an overlarge brass coin out of his pocket and showed it, covertly, to the bartender. “I’m here to see Edis,” he said in a low voice. The man nodded his head to a curtained entryway next to the bar. Landros tossed a copper onto the bar and led Lark through the curtain. It was dark back here, so Lark activated her pendant. There was a small door at the back of a narrow hallway at which they stopped. Landros put the brass coin into a slot by the door and let it drop. He listened carefully as the disc rolled down its chute and landed in a metal receptacle. There was a sharp clank and the door unlocked in his hand.
Lark gawked over his shoulder at the device as he led her down a narrow stairway, stopped half way to retrieve his coin from a tray inset into the wall. “Is magic?” she asked, sniffing the air, found nothing.
“No,” he chuckled. “A simple counterweight and balance. The coin comes down the chute,” he said, pointing to a narrow slit just big enough for the disc. “Any thicker or larger and it won’t fit. The coin lands on the plate, trips the lock. Too light and it won’t trip the weight. Too heavy and it'll push the weight too far, springing a trap. It is all in very delicate balance.”
“Is fascinating,” she breathed, followed Landros further down the steps to a second door. As he put the disc to another slot, she asked, “Another lock? Is paranoid, this friend?”
“No, just paranoid,” he chuckled. Lark gave him an odd look. He dropped the coin and a few minutes later, a small, withered human man opened the door, ushered them in.
Lark looked him over, even as he gave her a close scrutiny. If he were not so thin and delicate seeming, she might have taken him for a tall dwarf. His eyes were bulgy and a pale grey, his skin papery and mottled. There was only four or five flat grey hairs sticking up on the top of his head and his ears stuck out a bit on the sides. All in all he reminded her of a frog. Landros introduced her. “Edis, this is Lark, the young lady I spoke of in my note. Lark, this is Edis, collector of all things odd and himself the pinnacle of his collection.”
“Hmmm,” Edis mused, scratching his chin with a long, yellowed nail, making a horrible, dry scritching sound. “She’s worth collecting herself, I dare say,” he mused. “Ah, well,” he added, brushing aside the thought with a wave of his hand and moving into the shop as Landros pulled Lark protectively closer. “Let me see, I believe he said you were looking for a scimitar?”
“Yes,” Lark said. “Have you one?”
He began poking through various things on the worktables and shelves in the room. Every now and then he would move something that would release a waft of musty magic her way, filling her with curiosity and wonder. Most of what he seemed to have collected looked little more than junk. Half of it lay scattered on worktables in various pieces and states of repair. The light here was very dim, except where her pendant reached, and the shadows were thick and heavy. “What do you want a scimitar for if I may ask?” he asked after a few minutes. “What’s wrong with a long sword or a short sword? Why so exotic a blade?”
“I.…” Lark jumped as a black shadow leaped past her shoulder, just barely missing the mockingbird perched there. Nightingale ducked under the protective cover of her hair as the cat sulked off. “I learned on scimitar,” she said, regaining her own composure, still trying to calm her familiar. “Is what papa taught me.”
He glanced over at her, “So, she’s as exotic as she looks,” he mused, went back to his digging. “So why didn’t papa give you one?”
Lark looked over at Landros, uncertain why she had to answer all of these nosy questions when there was trading to be done. He only shrugged, nodded for her to answer if she wanted to. “Was stolen, …by succubus.”
Edis cracked his head on the bottom of a shelf trying to turn too fast to look at her. “Succubus?!” he croaked. “What dealings you have with a succubus?”
She sighed. “She was attacking my lover,” she said flatly. “Someone had to do something.”
“Yes, but you did not have to do it with just a dagger,” Landros added.
Edis looked from one to the other of them, his eyes bugging more than normal. “Is this a regular occurrence?” he asked.
"In our line of work it seems to be," Landros growled.
"Is why I need sword," Lark explained. "Was almost killed other day because had only dagger."
"I see," he muttered, raising one stringy eyebrow. He began rummaging again. "Well, I only have one at the moment, and it's a real piece of work. Won't be cheap."
"Neither is what I have to trade," Lark said firmly.
"Oh? What have you to trade?"
Lark was careful about revealing too much before she had seen the goods. "A wand," was all she said.
Landros looked at her. She mimed an apology behind Edis's back. It was all she had. He squeezed her hand reassuringly, nodded to her. If this sword was as good as he was hinting at, it would definitely be worth the trade.
"What kind of wand?" he asked carefully.
"Let me see scimitar," she said.
He looked at her from under his arm, grumbled to himself. He went over to a desk piled high with junk and pulled out a bundle wrapped in old burlap. So, Lark thought, the old toad had known all along where the blade was, had just been feeling her out.
He unwrapped the cloth and held it out to her, still cradled in the fabric. "Special it is. Very special. Once belonged to some Northern Tcar or Suntan, or whatever it is they call themselves."
The sword had a tarnished silver hilt with a simple tapered cross piece curved in a swept "S". The grip was wrapped in dark leather with silver thread. The scabbard was of a polished teak with a plain silver cap and throat. Lark handed her pack to Landros and drew the sword. The blade gleamed like liquid silver in her hands and there were three tiny runes scribed just below the crosspiece. "Strength, courage, protection," she read, musing. "Good runes for blade."
She hefted it, felt its light weight and perfect balance. She moved into a clearer area to test it, fell in love with the way it felt in her hand and moved through the air.
Landros watched her working with the blade, had to admire her technique. The blade moved like an extension of her hand in one of her dances, under complete, precise and deadly control. The light from her pendant flashed off its surface like liquid.
"It likes you," Edis said.
Lark stopped. "It?" she asked.
"It?" Landros asked.
Edis nodded, held the scabbard up, still by the cloth. "It did not like the man who brought it to me. It cut off his hand."
"Cheery," Landros mused.
"Is magic?" Lark asked, sniffing it before sliding it into the wooden case. There was a faint acrid tang to it beyond the scent of silver bound steel.
"Vaguely," he shrugged. "Now,” he said, wrapping it up again. "Show me this wand." There was greed blatant in his eyes, and a look which said there would be no further information or questions answered until the trade goods were seen.
Landros held her pack for her while Lark rummaged through and pulled out the wand. She handed it to Edis who took it over to a dim lamp, and, after rubbing some of the grime from the glass, examined the wand.
"Any idea what it is?" he asked.
"No," she answered truthfully. "Priest who did examine said command word was 'Wherefore'."
"Hee hee!" he shouted suddenly, then remembered he had customers and sobered himself instantly.
"You know what is?" she asked.
"Have you used it?" he answered.
"No. Could not figure out how. Used command word, but nothing happened."
"That is because you did not use it all. Watch," he said.
He held the wand up and said firmly, "Wherefore cat!"
Suddenly, the tip of the wand began to glow, he waved it slowly over the piles of junk and followed the intensity of the crystal's light until it was nearly blinding, then winked out. He began to dig through the pile. Lark giggled. "Not work," she said.
"What makes you say that?" he snarled, not stopping his rummaging.
"Because cat is over here, making second foolish grab for my familiar," she said, less happily. Landros grabbed the cat by the scruff and shooed him well out of the way.
"Well, that may be so if I was looking for THAT cat. But I'm not!" He pulled out an armlet with intense joy. "I've found it I've found it I've found IT!!!" he crowed.
"Found what?" Landros asked.
The man clutched it to himself protectively. "Can't have it! Not for trade not for sale!"
"I did not say I wanted it, just what was it? How come you asked for 'cat' and found 'bracelet'?"
"Oh," he said, a little sheepishly, then slipped the band onto his bony wrist. "Is cat's eye. Let's me see in the dark. Helps me find things without being found. Sewers are getting dangerous these days. Now, about this wand. I think I could find a use for it," he said evasively. "What else do you have to compliment it?"
"For sword?" she laughed. "I think not! Nothing else. Is wand for sword, even."
"Even?!!" he screeched.
"Even," she said, taking the wand back from him. "You used already. Without asking, might add."
"I showed you how to use it!" he snarled defensively.
"And found something very valuable to you," she came back. "You need this," she said, waving the wand in his face. "I need that," she said, gesturing to the burlap bundle. "Trade?"
He made a low noise deep in his throat which could have been a growl, made a pouting, 'I-HATE-being-forced-into-this' face. But he jerked his head towards the sword and snatched the wand from her.
Lark laughed, put a hand on Landros's arm before he could do something drastic about Edis's manners. She perched herself on a relatively clear corner of a table and opened the sword on her lap. She ran her hands lovingly over the well polished wood casing. "Why is wood?" she asked.
"Huh?" he said, looking up from admiring his new prize. "Oh, it's a desert sword. Wood is more precious than gold."
"Tell me more about," she asked. Landros held out his hands to see it and she gave it to him readily.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Edis warned.
"Why not?" Landros asked almost arrogantly. He slid the blade halfway from the sheath, ran a gloved finger across the flat of the blade and along the edge to test the sharpness.
"Because it don't like men," he said flatly, just as Landros let loose a yelp as the blade slide through the leather and sliced his finger.
"I can see that," he mumbled with his thumb in his mouth. He handed the blade back to Lark. "Here, you hang on to that."
“Tell me what you know of blade,” she said, smiling as she took the sword back. She bent forward, kissing his finger tenderly, glove and all.
Edis sighed. “I’ll have to get back to you on that one. That its name is Quicksilver is all I know for certain. Everything else is just hearsay. Check back with me, or tell me where I can leave a message…”
“At Cinnamon Tree,” she said. “Am found there most evenings.”
“Lark,” Landros warned. “I don’t want you heading out this way alone. It’s too dangerous.”
She tossed the scabbard, caught it, “Not so dangerous as before.”
He pulled her in close. “What am I going to do with you?” he growled playfully.
She grinned, slipped one arm around him. “Oh, don’t know,” she purred. “Toss me over shoulder and ravish me in meadow?”
Edis cleared his throat. Lark spun. Landros pulled her back against his chest, bent to her ear. “Be careful what you wish for, princess,” he whispered.
“If you two are quite through? Anything else? No? Then off with you. I’ll be in touch if I find something,” he said, and began shooing the pair of them off down another passageway.
“Where…?”
“SHHH!” he hissed. “I don’t want you walking through the tavern with new goods wavin’ about. You’re goin’ out the back way, and don’t even try comin’ in this way. It’s a one way street.”
Lark kept close to Landros. “Like said,” she whispered. “Paranoid.”
Nightingale peeped from under her hair, agreeing whole-heartedly.
After a few minutes down a dry, echoing, dark winding tunnel, they found themselves unceremoniously dumped on the street and a door slamming invisibly behind them.
Lark tucked the scabbard into her belt and walked arm in arm with Landros back to the Cinnamon Tree. She felt very content, with his arm around her waist and the new blade at her hip. "Thank you for bringing me to Edis," she sighed happily.
"I'm rather glad myself," he said, his mind beginning to wander. He loved the smell of her, the feel of her, so comfortable beside him like this.
"Am sorry about wand, though. But was all had unusual for trade that was not heirloom."
He pulled her closer, pressed a kiss to her temple. "Now, I don't want to hear it. It was a gift for you to do with as you needed. Besides, I'd say this sword is a hell of a lot more useful, sesket?"
"Yes," she laughed. The sound of that simple gypsy word coming from his very elven mouth struck a chord deep inside her, set her to thinking.
They entered the 'Tree through the kitchen, where Ivaska waited, tail thumping, for the hambone being pulled out of the stew. Lily sat them both down at the small table and placed a bowl of stew in front of each of them, refused to take no for an answer as she bustled in and out of the kitchen. Dane, sitting across from them, just grinned as he ate.
"I'm all warmed up," he said after scraping his bowl clean. "Can I play for you tonight?"
"We'll see," Lark said. She finished her own supper quickly and got up, tossing the empty bowl into the washbasin. She gave Landros a quick kiss and headed for the stairs.
"Where are you going?" he asked as she grabbed her pack.
"To change," she said simply. "What, you think I dance in this?" she asked with mock arrogance. "This for 'mucking about'. I have clothes for dancing," she added with a sly grin and sauntered up the stairs.
Nightingale remained on the table with Landros, pecking away at a crust of bread. Landros looked at the bird, "What is she up to?" he asked, not really expecting an answer and got none.
"No telling," Lily said as she breezed in and breezed back out.
Dane just continued grinning. "I don't know, but it jingles, whatever it is."
Heleda dropped the soup bone and shooed the dog outside, closing the door loudly behind him as she muttered something negative in his direction. She looked over Landros's bowl. "More?" she asked.
"No, thank you," he answered, putting his bowl and Dane's where Lark had put hers. He could have eaten more, but he felt distinctly guilty eating too well when he knew there were others in the city who could not afford even this meager meal.
Impatient to be off, but curious as to what Lark's new clothes looked like, and why she was being so secretive about it, he went out into the taproom and bought an ale from Neneis. He went back into the kitchen and found himself an out of the way corner to wait. He was not about to leave without saying good-bye anyway.
He did not have to wait long. He heard her before he saw her, jingling faintly with every step. He looked up at the stairs, saw her slim dark ankle above bare feet, glistening, with a band of braided blue ribbons adorned with tiny bells tied around her right ankle. This view was followed by bare, well oiled leg, capped just below the knee with a cloud of sapphire silk. The blue skirts swirled about her legs, gathered at her hips by a broad belt set low on her waist. The belt was embroidered and sewn with tiny glass beads and strands of gold cording strung with tassels and more bells. Above this belt rose her bare, taut stomach, also oiled to a deep sheen. Landros stared open mouthed, unable to think as the rest of her came into view. Her breasts were closely covered in tight, dark silk, draped with cording and bells and small tassels that hung from the bottom of the blouse just below her breasts. The sleeves were diaphanous billows of blue. Her hair was pulled back in the front and caught up in a garland of blue silk roses with streams of blue and white ribbons hanging past the opals in her ears. She was a complete vision. And, for a moment, he was unsure whether or not he was simply seeing things, so like the costume she had conjured for him in the grove was this dress.
"That's... that's not going to melt away before the evening's over, is it?" he asked suspiciously when he could get his tongue to work.
Lark laughed. "Looks just like, yes?"
"Too much like," he almost groaned, tried very hard to keep from reacting to the sight.
"She came up with all on own. Told her nothing. So guess I chose right?" she asked, sauntering across the kitchen towards him.
Before she got half way he tossed a gold coin on the table, shouldered his pack and started for the door. "See you later, Lark," he said.
She looked absolutely crestfallen. What had she done? "What? You will not stay for dancing?"
"No, I will not stay for dancing," he said flatly.
"Why? You not like dress?"
He sighed, rested his head against the jamb of the door. This was not going to be easy. He looked up at her, saw the hurt look on her face and the sudden sense of self consciousness wash over her. He dropped his pack and went to her, held her at arm's length. "No, I love the dress. THAT is why I have to leave. I... I have things I MUST do tonight. And if I stay and watch you dance ...in that, I will never be able to leave, and you will not finish your nights work and I think Lily would not appreciate that."
She began to grin, understanding suddenly why he had tried to leave so abruptly. It was not that he did not desire her, but that he desired her too much. She tried to press closer, to embrace him just for being himself, but he held her where she was. He reached over and pressed a kiss to her forehead, tried again to leave. This time, she held him back.
"You are going to get in trouble with Navarie again," she warned, putting her hands on her hips.
Growling to himself, he pulled her tightly to him, determined to punish her for tormenting him and enjoying it. He kissed her, long, deep, and promising. There was fury buried in his kiss, a knowing that this was going to haunt him as much as it was going to haunt her.
Lark felt as if struck by lightning. She was helpless in his embrace and would have it no other way. He released her lips, held onto her waist until she was steady enough that she wouldn't go tumbling to the floor.
Landros started again for the door, grabbing his pack. That had done it, though. He would have to visit tonight, want to or not. Behind them they heard a wooden bowl hit the floor. "Oh, my word!" Lily gaped.
Landros looked over his shoulder at the innkeeper, took in her stunned appraisal of Lark's new clothes. "My thoughts exactly," he replied and headed out the door.
Dane piped up, having heard his mother drop something and react uncertainly to something he could not see. "What? What?" he complained. "What am I missing?"
"I'll explain when you're older," Lily replied firmly, bent to pick up the bowl. "Lark, are you certain you want to go out there like that?"
"Why, is that bad?"
Lily shrugged. "Could be. Coolie's out there. He doesn't stay long when you aren't performing, which is a mixed blessing."
Lark sighed. "I'll stay out of Coolie's way. Dane, would you go out and start playing something for me?"
The boy jumped up, "What do you want me to play?" he asked, taking the tambourine she handed him.
"Something slow and sultry."
"The Faerie Queen," he answered, nodding.
"Wait," she added, pressed the wooden sheath of the scimitar into his hand. "Put by your chair where I can grab quickly if I have to, but whatever you do, do not draw yourself, all right?"
"Oh, all right," he sighed. "IVASKA!" he called.
The dog came trotting happily in through the door Landros had left open, bone firmly in jaws. Heleda about had a fit. "You better be taking that animal into the taproom!" she growled.
Ivaska followed Dane obediently into the other room. Lark cast a minor cantrip, casting herself in a veil of shadows to divert the eye and make herself mostly ignored. She followed closely on the heels of Lily as she hauled a heavy tray of plates into the other room. She slipped into the shadows next to the great fireplace and behind Dane's chair. Dane ignored her, used to this trick, and got out the fiddle after laying the tambourine on the hearth's edge near Ivaska and the sword where he had been told to. Lark waited until he began playing, watched the crowd carefully. Dane struck a few notes on the fiddle to test its tuning and then began to play a haunting little melody that was one of the first pieces she had taught him. 'So,' she thought, 'that is what he calls 'faerie queen'.'
The crowd reacted to the music, as she had known they would, looking to the corner to see who was playing and what kind of performance to expect. Coolie was in his usual seat, at one of the tables nearest the hearth. His eyes narrowed as Dane began to play, looked around for Lark. After a few minutes, when it became obvious that the gypsy was not here again tonight, he turned away, sullenly swallowing his ale. The rest of the crowd also returned to their conversations, some actually listening to the boy play, most more interested in their companions and the barmaids. Nightingale thoughtfully remained in the kitchen for the moment, knowing that to appear would be to give her away.
Lark waited a moment more, making sure her timing was right, then began to curl the smoke from the fireplace, collecting it into boiling mass that quickly got people's attention. As soon as it was thick enough, she slipped into it, dropped her shadows and began to dance in place to the music. She let the smoke curl and condense around her sinuous body, making herself appear as if she had formed herself out of the smoke before letting it disperse. The crowd's reaction was just what she had been hoping for. The taproom trickled into near silence, with only the clattering of cups in the background of the music and the violin and the bells on her hips, and ankles.
Lark danced before the hearth, shaping the music with sinuous turns. She bore in mind Landros's earlier reaction, and his promise of being careful what she wished for. Her desires translated unconsciously through her body to her audience, who clearly understood what it was to desire something one could never have, to view and touch and taste some delight one can never keep. With Dane playing, it was always impossible to take over the music, to make it hers as she could with any gypsy fiddler, in part because he could not see her to be influenced by her. It came to her great surprise when she realized that the music had shifted to fit her mood, painfully sultry and full of unfulfillable desires and yearnings. The bells, it had to be the bells giving him a chance to read her in a way he never could before. She began to use them, sent signals to him.
The applause was thunderous when she finally stopped, filled the small room almost unbearably. Ivaska barked in competition until Lark hushed him. Coins flew through the air. Lark laughed, snatched a few of them out of the air. It did not matter that they were only pennies. That there were so many in such troubled times meant a lot to her. She used a poltergeist disguised as a dust devil to gather them up and drop them into the timbrel.
Landros stopped by his apartments, sat down long enough to write the letter that Colwyn had asked him to write and sealed it. He tucked it into his shirt and emptied his pack. Laying out the blanket, he summoned up a large, portable supper and carefully wrapped it in a plain linen cloth and put that into his pack. Gathering the last of his things that he thought he might need, he headed out again.
His journey took him first to the Mayor's house, where he left the letter with the maid who opened the door. As his lordship was currently at supper, she promised to give it to him with his evening brandy. Landros gave her a silver piece just to be sure.
Next, he headed to the poorer section of town, not quite Bayside in the way of criminal activity, but not far from it in abject squalor. He never understood why these places were always in the poorer neighborhoods. Perhaps no one wanted a house full of screaming kids next door in the better ones.
The building he wanted was once a stately old house at the back of a good sized yard. The sign on the gate, swaying in the wind proclaimed 'The House Of Lost Lambs', with the painted symbol of a lamb in a shepherd’s arms. Landros went around the back, clearing the fence with the aid of a well climbed tree and quietly slipped in the back door, headed for the kitchen. He tried to be as quiet as he could, lest he wake up any of the children who were probably just getting to sleep upstairs. He pulled the bundle of food from his pack and set it on the counter, taking up the carefully folded linen from his last visit from the sideboard and put it into his bag in its place. Just as he was starting to leave, he saw the flickering of an approaching candle. A tall, middle-aged woman in a dressing gown entered the room, started when she saw him, then relaxed. She placed a hand to her chest, breathing hard. “Oh, my boy, you gave me quite a fright!”
“I’m sorry, Mother,” he said politely with a small bow. “I dare say you startled me as well,” he mused.
"You are early," she said, sweeping past him to get a small mug from the cupboard and a bottle of wine. "But I am glad I ran into you," she added as she poured. "Saves me the trouble of having to find you."
"Oh?" he asked, leaning back against the counter. This was interesting. He hardly ever saw or spoke to the proprietors of the House, though he occasionally ran into one or more of the children. He seriously doubted that she even knew his name.
"Yes. Father would like to talk to you." She dumped a small packet of herbs into the wine, stirred it and put the bottle away. "Would you come up and see him? He's a bit ill, and I don't want him out of bed right now."
"Certainly," he said, opened the door for her. He followed her up the stairs to the second floor, still wondering what in the world this could be about.
Halfway down the hall they heard a faint giggling from one of the rooms. "Don't make me come in there!" she warned. The giggling stopped instantly. "Here we are," she said softly, opening the door to one of the bedrooms.
Landros stepped into the small, cozy room. There was not much room to move around, every inch of space having been utilized by old furniture. Mother Zedia crossed to the bed with a stately grace more appropriate to a noblewoman than a priestess in charge of orphans, and placed the cup carefully into the trembling hand of the older man in the bed. Landros sat down in the chair Mother pulled over for him and waited until he was ready to talk.
Father Mullen was a singular man, had been a well known adventuring priest in his youth. Landros had met him when he was first setting out on his own, still trying to find his place in the world while taking care of a younger brother along the way. Father Mullen had given him some very sound advice and lent a hand with extricating his brother from some trouble he had gotten into. When Father Mullen retired, he had asked the temple to open this place and let him run it. Rumor had it that it had once belonged to Mother Zedia's family before hard times had befallen and it became run down, or that they had simply moved on to a better place in another city, and left this place to ruin. There was no telling the truth, and Zedia was certain not going to. It gave the gossips something harmless to wag about, she said.
Father Mullen handed the mug back to Zedia and sat up further, made himself comfortable. "I am glad she caught you, my boy," he said in a gravelly voice. He turned his head, coughed, cleared his throat. He sounded terrible, and did not look much better. His once dark hair was almost wholly white now and limp with oil and sweat. The liver spots stood out more starkly on his shrunken skin than Landros remembered from the last time they had met face to face. "How is your brother? Still getting into trouble?"
Landros smiled, yielded to the pleasantries even though he wanted to get straight to the meat of things. "Staying out of it at the moment. Or at least, getting himself out. You?"
He coughed. "Been better. You are doing well?"
"Well enough."
"Ah, impatient as always, well, I'll get right to it, then." He gestured at Zedia to get her attention as she tended the fire. "Mother, go get young William. He is here tonight, isn't he? I thought I heard him a little while ago."
"Yes, I think so." She left the room as gracefully as she had entered it.
"Still have ears like a cat," Landros chuckled.
"Yes," he laughed, ended in a series of coughs. "I wanted to talk to you," he said, getting serious. "I understand you are....(cough)... asking certain questions in certain places. Low places and worse questions."
Landros started to say something, fully surprised by the revelation. He did not think he had been that obvious! Father Mullen waved him to silence.
"No, I am not thinking what you think. Young William saw you last week sometime. You were making some disgruntled noises, very unlike you," he said evasively. "Said he saw you finally get your head together with an unsavory Northerner. Sometime after that we heard that you and some friends of yours had gotten seriously hurt in an ambush by enemy recruiters, which is why William brought the subject up of your sifting through underworld trash."
The door opened, drawing their attention. Landros was surprised to see Billy waltz in, strutting like a peacock. He held out his hand to Landros. "Ev'nin', sir!" he grinned.
"First of all," Landros began, shaking the hand but not letting go of it, "what are you doing spying on me?" he demanded.
Billy turned at least three different colors trying to come up with a decent answer to that one. "I... well... was... I saw you’s one day down at th' Three Gillies and saw you's wif some ind'vidu'ls I knows is bad news. I knows one of 'em wot 'angs wif th' two I saws you wif and 'e was skulkin' about in back. I decided since I owe's you m'life, I oughter pay ya' back. 'E didn't try nufin, but 'e was a thinkin' it."
"What were you doing at the Three Gillies?"
"I was looking fer m' pa," he said firmly. "Kin' I hav m' hand back, sir? You gots a grip on ya!"
Landros let him go and sat back down. "What are you doing here?" he asked. "I thought...."
Billy shook his head. "'E up an' vanished 'bouts a week ago. Wif our ma' dead, pop an' Thera's all I got..." Landros understood that position well, began to feel a kinship with this streetrat. "So, when pa' didn't come 'ome two nights inna row, I brought Thera 'ere an' went lookin' fer 'im. I ain't found 'im yet, tho, but I ain't gonna give up, even tho 'e gets mean when 'e's 'ad too much. 'E's all we got."
Landros mulled all this new information over for a few minutes. He felt a bony hand scrabbling at his back, turned to see Father Mullen trying to touch his shoulder to get his attention. "Yes, Father?" he said, coming closer to the old man.
"Talk with Billy awhile," he croaked. "He'll tell you more than you can discover on your own. Remember, he may be young, but he's invisible. There are things going on in this city that only the invisible ones can see now, and they are not going to come forward on their own. You have to find them and ask. There are bad omens on the horizon and we will not emerge victorious without using all our assets, not just the obvious." He sank back into his pillows, muttering to himself in-between fits of coughing, "Remember the invisible ones...."
Mother Zedia ushered both young men out of the room and down to the sitting room. She lit the lamp for them, picked up her candle again. "I have to go, I must take care of Father, and a couple of the younger ones have the sniffles. It was good to see you again, my friend. And Father... Father wanted to see you himself before..." She cut herself off abruptly.
"Before what?" Landros asked.
She ignored him, "Billy, remember to put out the lamp before you leave, or go to bed, whichever you decide to do," she said, shielded her candle and prepared to go back upstairs. Landros stopped her with a gentle but firm hand on her arm. "Before what, Mother?"
She looked at him, her dark brown eyes hard and wet in the flickering candlelight. "Father Mullen is dying," she said bluntly. "There is nothing the temple can do. This illness is beyond them. He wanted to speak to you, to see you again before that time, something about when he was young.... Now, if you will excuse me, I have to go see to him.”
Landros felt as if someone had just pulled a knife out of him. "Why didn't he say something?"
"Because he is a proud man. And a stubborn one."
Landros let her go, feeling as if his moorings were coming loose one by one, and this was just another broken rope. "If you need anything, anything at all, do not hesitate to ask," he said. "You can leave a message for me at the Golden Cygnet or at the house of Lord Colwyn. I have a friend who is staying on his property who can get the message to me quickly. I'd like to know... before...," he could not seem to get himself to say the word, "if you can. I want to know regardless."
She nodded, turned and went upstairs without another word.
Landros sat down, the better to digest the ill news. After a few minutes he looked up, saw Billy sitting there waiting patiently and remembered suddenly why he was here in the first place. "Tell me about this man you saw me with," he asked.
Lark was having a very good night, in spite of the verbal advances and long looks Coolie kept giving her any time she came near enough. She largely ignored him. Lark gave the boy a break every now and again, playing for herself so that he could help his mother if she needed him to. Lark had given him just such a break and played a haunting, yet slowly passionate melody she had been working on. There was applause, but it was too mellow, almost sad, for this crowd on this night. They called for something more rousing. She saw an empty chair, leaped gracefully from it to the tabletop, and began playing slowly, teasingly. It was a song that Dane did not yet have the skill to play, but that she had been playing and dancing to since she was twelve. It did not take long to heat up and send her hopping from table to table to the bar where she finally stayed, dancing and fiddling without knocking over a single beer. Neneis completely ignored her, serving up his drinks regardless of her nearness or footwork. This, of course, made her skill seem all the greater to the absolute thrill of the mostly male audience.
It was a good night.
Landros slipped in the back gate of Colwyn's estate, his mind reeling from the information Billy had given him. He headed determinedly towards the house, so focused on the light in the study window that he almost tripped over the stable boy trying to get his attention.
He caught his balance, swearing in elven. "What?" he snapped, when the boy apologized but still tried to keep him from going to the house.
"I'm sorry, sir, but... that mattress you asked for. It's here."
He drew up short. He had completely forgotten about it. "Where is it?"
The boy pointed behind him. "In the carriage house."
"Thank you. I will get it myself, later. First I have to see your master." He brushed past the boy and went inside the house.
Colwyn was writing at his desk, referring frequently to a map of the city and surrounding countryside. He looked up as Landros slipped in unannounced. He set his pen down on seeing the look on his squire's face. He gestured over to the brandy decanter and Landros poured himself one without further encouragement. He tossed it down, swallowed hard and poured a second before he sat down in the nearest chair to nurse it.
Lord Colwyn waited patiently. Landros took a moment to find a place to start.
"I went to the orphanage tonight," he said flatly.
Colwyn nodded, still not sure what was going on.
"I spoke to Father Mullen, the proprietor of the place, I actually know the man from his younger days, so it was hard seeing him.... Father Mullen is dying, by the way. I don't know how much longer."
"Of what? He should still have several years left in him," Colwyn said quietly.
"Some illness. Mother Zedia said the priesthood has no clue and can do nothing. But that is not... one of the boys now residing there is one of the boys we rescued from the island a few weeks past. He had some very disturbing news."
Colwyn leaned back, watching Landros with hawk-like eyes. "Go on."
"Before Ashanda and her friends disappeared, Vanishti met with some unsavory types and set up a meeting. This sort of thing is not uncommon in Bayside and not always illegal. Shortly afterwards, the whole party vanished. About a week later, Vanishti shows back up, is evasive about where he's been and his whole attitude has changed. He begins to negotiate for the same men he had negotiated with earlier, whom I suspect are agents of the hooded mage and the same people that tried to corrupt or kill me and my friends and Lark and hers, and probably countless others in this city." He paused, sipped at the brandy.
"We know this," Colwyn said cautiously, encouraging Landros to continue.
"Vanishti had a shadow. A grey haired elven woman dressed wholly in shades of dark grey. It is believed she is an observer for the enemy, possibly an assassin as well, sent to keep an eye on the 'recruiter/bellwether'. She slipped out of sight when Vanishti was killed and has recently been seen keeping an eye on someone else. Always the same person. If we can get someone who is good, and I mean REALLY good, to keep an eye on her, find out who she's watching, we might be able to track this back to the source."
Colwyn remained silent for a long while, thinking. Landros just watched the colors change in his glass against the firelight. "This is good information?"
Landros did not look up. "As good as it gets. There's no motive for truth or lies, but maybe hero worship," he added as an afterthought. "As for me, I am not much good to you anymore as a spy."
Colwyn leaned forward. "You were never a spy, Landros. You were brought in because you are a good scout. You have found quite a bit of good, solid information so far.... why doubt yourself now?"
Landros leaned his head back against the chair. "Because no one in Bayside will talk to me now. Word among the enemy is out. Hood has seen my face, one too many times, I might add. Word is among his flunkies that I am not to be approached, I am not to be tangled with, but that anyone seen giving me information has a sentence of death issued. That is why."
Colwyn got up and poured himself a brandy, paused to savor it a moment. "This boy ..."
"Billy."
"Billy, he brought you this information?" Landros only nodded. "How old is he?'
Landros shrugged. "Fifteen, twenty maybe?"
Colwyn looked surprised. "Big difference between fifteen and twenty, Landros. Either way he is hardly a boy now."
Landros realized what he had done. "I'm sorry. He is human, maybe... maybe the age of your stable-boy. About ten? Eleven?"
Colwyn nodded, understanding the mistake. "I guess with elves there is not much difference between fifteen and twenty. He is old enough to use as a spy, if he is careful and he is eager. If he gathered this information on his own, he is good enough to be this spy you said we need. Would he be willing to gather information on your behalf?"
Landros sighed, drank his brandy sullenly. "I don't like using him, but I do not see as we have a choice. He is ...one of the 'invisible ones'," he said.
Colwyn perked up. "'Invisible ones'?" he asked.
Landros rubbed his temples, "It is something Father Mullen said tonight. They are the ones people ignore because they do not want to see them, or because they are not viewed as a threat."
Colwyn nodded. "We have a veritable army of 'invisible ones' out there if we are smart enough to use them. Do not worry, my boy, we will find some use for you. Perhaps as a general to this 'army'. I would suggest meeting him only at the orphanage as you have been. If he lives there, his going there will not be suspect."
"But what about me?" he asked sullenly. "Will my going there on a regular basis not be suspect?"
"My boy, you have been sneaking in and out of that place for months now and few are the wiser. No one will think any different now. Stop selling yourself short. And I'll make that an order if I have to." Landros could feel his gaze on him, but did not look up, simply drank the brandy in his hand. "You've done enough tonight," he finished. "Go get some rest."
Landros got up, swallowed the rest of the brandy and set the glass on the sideboard. "If you need anything, I'll be out at the caravan. I have some improvements of my own to make."
Colwyn chuckled. "Between the two of us, that gypsy is going to start complaining that wagon isn't hers anymore."
Landros looked at his Lord with uncertainty in his eye. "I hope not. If she does not feel comfortable or safe, she'll move. And here is the only place I feel she is safe."
"Go on, get some rest," he growled. "You've earned it."
Lark was halfway across the room when the fight broke out. It was nothing at first, just an argument between a pair of less than sober men, a pair of soldiers having a difference of opinion. Lark ignored it, knowing that Neneis would handle things if they got too far out of hand. When she heard the sound of a violin string breaking and the toppling of chairs and barking of wolfhound, she turned. The fight was a close, furious tangle, and had already dislodged Dane pressing him tight in his corner and in very real danger of getting hurt. Lark jumped onto the nearest table, taking the 'high road' to the fireplace. She used a poltergeist she had been playing with earlier without completely dismissing to bring her sword, scabbard and all, leaping into her hands.
As she reached the last tabletop, she was within range and cracked the nearest of the fighter's across the head with the wooden scabbard. As the struck soldier reeled back, holding his head and seeing stars no doubt, Lark ripped Quicksilver from the sheath, and jumped in between them, waving the blade dangerously close to the soldier's face. The man watched the gleaming blade as if it were a snake that had suddenly rose up in front of him. Ivaska pounced on the other fighter who had by now sank to the floor. He sat on him, growling, daring him to move.
"Am thinking party is over," Lark growled.
Neneis finally managed to reach the fight, picked the one up off the floor and rescued the other from Lark's tender mercies. He escorted the two of them, rather unceremoniously, out the door. Lark ran to Dane, set her sword on the floor next to him. "Are you...."
"I'm fine," he whimpered as Lark began to examine the reddening mark on his forehead and one under his chin where the violin had been resting. "But they broke it!"
Lark took the fiddle he pressed into her hands as his mother finally made it through the press, began fussing over him. She examined it carefully. There was no severe damage, just a scratch or two where it had been struck and the broken string. Even the bow was in good shape, miraculously. "Is all right, Dane. Just string, which can fix."
Dane breathed a loud sigh of relief, began complained about his mother's handling of him. "Momma, I'm all right!"
"All right! Look at you! You've got a knot on your forehead and a cut on your chin! There's no telling what else those bullies did to you!"
Lark put a hand on her shoulder. "Lily, calm, please. You are upsetting him. Will be fine. Is only where fiddle clipped him when they bumped him, and cut is from string. Will heal. Take him into kitchen and give something warm to drink and will be better. Will come shortly. Am thinking show is over for evening."
Lily nodded, gathering her son up and shuffling him off into the kitchen, still fussing over him. Lark set the stool upright again, praised Ivaska for his help with a scratch to his ears and put the fiddle back in its case. She picked up her sword, looked around for the scabbard. She saw something waving out of the corner of her eye, looked up and saw Coolie waggling it in the air with a self-satisfied smirk. "Ivaska, guard!" she said, pointing to the tambourine filled with money. Ivaska walked over and lay down, with the instrument between his huge paws.
Lark went over to Coolie, determined to be dispassionate and cool. "Thank you," she said, held out her hand for it. He pulled it out of her reach.
"Uh-uh," he chided. "This could have so easily been stolen. I did you a big favor by picking it up and watching it for you. I think I deserve some reward...." he said, left his sentence hanging.
"What did you have in mind?" she asked sarcastically. She knew exactly what he had in mind.
"Oh, let's not be greedy now," he said, pretending to think. "Let's see,... a kiss? Something so sweet and simple? AH!" he yelped in surprise as the scimitar flashed at his cheek and, like lightning, shaved a narrow strip from his beard.
"Was good enough? I think Quicksilver likes you, there is no blood ...yet."
Glaring at her with hard eyes, he handed her the sheath without taking his eyes from hers. She kept her eye on him and her sword between them as she took the scabbard and backed a few steps away. Only then did she turn her back on him and sheath the sword.
She picked up her tambourine and, with Ivaska at heel, went back into the kitchen.
"I'm telling you, mamma, that's what I heard," Dane was saying. He sat at the table with a cup of sweetened milk in his hands, complaining at his mother tended the cut on his chin.
"Well, I don't care, I don't want you repeating it. It's dangerous talk."
"What is dangerous?" Lark asked, sitting down. Ivaska wandered out the door, happily aided by Heleda.
"Can I tell her, mamma? Please?"
Lily sighed, walked away. "I give up!" she cried.
Dane sidled up to Lark, eagerly began filling her in. "The two men who were fighting. I heard what set them off. They were complaining about their orders and that they made no sense. I think they are from different units, because they were comparing orders and complained that it seemed like the Mayor was deliberately weakening the defenses of certain parts of the city, like the East gate."
Lark did not like the sound of this. "Dane, this is serious. Mother is right. You cannot repeat this. Or at least choose carefully who you tell and where. Words like those are treason and dangerous. Tell you what, when you hear something like this, tell me, but only when I tell you is all right to tell. No one can be near to overhear, or you might be hurt because you heard too much."
His mouth opened in shock. "Would someone really hurt a blind boy? Just because I heard something?"
She ran her fingers through his golden locks, "Sweetling, is war, is dangerous time. There are and always will be, men who would hurt anyone or anything getting in way. These are people who, not long ago, stole twelve children, all younger than you, to feed them to a demon in trade for help conquering city. You must be careful. Yes, there are times you must trust blindly, but there are equally times to keep mouth shut. You listen in always, and you hear much because you say nothing and they assume you cannot hear or speak. Sometimes this is best defense. But you hear any more noise like this tonight, you tell me you need a private practice and I will make sure no one will overhear us. Then you tell me what you hear. Is could save us all, some of what you hear. But you have to be careful when you do tell. Promise?"
He nodded. "All right, I promise. I think I'm ready for bed, though," he yawned.
"Come on," Lark said, getting up. "I'll put you to bed."
Landros was just making the new bed, finishing it off with a rose on the new, goose-down pillow when he heard his name being called. He opened the wagon door, looked out. Charging up the slope along the river on a barded warhorse was Colwyn, in full field plate, bellowing for him at the top of his lungs. Seeing Landros, he pulled the horse to a stop and threw him the reins to a second horse just behind him. "Grab your sword and mount up!" he ordered. "We have a breach at the East gate. We're hard pressed and need every fighting man we have!"
Swearing in elven, Landros buckled on his sword and jumped from the wagon to the saddle and galloped along side his Lord. "That's it," he snarled. "This war has inconvenienced me for the last time!" he growled. "It ends now!"
Colwyn actually laughed, a deep, hearty, almost mad sound. "That's the spirit!" he bellowed.
Landros did not find it funny. He had been deadly serious. This was the second time that the enemy had put a halt to his evening plans, and he was quite tired of it. He had reached the end of his patience, not that that was a long reach by any means.
Continued...
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