Rake's Story

by LeRoy Clary

  “Cheerful, huh?” Cinder said. “Try to find a smile on one face. Just one.”

  A man strode purposefully in their direction. As he grew closer, he threw his arms wide as if to stop them. He said loudly, “Hey, where are you two going?”

  Rake restrained the urge to brush aside the arm that barred his way. Instead, he smiled and asked, “Can you recommend a nearby inn that has good food and clean accommodations?”

  The man lowered his arms and jabbed a thumb at a side street. “Up that way. You’ll see the sign over the door. Two Fish. You don’t want to be out walking after dark.”

  Cinder reached out and placed her palm on his chest in a friendly manner, moving the coat gently to one side as she did so. “Thank you, sir.”

  He grunted and strode away as if he owned the pavers he walked upon.

  Cinder said, “A knife at his left hip and a nightstick beside it. The long coat covered it.”

  Rake had wondered at her action in touching his chest. He realized what she had really been doing was a gentle frisk for weapons. They followed his directions to the inns and located the Two Fish Inn easily.

  Inside, half the tables were filled, mostly with morose patrons. No musician played in the corner. The wench who served them was callous and rude. The conversation was minimal and subdued.

  Cinder said to the server, “We think we came to the wrong inn. There are people we were going to meet, but the name wasn’t Two Fish. Is there another inn close by?”

  “You probably should be at the Dirty Dog, right up past here, three buildings away.” She lifted a forefinger to point in the general direction.

  They thanked her and left.

  Rake said with a smirk as they walked onto the street, “The Dirty Dog Inn? That’s the best name they could come up with?”

  “Are you ever going to forget it? I doubt it. So, it is maybe a better name than you think.”

  The Dirty Dog stood alone, a rambling building with two entrances on the front side as if it had been far smaller at one time and took over the adjoining space of another occupant in the building. Inside, they found a dining room large enough for a hundred. Less than ten people were seated. It appeared that not many travelers stayed at any of the inns in Mercippio.

  Cinder ordered a meal from a surly young man wearing a greasy apron, which turned out to be greasier bowls of lukewarm stew. A small loaf of stale bread completed the meal. The innkeeper charged three times what the meals had been at the nicer inn where they’d stayed the day before. Neither of them ate. A man stood idly in a corner and boldly watched them, as if anxious they leave.

  Outside, they wandered the empty streets, searching for other inns, which they didn’t find, or places where locals gathered. They located a beer garden that was closed, the tables overturned, and the kegs ripped open. A fire had consumed much of it. Rake didn’t believe it had been accidental.

  Cinder said, “We can find out more in the morning when there are people about.”

  “Sure. But on the way back to Demi’s inn we need to make a stop.”

  Cinder looked puzzled.

  Rake said, “There’s a man who has been following us since we left the Dirty Dog. When we turn up the street to our inn, I’m going to step aside and wait for him.” She didn’t argue, and when they made the last turn, Rake stepped into the deep shadows of an overhanging roof.

  Cinder had moved with him, uninvited, but there was no time to discuss it. They stood perfectly still. A figure rounded the corner carefully, trying to remain in the shadows, too. He nearly ran into Rake. Well, he did run into Rake in a manner of speaking. Rake’s fist lashed out, his muscles driving it deep into the man’s stomach.

  There is little fight remaining when a punch to the stomach arrives unexpectedly. The man grunted, doubled up, and fell forward to his knees. Rake glanced up and down the street. They were alone. He pulled the man deeper into the shadows.

  Cinder moved to face him, her voice purred, “Sir, can I please have your ear?”

  “W-what?” he groaned. “I’m listening.”

  She revealed her knife, edge of the blade held upwards as she grabbed a handful of his hair. “Not what I mean, sir. Rake, you said I could have his ear if I was nice to him, so don’t try and stop me.”

  Rake didn’t know what to say. He saw the look of abject terror on the man’s face. Rake said, “I was just going to ask him a few questions and let him go.”

  “Only if he answered truthfully, that’s what you said. Have you heard him talk? Even a little bit? Let me cut his ear off and he’ll talk plenty.” She reached out as if to grab the ear.

  Rake barred her way as he leaned closer so that his face was almost touching that of the other. “Why were you following us? I suggest you answer quickly and tell me the truth, or you will lose an ear tonight to add to her collection. However, to be generous, you may choose which one to lose.”

  “I was paid to follow you.”

  “And do what?” Rake demanded.

  “Nothing. I promise. I was just supposed to tell Hadrian where you spent the night.”

  “Hadrian?” Cinder spat. “That doesn’t even sound like the name of a real person. He’s lying so I get his ear.”

  “He was at the Two Fish. In the corner. He saw you there.”

  “Why does he want us followed?”

  “I don’t know. I swear it. He just hired me.”

  Cinder cooed softly, “So, do I get his ear?”

  “What does he look like?” Rake asked, ignoring Cinder. “Hadrian?”

  “Short and fat. He has a long beard and a round face.”

  Rake remembered a man there that fit the description, sitting in a corner alone, watching them. He said, “You can go now.”

  Cinder whined, “But you promised.”

  “You can have the ear of the next person that follows us.” Rake watched the man roll away and stand before running, his eyes on Cinder the entire time. She made a few sharp slicing motions in the air with her knife and he sprinted.

  Rake said, “He’s going to tell quite a story, you know.”

  “And anybody that hears it is going to hesitate before following us. When are we going to speak with Hadrian?”

  “I got a good look at him at the inn. Tomorrow will be a good time to talk,” Rake said. “Maybe we’ll follow him for a while and see how he likes that, who knows?”

  “He will be warned, now that we threatened his man.”

  “Couldn’t be helped. I wonder what else Demi can tell us about Hadrian.” They walked to her inn, only a few buildings away, watchful of others lurking in the darkness. There were more than a few, however, none seemed interested in them. The door for the Rocking Chair inn was barred, but at their knock, it swung open. Demi stepped quickly aside so they could enter and replace the bar.

  “We were followed. A man named Hadrian sent him,” Rake said without preamble.

  “From the Two Fish,” Demi confirmed.

  “What do you know about him?” Cinder asked.

  “He’s one of the three men who has purchased all the inns and other businesses. He has hired thugs from all over the city to do his enforcement.”

  “Meaning he will not allow us to remain at your inn?”

  “That has been his pattern. I thought I explained that. You’re free to move to another inn and save yourself the coming trouble, one where they actually have food to serve their people.”

  “We paid for some of that. Didn’t and couldn’t eat it but paid for it,” Cinder said. “I wouldn’t let that be fed to our hogs.”

  Demi laughed. “If you can hold out until morning, there are several stands at the market that sell good food. Meat pies, baked goods, whatever. You can eat there.”

  “What about you?” Cinder asked.

  “Oh, I’ll hold out for another month, maybe. Don’t worry about me.”

  Rake scratched his head. “Nothing for you to worry about? I don’t agree.”

  “You shouldn’t get in
volved in my problems.”

  He barked a laugh. “As if we don’t have problems enough to make yours seem small.”

  The innkeeper watched them laugh together. She didn’t see what was so funny, but that seemed to make them laugh more.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Back in their room on the second floor, neither worried about Demi. They talked as Rake idly watched out the balcony door at the city street, or what little he could see of it. From the number of buildings and the empty rooms in each, his estimate said the streets should normally be full of people on a warm spring evening. Yet, they were almost deserted, giving the feeling that they were dangerous to walk in the dark.

  Cinder was lying on her back on the sleeping pad looking blankly up at the ceiling. She hadn’t spoken in a while and when she did, it was unexpected, “Have you ever wanted to own an inn? I mean, for yourself?”

  “I’d never even been in one until last night, so no.”

  “Same with me. But in the other one last night, I liked the minstrel playing and singing while the people ate and listened. I could grow to deal with that a lot better than existing in a cabin hidden in the deep woods. Imagine all the different kinds of interesting people you’d meet. You’d have a warm bed every night and all you wanted to eat and interesting travelers to tell their tales.”

  Her talk of the other inn reminded Rake of another thing. “Sadie is only a half day behind us. She will probably arrive before noon and walk into this city unprepared. She might get into trouble. I don’t like that”

  “We should get up early and go meet her on the road.” Cinder said, almost slurring her words. “One of those men offering ‘help’ to a woman arriving alone like that one that met us could be a problem. Now, if you’ll stop talking and put that candle out, I can go to sleep.”

  “Hey, it wasn’t me that started talking about owning an inn like it is the most wonderful dream a person can have.” By the time Rake finished the sentence, she was snoring softly. That left him feeling a little disappointed that he didn’t have the last word and hadn’t won the argument. Again.

  Restless and wide-awake, Rake rose and padded quietly in bare feet before going to the balcony again. The slight breeze felt good even if the smoke in the air brought tears to his eyes. He pulled the chair to where he could sit at the open doorway, watch outside, and enjoy the night as he let his mind settle down from the events of the day. So many new things had happened, he needed time to consider them and gain perspective.

  From working the farm, hunting and fishing, tanning hides, chopping and storing firewood for winter, and little else, his days had suddenly become one mental contest after another. The overall reason was to find if Breslau was invading Oakhaven, but there were others, most unsaid and lurking just below his conscious thoughts. If they were planning an attack, could they be stopped? If not, what was best for his immediate family, and for the others in the Dragon Clan? They were also his family, even if he’d never met them.

  Lastly, Cinder’s question about running an inn bothered him more then he wanted to admit. His thoughts were similar but took on a different direction. Would he ever be happy living on the family farm again? If not, what about his sisters and their father? They needed him.

  A faint scuffle of sound on the street below filtered through the open door and drew his attention. Being a hunter, he knew better than to move quickly and draw attention. He remained still, watching below. A pair of men stood at the corner of the building across the street. They huddled together in the deeper shadows, fiercely whispering as if angry. A tapping of metal on flint drifted up to Rake, and the flashes of sparks escaped their cupped hands.

  He watched, puzzled at their secretive actions. In one brighter flash, he saw a bottle with a rag hanging out of the neck. Instantly, he understood. It was a bottle-bomb, a jar filled with lamp oil. Once the oil-soaked rag took a spark and caught fire, the bottle would sail through the air at the inn. The resulting breaking bottle would spread the oil—along with the fire over the entire wooden wall.

  His rucksack and bow stood within easy reach. He slipped the bow from the sheath without taking his eyes off the men. If they threw the bottle, he needed to shout a warning and get all three of them out of the building. Once the oil spread with the breaking of the jar and the flames spread, there would be no putting it out. But the men were still having trouble getting a spark to take. As he slipped the bowstring in place, he condemned them for not carrying a candle, which is much easier to light.

  He spilled a handful of arrows onto the chair and grabbed the first his fingers touched. He might only have an instant remaining. The arrow fitted to the string and in a single motion, he drew the arrow back and released. It arched across the street.

  His hand reached for another arrow even before he heard a grunt from one of the men. The tapping paused as the other man tried to see in the darkness why his friend had made the unusual sound and then began slipping from a stand to his knees. Rake let the second arrow fly before the accomplice understood the danger. Another grunt joined a howl of pain from the first man as the initial shock subsided and the pain of an arrow penetrating his belly made itself known.

  Rake reached for another. One of the men limped away, forgetting the jar of oil he intended to light. Rake let go of a third arrow. It flew true, striking the man low on his back. In near amazement, Rake examined his bow as if it held magical powers. Three arrows, three targets struck, all from a balcony across a street. Who said he needed practice?

  Then his mind measured the distance from the balcony across the street and realized he could have made his old wobbly arrows almost fly that far. The howling of the first man drew the attention of others outside. Candles in three different windows were lighted, and a man rushed outside a door and demanded, “What’s going on out here.”

  Rake stepped out onto the balcony and called loudly as he pointed a finger in the starlight, “Two men at the corner of that building down there. They were going to burn down all these buildings with a bottle-bomb.”

  Another man, one wrapped in a blanket worn around his shoulders, rushed out to hear the last of Rake’s statement. He was near the alley where the first wounded man still cried out in pain, demanding help. The man in the blanket ran barefoot to where the wounded man was laying, but instead of offering help, he picked up the jar with the rag still hanging from it and held it high for all to see.

  “This is what they were going to do to us!” He shouted. He stepped out into better light and held it higher for all to see. “He was going to burn us alive! These wooden building would have all burned, and us with them.”

  Cinder was suddenly at Rake’s shoulder, saying nothing, but observing.

  He said softly, “They were going to burn the inn.”

  “I heard. You stopped them?”

  Another man from below called out, “The other one is dead.”

  Rake didn’t react. He’d killed a man and felt no regret, no sadness. His emotions were flat. Empty. No, that was not fully true. There was a lingering sense of satisfaction instead of regret.

  Cinder said, “It was not because of us. They were going to do this to Demi because she wouldn’t sell.”

  “I’d never killed a man before we left home. Now my average is more than one a day. I should feel something. Not just empty.”

  “You killed a dangerous, mad animal. No more. He might as well have been a wolf killing your sheep. You owe him nothing. Just as he would have felt nothing if he had killed us.”

  More people gathered in the street and talked excitedly. A few looked up at him. Rake closed the balcony door, having no intention of going down and talking to them. He said to Cinder, “If you don’t mind, I’m going to stay up for a while longer.”

  “To make sure nobody else tries to set the inn on fire?”

  “No. I don’t think that will happen, but I need some time to sort things out in my head. There is so much conflicting information and my mind is pounding.”


  Cinder placed an arm around his shoulder and stood beside him for a while before she quietly went back to bed. Rake listened for the sound of her regular breathing to indicate she slept but didn’t hear it. He didn’t talk to her. She remained quiet. Respectful.

  In the middle of the night, he quit fighting sleep. The outside air had cooled the room and he placed a blanket over his shoulders. The activity on the street below had ceased long ago. The bodies might still be there—or not. The moaning from the injured one had ceased without him noticing when. His eyes closed.

  He caught himself falling from the chair and moved to the straw bed. Cinder was lying crosswise and he gently moved her feet to one side. As soon as he got under the blanket, she rolled to his side and her arm pulled him close. As he was wondering at that, her knee came up and shoved him to one side. She was sound asleep. He relaxed and drifted off. When he woke, the sun was up, and light streamed into the room.

  Cinder sat in the chair, the door to the balcony door opened again, her eyes focused on the street. She didn’t turn to face him.

  “Is the dead man still there?” he asked.

  “Only a bloodstain.”

  “We should go tell Demi what happened. Warn her,” Rake said.

  “She already knows,” Cinder said. “This is her home, inn, and city. You can count on her knowing what happened.”

  Rake ignored her and threw on his shirt. He left Cinder to herself and clomped down the stairs to warn the innkeeper he was coming. He found her baking small loaves of bread. That she’d managed to locate, and purchase flour was a question for later.

  She turned and made a friendly face from one that had been crying a few seconds earlier. “Even if you don’t like bread, the smell is impossible to ignore. Sit down, I’ll scramble you an egg.”