by T. A. White
“All visitors?” she asked in a dry tone.
“Of course. All visitors must sign in and pay an entry fee,” he said doing his best to look down his nose at her though they were about the same height.
She sent a pointed glance at the men lingering on the street at the end of the dock. He spared them a brief look before holding out a pen and paper. She sighed. Normally she would watch how the other crewmembers acted and copy it. Since she had no frame of reference for many things, she often preferred to see how others interacted before committing to a course. Since the little man seemed more interested in her than the others, she was a little unsure as to what to do.
What would Jost do? It was a question she often asked herself in unfamiliar situations.
She grabbed the pen from him and signed the line he was pointing at.
“How much is the fee?” she asked.
“Last name, too.”
Tate hesitated before taking the pen again. A pair of fishermen carrying their day’s catch passed by them. She scribbled a last name where he was pointing and shoved the parchment and pen back into his hands.
“Fisher?” he asked incredulously.
“You got a problem with my name?” She jutted her jaw out mulishly. Her normal fiery temper had begun to rise. The little man presented himself as an excellent outlet for her earlier frustration. She’d had about all she could take from him and was ready to be about her business. “Now how much do I owe you?”
“Five taros.”
“Five,” she gasped outraged. Jost would never pay such an outrageous amount.
Taros weren’t the most valuable of the four coins, but neither were they the most inexpensive. Why, that was enough for a night’s lodging and a nice place at that. Muttering under her breath about greedy government officials, she dug two taros coins from the bag tied at her waist.
“You’ll get two.”
“It’s five.” Spittle flew from the man’s fat lips as he enunciated the amount with all the offended dignity of his position he could muster.
Tate leaned forward. “You’ll be happy with two.” Channeling the confident pirate, she stepped into his personal space. “I know that a fine, upstanding government official such as yourself, wouldn’t dream of extorting money from citizens in the hopes of lining your pockets.”
Her voice remained calm as she stepped forward with every other word. He clutched the parchment of names to his chest as she steadily advanced.
“Would you?” for the first time her voice changed to one of anger.
“No, no.”
She suddenly smiled. It was a smile meant to say ‘no hard feelings; have a nice day.’ “Good.”
By this time the man had backed all the way to the side of the pier, leaving the way clear for Tate. She turned and strode toward her friends. They nodded a greeting as she joined them.
“How much did old stooge, there, want?” the man from the boat, Ripley, asked.
“Five taros.”
He whistled. “Entrance has gone up. So how much ya give him?”
“Two.”
“That’s our girl,” the young boy, Trent, said clapping her on the back.
“Why didn’t you have to pay, Riply?”
“Aw, Captain’s bribed the officials to look the other way when we come into town,” Riply spat into the street. “Wouldn’t due to have pirates’ names on the roster. The kitties might decide they want a taste of us birdies.”
“Why’d he stop me then?”
Riply’s shrug was eloquent. “He must not have thought you were crew.”
Tate didn’t comment. That was a sentiment she’d often faced. No matter how much she struggled to be part of the Marauder’s crew, she was always an outsider. Arguing it wouldn’t change the facts.
Her group was a motley bunch. None of them had seen a bath in over a week and Riply’s shoulder length blondish hair was tied back by a piece of twine. Trent, the youngest of the bunch, had a smooth baby face and clothes that were baggy on his teenage frame. He usually stuck close to Danny, a large muscular man with shaggy black hair and a thick beard that would disappear as soon as he had water to shave with. Danny had a rough face under that beard that said fuck with me and live to regret it.
“What’re you guys up to?” Tate asked.
“Captain gave us leave for the next week,” Trent volunteered. “We’re heading over to the Crow’s Nest for lodging and food.”
“Mind if I tag along?”
“It’ll be like old times.” Riply slung his arm around Tate’s shoulders and steered her up the street.
She rolled her eyes and slipped out from under his arm. Danny shared a wry glance with her and shrugged as if to say ‘what can you do.’ Old times, usually involved Riply pissing off the locals and the other three having to bail him out of whatever trouble he’d found.
For all his ability to antagonize people, Riply was a good guy. A little slow and a complete ladies man but generally had a good heart. She just hoped he’d keep out of trouble for the next couple of nights.
The Crow’s Nest was a modest inn and tavern about half an hour from the harbor. The well-off gentry and wealthier merchants probably wouldn’t spend a night’s rest under its slate roof, but normal folk wouldn’t turn their noses up at it.
The o and t were worn smooth and almost unreadable on the weathered board tacked above the door. Muffled shouts echoed from inside along with slightly off key singing. Someone had started celebrating rather early since the air still held the slight cool of midmorning. Tate chewed her lip thoughtfully. On second thought, it could be the celebration had just carried over into morning.
A second story with slightly dirty windows overlooked a bustling street filled with the morning’s foot traffic. A man bumped into Tate and moved on with a shouted apology. It had gotten busy as more and more people started their day. Tate had to stick close to the others or risk getting lost in the crowd.
She followed Danny and the others into the inn, which was lit by the soft light of glow lamps. Small, no bigger than Tate’s clenched fist, they were made of a thick glass and when shook could provide more light than a candle. Several tables had one of the glow lamps. A crowd had gathered next to the bar to watch a man strutting along its top holding a mug and singing as loudly as he could. The crowd heckled as his voice rose to new heights.
Tate shook her head as he reached a particularly high note. Men’s voices just weren’t meant to be used like that. “Are you sure you want to stay here?” Tate asked doubtfully. “The entertainment leaves a little to be desired.”
“Didn’t know you were such an expert,” Riply said with a sly wink.
“Anybody with a smidgeon of sense between their ears would know this isn’t music. What is he even saying?”
“Fair enough, but the food is good and their mattresses are free of flees,” Danny said.
“I guess you can’t complain about that.” Tate shook her head.
She cast a skeptical glance around, noting all the exits and anybody who seemed to be paying too close of attention. It had become a habit to know the best escape routs and as Jost would say, it paid to be vigilant.
To be truthful, the place wasn’t all that bad. Better than most, in fact.
Soon enough they had found the proprietress and rented two rooms, the guys sharing one and Tate taking the other.
Her room was small, with just enough space for a bed and a desk with a pitcher and basin for her to wash her face and hands in. She did so with an almost decadent feeling of luxury, relishing the crisp water on her face and hands. It wasn’t often one had access to fresh water on ship. That usually only happened after a storm and only if you were smart enough to put your own bucket outside. The inn wasn’t high class enough to have a full bath, just a small communal toilet and sink, but for a few extra rostry pieces, the least valuable coin of trade, she could use the baths down the street.
Tate leaned down and sniffed one shoulder of her shirt and wrinkled
her nose at the smell. She stank.
While on ship, with the breeze a fairly constant companion that whisked body smells away, she hadn’t really noticed how awful she smelled. Her nose had grown accustomed to the smell even, but being in the city around better-bathed folks had made her stink more noticeable. It was a wonder she’d been rented a room at all. Her skin felt scummy, and her scalp itched from not being washed for a week. The guys weren’t the only ones who hadn’t had a proper bath in a while.
With a gleeful sense of excitement, she grabbed her soap and washcloth along with a change of clothes and headed to the baths. Anticipation of being clean ran through her. She didn’t even mind the walk and enjoyed the sites and sounds of this new city. Color was everywhere. From the clothes people wore to the painted doors on some of the houses. They’d even strung lines with brightly colored cloth sewn to it between buildings and across streets.
The communal bath was in a stone building with a large stone slab outside that had three squiggly lines carved into it that signified water. The building had the same symbols and design that all the communal baths in the empire used. Even communal baths outside the empire had them. Some things were just universal and getting clean was one of them. Thank the Saviors.
It was mid-morning, and thankfully the bath didn’t look too crowded. Although public baths were common in most places, she’d never gotten used to bathing in front of strangers. It made her uncomfortable having someone else look at and possibly judge her naked body. That, coupled with the fear she was going to step over some unspoken cultural rule, kept her from truly enjoying her time in the water. She’d had to get used to it as only the very wealthy could afford the exorbitant expense of plumbing. The rest of the city made do with the many bathhouses.
She paid a man handing out towels two rostry, one for the bath and another for a locker. He handed over a towel and a key with a bored expression.
She didn’t let his surly silence bother her and gave him a nod of thanks. It didn’t bother her one bit. In fact, she couldn’t help but feel a little grateful for the lack of attention.
Tate was the only one using the changing room, a large room with a row of lockers on one side and two long benches in the middle. She picked the closest locker to the bath’s entrance to store her belongings.
With a sigh of relief, Tate peeled off her clothes and set them on the bench. Once wrapped in her towel she carried her discarded clothes and her soap into the bathing area. Steam rose from the water in wispy snakes that lost form as they rose in the air. Small strands of hair started curling from the combination of heat and humidity. She blew one away from her mouth. It wouldn’t be long before her hair became an untamable mane and not in a good way.
Blue tile lined the lip of the sunken area of the bath and decorated the walls in complex patterns. The bath itself was done in a light cream with the soft shine of glow lights giving the entire area a faint air of romance and mystique.
Tate stopped and stared in awe. Impressive. It was by far the nicest bathhouse Tate had ever visited.
Little beads of sweat popped up on her forehead as the heat enveloped her. Gingerly, she tested the water with one hand. With a groan of relief she sank into piping hot water that rose to her hips. She dunked her head and wiped the water from her eyes when she came up before turning to where she’d set her clothes on the floor next to the pool. Never one to waste an opportunity, she wet her clothes thoroughly before lathering them with soap. She hummed under her breath as she scrubbed.
The constant circulation of the water carried any dirt away making sure the water stayed fresh. She held her shirt up for scrutiny. Was that a sweat stain or was it a shadow from the light? She couldn’t tell. She dunked it again and gave it another scrubbing. Washing them in the bath wasn’t as good as having a washerwoman scrub them, but until she got settled money was going to be tight. Once finished she wrung out her clothes and set them on the floor to dry.
With her clothes taken care of, she sank back onto the underwater bench and leaned her head back. This was heaven. She luxuriated in the feel of the water clasping her gently in its heated embrace and the complete absence of dirt and sweat after weeks of inadequate sponge baths.
Her lips curled in pleasure. There wasn’t anything quite like the first time you were completely clean after a long stint at sea. She didn’t mind the ship, but there were definitely times when she missed the comfort of civilization.
Absentmindedly, she scratched at her arm. The skin under the tattoo on the left arm had started to tingle. Again. The tattoo was of a sleeping dragon, intricate and beautiful. The beast’s snout rested on Tate’s bicep with one leg draped so that it curled under her arm and around to lightly clasp her elbow. Its tail wrapped around her wrist, the tip of it coming to a stop in the web between her thumb and forefinger.
The tattoo was so lifelike, that if she held her arm just right, it looked like she was cradling a baby dragon. A few people on ship had asked where she’d gotten it, but like so many other things in her life, the dragon was just one more mystery yet to be solved. She had no memory of how it came to be or why she had wanted it.
The tingling of the skin under the tattoo increased and she scratched harder. No matter how hard she scratched it wouldn’t stop. She could take a knife to it and the skin the tattoo covered would remain numb except for those annoying prickles.
“Saviors take it!” If scratching wouldn’t work. She eyed the lip of the bath. Perhaps.
She banged her arm against the bath, then dragged her arm down its stone lip. She cursed, letting loose a string of words she’d learned from sailors. It’d make most men’s ears burn, but it didn’t make a difference with the tingling. She sighed and sank deeper so the water reached her nose and blew bubbles.
She’d give anything to make the tingling stop. For eight months she’d had to live with it, it came and went and then came again. She was sick and tired of having an itch she couldn’t scratch.
She blew more bubbles and watched them pop. Her skin began to wrinkle, but she wasn’t ready to get out yet.
Voices carried in from the changing room, and Tate grimaced knowing that she’d soon have company. With a grumble at the interruption, she reached for her soap and began to work the lather into her skin. It would’ve been nice if she’d been able to keep the bath to herself for a while longer.
Tate had climbed out and was drying off by the time the two ladies gossiping in the next room exited wearing similar towels.
Avoiding eye contact, she scooped up her still wet clothes and slipped by them into the changing room. They eyed her suspiciously as she passed before sliding into the piping hot pool she’d left behind.
“Did you hear about that creature they found at the docks today?” Tate paused just inside the changing room, straining her ears to catch the women’s gossip. “My nephew was there, and he couldn’t believe what they found. He said it looked like something out of the old texts. You know— the ones with pictures of the monsters the ancients imprisoned. He said it was as blue as the sky on a summer day and had two extra arms.”
“My word.” The other woman sounded scandalized at her friend’s description. “This is the third one they’ve found this month. Something is wrong. The Black Order had better do something. It just disgusts me to think of them just standing by, while we are terrorized by these creatures. We pay the monthly tithes for protection, but when we need protecting they’re nowhere around.”
“Shameless,” the first woman agreed.
Tate lost interest in the conversation as the women began to talk of a celebration that night. She moved away from the door deep in thought. Perhaps the creature they spoke of was the ‘body’ she’d seen being dragged up in the fishing nets that morning. It had been blue— maybe even the blue of the sky.
What was the Black Order, though? Were they some kind of police force? If so, why did they collect money? With a mental shrug Tate resolved to ask Danny some of her questions when she met up with
the men later.
Tate pulled on the change of clothes she’d brought and tied her wet hair back. The water from her hair quickly dampened the back of her tunic. After slamming the locker shut, she left before the women finished their bath.
She was still pondering what she had learned half a block later.
Too preoccupied to pay attention to where she was going, she jerked away when her arm was grabbed from behind. Without thinking, she twisted, pulling her attacker forward. Her knee was already flying towards his groin when he let go and stepped back.
“Ryu,” his name slipped from her as her eyes narrowed threateningly. The inner presence she had begun to refer to as ‘dragon’ after the tattoo on her arm became more attentive.
“Such violence,” Ryu said mildly with a raised eyebrow.
The presence inside her mind perked up at the sound of his voice and shook itself gleefully. Tate’s eye twitched at the feeling. That was what always happened when she was near Ryu. It was one of the many reasons she avoided him. She already felt crazy enough without some niggling mind thing struggling to get his attention.
The quirk of his lips said he’d known exactly what he was doing when he’d grabbed her. Tate struggled to keep her temper in check. For some reason he found it funny to catch her off guard. She didn’t.
Ryu wasn’t handsome as society would define it, not being pretty or chiseled, but having rugged features. He had a confidence and charisma that drew people to him, especially females. His very blue eyes twinkled merrily at her. There was a slight bump in his nose and a light scar bisecting one eyebrow. His black hair had gotten a little shaggy in the past few weeks and now touched his collar. His chin was smooth shaven as usual. Tate didn’t think she’d ever seen him with face hair. He was dressed simply in brown leather pants and a long sleeved tunic.
“What’re you doing here?” she asked after regaining a little calm and forcing her ‘other half’ back a little.
“The same thing you are, darlin’. Trying to obtain lodging,” he said, pointing at the inn they stood in front of.