Legends of the Lurker Box Set

by Richard H. Stephens

  Tarrek surveyed the common room and threw his head back, laughing. “Don’t you worry, GG, I have a better place in mind for you.”

  Reecah frowned, her nervous gaze taking in the bawdy room littered with couches and large cushioned chairs filled with lecherous men and women. The back wall of the common room, made almost entirely of glass, afforded a panoramic view of the ocean colliding with the waters of the fjord.

  More than one head turned in their direction.

  “What are we doing here? These people are creepy.”

  Tarrek laughed and strolled through the common room, his eyes taking in the sights as he passed them by. “They appear to be captivated by your appearance. Not often do people come through the Naughty Saucer bristling with weapons. Perhaps they think you are part of the Watch.”

  Reecah scrambled after him, afraid to be left alone; trying to hear what he said.

  “These, GG, are well-paying customers. But…” He spun on her, his finger in her face, making her protest catch in her throat. “Don’t worry. These aren’t your type of customers.”

  Reecah couldn’t prevent her gaze wandering from a bare-chested man to a bare-chested woman to three women who were…she looked away, her cheeks flaming. Shocked, her gaze locked on Tarrek. “This is not what I had in mind.”

  She turned to leave but Tarrek’s words stopped her.

  “GG, come now. Do you honestly think I would lead you astray? I’m hurt. We have bigger plans for you.”

  We? She didn’t appreciate his smirk but the thought of abandoning her sword kept her feet moving toward a wide, circular staircase ascending to a second and third floor overlooking the common room.

  Tarrek bounded past the second story landing and continued to the upper floor. The red-carpeted stairwell opened onto a wide foyer, its oceanside wall fronted by several mahogany doors.

  Leaning an ear against the first door he listened before knocking. Receiving no response, he tried a couple of different keys until the lock snicked open. Holding a hand up for Reecah to remain where she was, he peered inside.

  Satisfied, he offered Reecah a broad grin and held the door wide, ushering her inside with a flourish of his hand.

  Reecah checked her surroundings. The noise from the common room continued to fill her with unease. Swallowing her better judgement, she slipped past Tarrek into a room more decadent than anything she had ever dreamed of. Appointed with large, dark wood furniture, plush linens, and a cushioned, arched bay window that overlooked the ocean, a high bed dominated the centre of the room. Her surroundings captivated her with awe and a wariness of the darkness such a room might perpetrate.

  Fingering the dagger’s hilt, her gaze darted about the room, always falling back on Tarrek who watched her with that sideways smirk of his. How she’d love to smack it from his face.

  “Well, what do you think?” Tarrek asked, plopping his butt on the end of the bed and bouncing. “You won’t find anything finer in all of Thunderhead, I assure you.”

  “I, uh…it’s nice, I guess. What does it have to do with me?”

  That smirk again. “This, GG, will be your base of operations.”

  “My what?”

  “Your base of operations. This is where you’ll meet your clients.”

  Reecah’s head shook of its own accord. Her dagger slid from its sheath. She had half a mind to slit Tarrek’s throat and escape with her sword. If only she had the nerve.

  She pointed the dagger at him. “If you think I’m doing what I think is going on here, you’re sadly mistaken.”

  Tarrek stood up and backed toward the window, his attention on the dagger. “Look lady, you’re the one who asked for a job.”

  “A job! Not…not, this!”

  “Hey, you’re the one who said you needed to make money.”

  “Only because you swindled me into eating your fish!” She jabbed the dagger at him.

  He held up his hands. “I asked you if you wanted to try them. I never said they were free.”

  She thought about their encounter in the market. “Ya? Well, the way you said it made me think they were.”

  “What? Free? Perhaps you should’ve asked, first.”

  She had nothing to say to that. He was right. She sheathed her dagger and grunted her frustration. How had she allowed herself to get into such a predicament? Her eyes fell on the sword hanging from Tarrek’s hip. “Look. All I want is my sword back. I’ll do almost anything for it, but I won’t do…this. I’d rather die.”

  Tarrek stared at her. The smirk slid from his face. “Tell you what. Let me see what I can do. The queen consort and her retinue are in town. Her courtiers are constantly seeking entertainment—”

  Her dagger leapt from its sheath, interrupting him—the intensity in her glare enough to make him hold his hands up to ward off a blow.

  “Whoa, GG! Let me finish before you go sticking me with that thing.”

  Reecah stepped back and forth on the balls of her feet, but she didn’t approach.

  Tarrek swallowed. “What I was going to say is these men, and women, seek something to do with their time while they wait on the prince’s order. We provide escort services to all types of royal courtiers. Yes, some…well most, seek what you think, but not all. Let me arrange an escort that is, shall we say, not as demanding as our typical clients. Many men simply seek the accompaniment of one as beautiful as yourself. Someone they would be proud to have hanging off their arm, if only for an evening.”

  “You mentioned women. Why not a woman.”

  Tarrek’s eyes widened. He sputtered, “Y-yes. Of course. If you’d rather a woman to—”

  She stepped toward him, holding the dagger next to his chin.

  “Hey, I’m trying to help here. I don’t know what you like and what you don’t.”

  Her stare hardened—the dagger’s tip unwavering.

  “Okay, okay. I get it. Just put that thing away, would you?”

  She turned the dagger’s edge sideways. It would be too easy. Sighing, she stepped back and lowered the blade, taking delight in the sweat beading on Tarrek’s forehead.

  He appeared to consider his next words. With an obvious, fake smile, he asked, “Well, what do you say? I’ll find you someone less obtrusive than our regular clientele and leave it up to you how you handle him.”

  “Her!”

  “Yes, her. Just know where the money’s at, that’s all I’m saying. You’ll be paid accordingly. Do well, and perhaps you can work off your debt in a few days.”

  “A few days?”

  “Pfft. We have expenses, too. This room for example. It ain’t cheap.”

  “I don’t need a room. I’m happy sleeping under a tree.”

  Tarrek’s face twisted in disgust. “Ya, well, that won’t work here. Our clients are a little more civilized than wherever you come from. Where was it again?”

  The dagger rose between them.

  Hands high, he smirked. “Right. None of my business. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I shall find your first, um, client.” He indicated with his eyes he wished for her to lower the weapon.

  She stepped aside to let him pass, her eyes never leaving his hands.

  The door creaked opened and shut.

  The dagger slipped from her grasp, bouncing almost noiselessly off the soft carpet; her hands visibly shaking. Hurriedly throwing the interior door bolt home, she staggered to the bay window and stared at the heavy seas. She hoped Raver had found a place to shelter.

  A storm was coming.

  A Woman She Never Knew

  Reecah’s eyes snapped open—the sunshine cutting through the bay window forcing her to shelter them with her hand. Dark clouds formed on the horizon; ominous tendrils of what was soon to make landfall, crept across its surface, encroaching the sun. Startled by her surroundings, she gathered her bearings.

  It had taken a while to calm her nerves after Tarrek left. As the well-appointed room came into focus, she sighed. The nightmare she’d woken from hadn’t been fa
r from the truth. She had dozed off, enjoying the luxurious comfort the soft bed offered—feeling as if she floated on a cloud. Her lower back ached where her sword belt dug into her skin.

  Curious as to the lavish appointments, she examined the room. Her gaze lingered on three bell-pulls hanging out of the exquisitely carved headboard labelled: Water. Food. Drink. She had no idea what they did.

  Reading the labels, her stomach informed her it had been a long time since pilfering Tarrek’s fish but she dared not push her luck. She was under no illusion. Anything she consumed would cost money she didn’t have. The more debt she acquired, the longer she would be stuck escorting people for…

  Tarrek had mentioned, we, several times. She wondered who, we, were. The dark-haired boy, Axe, and his two lackeys came to mind. Surely, they couldn’t afford to hold down a room such as this one by selling fish.

  She recalled their encounter. Axe had been scrutinizing her sword, but his words of warning had been directed at Tarrek. “…see to it she don’t run, else you know who will be using that sword on your sorry carcass.”

  The boys answered to someone. Probably one much older. Her thoughts went to Jonas Waverunner and his slimy brother, Joram. She shuddered. Those were two people the world would be better off without.

  And then there was Jaxon…

  A loud rap on the door made her jump. Her terrified gaze fell on the door; relieved the deadbolt was still in place.

  The door protested under someone’s attempt to push it open.

  Her quarterstaff and unstrung bow rested beside the bay window. Little good they were going to be.

  Sliding her sword free, she gripped it with both hands. Succumbing to her rising panic, she considered escaping out the window and admonished herself. The room looked out over a pile of jumbled rock, three stories below.

  A metallic scratching accompanied an audible snick. Something heavy leaned into the door. She tightened her clammy grip on her sword but the deadbolt held firm.

  “GG! Open up. It’s me, Tarrek.”

  The acute anxiety of fright washed away, leaving her reeling. She put a hand on the bed to steady herself.

  The pounding sounded again.

  “GG! Come on, I know you’re in there!”

  She stepped quietly to the door and put her ear to the wood, listening. Nothing but a squeaking floorboard.

  “Who else is with you?”

  “No one. Come on, open up.”

  Holding her sword at the ready, she wiggled the deadbolt free and stepped back. “It’s open.”

  The latch lifted and Tarrek shouldered his way into the room, the scowl on his face telling as he looked her over. “You haven’t washed?”

  She shrugged, scanning the thin, light blue fabric draped over his arm. It wasn’t lost on her that he still wore her great-grandmother’s sword. “Why should I?”

  “Seriously?” He pushed past her into the room and spun to stare at her from the end of the bed. “We can’t have you escorting our clientele looking like that!”

  “Like what? What’s wrong with this?”

  Rolling his eyes, Tarrek held up a bodice and matching skirt.

  “What’s that?”

  “Appropriate evening attire.”

  Reecah had only seen clothing like this in the window of the Fishmonger Bay mercantile. “Where’s the rest of it?”

  “Excuse me? Oh yes.” He pulled a pair of brown faux suede shoes from beneath his arm—their pointed toes half as long as the shoe itself—and threw them on the bed.

  “Where’s the tunic and…oh, I don’t know. Surely, you don’t expect me to go about wearing just that!”

  Tarrek turned the garments around, examining them and gave her an innocent frown. “Uh, ya. Why not?”

  “Why not?” Incredulous, Reecah stormed up to him and ripped the garments from his hands. She held them up to his face. “Because I’d rather not be seen in public wearing less than those…those…” She stewed, trying to think of an appropriate word to describe the women in the common room. “Those silly women downstairs.”

  Tarrek held his hands out. “Come on, GG. You have to work with me here. I’m trying to help you.”

  “Help me what? Catch my death of cold?” She threw the clothes into his arms and ran her hands down her sides. “Why can’t I wear this?”

  “Oh yes. Real nice. I can see it now.” He pretended like he was talking to someone else in the room, bowing to them. “Good evening, good sir. May I present you with your date for the evening. Meet GG, the dragon slayer.”

  Reecah choked on his choice of words.

  “Ya.” Tarrek pointed at her. “You see the difficulty, huh?”

  Reecah fought to keep from saying something that might give her away. Taking a moment to compose herself, she said, “No, actually, I don’t.” She ran her hands along her sword belt. “Well, maybe. But!” She held a finger between his blinking eyes with one hand and snatched the bodice from his arms, dangling it in the air between them. “I’m not wearing this.”

  She tossed it back at him.

  Tarrek shook his head. Throwing the clothes on the bed, he pushed past her—stopping at the door. Without looking back, he said, “You wear what you want, but remember,” he pointed his own finger. “You only get paid a percentage of the equivalent your client feels you’re worth. If you don’t earn enough to pay for your room, you’ll end up owing more than you started with. Understand?”

  Reecah refused to dignify him with a response.

  “Get yourself cleaned up. I’ll have hot water brought to the room. Make sure you’re ready by the time I return.”

  She spun to face the darkening window, crossing her arms beneath her breasts in defiance.

  The slamming door marked his exit.

  Tucking in her exposed skin as much as possible, she looked at her reflection in the dark window pane. Lightning arced across the sky, casting her with a haunting look.

  After Tarrek had stormed out, curiosity had gotten the better of her. Washing away the day’s grime in the peculiarly scented water an old woman had brought for her, she had squeezed into the scanty bodice—having to tuck herself into its tight confines as she laced it up.

  Slipping the snug-fitting skirt on, it felt as if she weren’t wearing anything below her waist as a cool draft wafted through the cracks around the window frame. She’d never worn anything but breeks her entire life.

  Frowning at how ridiculous she must look, she was shocked by the vision staring back at her. A woman she never knew existed. One with tall, muscular legs, thin waist, and a bust enhanced by the constricting bodice. It took her a long while to appreciate her shapely body as she turned one way and then another. Looking over her shoulder, she was awestruck by how different the fancy clothes made her appear.

  She lifted a foot, laughing at the ridiculously long-toed shoe. Emitting a shy smile, she briefly entertained wearing the outfit in public. At once, her rational brain dashed her fanciful daydream. Who was she to portray a lady of high station? Like the ladies of the king’s court she had seen in Poppa’s books. She wasn’t cut from royal cloth. Dreading the thought of being caught in the revealing attire, she tried to undo the bodice lacing but it snagged in a knot.

  A knock sounded at the door. “GG! Open up!”

  Frantically tugging at the knot made it tighter. Her anxiety peaked. It was time to meet the client Tarrek had found for her, and there she stood, clad in nothing but fancy undergarments. The long drop outside her window to the break wall didn’t seem that bad after all.

  Sighing, she grabbed her cloak and threw it on. Pulling the deadbolt free, she expected to be met by the lecherous glare of a highborn woman, but only the fishmonger’s green eyes greeted her. A temporary flush of relief washed through her. Perhaps he hadn’t found her a client.

  Tarrek’s eyes darkened at the sight of her cloak. “I thought I told you to be ready.”

  A flutter of nerves played with her voice. “I am.” She started to show hi
m that she wore the skimpy uniform beneath her cloak but shyly covered herself again.

  “That’s a start, I guess.” He motioned for her to spin around. “At least you took off your weapons. They wouldn’t have gone over well.” He sniffed at her. “That’s good. You no longer reek like a peasant.”

  Reecah steeled herself, meeting his glare with one of her own. She refused to let him intimidate her.

  Tarrek shook his head. “It’ll have to do.” He stepped aside to let her exit.

  Panic set in. She couldn’t go out in public half-naked. “Turn around for a minute.”

  Tarrek frowned. “We have to go. Your client’s waiting.”

  “Okay, okay, just give me a moment. Please, turn around.”

  Tarrek sighed, crossing his arms and facing the door.

  She tugged at the knot several times to no avail. Looking for something to help, she unbuckled her dagger from her sword belt lying on the bed. She cast a glimpse at Tarrek’s back. Worried he was about to turn around, she slipped the dagger in its sheath between the tight waistline of the skirt and her back—barely adjusting her cloak before Tarrek’s patience wore out.

  He faced her. “Are you ready?”

  She was far from ready, but her time had run out. Nodding meekly, she stepped past him onto the landing.

  He locked the door with a key and held it out to her. “Here. Don’t lose it or it’ll be another silver to replace the lock.”

  She placed the key in the secret pocket containing her journal and the Dragon’s Eye. There was no way she was leaving them behind. Other than not knowing what she was about to get herself into, her biggest fear was returning to the room to find her clothes and the rest of her weapons gone.

  Unconsciously checking that her hair fell properly, she ran a hand behind her head, ensuring her tight braid felt as neat as Grammy used to make it. Scrambling to keep up with an impatient Tarrek, her strides inhibited by the skirt, she almost knocked him over as they descended the last stair and wove their way through the musky common room thick with smoke and human odours. The longing gazes she received from several men and women made her skin crawl—as if insinuating they knew what she and Tarrek had been up to. She pulled her cloak tight.