by Mark Eller
From the outside, the Blue Marlin appeared little different from any of the other nondescript buildings in this segment of the town. The inside, however, was plush with expensive wall hangings and carpets. When Aaron peered into the interior, he saw tables set low to the ground, with pillows provided for diners to lounge upon. Candles lining the walls provided only dim visibility in almost all areas except near the front. There, near a raised section of flooring, the lighting was bright enough to simulate early dusk.
Aaron stood at the entryway for over five minutes before a tall, thin woman, with luxurious red hair piled high on her head, strolled up to him. She held a clipboard in her hands and greeted Aaron with a friendly smile.
"Welcome to the Blue Marlin. Is the rest of your party here?"
Aaron shook his head. "There's only me."
Her smile dimmed momentarily, a reaction Aaron had grown used to seeing over the years. Restaurants did not like it when an entire table was occupied by only one paying customer.
"Your name?"
"Aaron Turner."
After looking briefly at her clipboard, the warmth returned to her smile. "Right then. You will sit at table six. It's very close to the stage. Will that be a problem for you?"
"No problem."
"Please follow me."
While she led him on a weaving course through the tables, Aaron discovered the reason for the low lighting. At least four female couples and one mixed couple engaged in heavy spooning. The clothing on most of the diners was a touch more than daring, and not everyone wore everything they had arrived in.
Frowning, Aaron thought about leaving, but he really was hungry, and he was old enough to keep his eyes to himself.
The greeter stopped before a table where a single dark clad figure reclined. "Table six. Your dining companion is Miss Melna Linley. Miss Linley, may I introduce you to Aaron Turner."
Tilting back her head, the seated woman smiled. "Ah, you decided to accept my offer. Sit down, Aaron. I already ordered. " She gestured toward a filled wineglass. "The wine is excellent."
Aaron carefully settled down on the provided pillow, making sure plenty of distance separated him from the half reclining figure. Legs folded beneath her, she sat comfortably on her pillows. One bare leg showed through the thigh high slit in a long, black, body hugging dress with a neckline plunging all the way to her waist.
Looking at her, Aaron had to admit Melna Linley owned a nice leg. Then again, most legs looked nice when attached to a lovely young woman. He also had to admit in that dress her small breasts were a boon. A more buxom woman wouldn't have gotten away with wearing it. Melna's belly button, he noted, was an outie.
"So tell me, Miss Linley," he asked after a few moments,"how did you arrange this?"
The wine glass glistened at him, cool, tempting, and oh so red. A slight tremble ran though Aaron's body. His mouth watered.
Gods what he wouldn't give for just one drink. Just one--no, no more.
"The name," she said firmly,"is Melna. You left all the formal stuff, the Mister and Miss and Mistress, about three or four hundred miles north of here. I'm afraid manners, like morals, change with the culture. " Her smile turned alluring. Her fingertips trickled across her upper arm and then flicked at him. "Is this a set up? Of course. After following you to your inn, I bribed the counterman to recommend this place to you. Do you like duck?"
"Never tried it," Aaron lied, just to be perverse.
"You won't be able to say that in another hour. Here it comes now. You'll like it."
A waitress brought a platter of thinly sliced duck surrounded by steamed broccoli, carrots, and pearl onions. Half a dozen oysters were spotted here and there on the plate. Each open shell rested on a laced doily of hand torn lettuce.
"Can I get you anything else?" the waitress asked after setting the tray down.
Aaron looked at the bottle of wine, and his belly ached. "Tea. Preferably herbal."
"You don't want wine?" Melna asked. "It really is good."
"I've sworn off."
"Oh. " Melna turned to the waitress. "Bring me some tea, too. Take the wine to the next table over with my compliments. " She turned a steady, serious, and sober gaze on Aaron, perhaps, the most honest moment she had shown him. "I've heard that phrase before. I won't have any part of tempting you."
Pleased but hurting, Aaron turned his attention to his plate. The aroma told him the food was probably more delicious than it looked, and it looked to be very good. He searched for utensils but found none.
Picking up a slice of duck with her fingers, Melna popped it into his mouth. "Everything is finger food. House rules say you can't feed yourself if you have a table mate. " She studied his face. "Despite what I said earlier, you don't need to worry about me chasing you. I know you're leaving soon. I am, too. Think of this as a game. No traps. No commitments. Just want a pleasant evening where I can forget my father wants to marry me off to a man who has seven wives and is closer to sixty than he is to forty."
Aaron gave her credit. She was one hell of an actress. "Miss Melna Linley, it is my joy to bask in your company this evening. The experience shall add to the memories I'll reflect on for years to come."
"Oh my," she said quietly, so far under her breath the sound barely registered on his ears. "The man speaks eloquent bullshit."
During the next hour, she proved to be an entertaining companion, making a game of feeding Aaron and playfully accepting food back from him. Before long, she leaned against him, almost lying in his arms while tilting an oyster shell so he could sip it from the shell.
Time passed, and a comedian came on stage, briefly. After making a few comments about a number of the diners, she introduced the band. By local standards, Aaron supposed the woman had been humorous, but many of her comments assumed her listeners had inside information he did not possess.
The band played soft and slow dance songs. Mostly, the dances required touching. Aaron reminisced while watching, remembering when Cathy taught him his first steps. These tunes were not the same, but enough similarity existed to bring Cathy's haunting likeness to mind. Her face had been soft, her arms sweet. The night had been simple, innocent and undemanding, a far cry from the sophisticated decadence surrounding him now. He wished those times, that innocence, could be returned.
Melna watched him expectantly. Taking the hint, he asked her to dance and led her out onto the floor. She was smiles and eagerness and warm suppleness in his arms. When the music ended, they remained standing until a new song played, and they danced once more. They finished out the set, went back to their table, and Aaron surprised himself by kissing Melna as he lowered her into the nest of pillows. The kiss was gentle, without passion, and almost without interest--but it was the first kiss he had initiated on anyone except Amanda in a very long time.
Melna's response was both modest and undemanding, a far cry from the woman she presented herself as being earlier. Here, in a place made for seduction, she no longer seduced. Instead, she seemed melancholy and thoughtful. She responded to his kisses out of obligation, not attraction. She pretended, but without fire. Smiling a lying smile, Aaron reflected on how quickly a few hours in his presence chilled a woman's interest.
Their bill came to four and a half gold six copper. Melna didn't flinch. Despite Aaron's protests, she paid the entire bill, saying the trap and offer had been her doing. Standing, she pulled on a wrap, hiding her bare arms and midriff, and led him through the maze of tables to the exit. Once they were out on the street, she turned abruptly and strode away. Her heels clicked solid echoes off the surrounding building walls.
Watching her, Aaron wondered what had happened to the brazen woman. He had thought Melna Linley forward and a tease, but it soon become clear she only played a dispassionate game.
When she peered over her shoulder and saw him looking, Aaron laughed and waved.
The hour was late. Tired, he headed back to his room. The hotel was dark when he reached it. Only two candles showed the w
ay through the hall. He thought about finding a drink. After all, one drink wouldn't hurt, but it was late. The inn's bar was closed.
Once in his room, he shrugged out of his shoulder holster and slung it over a chair placed by his bed. He briefly thought about shucking his shirt and pants but decided they were clean. Tired, he crawled gratefully between the cool sheets and slept.
* * *
Aaron woke with a start.
Glass tinkled onto his floor. A pause and then the brush of fabric.
Breathing evenly, Aaron tried to mimic the sounds of someone sleeping. He lay on his left side, the window at his back, the door toward his feet. His left arm stretched out in front of him. His fingertips were less than two feet from his gun.
Could he lunge for it? Should he? A thief would likely be satisfied with whatever she could take quickly. If he confronted her, the thief might panic. She would either flee or fight. It was easy to get hurt in a fight.
Weapon in hand, a shadow rose from the floor.
Decision made, Aaron lunged off the bed. His arm was jerked aside as his fingers brushed against cold metal. He grabbed, capturing his revolver. Instantly, his wrist was caught in a burning grip. His hand numbed, springing his fingers open. His gun fell to the floor.
Aaron jerked his body to the side just before a knife slammed into the mattress. Using the grip on his wrist for leverage, he tried swinging forward to kick his assailant in the face. His foot connected, but only lightly. Even so, his wrist was released to the sound of a surprised curse. He dodged the knife blade again. Desperately swinging, Aaron deflected his assailant's blade and accidentally slammed the edge of his hand across the front and side of a throat.
He heard a choked gasp just as a battering ram cracked into his ribs. Aaron staggered against the bed and fell across the mattress.
The knife descended once more. His right to left block caught the wrist holding it until Aaron rolled off the opposite side of the bed. He fell to the floor and straightened just in time to take the weight of a flying body across his chest. It hurt like hell when his back crashed into the wall, the only thing keeping him from falling.
His shoulder burned, but a shadowed face hovered above him. A head butt sent his assailant's head back on its shoulders. Grabbing the knife arm, Aaron spun to the side while straightening the arm and slammed his forearm into the extended elbow. The arm bent and snapped, but his attacker didn't make a sound. Something blurred before his eyes, blurred and then slammed into the side of his head.
Senses reeling, Aaron released his hold as the knife fell from the loose fingers. Blows struck him in the face and stomach. A kick to his crotch dropped him to his knees. His stomach disgorged his dinner as he fell. Twisting to the side, he barely avoided fingers aiming for his eyes. Desperate, he rolled away until the bed stopped him.
"Getting tired little man," a woman's voice whispered. "Stay still and I will be swift. "
Her voice sounded tight and strained, filled with gravel.
The shadow drew closer. Aaron licked his lips and wondered where the hell he dropped his gun. He tried to decide which way to dodge, but had too little breath to move.
He heard a solid thud. His attacker slowly leaned forward until a woman's face came into focus, and then she toppled like a reluctant oak falling to the woodsman's ax. The body struck Aaron and rolled to the side, shuddered, and stopped moving. The woman lay still while Aaron struggled to breathe.
Sucking air, he folded his hands around the pain in his groin. "Gods, Gods, Gods," he whispered, smelling the too familiar odor of his own vomit.
"Aaron?" a hesitant voice asked. Melna.
"Yeah," he gasped. "Yeah."
A click sounded, and flame rose from a fire-maker. After a few moments, the night table candle lit. The flame danced erratically as a breeze drifted through the broken window, casting flickering shadows over Melna's worried expression. She held the fire-maker in one hand, a broken three-inch branch in the other.
Slowly, Aaron straightened, groaning. His stomach hurt and his crotch and ribs. Reaching over to his attacker, he felt her throat and found a pulse. He pushed the body over so he could see the woman's face.
Between thirty and forty. A light scar ran across her forehead. Another traveled down the side of her face to meet her collarbone.
Gods, he hurt.
Melna set the lighter and club down. Picking up the dropped knife, she cut the bottom third of her dress off and then tore the freed material into strips, silently passing them to Aaron. He used the strips to tie the woman's hands and feet, making sure the knots were as tight as he could make them. Bone ground against bone as he pulled on the woman's broken arm.
Face pale, Melna seemed like a half hidden specter in the faint light. When she spoke, her voice was low. "When I saw her going in your window, I just knew she meant no good. I threw a rock, but it only hit the glass as she slipped inside."
Aaron finished tying the last knot. Standing with difficulty, he looked at Melna. Her eyes were wary as she gazed down on the woman, the recovered knife held in a steady hand. He held up his own hand to make a thin barrier between Melna and the trussed up woman.
"I won't harm her," Melna promised,"but I have to see something. " Kneeling down, she pushed past his legs to get closer. The knife blade gleamed in the candlelight as Melna cut material from the woman's shirt to bare a right shoulder. Raised scar tissue formed a brace of crossed swords across the top of her shoulder.
"Assassin," Melna said to Aaron's unasked question. She gazed at him with wondering eyes. "You must be really something to last so long against her. Look here. " She moved the light. "Her arm is broken, and so is her nose."
"I'd be dead if I'd been lying under the covers," Aaron told her.
"There's still some material left. Let me bind your shoulder. It's bleeding."
Puzzled, Aaron bent his head to see she was right. The knife must have caught him with a glancing blow he hadn't even felt.
"I'd rather clean myself up. " He pulled his shirt free, tossed it toward a corner, and glanced at Melna. Deciding she was a big enough girl to handle it, he pulled his pants off. He wore boxers underneath, and the stench of his vomit covered clothes was more than his damaged stomach could stand.
"Why would someone hire an assassin to kill you?" Melna wondered, pointedly ignoring his display. "Assassins cost a lot of money."
"Some bankers in Jutland are mad at me, but that's a long way from here."
Somebody knocked at his door. Melna gave him a look. "I don't think assassins bother knocking."
Aaron nodded so she rose and opened the door. Major Fitzbeth stood outside, a bare sword held ready in her hand. Behind her stood the night clerk and several others Aaron did not know.
Seeing Melna with a knife held ready, Fitzbeth grabbed her wrist, twisted the knife free, and tossed Melna back into the waiting crowd. Melna screamed as the major rushed into the room with her drawn sword.
"Put that away," Aaron told her. "It's over, and the girl saved my life."
Sheathing her sword, Fitzbeth motioned for the others to release Melna. She walked over to the prone body, sparing little more than a glance for Aaron's bleeding shoulder. The assassin's scars caught her attention.
"Fetch the night watch" she called over her shoulder. "Mister Turner, what happened?"
"Miss Linley saw her coming through my window. She threw a rock to wake me, and then climbed up the wall, through the window, and clubbed this woman with a broken branch.
The major studied the growing bruises on the assassin's body. "Looks like you did more than roll over and let Miss Linley do all the work. You might as well untie the woman. She's dead."
Melna gasped. "I didn't hit her that hard. She was breathing when we tied her up."
The major turned the assassin's head with the toe of her boot, studying the dead body for a few moments with flat, emotionless eyes. "Looks like her throat is crushed. She must have suffocated."
The night guard cap
tain arrived, blurry eyed and cross tempered.
"This isn't an entertainment," she snapped. "Everybody out of the room who wasn't involved. For those who remain, I want a statement."
After the room cleared, she took Melna's and Aaron's statements. While they were talking, two other city guards hauled the body away.
"Will there be trouble over this?" Melna asked nervously.
The captain shook her head. "Woman bears an assassin's mark. You could have killed her out on the street, from behind, and I'd have shaken your hand. Far as I'm concerned, this case is closed. If you show up at the station tomorrow, you can pick up your bounty."
"Bounty?" Aaron asked.
"It's standard on assassin kills. Three silver."
The night clerk returned with the clothes Aaron had left on the outside line. "This is a quiet place," the man said. "I won't charge you for the damages to the room, but you leave tonight."
Wordlessly, Aaron packed his belongings while Melna looked on and the captain left. The major watched from outside the door.
"I'll find you another place to stay," Fitzbeth promised. She turned, but Melna stopped her.
"At this time of night every boarding house and inn is closed. He can stay in my room, but he better keep to his own side of the bed."
Aaron snorted. "As if I'd be interested in anything but sleep. No offense, but I hurt too much for anything else. " His cut shoulder burned, and his ribs ached even when he held his breath. One or two bones were probably cracked or broken.
He finished packing.
"I'll leave most of this in your room," he said to Fitzbeth. "The way I feel right now, I couldn't carry it more than a hundred feet without falling over."
"Fine," she agreed. "Put some clothes on before you leave. You'll draw less attention."
Well damn, somehow Aaron had forgotten he had been prancing around for almost two hours in nothing but his underwear.