by Jason Parker
Rubbing the diamond within a circle gold pendant on her necklace, she made her way back to the infirmary. She was uncertain about her next move. She possessed no hard evidence and it was doubtful her accusations would stick over Wexworth’s denials. Perhaps now that he knew someone was suspicious of him he would think twice. Think twice before engaging in a petty vendetta against someone else or maybe he would just be more cautious. Maybe she would be next.
Her thoughts were interrupted as she turned into the entrance of the infirmary and collided with a man on the way out. It was Skenan.
“I’m so sorry, Priestess,” he apologized, putting an arm around her waist to steady her and prevent her from falling. “I was just leaving some flowers for you.”
Skenan had presented her with daily bouquets ever since she’d eased his pain and relieved the symptoms of the desert lizard venom. Admittedly, she was a little flattered. The prominent scar on her face and her guarded demeanor, born from a childhood of abuse, discouraged the advances of most men. Skenan, however, was undeterred and he was starting to win her over. Almost. He was boyishly handsome, well-muscled, and sincere. They truly had little in common and she steadfastly reminded herself she was not in the market for a relationship.
“Skenan,” she said, “as I’ve told you before, it’s sweet of you to bring me flowers, but entirely unnecessary.” She smiled at him. “I don’t think I’m in danger of falling any longer so you can remove your arm.”
“Of course, sorry,” he said and slid his hand along the small of her back as he removed it. It was not an altogether unpleasant feeling.
He grinned at her. “You saved my life, bringing you a few flowers hardly makes up for that.”
“For about the fiftieth time,” she said, folding her arms with feigned indignation, “I did not save your life. I saved you some pain. You would not have died…but thank you for the flowers.”
As she moved past him and entered the infirmary, he called to her, “Wait a moment.”
“Yes,” she said turning to face him.
“Would you have dinner with me?” he asked sheepishly.
“Skenan, I don’t think…”
“Before you say no…” he interrupted “…I heard something you might be interested in. If for no other reason, go to dinner with me and let me tell you about it.”
“What kind of information?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Honestly, it’s good stuff. You’ll want to hear about, but,” he said lowering his voice and cupping a hand to his mouth, “it’s not something I should speak about in the castle.”
She was intrigued. A little ruse to get her on a date. She looked him squarely in the eyes, attempting to discern the truth but sensed just slight nervousness. She hesitated. Despite efforts to convince herself otherwise, she kind of liked his attention. The promise of information aside, she truthfully wanted, or maybe even needed, to go on this date.
“Okay,” she consented. She shook a finger at him. “This had better be good.”
His eyes lit up like incandium. “Really?” he said with a huge, almost silly grin. “You won’t be disappointed, I promise. Can I stop by to get you in a few hours?”
“No,” she answered quickly. “I’ll meet you.” She definitely did not want to be seen being escorted by Skenan. She folded her arms. Maybe this was a bad idea.
“Ok,” he said looking a little disappointed. “We can meet. I would like to take you to a real nice place. Truly though, I can’t chance what I have to tell you”…” he glanced about “…being overheard by the wrong people. How about the Silver Chalice?”
“I’ve never been,” Jhenna said—although she’d heard of it. Of the taverns in the castle vicinity, it was firmly wedged in the middle ground between fancy and seedy. Skenan was correct—at the Silver Chalice they were unlikely to encounter any nobility, courtiers, officers, or other clergy. His caution convinced her he had something important to tell her or, at least, he believed it was important.
“The Silver Chalice will be fine,” she said. “I’ll see you there this evening.”
“Great,” he said enthusiastically as his huge grin returned in full force. He took a step toward her then paused and waved.
She smiled in amusement as she turned and went to her office. Boring inventory tasks and paperwork waited.
***
After a tedious day of counting herbs, listening to Vynnera jabber about nothing and having no clinic patients to distract her, Jhenna returned to her apartment to get ready for the evening. She contemplated setting her white robe aside in favor of common clothing. The Silver Chalice was not a place frequented by the clergy and she did not want to draw unnecessary attention. On the other hand, she was afraid the absence of clergy garb might give Skenan the wrong idea. It might lead or suggest she was open to possibilities she had no intention of entertaining. Ultimately, she decided to risk the attention and wear the robe. It was safe and familiar—a sort of armor.
Butterflies fluttered in her stomach as she walked out of the Castle. Impending doom, she thought, then started to laugh. A few people stared at her, but said nothing. The evening was clear and warm. Lamp lighters were sprinkling phosphorus into the incandium street lanterns as the sun began to slip below the horizon. A few horse drawn wagons clacked on the cobblestones as she rounded a corner and crossed the street toward a wooden sign with a painted silver cup above the door of her destination.
When she entered the Silver Chalice, Skenan immediately stood, half knocked over his chair and waved to her. The large dining hall smelled of roasting meat and fresh bread which served as a backdrop to the pervasive assault of stale beer and tobacco. At least the place appeared clean.
The stained, dark brown wood furnishings were a simple, solid construction. Simple was easier to clean. Directly across from the doors, a large bar with a brass rail was situated at the far end of the room. A hodgepodge of antique weaponry and mismatched brass and copper scientific equipment and machinery adorned the walls, along with a scattering of incandium sconces. Jhenna wasn’t able to decipher the intended theme of the establishment. The inspiration for the name was crystal clear. The wall behind the bar was mirrored and a large silver chalice sat upon a shelf in the middle, above a myriad of bottles of liquor and wine.
To the right of the bar, several tables were set up for gambling. In the center of the room, perpendicular to the bar, were a series of long tables that stretched almost to the doors. To the left, smaller tables with seating for two, four, or six were arranged in no particular order. The tables were undecorated except for small candles held within glass containers. Skenan was at a two-person table in the far corner.
Seating at the bar was full and had spilled over onto the long tables. A group of gray haired men with the look of regulars gathered at one end of the bar. Gambling had not yet commenced and aside from Skenan, the area of smaller tables was unoccupied save for a group of five men and women—craft folk by their look—at a table near the front of the room. She suspected more patrons would amble in as the evening progressed.
She allowed Skenan to give her a welcoming hug when she reached the table and then settled into her seat across from him. A little stunned, he smiled at her. Maybe he didn’t believe she would actually show up.
“Thank you for coming, Priestess.” he said finally.
“Of course, Skenan,” she said. “I consider you a friend and the news you mentioned certainly has me curious and, please, call me Jhenna.” She suddenly worried his promise to give her information was the only reason she showed up. She didn’t want him to think that. Why, exactly, was she here?
Her thoughts were interrupted by a serving girl with short hair dyed a shocking blue. She carried a round wooden tray and wore a mid-thigh length black skirt, black boots, and a white shirt unbuttoned to the top of her cleavage. Judging by the appearance of another serving girl she spied by the bar, the outfit was the house uniform.
“I can’t say we see members of the cle
rgy in her very often,” she said eyeing Jhenna a bit suspiciously. “It’s a privilege to serve you Priestess.”
Turning toward Skenan she continued, “And you as well sir, whoa, is that you Skenan?”
“Hi, Ghost,” he said looking slightly embarrassed.
The girl was heavily made up, but looking closer at her, Jhenna suspected this was an attempt to be older than she was. She was too young to be working in this type of establishment. Before finding the Church Jhenna had spent time on the streets and was intimately familiar with girls like Ghost. Girls who tried to hide in plain sight from a past, a present situation, or some darkened pathway.
“Ghost is an unusual name. How did you come by it?” she asked.
“It’s just what everyone calls me,” she said and quickly changed the subject. “What can I get you both to drink?”
“I’ll have a red wine,” Jhenna said.
“Ale for me,” Skenan answered.
Ghost nodded and her head almost glowed as she walked toward the bar. If her suspicions were correct, Ghost could likely use some help. Momentarily, she mused on ways to connect with her.
“So, do you come here often?” she asked Skenan. She pulled back her hood and let it drape on her shoulders.
“This isn’t a place guardsmen typically go,” he said, then glanced from side to side—clearly uncomfortable with the subject. “Although, I’m a good dice player and the coin is generally more plentiful here.”
“How well do you know Ghost?” she asked.
“Not that well,” he replied with a shrug. “She’s only been here a few weeks. She’s nice enough, I suppose, and her hair makes her pretty hard to forget. Why are you interested?”
“Oh, she just reminds me of someone I used to know,” she said brushing aside the question. She could tell she wasn’t going to get any useful information from him, so she moved on. “Now, tell me about your big news.”
“I will, I will,” he said with a bit of a mischievous look, “but I’ve got to tell you this first. A buddy of mine is a cook in the castle kitchens. Wexworth is a terror for the cooks. He constantly complains about the food and insists his meals be prepared according to his specific instructions. He even started giving them recipes—one for a fancy sautéed mixed vegetable dish he always wants.”
“Really? Recipes?” Jhenna nodded and folded her hands. “Actually, that doesn’t surprise me.”
“Anyway, I told my friend about what Wexworth did to me. Then he said the cooks wanted to give Wexworth a payback. This was finally the excuse they needed. Then, since the Lords of the Triumvirate are always assigned a guardsman for personal protection, we knew in advance that Lord Vergilus had an evening meeting scheduled with the High Priestess and Wexworth last week.”
Jhenna unfolded her hands. “The plot thickens.”
“We all suspect Wexworth has his sights on the High Priestess. Her presence there made the opportunity even better. Prior to the meeting, the cooks added a bit of ‘special’ oil in with the oil they normally use to prepare his dinner of mixed vegetables. The meeting was in Lord Vergilus’s study and Jeffers was on protection duty outside the door. He said about ten minutes into the meeting Wexworth charged out the door at a dead run with brown stains spreading down the back of his blue velvet trousers. Jeffers said the smell was so bad he almost threw up.”
Jhenna stared at him in amazement. “Are you serious? He…he…” Unable to contain herself, she burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. She hunched over and was unable to stop laughing. Wiping her eyes, she noticed Skenan was laughing as hard as she was. That made her laugh twice as hard.
She finally regained a measure of composure and said in between giggles, “Wexworth shit himself? In front of the High Priestess?”
The thought of it produced another wave of laughter as Ghost arrived with their drinks. Having heard Jhenna’s comments, an incredulous smile spread across her face. She quickly set down their drinks, kneeled next to the table and started to laugh. This further fueled Jhenna’s and Skenan’s own mirth.
When the three finally settled themselves, Ghost asked, “Did you guys really pull off what I think I heard?”
Skenan winked at her. “Sure did, but the Priestess here had no part in it. A respected member of the clergy like herself would never be involved in such a thing.”
“Of course not, pardon if I suggested it,” she said glancing over her shoulder. “Oh, no— the owner’s looking at me funny. Too long at your table, I suppose. Let me get your food order. Roast pork and grilled potatoes is the special tonight. There’s some pheasant left over from last night, but the pork’s better.”
Jhenna looked around and saw they had attracted more than just the proprietor’s attention. Her robes made her conspicuous, but the fit of laughter made her doubly so. “The special sounds good.”
“Works for me, too,” Skenan said.
Ghost nodded. As she walked back toward the bar, Jhenna noticed the tables in their area were filling up with a mix of men and women—artisans, laborers, and merchants. No sign of courtiers or other clergy.
“Are you or the castle’s cooks going to get into any trouble for what you did to Wexworth?” Jhenna asked.
“No.” He drew his fingers across his cheeks and chin. “The cooks made sure his dishes were cleaned up quickly. No evidence anywhere. He hasn’t even complained to the kitchen. I think he thinks it was some sort of illness.”
Skenan took a long pull of his ale and wiped his mouth. Jhenna sipped her wine. They engaged in idle chatter as the other patrons eventually lost interest in them and returned to their own affairs. She found him to be an unexpectedly good conversationalist, charming in fact. After her childhood abuses, she thought her feelings for a men were forever marred, but somehow Skenan was, through flowers and courtesy and conversation, opening a doorway. What was stirring in her now was altogether different and confusing.
“Okay,” Skenan said. “I’ve kept you waiting long enough. I’ll tell you the information I promised to get you here in the first place.”
“Skenan,” she said, “even if you had nothing more to tell me, I wouldn’t be disappointed. This is nice—truly.”
“Really?” he said raising his eyebrows.
“Really,” she reassured.
“Well, anyway,” he said, visibly brightening, “Here’s what I heard. There’s some sort of infection spreading throughout the Northern Territory and Marn.”
“An infection?” she said, louder than she had intended. Glancing around she saw Ghost approaching with their food and more drinks. Ghost heard what she had said and grimaced with a look of fear.
Ghost placed the food and drinks in front of them along with a basket of warm rolls in the center of the table. The plates were full with thick slices of pork and a generous helping of potatoes smothered in a pale brown gravy. It smelled delicious and temporarily subjugated the pervasive odor of stale beer and smoke.
“This round of drinks is on me,” Ghost said. She gathered up their old, mostly empty glasses. Then she gave them both cursory glances.
“Thanks,” Skenan responded. “But, why?”
“For what you did to Wexworth,” she said. Then as soon as the words issued from her lips, Jhenna could tell she regretted it.
“Do you know Wexworth?” Jhenna asked, picking up a roll and glancing at Skenan.
Ghost held the mug and glass close to her chest. “I…uh…no—only by reputation,” she answered. She turned abruptly and said, “I hope you enjoy your dinners.” A man two tables over was waving for her. She increased her pace and drew toward him.
Skenan shot Jhenna a quizzical look and then shook his head. “Whatever, I’m not going to argue about a free ale.”
“So, tell me more about the infection,” she said, then took a bite of the roll.
“Right, the infection,” he said taking a drink of his fresh ale. “A couple of days ago I was on door duty at the audience chamber. Captain Raemus, who everyone calls Bl
aze, and a ranger woman, called Whitestorm, went in to meet with the Triumvirate. The High Priestess was also there along with her weird military man, Paladin.” He stabbed the roast pork with his fork and began to cut.
“I’d say Paladin answers more to Lord Markov than the High Priestess,” she interjected, “but please continue.” She took a small bite of her potatoes.
“Now I couldn’t hear everything through the doors,” he said, “but Blaze and Whitestorm, along with two other soldiers, Tari Vechkov and Reneac Liaman, had apparently been in Marn and ran into a large group of people who were infected by something that made them crazy.”
“This infectious disease you spoke of already?” Jhenna sat back.
A quick bite of roast. “This is good…uh…yes,” he smiled. “At any rate, Whitestorm kept referring to them as her people, so I guess they were mostly rangers. It was also clear that Lieutenant Vechkov and Sargent Liaman did not make it back, but I couldn’t gather what happened to them.”
Skenan paused. “Is all of this okay?”
“Yes, definitely.” Jhenna leaned in more, wiping her mouth with a cloth.
Skenan set aside his knife and fork and then clasped his hands together. “Aside from the talk of infection and Whitestorm’s requests for military action…well…the other interesting information was the name Vladrik was mentioned. Vladrik was mentioned several times.” Skenan stared then not saying anymore.
Glancing to the side, Jhenna noticed Ghost at a nearby table. She pretended to clean that which was already clean. Good cover for listening in.
“Don’t look now, but I think Ghost is eavesdropping on us,” she whispered to Skenan.
Skenan shrugged. “Even if she is, I’m not too worried. Like I said, I don’t know her too well. I’m pretty sure she’s not a spy. She’s anti-establishment.”