by Jason Parker
“Busy banging a certain Priestess?” she asked offering him a wink and a sly grin.
“Piss off, Ghost,” he said turning beet red. “Go get me another ale.”
“You got it, big man,” she laughed. As she walked away she heard him mutter, “Stupid wench,” which made her laugh harder. She had her answer. Skenan was definitely still involved with Priestess Jhenna. He was generally a good sport, so she didn’t think he’d stay angry with her for long. A good tipper, she hoped not.
A strange match—Ghost mulled over Jhenna and Skenan. What did they have in common? The Priestess was quite different than her first impression told her. So who knew? Skenan and the Priestess might work.
As she made her way back to the bar, her heart skipped a beat at the sight of the large, pit-faced man with stubbly dark hair entering the tavern. “Shit, shit, shit,” she whispered under her breath, lowering her head and hurrying toward the dining side of the bar. She ducked behind a support beam.
It was Wexworth’s chief goon, Jurg. He must have found out she was here. Oh, lord. Someone recognized her when she visited the castle. Someone told Wexworth. She had felt the back of Jurg’s hand many times and had no desire to feel it again. Shit! It would be more than that this time. He was here to kill her, not rough her up.
“Hey!” Winne, the other serving girl on duty, said loudly.
Ghost jumped and shrieked. “Not so loud,” Ghost whispered as she composed herself and moved next her.
Winne banged an empty mug down. “What the hell are you doing on my side of the bar? Don’t try and sneak over here and steal my tips. It’s your turn over on that side.” She pointed to the gambling tables.
Ghost risked a glance in Jurg’s direction and put and index finger to her lips in an attempt to quiet Winne. Jurg took a seat at the long table closest to the gambling tables and his attention was focused toward that area. He didn’t so much as flick his eyes in the direction of the bar and the commotion Winne was making. Ghost breathed a sigh of relief.
“Shanda,” Winne whined, “will you tell Ghost to go back to her side?”
Ghost turned and forcefully grabbed her shoulders. “Shut the hell up, you stupid bitch,” she growled softly between clenched teeth.
“What’s going on over here?” Shanda demanded as she waddled toward them. “On second thought I don’t care. You’ve got food to serve, Winne, and you’ve got ales waiting for you on the other side, Ghost. Get busy!”
Winne was stunned but kept quiet. Ghost walked to her side of the bar before Winne recovered and started complaining again. She kept her eyes glued to Jurg’s butt ugly face. He was rapt on the game tables. Maybe he’s not here for me. Is that possible?
She noticed Carronan, the bouncer, perched on his stool near the entrance to the kitchen. Carronan was short, but broad shouldered and barrel chested. He was strong as an ox and equally dumb. His brown hair was thinning on top and his hair at the bottom was long and pulled into a pony tail. Ghost smirked. A real winning look.
Ghost considered making up some lie to convince him to throw Jurg out, but he was so far up Shanda’s large butt, he wouldn’t dare do anything without her approval. Plus, Shanda wouldn’t do it. Jurg was not being disruptive. Hell, he had just sat down. She inhaled deeply. She had a decision to make. Play it safe and slip out the back. This would get her fired. Or, roll the dice and keep working. This could get her killed.
She sighed and picked up the waiting tray of ales.
As she turned toward the gambling area she called out over her shoulder, partially disguising her voice with an unconvincing accent, “I need two ma’, Shanda, and can you take care of the new gih?” She cocked her head toward Jurg and walked off without waiting for an answer.
She forced herself to remain calm as she distributed the ales while enduring a couple of ass smacks with a smile. As she worked her way through the tables, she held her breath and chanced a quick look at Jurg. He didn’t appear to be paying her any special notice. She exhaled, dropped off her last ale, and headed back to the bar in time to see Shanda ambling toward him. She couldn’t tell what Jurg said after Shanda greeted him. It was brief and he resumed his study of the gambling. Ghost grabbed the two ales waiting for her and left before Shanda returned.
Jurg’s fascination with the gambling continued throughout the evening and he seemed uninterested in anything else. Ghost was unable to excuse herself from serving him a couple of times. She was careful to avoid eye contact and spoke as little as possible, but he hardly looked at her and she detected no hint of recognition. As the evening progressed, she was certain he had not come looking for her.
An hour or so after midnight, the crowd thinned. Two regulars were passed out at the bar. Carronan sat next to them eating a late dinner of spiced chicken and carrots. The dining area was barren and Winne served another round to a group of revelers who, along with Jurg, were the only patrons at the long tables. The gambling continued with regulars addicted to the cards and dice rather than home. They would stay until Shanda kicked them out. Skenan was hot on a winning streak and with one more roll of the dice, his final competitor gave in with a long belch and furrowed brow. He threw some coins toward Ghost and departed with slumped shoulders.
Skenan beckoned to Ghost. “I think I’m gonna call it a night. What do I owe?” he asked, looking a bit unsteady as she approached.
She did a quick mental calculation. “Damn, you had eight ales—so that’s sixteen coppers. You were throwing ‘em back tonight.”
He smiled and tossed her a pair of silver coins. “Keep the change.”
“Are you crazy?” she asked. “That’s more than twice what you owe.”
“I had a good night,” he shrugged and wobbled, “and you’re my favorite serving wench, even if you are a bitch sometimes.”
Looking past Skenan, she noticed Jurg was settling up with Shanda. “Good riddance,” she thought. She briefly considered following him and exacting a bit of revenge. She shook her head. It would blow her cover…blow her chances at getting a shot at Wexworth. Wexworth was her primary target. Jurg could wait.
“Thanks—I think,” she said. Skenan gave her an idiotic grin and headed in the direction of the exit. As he staggered past her, his feet became entangled and he grabbed the back of a nearby chair to steady himself.
“You okay to get home?” she asked, curling her lip at him in doubt.
“I’m g-o-o-d. I’m g-o-o-d,” he slurred as he released the chair, raised his arms and twirled around in an awkward pirouette—a poor attempt at demonstrating his sobriety.
“Let him go,” Shanda ordered waddling toward them. “He’s made it back to the Castle before in worse shape, and I need you to start clearing these tables.”
Ghost glanced around and noticed Jurg was gone. Skenan favored them with an exaggerated salute and teetered toward the door. After watching him wrestle with the door before pushing it open, she then began collecting empty mugs, plates, and utensils.
“Crap,” she muttered as she noticed Skenan’s lucky charm lying on the dice table. She put down all the dishes she was carrying, scooped up the wooden disk and dashed toward the door, ignoring Shanda’s brusque, “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
Once outside, she quickly scanned the street almost missing Skenan disappearing into the alley next to the Chalice. The same alley she frequently used to open portals out of sight from the street. She caught a glimpse of him—his movement seemed unnatural, almost like he was being dragged or pulled. She darted her eyes up and down the dimly lit street. As far as she could see, it was empty and quiet, occupied by solemn incandium street lamps standing at lit attention in regular intervals every few hundred feet.
She ran toward the alley. Maybe he had just fallen over in his drunken stupor. As she rushed around the corner, she came to an abrupt halt. The alley was full of shadows, but enough light crept in from the street to make out the shape of a larger man standing behind Skenan at the far end. The man’s left ar
m was wrapped around his midsection, pinning Skenan’s own arms to his sides. Barely audible shouts and curses emanated from Skenan, muffled by something stuffed in his mouth. He thrashed and struggled to break free, but the man’s grip held firm.
“Hey,” she yelled, and then she snapped out of her momentary paralysis and ran toward them. She skidded to another dead stop. The large man restraining Skenan was Jurg. He paid her no attention as he lifted his free hand and drew it across Skenan’s neck, the glint of steel briefly flickered in a stray shaft of light.
Ghost screamed as a dark liquid began spurting onto the alley surface. Jurg released his hold on Skenan and he slumped to the ground in a heap, unmoving. Jurg kicked him. No response. Jurg stepped over him and walked toward her. As he drew nearer, the blood stained dagger he held became clearly visible and the crazed smile she saw etched across his ugly face suggested he had no reservations about using it again.
When he was about five feet from her, a portal shimmered to life in front of him. Creating portals that faced away from her were tricky. But, she had practiced. Unable to stop in time, Jurg walked through the portal and fell through the airborne horizontal exit, plunging ten feet to the ground toward the back of the alley, landing directly in front of Skenan. He crashed down in a heap, his dagger falling from his grasp and clattering a few feet away. He slowly knelt, retrieved the dagger, and laughed as he rose to his feet. As he did so, she closed the portal.
Jurg spat. “Didn’t expect to see you again, bitch. If you were smart you would have gone far away from here.”
Without waiting for a response, he charged toward her at full speed. He was faster than he looked. She focused her thoughts. A portal flashed open just as he reached out to grab her. This time the portal exited just in front of the wall of the rug shop that bordered the alley. Jurg flew through the portal and emerged crashing head first into the building. A dull thud echoed in the alley followed by a sickening crack. He bounced backward and slammed to the ground. This time, he did not get up.
Ghost cautiously stepped toward him. He remained motionless. When she got close she gingerly prodded his arm a couple of times with her foot. No movement, no reaction. She knelt beside him and felt his neck for a pulse. Nothing. No sign of breathing, either.
“Oh shit,” she thought, pressing her hands to her temples. He was dead. She had killed him. She had never killed anyone before. She scampered to the front of the alley and looked up and down the street. No sign of anyone. Remembering Skenan she ran back down the alley. A pool of blood surrounded him. The gaping wound in his neck smiled at her, silently laughing with a thin trickle of crimson. Ghost closed her eyes. Damn.
She sprinted back to the street. Still empty. Jurg. She needed to get rid of Jurg. She had to make sure there was no way she could be connected to any of this. Rushing back to him she located his dagger and sheathed it in his belt scabbard. She opened a portal to the sewers near her underground burrow. No one would find him there. He would drift in the water for a while until some carrion feeder ultimately made a meal of him.
She extended his arms above his head, grabbed his wrists, and tried to pull him toward the portal. He was heavy and she barely moved him two inches. Sweat formed on her brow and she breathed heavily. She dropped his hands and moved to his feet. Pushing against his boots, she met with the same leaded resistance. For a second, she wanted to run the street again to check for prying eyes, but she suppressed the urge and moved to his side. Digging her boots into the dirt she grunted and pushed against his back and butt until he finally flopped next to the portal. She stood and wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. She grimaced. Her pushes had aligned him perpendicular to the portal entrance.
Her portals were always the size of a typical door, roughly seven feet tall and four feet wide. Despite her efforts to make adjustments, they always ended up about the same size. At well over six feet tall, there was no way she could push Jurg length-wise through the portal.
She raised his legs until they cleared the portal edge and hefted them through. Then she lifted his head and pushed against his upper back with her shoulder until he was in enough of a sitting position to tip him sideway through the portal. Once through, he rested on a narrow ledge along the side of the sewer conduit. She grunted and gave one final push to roll him over the edge. He splashed into the murky waters.
Ghost rolled her shoulders to stretch her muscles as she watched him float away. She hopped back through the portal and quickly closed it. She cursed at herself for taking so long and then ran to the street again to scan for onlookers. Amazingly, the street was still clear. She needed to get back to the Chalice. She took a step in the direction of the tavern. Her thoughts raced…how would she explain her long absence? Ah! Her fingers found Skenan’s lucky disk in her pocket. In an attempt to return the disk to Skenan she had ran along the nearby streets, but was unable to find him. Not a great cover story, but it would have to do.
After another step, she stopped. Shit. She couldn’t leave Skenan to rot in the alley until someone eventually found him. She dashed back down the alley to Skenan. She carefully stepped around the blood and reached into his pants pocket to retrieve his coin purse. She could make better use of it now than he could and this would tie the loose ends together. It would appear he was killed during a robbery.
She opened another portal and stepped through into her burrow. “Ashlon,” she yelled and tossed the purse as he turned toward her. “Catch! Gotta run—back in a bit.”
She jumped back through the portal and closed it behind her. Ghost ran screaming up the alley, “Help! Help!”
She made enough noise to get the attention of Shanda and Carronan who burst out of the Silver Chalice, almost smacking her with the door in the process.
“What’s going on?” Shanda demanded.
Willing tears to her eyes, Ghost pointed toward the alley. “Skenan. I…I think he’s dead.”
“Oh no! Go take a look,” Shanda said turning toward Carronan.
Shanda reached for Ghost’s hand. When Shanda pulled her toward her oversized bosom and began gently patting her head, Ghost was utterly shocked. Not knowing what else to do, she went along with it, uttering a few sobbing noises for good measure.
From behind her back, she heard Carronan drawl, “Yep, he’s dead. I’d better go notify the city watch.”
CHAPTER 29
Jhenna sensed someone approaching. She looked up toward the doorway of her infirmary office. Expecting to see Skenan, she smoothed her hair and smiled. He was late with his daily delivery of fresh flowers. Her smile faded when the door creaked open slowly and she saw it was Vynnera—extra jittery.
“Priestess Jhenna,” she said, nervously wringing her hands, “there’s someone here to see you.”
“It’s me,” a female voice called from behind Vynnera. Gently nudging Vynnera aside from the door, the High Priestess walked into the office and seated herself across the desk from Jhenna.
“Thank you,” the High Priestess said pleasantly, glancing toward Vynnera with a look indicating her presence was no longer required.
“You’re welcome, High Priestess,” she said. There was an attempted curtsy and then she hastily exited, closing the door behind her.
Jhenna had not seen the High Priestess since she was banished by her to the infirmary. This visit was certainly unexpected. Her stomach was half way to the floor.
“You have been on my mind recently,” the High Priestess said before Jhenna could offer a greeting. Her opening the conversation so abruptly furthered Jhenna’s fears about the nature of the meeting.
The High Priestess folded her hands together. “I understand those who you have helped here at the infirmary speak highly about your remarkable healing skills. You have been stationed here for what, six months now?”
“Yes,” Jhenna confirmed.
The High Priestess nodded and smiled. “The infirmary provides a valuable service. It helps keep the Triumvirate Guard and castle watch strong
and provides aid to the men and women responsible for ensuring the Castle operates smoothly and efficiently. As you know, the infirmary was in a state of disarray when you were first assigned to it. You have done a remarkable job getting it in order. You are to be commended.”
Jhenna was caught off guard by the unexpected praise. She was suspicious of it but, at the same time, it was nice to be recognized. It was difficult to tell if the High Priestess was being genuine. Her exquisite beauty masked her intentions. She looked like someone you wanted to trust and believe.
“Thank you,” Jhenna said. She exhaled quietly and the tension in her shoulders released a bit—letting go of all the defensive responses churning about in her mind.
“I’m satisfied with the humility and dedication you have displayed and believe it is time for you to return to the Cathedral and resume you work at the Clinical Research Center,” the High Priestess said, continuing to smile. “Priest Edran will be replacing you. He will arrive in the morning. Spend the day training him and then report to the Cathedral the following morning.”
Jhenna was again caught off guard. Momentarily, her gaze went to the floor. Now with Skenan in the picture, she had stopped dwelling on returning to the Cathedral. It was adjacent to the Castle, but because of the strict Cathedral access rules, Skenan would no longer be able to make his morning delivery of flowers. She would miss that meeting with him. Though, the Clinical Research Center was indeed where she needed to be and he would be happy for her.
“You don’t seem quite as pleased as I expected,” the High Priestess said with raised eyebrows.
“No, no,” Jhenna said quickly. “I’m extremely grateful, I’ve just had a lot on my mind lately.”
“Good, then it’s all settled.” The High Priestess smiled as she began to rise, and then paused, looking troubled and sat again. “There is one other thing that was brought to my attention. I’m sure it was all a misunderstanding. But, the Chief Scientist informed me you showed up at his laboratory accusing him of poisoning a guardsman.”