“Hello.” Brock flashed a smile. “We’re looking for a place to room for a few nights.”
“You don’t say,” she responded. “I assume you have the coin to pay for your stay.”
“Yes.” Brock dug into his coin purse, placing one silver on the table. “What will this buy us?”
A friendly smile spread across her face as she swept up the silver. Her smile was engaging and contagious like Sally’s.
“That will buy you both full room and board for two nights.”
“That includes food and baths?” Brock said.
She nodded. “Breakfast is served at sunrise, dinner at sunset. You’re on your own for lunch,” the woman replied. She smiled again and extended her hand. “My name is Adorya, but everyone calls me Dory. Welcome to The Quiet Woman.”
PART III: THE QUIET WOMAN
CHAPTER 26
After leaving their packs in a room upstairs, Brock and Tipper were led to a back room on the main level of the inn. Inside the room were two large copper tubs, half-filled with water. A fire was burning in the brick fireplace on the far wall. Dory pulled a black kettle off the fire and set it on the hearth, steam rising from the water inside.
“The water in the tubs is cold. Add some hot water from the kettle until its warm enough. There’s a bar of soap for you to share.” Dory walked to the door. “Would you like to have your clothes cleaned? We have a steam cleaner we bought from the Academy a few years back. We can get your clothes clean and dry in a few hours. It’ll be another four coppers though.”
Brock nodded. “Clean clothes would be great. Let’s do that.”
“Okay.” She opened the door to leave. “I’ll have the maid come by to grab your clothing. Enjoy your bath, boys.”
She closed the door, leaving them alone. Brock used a hot-pad to lift the kettle, pouring steaming water into each tub while Tipper got undressed. A minute later, they were each soaking in a warm bath.
There was a knock on the door. Before they could respond, the handle turned and a girl poked her head into the room.
“Sorry sirs, but I’m here to get your clothes for steam cleaning.” Seeing them safely in the tubs, she entered the room.
Her straight black hair was tied into a tail in the back. She had large brown eyes and an olive complexion. Her clothes wore loose on her thin frame.
“You can wear these robes until your clothes are ready.” She set some towels and robes on a bench near the wall.
Scooping up the dirty clothes from the floor, she hurried from the room, her eyes downcast the entire time.
Tipper stared at the door after it closed. “At least I’m not the only Unchosen in this town.”
Brock nodded. “Yes, I noticed that. It’s interesting that Dory has an Unchosen working for her. That’s…uncommon.”
“She’s also pretty,” Tipper said, still staring at the door.
“Okay, lover boy.” Brock splashed water at his friend. “Toss me that soap.”
He proceeded to scrub the grime of their travels from his body. When he was finished, the bath water was decidedly darker. It felt good to be clean again. He climbed out and toweled dry while Tipper scrubbed his own filth away.
As Brock tied the towel around his waist, he noticed a bowl of water, a bar of soap, and a razor resting on the vanity. Standing before the small mirror, he examined his reflection.
Brock had always been fit from the physical labor of working in his father’s shop. Nine days of hard travel with little food had worn away any remaining softness. He could easily see the ripples of muscles beneath his otherwise flat stomach. The muscles on his chest and arms were more defined.
His gaze shifted to his face, looking more tan and rugged behind a patchy layer of scruffy hair. Deciding it was time for a clean shave; he soaped up and took the blade to his face. Minutes later, he rinsed the soap from his cheeks and toweled dry. His face now felt smooth with just two small cuts, leaving red smears on the towel.
He turned to see Tipper standing in his robe.
“Don’t you want to shave?” Brock asked Tipper.
The response was a shrug. “It don’t bother me. It’s hard to see with my blonde hair anyway.”
“Okay. Let’s go then,” Brock said, walking out the door.
. . .
Hearing a noise, Brock’s eyes fluttered open to see Tipper asleep on the other bed. Glancing out the window, he saw long shadows covering the street. It was nearly time for dinner.
A knock on the door made him jump. He pulled his robe closed before responding.
“Come in.”
The door opened, and a head peeked around the corner.
“Sorry, sirs.”
The maid they had met earlier entered, placing their folded clothes on a chair near the door.
“Your clothes are clean and dry.” She absently pulled a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “Is there anything else you need?”
“Yes,” Tipper replied. Brock hadn’t realized that he was awake. “I believe a proper introduction is what I…I mean we need. This is Brock, and I’m Tipper,” he said with a grin.
“Nice to meet you…um…Mr. Brock and Mr. Tipper,” she said, shyly. “My name is Libby. I’m the maid here at the inn. If there’s anything you need, let me know.”
Tipper took two steps and grabbed her hand. She looked startled as he bent to kiss it, his face sporting an even wider grin after lifting his lips from the back of her hand.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Libby. Please call me Tipper. No need to be formal.” He smiled his best smile, locking eyes with the girl.
Her stoic face cracked, a smile blooming. Brock had to admit she had a nice smile. She pulled her hand back, breaking eye contact. Her eyes opened wide and her hand went to her mouth.
“Oh my!” She squeaked, darting out the door.
When Brock looked to where her eyes had gone before fleeing, he burst out laughing.
“Showing her all your best moves already, aren’t you, lover boy?” he said with laughter.
Tipper’s face showed his confusion as Brock collapsed on the bed, tears running down his face. Tipper finally looked down, noticing that his robe had fallen open.
“Oh no,” Tipper moaned.
Brock laughed even harder.
CHAPTER 27
The Quiet Woman was anything but quiet. Pausing on the landing, Brock surveyed the room below. He noticed four men sitting at a table in a corner. One man worked behind the bar and another was waiting on tables. The rest of the room was filled with women.
Completing their descent, he and Tipper weaved their way toward the bar. While crossing the room, Brock heard women chatting with sprinkles of laughter. Eyes turned toward them as they passed. Some of the women scanned the boys from head to toe, openly appraising them. He felt a bit like livestock at the market, these women evaluating him for purchase. Whispers and giggles followed in their wake.
They sat at two open barstools and signaled for the bartender. The handsome man, roughly ten years older than Brock, finished washing two wine glasses and slid over to greet them. Wiping his hands on his apron, the man flashed a smile. His perfect teeth seemed to glow against his tanned face and short-trimmed brown beard. He had bright blue eyes, strong brown eyebrows, and light brown hair with long bangs partially covering the rune of Famulus. He pushed the bangs back with one hand and addressed the boys.
“You must be our new guests. Dory said you would be down for dinner. I’m James. What can I get you to drink?” He flashed a big white smile.
Tipper spoke first. “I’ll take an ale, please.”
James shook his head. “Sorry, but we don’t serve ale. We do have a fine selection of wine though.”
Brock realized he hadn’t seen any mugs on the tables. He turned and glanced around the room. While most of the women had wine glasses, some drank from tan cups. Steam was rising from many of them.
He turned back to James. “What’s in the small cups?”
“
That’s caffe, of course,” James replied.
“Caffe? What’s that?” Tipper asked. “It looks like it’s served hot.”
James leaned forward. “Yes, it’s served hot. It’s quite popular here in Fallbrandt. As for what it is, I think you have to try it to understand. I guess someone at the Academy invented it a few years back and soon became popular at the school. Soon after, Dory adopted it as an alternative to wine.” He stood upright, gesturing to himself. “However, I only drink it in the morning. I prefer wine with my dinner.”
Brock glanced at Tipper, who shrugged. “I guess we’ll each try one of those…what did you call it? A calf?”
James smiled. “Caffe. I’ll be right back”
The man crossed to the other end of the bar and filled two small cups, steam rising from the liquid as he poured. Returning, he set them on the bar.
“Careful, this is hot. If it’s too bitter, let me know, and I’ll add a little sweet milk to it. Dinner will be ready soon.”
Brock nodded. “Thanks, James.”
The man stepped away to help two women who were waving for his attention. He greeted the women with his engaging smile, holding one of their hands and oozing charm.
Brock picked up his cup, blowing to cool it. The drink had an interesting aroma. He took a small sip, the heat burning the tip of his tongue. Tipper laughed at the face Brock made after swallowing the bitter liquid. Tipper also took a small sip, his face yielding similar results.
A minute later, James returned. “So, what do you think?”
“I think we’ll accept your offer to add some of that milk. It is awfully bitter,” Brock replied.
“That’s what I figured.” James left to fetch the milk.
When he returned, he poured a little milk into each cup and motioned for them to try it again. Brock took a sip, thankfully not burning his tongue this time. The taste was much better. It was still bitter, but only mildly so. Brock nodded in approval. Tipper did the same, so James left to wait on other customers.
Brock took another sip. While it wasn’t great, he was determined to learn to drink it. He wanted to fit in at the Academy when he was admitted. Not if, when.
A burst of laughter erupted from a nearby table, causing him to turn in that direction. Six women sat at the table. Five of them covered their mouths in laughter as Dory spanked the waiter. His rear was stuck up in the air with his back arched. When she finished, he turned and bowed to the women. Dory handed him two coppers, and he moved on to fill some glasses at another table.
Dory’s eyes met Brock’s. She smiled and stuck two fingers up, scooping them toward her. He picked up his cup and walked to the table as the laughter died down. Now all eyes were on him. Dory tapped the open seat next to her, bidding him to sit. He smiled and gave a nod to the women as he took his seat.
Dory introduced him. “This is Brock. He arrived today and is staying at the inn for a bit.”
He smiled his best smile and greeted the group. “Hello ladies. I’m honored to be in the presence of such beauty.”
His greeting scored him five glowing smiles. Dory was not so easily swayed, but she did give a nod as if he had done the right thing.
“Brock, I assume you came here to join the Academy. Am I correct?” Dory asked.
He finished his sip of caffe and nodded. “Yes. I’m planning on going there tomorrow to meet with admissions. I didn’t see the Academy when I came into town today. I assume it’s a big building, right?”
Dory laughed. “I would definitely categorize the Academy as a big building. However, you won’t find it here. It’s about an hour’s walk north of here.”
He nodded again. “Well, it makes sense I didn’t see it then.”
Dory put her hand on his arm. “Brock, will you please have some wine with us? I know caffe is wonderful, but wine is much better with dinner.”
Not wanting to offend anyone, he agreed. Dory waved and the waiter set a stemmed glass on the table near Brock, filling it with deep red liquid. He had heard of wine, of course, but he hadn’t seen it before tonight. The taverns he frequented featured ale while wine was reserved for the finer inns in Kantar.
Dory lifted her glass for a toast. “To Brock. We wish him success on his quest for admission to the Academy.”
Their glasses tapped together over the table before rising to their lips.
An explosion of flavor splashed into Brock’s mouth, warming his throat on the way down. The aftertaste was less bitter caffe. The warmth in his throat felt good, so he took another drink.
A soft hand touched his arm. He turned toward the pretty woman who sat in the seat next to him. At about five years older than Brock, she was absently twisting her long black hair with two fingers.
“Brock, can you tell us where you come from? Did you have any adventures on your journey to Fallbrandt?” she asked as eagerness reflected in her large brown eyes.
Dory touched his other arm. “Yes, Brock. Tell us of your journey.”
The wine began to affect him, causing his head to swim. He took another drink, the liquid warming him inside. It was odd how each drink seemed to make him want more. He cleared his throat before speaking.
“I’m from Kantaria. It took the better part of two weeks for us to reach Fallbrandt.” He paused, remembering Tipper’s role in his charade. “My servant and I, that is.”
He was feeling more confident. If these women wanted a story, he would tell one. “What began as a simple journey soon turned into one of adventure and peril.”
He began by telling of how they had been offered a ride to the top of the eerie Glowridge pass, observing the awe-inspiring Whitecap Falls along the way. The ladies gasped in horror when he described the encounter with the banshee, a creature from nightmares. They cried out when he described Hank and the banshee falling to their deaths. Of course, he did not mention how Hank’s corpse had risen to fight the creature.
He paused as the waiter refilled their glasses. After taking a drink, he resumed his tale.
The women cringed as he described the harsh desert crossing, escaping the deadly winds of the sandstorm. Nodding heads and knowing eyes met his gaze when he told them of the hostility against Unchosen in Sarville. A look of relief crossed their faces when he mentioned how they had found shelter in a cave from the torrential rain. The look turned to horror when he told them of the beast that had attacked them in the cave.
Dory sat upright, her eyes wide. “Wait. What you describe is a bacabra. Few people see one and live to tell about it. How did you escape?”
Brock’s mind raced. “Well, a boulder saved us,” he said in truth, before twisting it to a story he could tell. “We were able to roll it down the slope of the cave. Luckily, it clipped the beast’s shoulder and it left us to tend its wounds. Sensing our chance, we escaped from the cave and continued our journey.”
“And now, here we sit in this lovely inn, two days after the encounter with the…bacabra.” Brock concluded his story, capping it off by emptying his glass.
Dory began to clap. The other women followed suit, all clapping in applause. When the applause receded, Dory spoke again.
“My, Brock. That was a wonderful tale. You must be favored by Issal to have survived such a perilous journey. Thank you for sharing it with us.” Dory paused as the other women nodded in agreement. “Ah, I see dinner is being served. Please stay and eat with us, won’t you?”
As James and the waiter began to set plates on the table, Brock decided he had no choice but to accept. He glanced toward Tipper, who was already busy eating his food at the bar.
The fish was light and delightful. The vegetables were warm and juicy, yet still crisp. Overall, the dinner was delicious. The table conversation was engaging and unguarded. It was a wonderful night.
CHAPTER 28
It was a horrible morning. Brock felt dreadful. His head was pounding and the room tilted when he moved, causing his stomach to churn. Sunlight coming through the window made it that much worse.
> He sipped water, wetting his dry mouth. Setting the glass back on the table, he resumed holding his head in his hands while sitting on the edge of the bed. Brock heard the door open, followed by Tipper’s voice.
“It’s good to see you’re awake and alive.” Tipper sat on the bed opposite from Brock.
“I’m kinda wishing I wasn’t alive right now. I feel terrible.” Brock’s words were muffled as he held his face in pain.
Tipper laughed. “I’m not surprised. You seemed to enjoy the wine last night. I realized you’d had quite a bit when you started dancing on the table.”
He looked up at Tipper. “What?” He blinked, trying to recall the evening. “Now that you say it, I guess I vaguely remember that. I don’t seem to remember much of last night though. I know it started well with pleasant conversation and some wonderful food. Then it becomes muddled, like trying to see through a thick fog.”
Tipper smiled at him. “Yeah, James told me you’d likely feel like this and not remember a whole lot. He and I got along well, having more than a few laughs as we watched your antics. Lucky for me, I stuck to caffe. It’s quite good you know...”
Brock moaned, “Tip, stop torturing me and tell me what happened.”
Tipper leaned back as he told the story.
“Well, everything seemed to start fine when you joined the ladies at Dory’s table. You drank wine and spoke with them for a while. Then James and Garrett, he’s the waiter, brought dinner out, and I stopped watching while I ate my food. The fish was delicious and the vegetables were far better than any I’d had before. James told me that they were steamed. I wonder how they do that. They were hot and juicy, but still had a lot of flavor. I need to ask James next…”
“Tip!” Brock pleaded. “Please, just tell me what happened.”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” Tipper smiled as he continued the story. “After dinner, you continued to pour wine down your throat. In between, you told stories and shared laughs with those ladies. Then, they began to clap in unison. In fact, everyone in the room was clapping. The next thing I know, you were up on their table, dancing to the beat. Then they started yelling for you to take your shirt off, and you obliged.”
The Buried Symbol (The Ruins of Issalia Book 1) Page 10