Veil of the Deserters

by Jeff Salyards

  I stood there, satchel and writing case tucked in my arms. “What about you and the lieutenants?”

  “Oh, Mull and Hew got their own quarters, being officers and all.”

  “But you’re an officer too, aren’t you?”

  “Only difference between me and the other men is I got to suffer through more of their gripes and bellyaching. And occasionally repeat the Cap’s orders if they’re moving slow. Sergeant’s a glorified grunt. I got my own room, true enough, but it’s in the barracks with my brothers. All for the best. Easier to stumble in after swallowing a gallon or three of ale or sour wine. Fewer stairs.”

  He took a step back, looking ready to go. I glanced at the empty room ahead and had the uncomfortable sense that I was once again on a precipice. Every time I felt as if I had discovered the worst about what might happen accompanying the Syldoon, I learned some new horrible wrinkle—secretly supporting the deposed Emperor while plotting against the new one?

  Vendurro must have seen my face and asked, “You wouldn’t want to come with me, would you? Meet the mates, share some ale?”

  I nearly said yes—it seemed a brighter prospect than being alone in a dusty room. But I was made for dusty rooms. And I didn’t imagine the other Syldoon soldiers would be any more receptive to sharing a flagon with me than Braylar’s immediate retinue would.

  I shook my head, and Vendurro nodded. “Be seeing you then, Arki.”

  “Night.”

  I watched him head back down the hallway, not envying his task on the morrow, but jealous he would have old friends to take his mind off it tonight, and almost called out and asked him to wait for me to join him.

  Almost.

  Captain Killcoin’s quarters were spacious, and he was lucky enough to have several arched windows along one wall. I looked out and saw all of Sunwrack spread out in front of me. Even several floors from the roof of the Tower, the view was amazing—the orderly grid-like streets and alleys running off in every direction; the vast plazas teeming with colorful crowds, shimmying, shifting; fountains filled with water from the aqueduct alongside gated gardens of fig and date and those peculiar trees that homed the steel moths; temples of every size, sometimes crowned with bulbous domes or topped with achingly thin minarets painted in black and white bands; crumbling facades and ancient arches everywhere; the brass roofs reflecting the last of the sunlight, the whole city ablaze. And of course the colossal walls and Towers surrounding the vast city—a ring of castles and keeps girding the heart of the Empire.

  It really was astonishing. And a little dizzying, so I stepped away.

  I walked through an open arched doorway to the adjacent smaller room. Being an interior apartment, this did not have windows but I was surprised to see a small rectangular light well that was lined with glazed brick, increasing the illumination. And there was a hook above the small desk and chair that had a lantern hanging from it.

  It was not as pleasant as some rooms I occupied briefly in the houses of previous employers, but writing in here would be an absolute pleasure compared to tramping about in wagons, rumbling over ruts every ten feet, spilling ink and scratching marks on the page so sloppy I could barely make out what I intended when I looked back on them hours later.

  Opposite the desk was a simple bed, but that too would be luxury after sleeping alongside a wagon wheel, stirring at every noise in the dark, wondering if Hornmen or Brunesmen or some other unknown enemy would come thundering through our encampment trying to kill us all.

  I set my gear down and saw that someone, the steward or slaves who prepared the room for our arrival, had dragged in a copper tub as well. Or maybe the tub was always here, but one finger dip inside told me they had filled it recently—the water was lukewarm, but the copper held the heat nicely.

  A bath. A warm bath. It felt like ages since I’d had one.

  I pulled some new clothes out of my satchel and quickly stripped out of my filthy tunic and trousers, the wool caked in dirt and splotches of blood. After piling my smallclothes on top and unwinding the bandage around my waist, I stepped into the tub, actually relieved it wasn’t boiling hot. I slid down, the water rising to the middle of my chest, the warmth luxurious, my itching wound finally forgotten.

  A bristle brush was hanging from a hook on the side, and there was a small tray with a hunk of soap as rough as a millstone. I scrubbed and lathered and rinsed, then slid down as far as I could, my arms draped over the side, my eyes closed.

  I only intended to rest, but must have fallen asleep for a few moments when I heard a voice. “Well. Don’t you look cozy.”

  My eyes snapped open. A woman’s voice. Skeelana.

  I sat up straight and then started to cover myself.

  She was sitting cross-legged on a chair behind the table. “Oh, the soap scum is like lily pads, and you’ve browned the water nicely. I didn’t see anything.”

  “What… How did you get here?”

  Skeelana pointed at the door. “Not exactly a challenge. Wasn’t locked.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Same as you. Relaxing a bit. You looked very comfortable before I startled you. I almost felt guilty.” She didn’t look it in the slightest. “Though now you don’t look especially peaceful.”

  I had no idea what to do or say—I’d never been interrupted during a bath by a woman before, and certainly not one I was strangely attracted to. But she spoke to me as if we were strolling along a crowded street.

  “Uh, what I meant to say was, is, I am glad to see you, but what are you doing here right now? The captain could return any moment, and I’m pretty sure he would have the same question, but asked much less nicely.”

  She didn’t seem particularly bothered by that either. “Oh, I saw him earlier. Towermates he hadn’t seen in years dragged him off to drink. I think we are quite safe.”

  The way she said that made me feel anything but. Though not at all in the same way my unexpected conversation with Soffjian had in the wagon in the dark. Here, I just felt off balance, flushed despite the tepid water, awkward, and uncertain. “I’m going to get out now.”

  Skeelana smiled. “By all means.”

  “That is, to get dressed. To—”

  She stood up. “Oh, never fear, Arki. I’m only playing with you. I will avert my eyes.”

  True to her word, she turned away. I parted the dirty water as best I could, stepped out, shivering, even though the day was still warm. And slipped into my clean undertunic, tunic, and trousers as quickly as possible, stumbling as my wet foot caught in the pant leg and I nearly fell over.

  Skeelana glanced over her shoulder and laughed. “You alright back there?”

  “Yes,” I said, trying to free my foot and work it through, again nearly toppling. “Just fine, thanks.”

  When I was finally dressed, she turned around and sat back down. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk more on the final stretch back here. Soffjian felt it would be best if we maintained some distance. Especially after I treated Captain Killcoin. That did so unnerve his retinue, and certainly the man himself. I did miss our chats though.”

  I felt myself flush even more. “I did as well,” I admitted, sitting on the bed.

  We both sat quietly for a few moments, until she broke it with, “See, that’s it, right there. Most people, this silence would be incredibly awkward. With you, it’s only mildly awkward.”

  I laughed, and it felt good. Really good.

  Skeelana looked at me, and while her blue eyes had a way of ensuring whatever I said next would be foolish or floundering, I still found myself enjoying looking back. “Aren’t you worried? That you might have been seen coming in here? Is that…?”

  “What? Appropriate? No, probably not. Most Syldoon don’t consort with us unless necessary. But we are allowed in the Tower, after all. We are a part of it, even if there is a divide. We can walk down the halls. And most anyone I saw ran off in the other direction as soon as possible, not especially caring where I was going.
So no, not really worried. Though I don’t intend on staying all that long. I mostly just wanted to find out what you think of Sunwrack so far.”

  I resisted the urge to walk over to the window and look out again. “It is… enormous. Staggering, really. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “It is big, that’s for certain,” Skeelana agreed. “After living here for so long, you tend to forget that the rest of the world isn’t built like this place.”

  “You said mostly?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “‘Mostly wanted.’ Was there something else?” I tried to keep the nervousness and excitement out of my voice, chiding myself for being a stupid boy, for thinking an accomplished Memoridon was even remotely interested in me. For wanting her to be. It was foolishness of the worst sort.

  She played with the jackal pin on her jacket. “You mentioned something, several days back now, that I’ve been wondering about.”

  I felt disappointment and relief. “Oh?”

  “You asked me about memories. And how easy or hard it was to uncover those that had been lost or fractured. Something like that.”

  “You’re a Memoridon—you don’t remember?”

  Skeelana tilted her head, smiling. “Oh, you witty boy. Yes, I do. And I got the sense that wasn’t just idle curiosity. You were asking about yourself, weren’t you?”

  After a long telling pause, I went ahead and confessed. “No. That is, it wasn’t idle curiosity.” I considered changing the subject, ending the discussion entirely. But I found myself saying, “I never met my father. That I know of. I remember my childhood, of course. My mother. For whatever that’s worth. But I was thinking, wondering, that is…”

  She waited patiently. I pressed on. “Well, maybe I had seen him. Maybe he’d checked in on me and my mother when I was really young and I just don’t remember. I met his retainer, but never my father. I don’t think. And when you said sometimes memories get buried or broken, I was thinking…”

  Hearing the plaintive tone, I regretted saying anything at all, but Skeelana gave me a smile without guile, mockery, or sarcasm. “It might be possible. Might.”

  “But, you could look. Inside me. Find it if it’s there, maybe restore it.” She opened her mouth, but I kept talking. “I know how ridiculous it sounds, or seems. I mean, even if a memory was there, even if I had seen him, knowing that, seeing it again, well, it wouldn’t change my life. But still.”

  She nodded slowly. “I could look. Could.”

  I was about to nod myself, and stopped. “Is there danger? Could you… damage me?”

  Skeelana shook her head. “Soffjian would peel you like an orange and break you into segments, but I have a delicate enough touch—I could flit around without causing any harm.” But she stopped herself. “And still, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “Why… why is that?”

  “Well, when I searched Captain Killcoin for those stolen foreign memories, they were easy enough to find, really, and I could generally ignore his own. Generally. But what you are asking… it is too intimate, Arki. I would be sifting through yours, looking for this thing. And while I am as crafty at this as anyone, and have a talent for finding what I’m looking for, you would be exposing yourself. Without intending to, I might see things I shouldn’t. Things you don’t want seen. Embarrassing memories. The time you roped the unicorn thinking about your sister, or—”

  “I don’t have a sister, but if I did, I wouldn’t!”

  She stood up, walked toward me. “Well, be that as it may, we all have shameful memories. Horrible ones, sometimes. Painful ones. People don’t invite me in voluntarily, after all. There is a reason for that. I wouldn’t feel comfortable doing it. I’m sorry.”

  Skeelana was right. And I was a selfish fool for even thinking about it—I knew things about the captain that he would kill me for revealing to a Memoridon, even inadvertently. Still, she must have seen my face drop, even for a moment, and felt some pity.

  Bending over, she ran her fingers across my cheek, and then her face was moving toward me, the dark skin closer and closer, and I felt my eyes lock on the stud on her round upturned nose, just before she placed her plump lips on mine.

  My breath hitched in my chest, and I finally closed my eyes, turning my head slightly, kissing her back, her fingers moving across my cheek to the back of my head, and she pulled me in tight. She parted her lips a little, and I followed her lead—the only time I remember my heart racing faster was when the Brunesman stabbed me. Her tongue darted out, flicking across my teeth, teasing, curling, inviting me to let her in. I reached up and ran my fingers through her hair, jabbing my thumb on a pin, and she laughed and kissed me harder, placing her hand on my chest.

  Skeelana smelled of valerian musk, and tasted like almonds, and I wanted to devour her, take her all in at once, feel her skin, her curves, her heat. I’d kissed a few girls before, but only truly been with one girl, and that was a fumbling, ridiculous encounter, elbows and heads knocking together, apologies aplenty, rushed and graceless and gawky. But here, now, I felt an arousal I had never experienced before, potent and fierce and primal. I desperately wanted to explore Skeelana, to please her.

  And abruptly, it was done. She was moving away. I kept my eyes closed for a moment, not wanting to show the frustration, and when I opened them again, she was gone. Which was impossible—she hadn’t had time to leave or hide. And then I remembered the Hornman in Alespell she had beguiled and looked closer.

  I saw a shimmer along one wall, made out the shape of her, part of the outline, a faint rippling where I should have seen only stone and wood.

  Skeelana laughed as the illusion rippled toward the door. “I was waiting for you to be clean. About time.”

  And then she was truly gone, leaving me breathing so heavily I was nearly panting, my head swimming, still tasting her, and hungering.

  After Skeelana left, I lay back on the bed, waiting to cool down, revisiting what had happened over and over in my mind. And while it was completely unexpected, I fell into a deep slumber the dead would be jealous of.

  Hours later, I woke, my pillow covered in sweat, the room dark, and saw a faint glow coming from Braylar’s quarters. I climbed out of bed, body still feeling twice as heavy as it was, eyes weighted, and yet my stomach grumbling. I would have thought Skeelana’s visit a dream, except I could still smell the valerian on my tunic.

  I walked into his chambers, wondering what hour it was.

  Braylar was sitting at the mosaic table near the window and the fireplace that must have rarely been used, a tallow candle burning low in front of him, his shadow dancing along the wall. His hair was disheveled, not nearly as slicked back as usual, and he was hunched over parchment sheets, most scattered on the table. There was a wooden plate in front of him, some small bones, a pool of congealed grease, a hunk of bread, and some olive pits.

  And as ever, a pitcher of ale and a tall horn cup next to it.

  I wondered if he was fighting off the effects of stolen memories, but it seemed he was just in the mood for drink.

  My stomach rumbled so loudly he heard it. He must have known I was there already, as he didn’t glance up from what he was reading, but indicated I should sit next to him.

  I did, my stomach again protesting, unabashed.

  Braylar looked over at me. “I was wondering when your basic needs would rouse you from your slumber. I heard you stirring and summoned another plate for you. Ale?” He picked up the pitcher, filling his own cup and stopping just short of doing the same with the other.

  I had a bad head for drink even on a full stomach, but just then it did sound good, and it would at least fill my belly a bit before the food arrived.

  Almost before I could nod he had filled the horn cup to the brim. After accepting it and taking a swallow—it was quite good, rich and heavy—I remembered Skeelana’s words and said, “I would have guessed you’d be catching up with your Towermates below or in an alehouse somewhere?”

&nbs
p; “I allowed myself a little of that, and there will be time enough for more. Or not, as it happens. But for now, there are a good many things I need to tend to first.” He took several swallows of his own. “Still, one shouldn’t be wanting.”

  There was a knock on the door, and Braylar said, “There, you see. Timing is everything.” Then he shouted, “Enter!”

  A young Syldoon, or Syldoon slave more likely, as the boy had not been hung or inked, came in carrying a tray with food. I clamped my hands on my stomach to try to stymie any more embarrassing grumbling from below.

  The boy walked over, set the tray on the table and bowed low, avoiding eye contact with either of us. “Will there be anything else, my lord?”

  “Captain is fine. Captain Killcoin, if you insist on formalities. And what shall we call you, boy?”

  The youth, brown curly head still bowed low, thought about his answer before replying, “Whatever it please you, my lor—uh, Captain.”

  “And what did it please your parents to call you, my obsequious little man?”

  He did look up then, but only for an instant before lowering his eyes again. “My parents? Captain?”

  “Yes. I will insist on calling you Drizzleshit if you do not provide a suitable alternate.”

  The boy stammered but didn’t provide an answer.

  “Do you like ‘Drizzleshit,’ boy?”

  The boy started to shake his head, stopped himself, and then shook it anyway. “No, Captain. Not especially.”

  “Then you best get out of my room and pull your head out of your ass before you set foot in here again. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, my—yes, Captain. Captain Killcrown.”

  “Killcoin, you dolt. Get out of here, Drizzleshit.”

  The boy backed away, still bowing, than turned and nearly ran into the door, fumbling with the tray as he shut it behind him.

  Braylar shook his head. “And this is what we have to work with. If your raw material is shit, you can be sure the finished product will be little improved.” He gestured at my plate. “Eat.”