How much would even be in the collection plate? Not a lot, he supposed. It was late, after supper and vesper bells had already rung. Would it be missed? Did he want to be involved with people who stole from the Church? But what of what Drink said? She wasn’t lying about the things the Church was able to do and entitled to in the Valley. All these years, he had never questioned it. What were the chances of Derk working for the Church ever again?
Drink was shoving the question in his face. He didn’t want to falter, have her think he had the heart of a mouse. “Where should I go once I’ve got it?” Derk said, trying to keep his voice steady and mostly succeeding.
“Bring it to Paint’s,” Drink said. “All of it. And don’t take forever. I’ll come looking for you.” She smirked at him and turned, her eyes lingering on him before she continued down the street, toward Paint’s home.
“Chew Her Hems,” Derk cursed, looking down the street in the direction of the temple. He knew where it was. The temple had been the first place he went to on his own. A temple was a bit of familiarity, a place of comfort no matter where he was in the Valley. He knew where the collection plate was. It would be easy, almost too easy. It was set on a table against the wall in the foyer, before entering the temple proper. He had walked in, dipped his fingers in the holy water and dropped a coin into the collection plate. His coin had probably been collected by now.
The walk to the temple seemed to take both an eternity and pass too quickly, his heart beating faster the closer he drew. Sweat popped on his brow despite the cool evening. The weight of his dagger felt heavy hidden away under his shirt and he prayed he wouldn’t have to use the weapon. Why would he? If a priestess caught him, would she fight back? What if there were people in the temple? They might attack him. And if Sindra heard? The chances of getting back in her bed and her good graces would be destroyed. Still his feet moved, drawing him closer to the temple.
Derk shoved all these thoughts to the side, focusing his mind on prayer instead. He prayed to the Goddess for forgiveness. He prayed no one would be in the temple, for the Black Hand of the Goddess to guide him.
The steps leading up to the Temple of the Blessed Hope were bare. No one stood on the steps selling wares, no priestesses discussed the merits of one translation over the other or sang hymns over the marketplace. Lamps hung on either side of the door and the sign of the temple, the waxing moon, almost full, carved out of stone so light shone from the almost perfect circle. Almost.
The soles of his boots skipped against the stone steps as he ascended, the sound of music from the streets growing fainter in his ears. For a breath he considered just walking through the temple and out the back door. All temples had back entrances available for the public to use. He could leave the temple and then the town, go somewhere else. Back to Sindra. Maybe try to watch the Cup from afar, see if they were taking advantage of the Church and then do something about it.
Hock hadn’t made it seem like it was the case during their talks. All of the stories before had been small robberies, foiling block lords, intercepting weapons. Derk had mentioned his lover being involved with the Church and Hock had seemed interested but never protested. The Church…Derk remembered the solace he had found within its walls so many times. Had it been the building? The Bosom of the Goddess? Or the bosom of Sindra? And what would the Cup give him? He remembered Sersena and his cruel chain, killed by the guards. Hock had made that happen, in a way. The brown cloak had shoved the sword into him but Hock had allowed Sersena and has gang to take on the bad job.
Was it kind of the Goddess to let people like Sersena lord over streets and back rooms? But things changed, didn’t they? Her Black Hand could set things in motion. A powerful man, killed. A Baron’s son, now a thief, about to steal the ten coins from the collection plate. Ten coins, all of them blue.
Three were Goddess side up, Her eyes lowered to look into the bowl of the Valley. Ten coins and no one watching. The temple was empty save the quiet burn of the oil lamps in the vestibule. Perhaps a few people sat inside but they would be looking at the altar or their heads bowed, hands over their hearts in prayer. He had walked into the temple quietly enough. No priestess came out to greet him, no one stood at the altar singing or reciting.
Sindra. The painting of the Goddess behind the altar looked like her. It was the hair, mostly. Dark hair spilled over Her shoulders in thick waves and stars gleamed among Her tresses. One hand lay on Her belly, swollen yet perfect in its roundness. Her other hand was outstretched, the palm black. Evidence of her previous deeds, forever marked on Her divine body. Derk’s hand tingled.
He approached not the altar but the collection plate, his hat already in his hand. He had pulled it off when he had entered the temple. A quick gaze around the temple, listening for footsteps, heavy breathing. Square fingers reached forward, brushing the lip of the plate and finding the first coin.
The coin wasn’t cold or warm. It was round and hard. The tips of his fingers felt the familiar patterns hammered into the dark blue metal. He picked up the first coin and dropped it into his hat.
The second went in. It jingled against the other and Derk felt his heart stop. He listened to hear if anyone had noticed, waiting. The scent of incense wafted past him, mixing with the night air. People could enter at any moment. Derk held his breath and quickly, unceremoniously picked up the rest of the coins, gathering them in his fist. The coins rubbed against each other as he settled them into a stack within his grip, metal against metal, cold and grating. Eyes darted from the collection plate to the temple to the painting, expecting someone to stir.
The remaining eight coins were in his hand. He turned and put his hand into his hat, walking toward the main exit. As he exited, he turned back, casting his gaze upon the painting of the Goddess. Even from here, he swore he could see a faint smirk on Her face, a smile in Her eyes.
Derk turned his head, careening into a priestess before he could stop and cursed. The priestess exclaimed as well, both their voices echoing in the temple. The sound of several of the coins clinking against the floor made his skin hot, the coins he had managed to hold on to starting to make his hand hurt. The priestess was sitting on the floor, rubbing her elbow, a book lying a toss away from them answering the question as to why she hadn’t avoided the collision. Derk dumped the coins in his hat and stood up, offering a hand to the priestess. She gave her elbow one more rub, a wince twisting her face as Derk helped her up.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. He was only apologizing for knocking her down, he told himself. He bent down to pick up her book, catching the title before she snatched it up in an effort to keep the book from him. He knew the title and tried not to smirk, knowing it would only make the priestess angry. “I…I didn’t see you there,” he added, bending down to pick up his hat. He balled the end of it so it looked like a purse, looking the priestess over. “You’re bleeding,” he said, pointing to her elbow.
“Hems,” the priestess said, bending her arm to see. Sure enough a patch of bright red showed the pattern of the weave, criss-crossed against her elbow. “I’m sorry, I was…I was busy reading,” she said. The priestess looked young. Her face was round and she clutched the book to her chest, hiding it with her arms. She was probably still an acolyte, a student. More than likely she was supposed to be in quarters. The younger priestesses usually had the chores done earlier in the day.
“Gotta get it in when you can,” Derk said, smiling. The priestess managed a smile back, averting her eyes from him. “Best get it looked at, you don’t want it to get infected,” he said, pointing to her elbow. The coins were heavy in his hands but the young priestess’ attention was on herself. “I knew a man, bumped his elbow one day, two phases later had to get his arm chopped off at the shoulder. If you’re right handed, it might make dealing with your book more difficult.” Derk tried not to grin but the priestess blushed and straightened her back to counter her embarrassment.
“It’s still a holy text,” she said quietly. “One of t
he blessings of the Goddess, is it not?”
“Well, it is. Still, get it mended or blessing yourself will be uncomfortable at best.” Derk turned and left, pressing his lips together so as to keep from laughing. As soon as he was at the bottom of the steps he laughed out loud, recalling the priestess’ face. She looked both shocked and amused when he had warned her. Maybe because the piece of work she held, ‘The Illustrated Workings and Enticement of the Holy Mother Over the Powers of The Valley’ wasn’t a religious work every Valleyman was familiar with. He only knew about it because Cira had mentioned it once. Later in his love life when he had asked Sindra about it…he remembered how her eyes glinted, the smile on her full mouth. The pictures in the book had made Derk’s eyes go wide. Derk laughed again as he walked down the street, the weight of the coins lighter in his hand.
Paint’s home was found easily enough. A knock on the door evoked barking from within, followed by cursing and the sound of things being knocked over. He heard Hock shout something and Paint say something back, followed by a laugh by Drink. Metal raked against wood as the lock was pulled back and the door opened. A wet, black nose snuffed at the door, the large dog from earlier in the bar joined by two others, all of them pushing past Hock to see who was at the door. “Get back! Lock! Stock! Paint, call them!”
Derk walked through the door, the smell of beer and bread frying making his stomach rumble. The three dogs all circled him, making it difficult to walk. A tail knocked someone’s mug over, one of the dogs lapping up whatever spilled as the other two still crowded Derk. “Paint, call your dogs!” Hock insisted, locking the door once more.
“They’re your dogs too,” Paint said, ducking into the kitchen. “Stock’s the only one I brought home, Lock and Barrel are your pups.”
“Pups? They’re full grown, dumb as children. They sprawl out on the bed as if it’s theirs,” Hock grumbled, sitting down. In response Lock sat in front of Hock and leaned over, licking him on the face. The large man’s expression softened and he reached out and pet the dog, evoking a grin from the beast. “At least they don’t talk back.”
Derk sat down at the small table, setting his hat before Drink. The weight of the coins made it slide open, the coins glinting in the lamplight. Before he could say anything, Barrel crawled up onto the couch after him, laying its large body across his lap. Derk felt its feet and claws dig into his lap and he stifled a groan, looking to Paint with thanks as she whacked the dog’s backside with a dishrag, shooing him away. “Let’s not forget, they can rip out a man’s throat,” Paint said, kneeling over to wipe the floor. “Not many children can do that.”
“Not many,” Drink said. She didn’t bother moving as Paint knelt down to clean, instead keeping her attention on her cards. “Hock, we still playing?”
“Give me a minute,” Hock said, stepping around the dogs. “Paint, you need any help with the cleaning?”
“No, just check your bread, don’t want it to burn,” Paint said, wiping the table. “Derk, dear, are you hungry?”
“I don’t want to put you out,” Derk insisted, wondering when Drink was going to look up from her cards.
“Nonsense,” Paint said. “You’re our guest, though we’re not very good hosts. You might have to use a dog for a pillow. At least they’re warm.”
“No sleeping at the temple commons for you, eh, Derk?” Drink said, finally turning an eye his way.
Derk sat back on the couch, scratching at a patch of bare wood on the arm of the seat with his finger. “No, not tonight,” he said.
“We’ve got cold ham and whitberry jam. Hock can share his bread with you.”
“Hock won’t!” Hock called from the kitchen, one of the dogs trampling over to the kitchen. “Get out of here! Paint!”
Paint laughed and put a large hand on Derk’s knee. “You let me know if you need anything. Let me go make sure he don’t burn the house down.” Derk watched as she took one last swipe at the ground and left, her skirts swishing behind her.
“So, was it hard?” Drink asked, rearranging her cards in her hand.
Derk looked at the pile of cards on the table and then to his hat, filled with coins. “At first,” he admitted. “I didn’t want to do it. But then, my heart started to race. And I wanted to do it. So I did.” He leaned over and picked up one of the coins, wondering who had left it in the plate.
Drink leaned over and pulled three coins out of the hat, putting them in her coin purse. “Buy yourself something nice,” she said, tucking the pouch away into her belt. Derk must have been looking at her strangely because she stared at him. “What? I saw something for three blueies in the market this morning. Thanks for it.”
Derk scooped up the rest of the coins and put them in his pouch before any more could be claimed, wondering what had just happened. He put his hat back on his head, only to have Hock knock it off as he walked back into the room. “No hats in the house, it’s rude,” Hock said, sitting down at the table. He held the plate of food in his hands, high enough the dogs couldn’t grab a nibble off of it. “I don’t even remember what we were playing, Drink. Can we deal again, let Derk in?”
“You don’t remember you was losing?” Drink said, throwing her cards onto the table anyway. “Sure, we can let Derk in.” Slender fingers picked up the cards and she shuffled them, the stiff paper rattling. “Paint, you in?”
“I’ll play a hand,” Paint said. “Wish I had a bigger table. It’s usually just me or me and Hock.”
“The dogs don’t play cards?” Derk asked, sitting up closer to the table.
“These dogs don’t do much else besides make messes,” Hock said, talking through a mouthful of food. The dog called Lock put her nose on the arm of the chair and looked up at Hock with big eyes. “And beg,” he said, offering the dog a tidbit with his fingers. The dog managed to wait, drool starting to dribble from her mouth before she lifted her muzzle up, taking the morsel gingerly between her teeth. “Ah, that’s a good girl,” Hock said.
“We’re playing Crow Catcher,” Drink said, dealing out the cards.
“Haven’t played Crow Catcher with two pairs in years,” Paint said, smiling at Derk. “You and me, eh?”
“I’ve played a bit, I’m sure we’ll get it sorted,” Derk smiled. He picked up his cards and looked them over before he took a quick glance around the table. Sitting with Hock, Paint and Drink around the table, one of the dogs chewing on his boot. Drink caught his eye and winked at him. It was different from the comfort of a hard pew and the Goddess’ gaze. He hadn’t had this kind of comfort for a while. Was it worth ten blueies? Derk grinned as he set his first card down, Hock cursing and Drink punching him in the arm in protest.
Yes, he thought. Yes it was.
CHAPTER 17
New Alliances
Derk rubbed at his eyes as he clipped up the temple steps. Midday meal was over and done with for most of the town, but Derk had woken up just earlier that watch. Dogs had crowded around him in his sleep and as he smacked at them to scatter he had knocked over beer bottles and other things. Hock and Paint were still sleeping in the one bedroom, he guessed. Drink was nowhere to be found. He would go to temple and then to the baths for a scrub.
He didn’t have to go into the temple this time, just to the top of the steps where a small table was set up. Behind it sat a priestess, the same priestess from last night, funnily enough. Derk squinted at her and smiled, wiggling his fingers in hello. She stuck her chin out at him, fiddling with the wares on the table. Derk clasped his hands behind his back and looked them over.
Prayer beads and icons of the Goddess were arranged on the grey square of fabric laying on the tabletop. The icons would be painted by hand. Some were done on carefully shaped pieces of wood, some were carved into stone or clay and one was even etched into metal, bright enamels in silver, black, white and blue depicting the Goddess. Too expensive for him. Some of the necklaces and bracelets were series of knots with the beads at the cusps. He had enough for one of those. “Did you make
any of these?” he asked, pointing at jewelry with a wave of a finger.
“I painted some of the icons, yes,” she said, sitting up straighter in her chair. “I learned from the High Priestess Kerla of Whitehill. She’s the leading expert in depictions of the Goddess in art.”
“But you painted as a girl, right?” Derk asked, cocking his head to the side. She nodded. He could tell she was pleased with herself. More than likely she showed promise at an early age, ability which was noticed and cultivated. He wondered how old she had been when she left her family to learn. “Is your mam or pa the artistic one?” he asked.
“My pa was, truth be told,” she said. Her light eyes brightened, as if she was hungry to tell the story. “He makes pots, you see, with clay from the lake bed. And he used to paint them and I used to help him.” In the young priestess’ face, he could see the memory, the happiness with it all. Digging out clay. Watching her pa mold it.
“Which did you do?” he asked, leaning over the table.
The priestess pointed to a clay piece. “I did that one.” She pointed to another. “This one too.” Derk leaned over as close as he could, not touching the icons with his hands. They were good, actually. Carefully painted lines, the black spiral representing the palm of the Goddess artfully stylized on her work.
“Well, I’ve got four blueies to spend. I need the rest for a bath. I’m going to see my lady in a bit, so what’ve you got?”
The priestess’ face fell, looking over pieces. She picked up one of the knotted bracelets. “This is five pieces.”
The Valley of Ten Crescents Series (Box Set: Books 1-3) Page 38