by A. C. Cobble
Samuel’s expression jumped from crestfallen disappointment to a tentative grin. Jolly Jon appeared out of nowhere and smacked a fresh round of ales onto the table. All three of them jumped.
“Find someone to help you smuggle your contraband to the guild?” asked Jon.
A pale Samuel stuttered, “I, ah…”
Amelie raised an eyebrow at the man.
Glassy-eyed, Jolly Jon pulled a chair up to the table and straddled it, an ale mug hanging carelessly in his hand. “That dagger must be worth more’n I woulda thought,” slurred the innkeeper. “Smuggling’s a hanging offense, and that’s if you get a trial! With the magical stuff, it’s just as likely Lord Jason’ll split you in two the minute he finds out. Assuming his former brethren don’t get to you first. That’s a dangerous crew.”
Samuel coughed discretely and didn’t meet Ben or Amelie’s stern gazes.
“We’ve only agreed to go as far as the walls of Irrefort,” remarked Amelie coolly.
“Ah, smart,” responded Jon. “No offense, Samuel, but there ain’t enough gold in the world for me to get mixed up in that stuff.” The innkeeper turned up his ale and quaffed the entire mug.
Ben met Amelie’s eyes. Then they turned up their mugs as well.
Grim-faced Samuel finished his and suggested, “Another round?”
Drinking Legs
Ben stumbled toward the stairs, the floor of the tavern rolling under his feet like the deck of a ship on choppy waters. Amelie’s arm was looped around his and her ship rolled in the opposite direction. Only crashing into a table stopped both of them from flopping to the floor.
Amelie giggled then accused him, “I think you’re drunk!”
“I think we’re both drunk,” Ben groaned.
“Uh uh,” slurred Amelie. “You’re the drunk one.”
She hauled herself up Ben’s arm and hugged him tightly. He felt her body press against his while he tried to shuffle them both toward the stairs and up to their room.
When they got to the stairs, he felt like he was back to climbing the butte in the Wilds, a vertical climb, it seemed, weighed down by Amelie. His stubborn feet were as awkward as snowshoes.
Staggering and slipping, he and Amelie ascended to the top. Halfway there, they dropped to hands and knees and crawled the rest of the way. Ben was certain the staircase wasn’t twisting and turning like this when they’d stored their gear in the room earlier.
To get Amelie up the final step, Ben placed his hand on her back and propelled her higher. She lurched forward and landed on her stomach. His hand was resting on her bottom. It was a beguiling combination of soft and firm.
Amelie glanced back at him and exclaimed, “Ben, your hand!”
He jerked his hand back like he’d been burned.
“I didn’t say you had to move it.” She giggled.
Ben blushed. Amelie clambered to her feet, lost her balance, and stumbled toward Ben. He caught her and barely saved them both from tumbling back down the stairs. She clung to him while he guided her to the plank door of their room.
Inside, Amelie fell down into the lone chair and struggled to take off her boots. Ben staggered to the bed and flopped down on his back. Above him, the rough timbers that held up the roof spun in a lazy circle. The pounding thunder outside had receded, but the constant drum of rain hammered on the wood shingles.
Amelie was giggling and snorting to herself. He’d be surprised if she was able to get her boots off without help, but at the moment, he was a little too dizzy to make the journey across the room to assist. His eyes were growing heavy. The room and the bed were warm, comfortable. He felt like he was sinking into the straw mattress.
Suddenly, Amelie landed on him.
His eyes sprung open. She was straddling his waist and beaming down at him. Before he could react, she reached down and pulled her tunic up and over her head. She flung it behind her. Ben didn’t see where it landed. His gaze was fixed on her breasts. They bounced happily with her motions. Firm and just the right size to fit in his hands.
Amelie followed his gaze and smiled. She cupped her breasts and asked him, “You like?”
He did. His body was responding to her. He felt himself stiffening. She felt it too. She ground her hips against him.
With an impish smile, she allowed, “I guess you do like it.”
She bent down and her soft lips met his. Her tongue darted out and danced with his. Her naked breasts pressed against his chest and she writhed on top of him.
Ben’s heart was pounding like a drum. He met her kiss, running his fingers through her hair and holding her tight. His other hand traced along the bare skin of her back. She was rocking back and forth. Her breaths were coming hot and fast. She broke their kiss to put her mouth on his neck, licking and sucking his skin.
A tingle swept through his body. He grabbed her shoulder with one hand and her hips with the other and rolled her over so he was now on top of her. His hand slid back into her hair and he tilted her head to the side. He attacked the smooth skin of her neck, torturing her the same way she did him.
His mouth trailed down her neck to her collarbone, gently kissing and nibbling. He brought his free hand up her side and found her breast. It was soft and hot in his hand. He felt her nipple harden against his palm. He pinched it. She gave a satisfying gasp of surprise.
Ben had to feel her naked skin against his. He sat up and stripped his tunic off. Or, at least, he tried to. It got caught around his head. For precious heartbeats, he struggled like a fool to get the thing off of him. Amelie laughed playfully. When he finally got the fabric off and tossed it away, he saw her smiling up at him.
“I knew you were drunk!” she accused.
“So are you!” he retorted.
Her smile lit her face. She lay beneath him, willing, waiting. He looked down at her, at her perfect, smooth skin. She was ready for him to do whatever he wanted, to take whatever he wanted from her. There were so many things he wanted to do.
He paused, looking down at her.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, giving him a mock pouty face.
The way her bottom lip stuck out almost drove him crazy, but he wasn’t crazy yet. And he wasn’t drunk enough to prevent the cold knife of conscious that sliced through his reverie. While he’d be more than willing to continue in the sober light of day, he wasn’t sure about her. She’d pushed him away before. And tonight, on the night where she drank more than he’d ever seen her drink, the night when she’d found out about her father and mother, she wasn’t thinking clearly.
Some of the joy and passion must have leeched out of his face.
“Ben, what’s wrong?” she asked again. She ran a hand up his bare chest, feeling his muscles. “Come on, Ben. You’ve been wanting this for months. I know you have.”
“I…”
“What?” she asked.
“We’re drunk, Amelie, too drunk.”
She frowned up at him. He lay down beside her.
“I don’t understand,” she mumbled. “Tonight, I want it too.”
“This isn’t the right time, Amelie,” he said with a sigh. “I want to. I—”
She interrupted him by suddenly bolting out of bed and stumbling over to the window. She slammed open the shutters and leaned out. For a moment, Ben thought it was a good thing Jolly Jon couldn’t afford glass window panes. The thought was broken when he heard Amelie getting violently sick. He rushed to her side and gathered up her hair while she heaved into the darkness below.
The rain poured down, whipped around by the tail of the storm. As the cold drops pelted against his bare skin, Ben wondered if that was worse than the yearning ache in his loins that wouldn’t be going away anytime soon.
***
Dull pain pulsed through his head. His mouth was dry as bone, and his stomach was rumbling with discontent. He lay still in the warm bed, unwilling to move and face the day. Beside him, he felt the expansion and contraction of Amelie’s breath. She was pressed against him, her arm draped over his
chest, the soft skin of her cheek on his shoulder.
Both of them were naked from the waist up. He couldn’t recall what happened after she got sick, but he could feel his britches were on. He was certain that if he’d taken those off, he wouldn’t have thought to put them back on. He’d acted honorably.
He told himself he was waiting for the pain in his head to subside or the bile in his stomach to calm its roiling bubble. In truth, he didn’t want to lose the warmth of Amelie’s smooth skin against his. One of his arms was wrapped around her, resting against her back. The other hand was on his stomach. For half a bell, he was still.
Finally, Amelie stirred.
“Bloody hell,” she croaked, face buried in Ben’s neck. She shifted against him, her naked breasts rubbing against his side. “I feel awful. Like one of those damn blacksmiths is pounding my head on his anvil instead of a sword.”
Ben grimaced. He’d been so focused on Amelie he hadn’t noticed the constant clang of the smithies at work.
“No wonder this inn is so cheap,” he replied with a groan.
Finally, Amelie gathered the strength to lift her head up. “Did we…”
Ben met her eyes and mumbled, “We kissed. Some other things. I, we almost did. I stopped it before it got too far.”
Her head dropped down to rest on his shoulder. “Sometimes you are too nice for your own good.”
Ben stared up at the rafters, wondering what she meant by that.
“I need water,” she moaned a few minutes later.
Reluctantly, Ben disentangled himself from her. “There’s a pitcher and cup on the table.”
He padded across the wet floor and closed the shutters. They’d been hanging slightly ajar. The wind had blown rain across the table and the floor, but the water would still be good.
Ben lit the small lamp on the table and poured a cup of water. He walked it over to Amelie. She struggled to sit up and was making only minimal efforts to cover herself. He couldn’t stop looking down at her. Her skin was smooth and flawless except where his teeth and lips had left tiny love bites the night before. Her face was twisted into a pained grimace, but even then, her hair fell around it, framing her red lips, dark eyes, and high cheekbones. She had two pale scars from the encounter with the hunters on her forehead and jawline. They were barely visible in the weak light from the lamp.
Ben thought he was falling in love. He cleared his throat and said, “I’ll go get us some kaf.”
Amelie nodded. “That would be nice.” One arm was draped carelessly across her chest, somewhat covering her breasts, the other held the water cup.
Ben slipped on his boots and pulled his tunic over his head. On the way out the door, he couldn’t stop thinking about when she said he was ‘too nice’.
Downstairs, Jolly Jon was bustling about, cleaning up after the breakfast rush. He carried a teetering stack of empty porridge bowls and called to Ben when he entered the common room, “How are you feeling?”
Ben grunted. He was pretty sure Jolly Jon knew exactly how he was feeling. “I could use some kaf, two big mugs.”
Jon winked and replied before disappearing into the kitchen, “I’ll be right back.”
Ben sat down heavily in one of the rickety chairs and surveyed the room. It was near empty. Only a handful of smithy workers were finishing a late breakfast. There was no sign of their new employer, Samuel. From what Ben recalled of the night before, Samuel likely wouldn’t be moving any faster than they were. In fact, Ben was pretty sure the man had fallen asleep at the table, head buried in his arms so that only his bristly black hair was visible. The peddler had said the roads would be impassable after the storm so Ben wasn’t worried he’d left. They had time to find him later.
When Jon returned with the kaf, he asked Ben, “You seen the peddler this morning?”
Ben shook his head. “I just got up. I figured he might still be sleeping it off.”
Jon scratched his head. “He’s got a warehouse in town. Sometimes he sleeps there to keep an eye on things. Last night, I figured he woulda woken up and stumbled upstairs to an empty room. I let him stay for free when he’s in town. In exchange, he, ah, brings me some things. Maybe he got up early and went to pack his cart. I thought he’d be too tipsy for that, but it wouldn’t be the first time the man passed out before everyone else then woke up early.”
Ben nodded, too hung over to care about whatever illicit arrangements Jolly Jon and Samuel had between them. It’d been apparent last night that Samuel’s business wasn’t entirely legal. Ben didn’t care if the man avoided the Coalition’s tariffs as long as he got them to Irrefort.
Ben murmured thanks for the kaf and promised to be down for breakfast later. He stomped up to the room and knocked politely. He was more than slightly disappointed to see Amelie had pulled her tunic back on.
They sat quietly in the room, sipping tentatively at the hot kaf. When they finally felt alive enough that they could move about, they dressed and went down to the common room to try and locate Samuel. The plans from the previous night were muddy and confused in Ben’s head. He recalled agreeing to accompany the man to Irrefort, and they’d received the inscribed dagger in exchange. For the life of him though, Ben couldn’t remember where they would meet, when they would leave, or any of the other logistical details that were important to actually departing Amum.
Downstairs, all of the smithy workers had cleared out. Only Jolly Jon remained.
“Have you seen Samuel yet?” queried Ben.
The innkeeper shook his head. “He must have gone over to the warehouse last night. Could be packing up this morning. Get your cloaks. I’ve got a break before the lunch crowd arrives. I’ll take you to him.”
They walked out into the chill morning air while Ben was still strapping his longsword on. In the warmth of the tavern, he’d forgotten it was winter. Bright blue sky and a golden sun provided some comfort though. Ben hoped it would get warmer as the sun rose. The streets were filled with cold mud. Samuel had been right. Trying to travel through that muck would have been futile.
The innkeeper weaved into the maze of Amum’s streets. They were crowded with people scurrying about on their morning errands. Wrapped tightly in cloaks, hoods, and furs, these people could have been residents of Farview for all Ben could tell, but the clutter and disarray of the town was completely different. The residents of Farview would never allow their small village to fall into such disrepair. Jolly Jon led them through the narrow streets, dodging dilapidated buildings and veering around toppled debris. Before long, they came up to a solid stone building. It had narrow windows and a thick, iron bound door.
“Samuel’s warehouse,” remarked Jon.
No smoke escaped the chimney and no lights lit the windows.
Amelie looked at the place skeptically. “Are you sure he’s in there?”
Jon shrugged. “If he’s not at my inn, he’s here. He might be in the back, packing the cart. I’ve got to run some errands and get back before the lunch crowd. If he doesn’t answer when you bang on the door, go a block down and come up the alley. He keeps his donkey back there and has a big door the cart can roll through.”
Jolly Jon waved goodbye and took off into the crowd. Ben’s gaze followed the man’s tall form until he turned down a side street.
“This place looks small for a warehouse,” grumbled Amelie.
“He said he sells rare and unique items,” responded Ben. “Expensive stuff, I guess. He must not need much room to store it.”
Without further comment, Ben strode up to the sturdy door and hammered on it with his fist. He waited and then banged again. No one answered.
“Around back?” suggested Amelie.
“Looks like it,” replied Ben.
They circled around the block and found a wide alley that ran behind the businesses on the main street. Some of the structures had small yards filled with vegetable gardens. Others had livestock, but most had outdoor workshops or loading areas. Refuse clogged the muddy walkway
which was just wide enough for a wagon to pull through. The alley smelled.
“I can see why he stays at the Hammer and Anvil,” griped Amelie, stepping over a mysterious pile of brown sludge.
Ben paused outside of the back of one shop. A short fence surrounded it and a donkey was staked under a lean-to. Otherwise, the yard was open. Double barn doors covered half of the back of the building.
“I think this is the place,” he said.
The barn doors were shut as tight as the front door had been. Ben climbed over the fence, ignored the donkey, and pounded on the door. Again, there was no answer.
“There’s a window up there,” suggested Amelie, pointing above the lean-to. The window hung slightly ajar, creaking as the breeze gently pushed it.
“Last time we climbed into a warehouse window it didn’t go well,” replied Ben dryly. “I’m not sure Samuel would appreciate us breaking into his place.”
Amelie grinned. “It can’t be any worse than that time. Besides, if we’re going to travel all the way to Irrefort with the man and whatever illegal goods he traffics, it may not be a bad idea to get a peek at what he’s really up to.”
Without replying, Ben walked to the edge of the lean-to, climbed onto the fence, grabbed the top of the structure, and hauled himself up. Lying flat on the top, he glanced up and down the alley. He cursed himself for not doing so earlier, but luckily, no one was visible.
He crawled on all fours across the thin roof of the lean-to and peered in the open warehouse window. The only light was coming in from the window he was partially blocking with his body. Below him, the warehouse was shrouded in darkness. Ben glanced back at Amelie and saw her looking down the street. Suddenly, she turned to him and gestured frantically to get out of sight.
He heard the creak of a wagon as it turned down the alley. Without a second thought, he slid through the window and into the warehouse. He promptly fell five paces down to the floor below. Landing on his side, a whoosh of breath exploded out from the impact. A sharp lance of pain stabbed his shoulder. He lay still for several heartbeats. When he recovered, he rolled to his back and gently moved his shoulder. Thankfully, it wasn’t broken, but he’d have a nasty bruise.