He tried to remove the cloak from around Donovan’s shoulders, but Donovan shrugged him off. Taking the shirt, he rubbed the material between his finger and thumb, before he turned the sleeve inside out to check the stitching.
“This won’t do,” said Donovan. “Look at how loose this stitching is. It’ll start coming apart within a matter of months.”
“Months!” said Seiriol, putting his hand over his mouth in horror. “These garments are for events. They’re not rags that you wear every day. I think you’d have better luck searching the rubbish piles to find something that goes with what you’re wearing. Good day.” He spun on his heels and evaporated amidst the racks of clothes.
Shrugging his shoulders, Donovan found his way to the door and left the shop.
Skirting around the edge of the market, he kept an eye out for Osmont, when a stall caught his attention. A small, heavily tanned woman sat behind a table with her stub of a leg resting on a stool beside her. She wore a plain white outfit, remarkable in its simplicity, and was sewing a small doll in her hands. Spread around the stall were thick fur cloaks, simple and sturdy, with the least amount of highlights to make them fashionable. Donovan ran his hands over a dark brown cloak, with white fur around the collar.
“That one’s a little long for you,” came the woman’s quiet voice. “Try the black one on the other side.”
It was a midnight black color with thick, shaggy fur on the shoulders and around the neck. Donovan fell in love with a single touch, but took his time examining it. He checked every stitch on it, before finally throwing it around his shoulders and doing up the clasp around his neck. “How does it look?” he asked.
“Like you’ll overheat if you wear it in this weather, but it does bring out the violet in your eyes.”
“The stitching seems well-done. Have you been a seamstress your whole life?”
“I wouldn’t call myself a seamstress now,” she said with an energetic laugh. “I spent my life mending nets down in Chaylse, but the salt water’s a killer on my old joints.”
They spent several minutes haggling on a price, and Donovan was folding it up into a bundle when he heard Osmont’s voice from behind. “It looks sturdy,” he said. “You’ll need it if you spend the winter in the mountains.”
“I hope so,” said Donovan. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
“I hope so,” said Osmont.
“Are we heading back to Haven?”
“Not yet. I want to check out the lodgings to see if anyone remembers seeing you here.”
Donovan held out his arms and turned in a circle. “That doesn’t seem likely with this many people.”
“Don’t get discouraged. We’ll check the inns near the edge of town and check with the guards at the gates, before heading back this evening.
They continued along the south side of the Skyrah River as they headed east to a small bohemian section of the city. They spent the next hour talking to innkeepers, but none recalled seeing anyone Donovan’s size over the past few days.
They followed the south wall of the city back to the city’s south gate. The guards on duty didn’t recall seeing Donovan, but with so many people passing through the gates each day, he could have passed by a dozen times and they still wouldn’t remember him. They promised to talk to the other guards and send word up to Haven if any of them had seen anything.
Hot from walking through the crowds and discouraged from their lack of success, they went back through the Temple District and took a different bridge leading to the west side of the river. The west side of the river was primarily an industrial area, but there was a boardwalk along the river’s edge which contained many rowdy establishments. They finally had success at the fourth such establishment.
The sign outside had a picture of a large liver, with bloodshot eyes and a large leering smile, written below were the words The Engorged Liver. Despite the neighborhood, the inside was surprisingly clean and organized. A buxom lady with smoldering eyes and fiery red hair stood behind the bar. A few patrons sat at tables near the far wall.
“Let’s get some lunch while we’re here,” said Osmont, sitting down at a table facing the bar. The tables were made of a white wood, Osmont thought that they were possibly spruce, with deep gouges and stains on the top surface. Despite the unruly appearance, they appeared to have been cleaned regularly.
Donovan sat down opposite Osmont and looked around the room. A small stage sat beside the fireplace along one wall. The most surprising feature was the general lack of decorations around the room. Its barren appearance made it stand out from the other inns they’d visited.
“It looks pretty empty in here,” said Donovan.
“Don’t let it fool you. An inn devoid of decoration wouldn’t last long unless it was doing something right. People will start trickling in when their shifts end in a few hours.”
“My name’s Aine. What can I get you gents?” said the barmaid.
“Ciders for both of us, and whatever food you have ready,” said Osmont.
Aine disappeared through a door beside the bar into the kitchen, and the two of them relaxed in silence, glad to be free from the crowds of people. Aine returned with two mugs of cider a few minutes later.
“I didn’t expect to see you back here so soon,” she said, setting the mugs onto the table.
She had turned around and was heading back to the bar when Osmont snapped out of his reverie. “Wait. What? Was the boy here before?”
“He was here just yesterday. When the blokes he was with left this morning, I didn’t expect to see him back here?”
Donovan spun in his chair to face her, a broad grin splitting his face. “You know me? I was here? Who was I with? What were their names?” The words just kept pouring out of his mouth until she interrupted him.
“That’s what I just said. If you’re not going to listen then I won’t bother talking.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am.”
“Ma’am!” she spat. “If you weren’t so cute, I’d give you a fat lip for that comment.”
“I apologize for the boy,” said Osmont. “He’s going through trying times.”
She stood there with one eyebrow raised, staring at Donovan. Donovan ducked down and took a long drink of his cider to escape her gaze.
“I didn’t see much of the older fellow. He kept to his room most of the time, but the other guy was pleasant enough. He had a decent enough singing voice and he tipped better than most. I think his name was Edmon.”
“Eamon?” asked Osmont.
“That could’ve been it,” she said. “He was the plainest guy I ever met. You could train an average guy to be as boring as possible for his entire life and you’d still notice him more than Eamon. If it wasn’t for his songs by the fire, I’d probably already have forgotten about him.”
“Any idea which direction they were heading?” asked Osmont.
Aine shrugged her shoulders. “Most of his songs were about the sea, but he didn’t mention where they were going.” She headed to the kitchen to gather their food.
As soon as she passed through the doorway, Osmont leaned forward in his chair. “That means that they’re probably on the South Road. I’m going to get my horse and see if I can catch them. There’s a small village a gentle day’s ride along the road. If I don’t find them there, then I’ll come back to get you and we’ll return to Haven.”
“I’m coming with you,” said Donovan.
“I can travel faster alone. I want you to stay here and find out if Aine knows anything else. If I’m not back tonight, get a room and wait for me here. Under no circumstances are you to leave here until I come back. Understood?”
Donovan was taken aback. He had never seen Osmont this intense before and it took him a moment before he nodded in agreement.
“Good, here comes the food.”
A moment later Aine set two platters of food on the table and headed off to check on the other patrons. Delicious aromas wafted off of a thick stew
and they both had half a loaf of a crusty bread. Osmont downed his meal so fast that he couldn’t possibly have tasted it. Pushing himself up from the table, he went over to Aine, whispered something in her ear, and slipped something into her hand. With a brief wave to Donovan, he rushed out the door.
Donovan sat there is silence, slowly picking at his meal. It was one thing to agree to wait here doing nothing, but it was another to be stuck all alone with his thoughts. An hour ago, it had seemed impossible that he’d find out about his past, and now Osmont was out chasing it down while he sat here doing nothing.
Aine stopped by when he had finished his meal, and after some chitchat, cleared away the dishes and went to pour him another cider.
A boy came through the door with a large case strapped to his back. He had a pimply complexion and looked to be about Donovan’s age. Dragging a chair onto the stage, he carefully set down the case, and pulled out a small harp. Sitting down on the chair, with the harp on his lap, he began to strum the individual strings.
“Not him again,” said Aine, setting down the mug of cider. “His music’s even squeakier than his voice.” Putting a fake smile onto her face, she headed over to see if the musician needed anything.
Donovan sat there for ten minutes listening to him trying to tune his harp. Finally, when his ears couldn’t take any more, he got up to introduce himself to the musician.
“Hi, I’m Donovan,” he said, stretching out his hand.
“Kotori,” said the musician, still focused on the harp. “The guild always gives me the worst instruments. The Bard himself couldn’t play a tune on this harp.”
“May I?”
“Knock yourself out,” said Kotori with a smile.
Donovan pulled up a chair and sat down with the harp on his lap. Closing his eyes, he let his fingers dance along the strings, continuously tightening and loosening the knobs at the top of the harp as he strummed. Finally satisfied, he played a quick glissandos on the harp before he handed it back to Kotori and got up to head back to his table.
“Wait,” said Kotori. “Do you want to play a few songs?”
“No,” said Donovan, “I just hate it when someone defiles my ears.”
Back at his table, he stared at his cider, trying to empty his mind of all thoughts, when Aine set down a folded piece of paper beside him.
“I almost forgot about this,” she said. “Eamon said he forgot to give it to you and asked me to send it to you at Haven in a few days. But seeing as you’re here now, you might as well have it.”
Taking a sip of cider to steady himself, he slowly unfolded the note. It was written in the same intricate, flowing script that Cleary had said was spoken by the Shem. He glanced up to see Aine still standing there. As soon as they made eye contact, she hurried off, leaving him alone to read the letter.
Donovan, I pray that you get this letter. As you are one of the few, perhaps only, people in many leagues who can read this, I feel that it’s worth the risk sending it to you. I fear that it could cause mistrust and hardship if found in your possession so please dispose of it swiftly after reading. By now your classes should be starting, and I hope that they find you well. Though it breaks my heart, I will not be able to visit you for many months, if ever.
There is a shop in Kendra called Jaslynns. It won’t be hard to find if you ask around. I have a parcel that I’m going to try to send to you there. It won’t arrive until at least the winter solstice, if at all.
Know that I love you, and regret everything that has befallen you, even though I understand the necessity of it all.
Eamon
Donovan wiped a tear from his eye, and reread the letter. He caught Aine’s attention the next time she was walking past. “Do you know where a place called Jaslynns is located?” he asked.
“Doesn’t ring a bell,” she said, continuing into the kitchen.
“My apologies,” said Kotori. “I didn’t mean to overhear, but you were asking about Jaslynns?” Donovan nodded and he continued. “It’s a small music shop on the other side of the river, near the center of town.” He proceeded to give Donovan instructions on where to find it.
“Thank you,” said Donovan.
“Don’t mention it,” said Kotori. “Now that you fixed the harp, I may actually make some money tonight.”
Donovan wandered over to the bar. “Is there some place quiet around here where I can rest until Osmont comes back?” he whispered to Aine.
With a knowing smile, she showed him to a small room upstairs. “As long as you don’t make a mess, and nobody needs it, you can stay here until he comes back,” she said.
The room was barely large enough to hold a bed and a small table. Laying down on top of the covers, Donovan bunched up his newly purchased cloak to use as a pillow, and lay there staring at the ceiling, waiting for Osmont to return.
Donovan opened his eyes. The room was basked in twilight. He hadn’t intended to fall asleep, but there was nothing to do about it now. He heard the noise again, a soft set of footsteps coming down the hallway. It took him a moment to remember where he was, and when he did, he relaxed, it was just another patron heading to their room.
The footsteps stopped outside his room. Maybe it was Aine coming to wake him, but he expected her to carry a candle in the gloom, yet the gap below the door remained dark. Very slowly he withdrew the cloak from behind his head. He bunched it into a tight ball and waited.
The handle made a slight squeak as the door opened, revealing a figure in the doorway. The figure cautiously took a step into the room. Donovan flung his cloak at it. The figure raised its arm to ward off the dark object heading towards it and became entangled in the cloak.
Donovan sprung off the bed and drove his shoulder into the figure’s ribs, pinning it against the wall, as the air rushed out of its lungs. Donovan tried to dash out the open door, but an arm flashed out, catching his thigh. It stopped his leg dead in its tracks with, what seemed like, little effort at all. Donovan’s momentum carried him over the arm, doing a somersault in the air, he landed in a heap on his back. An unyielding hand clasped his face before he’d even thought to scream for help.
“Quiet,” came a familiar voice.
When Donovan relaxed, the figure removed his hand. “Osmont?”
“Yeah,” said Osmont, helping Donovan to his feet.
“Why didn’t you knock?”
The moonlight reflected off his toothy smile and he rubbed his ribs where Donovan had hit him. “You’ve got good instincts for someone your age,” he said.
“You’re a daft, old fool, if you think that sneaking into a boy’s room is the right thing to do,” said Donovan.
“We’re heading back to Haven. I’ll tell you what I found on the way.”
Donovan packed up his gear and followed Osmont into the hallway. Turning left, Osmont led him towards the back of the building. Despite Donovan’s complaints about wanting to thank Aine for her hospitality, Osmont led them down a narrow flight of stairs and out the back door.
The sun had set and the city was bathed in pale moonlight interspaced with flickering torchlight. There were less people on the streets, and from the sound of raucous laughter emanating from the buildings they passed, it was easy to guess where they had went. Crossing the bridge, they entered the nearly deserted Temple District.
“I headed south, hoping that was the way they were headed,” said Osmont, without preamble. “I passed a few travelers who saw two men on horseback, riding at a decent pace. They had their hoods pulled up despite the heat, so I didn’t get much of a description. They rode straight through that town that I’d told you about. After asking around if anyone remembered anything significant about the travelers, while my horse was resting, I turned around and came back here.”
“So it was a waste of time.”
“Not entirely. Clearly they didn’t want to be seen. If they were both as nondescript as how Aine described Eamon, then they’d have been better off blending in amongst the other travelers,
rather than calling attention to themselves. We also know that they were here with you, and I suspect that one of them is the wizard who carved that symbol into your chest.”
“I don’t see the connection,” said Donovan.
“What’s the first thing you remember?”
“Knocking on the gate at Haven.”
“Do you remember everything that has happened since then?”
“I believe so.” Donovan went on to recap everything that had happened in the last day, while they crossed the second bridge to enter the main part of the city.
“I’m guessing that whatever happened to you occurred shortly before you came to Haven. That’s why your memory doesn’t extend before that time.”
“What did happen to me?”
“Let’s wait until we’re back at Haven before discussing it.”
Recognizing the tone of voice, Donovan didn’t pursue the subject any further.
Retrieving their horses from the stable near the east gate, they headed out onto the empty road leading to Haven. After the hard ride which it had taken earlier in the day, Osmont insisted on a slow, plodding pace until his horse had warmed up again.
The road looked different in the dark. The flat, open area on either side was a pale, placid river flowing between the dark, impenetrable banks formed by the Kenelm Forest. The night was clear and bright, a large moon hung in the sky.
They were both leading their horses by the reins, enjoying the company of their own thoughts, when Osmont held out his hand. “Hold up, there’s something moving in the woods.”
Donovan strained his eyes, trying to pierce the darkness, but couldn’t see anything. It took a few seconds to realize that he could hear something moving through the brush. It was moving slowly, not attempting to conceal its presence. It sounded like it was tearing its way through the underbrush.
A figure emerged from the woods, ten yards ahead of their position. It looked humanoid but misshapen, its limbs were poorly proportioned to its body, and had an awkward, asymmetric build. It had a slow, shambling walk and sounded like stone grating on stone with every movement.
Mercury Mind (The Downfall Saga Book 1) Page 6