by SL Figuhr
“Yes, Father. I am Micathan, and this is my brother Colinsam Dugan. Michael Nicholas is our nephew, our sister Ella’s child from her first marriage. We’ve been looking for the boy for . . . how long now?” Mica asked of his brother but before he could reply, turned back to John and said, “Well, I’m ashamed to say I don’t know how long.”
Colin murmured an indistinct response, casting his face into remorseful lines. “Please, Priester John,” he implored, “do you know of a child who matches our missing nephew? Have you helped anyone of his description over the past years? He would have been a boy of twelve or thereabouts, gray eyes and red-blond hair.”
The man’s eyes narrowed further. Did he not believe them? Or was there a chance Nicky had told the priest men might come looking for him? Men matching their description?
“I guess I don’t have a good answer for you. You’re right, we could be anyone. Our nephew ran away from home about a year after our sister remarried. His new stepfather gave him a very rough time, as we found out much too late. If only our sister had confided in us sooner, one of us would have been glad to take the boy in.” Mica spun the tale out.
Colin stepped in hurriedly. “We are merchants of paper and ink. Our business requires us to travel a lot. We’ve never met women we wanted to leave behind for extended periods of time, so we never married. We told our sister we would make inquiries after the boy in our travels. It was sheer luck a friend of ours heard the boy had stowed away on a ship. Unfortunately, it was too late to stop him. We heard of this about a year after it happened. We’ve been several steps behind him all the time.”
Mica and Colin glanced at each other. Mica replied, “I suppose he must be. We just wanted to speak with him, give him the letters his mother never stopped writing to her boy. She is dying, the wasting disease. We hoped we could convince our nephew to come home at least long enough for his mother to see him one last time.” He looked as sorrowful as he was able.
The silence grew, stretching uncomfortably. Just before Mica decided he would have to say something, Priester John spoke. “I may have helped someone like you described. But he told me a very different story. I will have to speak with him first before I can say for sure it is this ‘Michael Nicholas’ you seek.”
“He is still in the area?” Mica asked a tad too eagerly, hastily adding as the priest’s eyes narrowed again, “It’s been so long since we heard any news on the boy. We started thinking he had met his end and hoped it was not the case. Of course, you must speak with him first. I hope he is our nephew. When should we come back to hear your answer?”
“It will take time. The young man I think of is at sea and should be back within a month or so. You could leave the letters with me,” the priest replied craftily.
“A sailor? A good job, hard work. I’m sure we can extend our business dealings, so we are here when his ship docks. We can be reached either through the Bloody Knuckles or the sheriff’s office,” Colin spoke.
Mica mirrored his brother’s emotions as the priest’s eyes shifted back. “Yes, priester. I’m sorry the boy is away. We will do our best to remain in town. Thank you, for hearing us out and we do hope you’ll let us know when the young man is back.” Mica shifted, feeling they had nothing left to say, the unease growing the longer they stayed.
Priester John stayed sitting, glaring. Mica reached for the money pouch at his belt—he had sold his pinky ring, giving the brothers a little more money. “Perhaps you would accept a small donation toward your church? After all, whether the young man you know is our nephew or not, you are helping those in need.” He held out a stack of coins. Priester John rose, inspecting the coins suspiciously but, spotting the royal seal, he tucked them inside his robe. The men thanked Priester John again, blew out the taper, stowed it in their pack, and stepped into the pouring rain.
As they struggled to the center of town, Colin asked, “Now what?” “He didn’t believe us,” Mica flatly stated.
“We can’t know for sure. He was just being cautious, and given the state of things in town, I can’t say I blame him.” Colin gave a grunt as he pulled a foot free. “I think we should go back to the tavern, at least wait until this rain abates somewhat.”
The brothers cleaned up before ending back downstairs at a table by the fire. The room was quickly filling up with its usual assortment of riffraff. The brothers tried to keep out of any fights. Mica sat scowling into the shifting flames, consumed by his thoughts. Colin sipped his ale absentmindedly as he chronicled the past few days’ events, watching the ebb and flow in the bar. A loud, familiar laugh made the hair stand up on the back of his neck, a flush of rage rise, which he tamped down. Sheriff Jake and his men were in the bar, and none too happy from the sounds of it. His voice carried over all the other noise.
“I sold tha’ fuck to th’ meanest slavers I knew, an’ what did those pricks do? Theys sold him to Gri. Wouldn’t’a been a problem, onlys tha’ stupid fuck goes an’ lets tha’ prick gets ahold a sword.”
“Those fucks should’a taken him overland, or stuffed him on a ship, but no. Gri says he pulled some noble bitch off her horse who was lookin’ fer slaves; the dumb bitch, instead of orderin’ him dead fer the insult, demands to know how he be a slave!”
“Maybe she liked the look of him; he did have a pretty face. Maybe she needed someone to service her.” The speaker gave a nasty bray of laughter.
The sheriff didn’t sound too amused. “Tha’ bitch done bought tha’ fucker; seems he be tellin’ tales ’bout me and me men, and the bitch wanna find the truth, she says. I’ll gives her truth. I’ll shuts her up.”
Colin nudged his brother, who scowled as they eavesdropped. They sat with heads down, hoping the long table of mercenaries was enough to hide them from the man and his group.
They sat drinking in silence. Colin knew his brother would want to warn the noble lady. He wasn’t so sure it would be a good idea. If Eron had stayed, their friend would have been better at talking Mica out of most of his follies.
“So? Youse think all them damn nobles tha’ comes here from other places is true nobility? Theys probably no more’n common dirt with a bit o’ coin, copyin’ their betters. How many of them are still around, huh? We seen plenty corpses decoratin’ the walls. She probably jus’ one more of them; won’t be long before she jus’ like all the rest.”
“Or mayhap a whore to the king. He loves the pretty ones, and my brother’s son’s wife’s father said she better-looking than half them whores in the harem.”
There was a burst of laughter, followed by crude remarks and jokes. The voices got louder as the sheriff and his men came into view. Colin looked up, meeting the man’s eyes. He knew it was a mistake as Jake changed course, stomping over to where they sat.
“Shit!” Colin mouthed as his brother got a wary look on his face, letting one hand drop to his sword pommel. Colin hurriedly sanded the page he just wrote, wanting to get the journal secured before more trouble started.
The sheriff slammed his hands down on the table, looming over them. “I’s thought I’s tol’ youse to get the hell outta here! Youse ain’t gots no friend to help youse gets gone now.”
“I hears youse a buncha liars. Youse been heard going all over town asking about some damn kid. What kinda merchants do tha’? ’Sides, we don’t need no filthy slavers selling little boys fer the likes of youse to bugger. Youse get outta here, or I’s be shovin’ me sword some place youse won’t like.”
“Go to the king again?” the sheriff sneered, tossing the contents of Colin’s mug into Mica’s face. “Go ahead and try, and youse won’t be as lucky as youse friend and be bought by some rich bitch.”
Colin kept his face a mask at the words, seething inside. His friend should not have to suffer being branded a criminal slave. He had no qualms that was whom the sheriff had been referencing all along.
The sheriff sneered, “There’s all kinda accidents can happen. Be a shame if one happens to him. Youse get outta me town, soon if ya gets m
e meaning, or I’ll have three corpses to decorate the walls with.” He signaled to his men, and walked off, but not before they heard him say, “Keeps an eye on thems two. I wanna know everything they do, and if theys ain’t gone by tomorrow night, youse come gets me.”
Colin glanced over at his brother. His brows were lowered, his mouth compressed tight in anger as he wiped the moisture from his head and neck. “We’ll see whose corpse decorates the walls.”
The rain was still pouring down as Colin took the slaves’ stairs to exit the Bloody Knuckles. He walked as briskly as possible, given the mud had increased in depth. It took him forty-five minutes to make his way toward the bridge, another ten arguing with the guard before they would let him pass. He knew from earlier jaunts about town that the inn he was making his way toward catered to nobles and the luckier, wealthier merchants.
The big gate into the yard was shut, but not the side door. His goal was not the inn itself, but the stables behind it. The darkened building held the warmth of horseflesh as the inn’s gatekeeper took him inside and to the empty stall being used by slaves.
There was rustling as someone rose; a dim light glowed as a young man with wavy shoulder-length black hair lit an oil lamp outside the stall. He surveyed the soaked man before him in contempt as chains rattled, Eron appearing. He had a glower for the others.
“She’s not gonna know if you don’t tell her and he don’t do something stupid like running.” Domiano shooed the gatekeeper back to his post, hanging his lamp from a hook on a wooden stall post before going back to his nest of blankets in the hay. “I’ll be watching you.” He fingered his dagger meaningfully.
His friend held up his chains; not one link had been removed since he left the slavers. “It would seem my word is not as trusted as it once was.”
Eron’s lips lifted in what might have been a smile. “It solves half the problem but leaves the small impediment of my slave collar and the king’s pardon.”
“Colin, if she’s only a forty-percent bitch, I may still be able to help. But I’m stuck here, unless I’m executed first. She is a noblewoman, albeit temporarily de-titled.” He let the meaning sink in.
After Colin left, Eron lay down, trying to sleep. Coming up with an escape plan wasn’t the problem—it was the lady who bought him. He had the disquieting feeling, ever since they’d crossed paths in the slave market, they knew each other. But from where? And how?
Far away was the faint drip of water and street traffic which faded as they walked farther into the maze of underground tunnels. The light from the flashlights barely penetrated the darkness. To either side, the man knew, lay piled walls of bones and skulls. These were areas not on the map, areas forgotten and lost to time. They had to keep the woman in sight, or they would wander down here in the dark and cold until death claimed them.
She paused a moment to give them time to catch up, her eyes reflecting the light the way a cat’s would. The black rubber of her suit made her a part of the darkness. Crossed behind her shoulders, the hilts of two swords stuck up from their sheaths. She put a finger to her lips, the flesh starkly white. The light from her flashlight picked the faint shimmer before her of some liquid around a solid mass.
Lights burned across the river and in the buildings around, like little stars or small blazing suns. The dark bulk of Notre Dame rose off to one side, the spotlights picking out the towers and famous facade. Occasionally a tugboat blew its horn. The water magnified the sound of traffic crossing bridges. He knew stars were up there, somewhere, beyond the lights of civilization.
A gentle wind blew the scent of a little garden to their noses. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing her icy silken flesh to his, wrapping them both with the silk sheet. He could smell himself on her skin, and she on his. He kissed her long, rich brown hair, the nape of her neck. “Lira, come back to bed, come back to me.”
Illyria’s face was a terror: her flesh translucent, veins and arteries red and blue shining jewels, her eyes honey fire in black pits, evil fangs a glowing white framed by her hair which writhed in an unseen wind. The immortal she held in both clawed hands screamed in terror as they slowly rose in the air past the steel catwalks and concrete pillars.
Chapter Eleven
D usk was fast fading into nighttime when I entered the Silver Thorn. I needed a nap; the weak sun sapped my strength. Before I could ascend the stairs, the owner let me know I had guests in the private parlor. I was set to refuse them when he identified them. I debated the wisdom of sending them away, before deciding I had enough self-control to speak with the men. As Rolf ran ahead to announce me, I received the second shock of my day: the scent of cinnamon, vanilla, and ambrosia curled in the air. The two men I had spied in Nicky’s nightmares, and the king’s! How far did the acquaintance go? And more importantly, were they enemies or friends? I put the disquieting feeling that I had met them before to the back of my mind since I couldn’t do anything about it at the moment.
“Good evening, gentlemen. I was beginning to think you did not exist.” I seated myself, waving off food or drink for myself but gestured for the men to be taken care of. A quick flicker of questioning between them, an infinitesimal nod.
Really? He was all business, not a moment spared for pleasantries. I wondered how they managed any transactions, if he was always gruff. I saw two men with enough similarities in facial features they had to be blood relations, despite the differences in their height, though the milder one had sandy hair and a slight ascetic look.
The austere man replied with a bow, “We are, Your Grace. I am Colin, and this is my brother Mica. I trust our former guard, Eron Adams, is in good health?”
“I am most sorry to hear of it. He was never the reckless kind to get into scraps of that nature,” Colin was quick to reply. I could tell he cared more for the man than his brother did.
It grated on my nerves too. Ack! I should have taken that nap first. I was having difficulties controlling my emotions. I managed to squelch the urge to teach him the meaning of respect.
“I am hoping you will be able to tell me. There seems to be some confusion. I am told there was an incident involving the sheriff, which your guard witnessed.”
Colin sighed in weariness as I let a thread of steel enter my voice. “Yet you continue to be so. I can assure you, no one else is likely to care about it, nor see any reparations be made. Speak truthfully, before I decide it is not worth my consideration.”
Mica glared, about to reply, when a knock sounded on the door, and I held a hand up to stop whatever they were about to say as the door opened. A tavern slave entered with full tankards of ale.
He set them in front of the men, removed the empty ones, making as if to stand against the wall but I sent him back outside. Bitch. Whore. I’m not some lesser slave to fetch like a mindless dog.
Colin hurried to make amends. “I do apologize for my brother’s rudeness; he is not normally so out of sorts. Our trip has been fraught with dangers and bad luck. Would it help to start at the beginning of our tale? My brother and I are merchants of parchment and ink, as you already know. We came here to establish another trade route for our wares.”
“Adams was your guard, he told me.”
“Yes, he was,” Colin replied as his brother snorted belligerently, arms crossed. He continued his tale, which was much the same as Eron’s had been.
I couldn’t understand; he spoke truth, yet it sounded false. Just like the others who shared his scent, I could not read their minds to determine which.
“If I may, when last I saw Eron Adams, he was fighting the sheriff and his men to give me time to escape. We are still unsure how he came to be a slave.” Colin gave the briefest of pauses as if not sure to continue. “We mean no disrespect, but I must confess I find myself curious as to how and why he garnered your attention.”
Coolly, I replied, “He was attempting to escape his bondage when we met. His story intrigued me enough that I purchased him to prevent his death. I’m afraid it did not si
t well with the sheriff or the man you seek. I have been trying to ascertain the truth of the matter in a way which can be satisfactory to all parties. You are the only other individuals involved I have been unable to speak with."
“Oh, so that’s what you call being a nosy, prying woman?” Mica challenged me, glaring at his brother when he murmured protest. I gave him a steely-eyed stare he more than returned. I had to fight to contain my rage at his tone.
“Is . . . pardon me, but is there not some way to free him? We know he is not guilty of whatever crime he has been charged with. We will swear under oath to His Majesty if we must, and recompense you for his price.”
I couldn’t help my eyes narrowing. Why hire someone multiple times if they caused problems? Unless it was something current, and thus was why they had made no effort to discover what had happened to their former guard?
“Please, we have spent many a year with Adams as our guard, enough to appreciate the value of the man. He is of high merit alive, and nothing if dead or a slave.”
I merely inclined my head. “I suggest you visit the royal court scribe and make sure he witnesses your version of events.” I waited a beat or two. “If I were you, I would keep a copy. I doubt it will change His Majesty’s mind, however, or grant your guard his freedom back.”
I rose as if to go as Colin spoke. “If we may, there is one other matter we wish to discuss with you.” At my gesture, he continued, "We had not expected to come across it when we landed upon these shores.”
“We believe the thief has made his way here, and attached himself to a member of the nobility,” Mica replied. “The person stole something valuable from us, and either hid it or sold it. We need to find out where, or to whom, so we may retrieve it.”
I reseated myself. “Ah, and you are wondering if—what? I am unknowingly shielding the person? He is perhaps a member of my household who came with me?” I asked. “Surely you are also aware bandits killed my people?”