Making a Tinderbox (The Tinderbox Tales Book 1)

by Emma Sterner-Radley

  “Ah, well I cannot take responsibility for everything that is done in these locales,” Hunter said. “This is Nightport, simply walking the streets is a risk. Although, tis a risk worth taking. As you have outstayed your welcome at the Goblin’s Tavern, perhaps I can interest you in some drinks and a game of Fool the Angel down at the Scarlet Crow? They have wonderful sugar pumpkin wine.”

  They all looked at each other.

  “Well, I’m in. I can’t stand havin’ the night end on such an unhappy note. I want wine an’ card games,” Jac said with a carefree smile.

  “I go where this ‘ere cheerful sap goes,” Sanjero said lovingly.

  Cai stepped up next to them. “Aye, I’m with Jac. I need distraction.”

  Fyhre nodded and wrapped her sculpted arm tightly around Cai.

  Elise turned to Nessa. “I am not certain what I wish to do. Part of me wants distraction, too, another part is starting to falter. There has been a lot of cleaning, drinking, and fighting tonight.”

  Nessa nodded and made the decision for them. “I think you need to rest. When your adrenaline wears off, you’ll be exhausted. So will I, come to think of it. I’d like to take you home and make sure you are safely tucked in bed.”

  The others smiled and broke out in noises that sounded a lot like when you see cute kittens.

  Nessa watched them, perplexed at why they all looked at them that way. Just as she was about to ask what she had missed, Cai spoke. “Ye work for the Brownlees? I reckon I know where their workshop is, it’s not far from our factory. If ye don’t mind the company, me, Fyhre, and Sanjero might come over after work and walk ye home. Maybe pick up Jac and Elise an’ take ye all out for some food and drinks? I’d hate to have this be our first and last meetin’. Nightport people are usually lovely, an’ I’d like to prove that to ye.”

  Nessa smiled at Cai. “I’d like that.”

  “Me too,” Elise said before yawning.

  They said their goodbyes, and the others headed for the Scarlet Crow, which Nessa assumed was a tavern. Elise and Nessa on the other hand, took tired, heavy steps towards 21 Miller Street.

  Chapter 23

  The Scarlet Crow

  It was three days later, and Elise had woken up refreshed this morning. It was amazing what having yesterday off could do. They had explored Nightport with their four new friends, singing songs and trying out interesting new food. Then she and Nessa had spent the rest of the day reading books borrowed from Cai. Even Nessa had been forced to admit that their day off was as restful as it was invigorating and not a waste of time at all.

  This morning Elise had eagerly gone out for breakfast. She was awake anyway. Moreover, waking up snuggled with Nessa every morning was becoming increasingly complicated. There was far too much desire and longing coursing through her in those waking moments when she was surrounded by the feel and smell of Nessa. She had started tenderly kissing Nessa’s cheek, hair, and even her shoulder when she got up each morning. Gestures which Nessa ignored.

  It was odd. Elise had always believed that bedplay was the most intimate thing you could do with someone. Or several someones when she was exceedingly lucky. However, sleeping next to someone, not for erotic pleasure or even for frugality anymore as they could now easily afford another bed, but for pure affection and comfort — that was far more intimate. Nessa had seen her dream, seen her almost fall out of bed, and probably even snore. Nessa had held her when she was the most vulnerable — when she was not conscious. And vice versa. It was creating a bond. Well, the growing bond between them wasn’t solely created by sleeping in the same bed, but it was a big culprit, she was sure of it.

  This morning she could no longer stand laying snuggled up to Nessa’s side. Not without being allowed to let her hands roam over the creamy planes of supple, warm skin under Nessa’s nightdress.

  The scent of Nessa’s skin and the sugar pumpkin oil was all over Elise. She felt like could even smell it in the fragrant bakery. It was marking her as Nessa’s. She found she liked that, and the new thought panicked her. This was not just for fun anymore. Had it ever been purely for fun? Nessa had always been different. Always mattered more than anyone before her. Elise’s thoughts and feelings scared her and fear made her need Nessa.

  She is the cause of your fear AND the remedy to it? What is wrong with you, you complicated mess of a woman?

  Elise hurried to make her purchases and get back to 21 Miller Street. She was almost by the door when a young boy stopped her. Wordlessly, he shoved a package into her free hand and then ran off.

  “Wait! What is this?” she shouted after his retreating form.

  He was soon out of sight, so she looked down to the package he had thrust into her hand instead. It was wrapped in midnight blue paper and tied with white ribbon, just like the last mystery package. She had almost forgotten about that. That package had been smaller, only containing a bit of flint. What was in this one? She stared at it, as if her gaze could penetrate the dyed wrapping paper and see what it hid.

  She hurried upstairs and into their room. Nessa was dressing and quickly pulled the laces of her britches closed when Elise rushed in.

  “What’s wrong? You look like gargoyles are chasing you.”

  “I… we… got another package. I had to hurry here so we could open it together.”

  Nessa frowned. “Go on, then. Open it.”

  Elise put the satchel with breakfast rolls and juice down on the floor. With careful hands, she unwrapped the package. Inside was a smallish bundle of fabric. It was charred and smelled awful.

  Nessa came over and gently took the fabric from Elise. “This is char cloth.” She looked up at Elise. “Why would anyone send us a bundle of char cloth?”

  Elise bit her lip as she stared at the cloth. “Absolutely no idea. We must have been right when we said that someone has mistaken us for someone else. Or that this is some sort of prank. Perhaps sending people strange objects is some form of Nightport humour?”

  “Unless this is connected to the people asking about us back in Ground Hollow.”

  Elise looked up at Nessa. “Why would you say that?’

  “Because the questions by the men in green and the packages make two mysterious occurrences in the same short time period. One mysterious occurrence is to be expected in life. Two… now that’s unlikely.”

  “Unlikely, yes, but far from impossible,” Elise argued.

  “True.” Nessa turned the cloth over in her hands. “Maybe it’s my lack of experience with the world, but these two things seem a little too mysterious to be coincidences.”

  Elise shrugged. “Be that as it may, do you have any other explanation?”

  “No. Not at this moment.”

  “Well then.” Elise tried to give a carefree smile, but she felt the corners of her mouth drop right back down. Nessa was probably right, and it bothered her that she couldn’t find a solution to this mystery.

  The sound of Nessa’s stomach growling broke the silence.

  “Um, you did bring breakfast as well, yes?”

  This time Elise’s smile managed to grow strong. “Yes, my ravenous little vixen. There is bread and juice in the satchel.”

  * * *

  Evening was setting in. Elise was perched on some stacked wooden crates filled with new printing types and paper, counting down the minutes until the workday ended. Archibald was passing the last moments of the day debating politics with the butcher next door. She wished he would close up a few minutes early. But no. The workday ended at seven and that was that.

  Elise shook off her annoyance. She steepled her fingers and tapped them against her chin. Concentrating on what she had heard Layden say to Nessa about her being oblivious when someone wanted to be romantically involved with her. Could this be what was happening between them? Could Nessa be so clueless she didn’t see her advances — all those terms of endearments, kisses, and flirtations? Or did she just not see the advances as romantic?

  What if she has noticed them an
d simply does not care for me?

  Elise shook her head. Nessa was honest and straightforward. If she had noticed the gestures and didn’t want a romantic entanglement, she would say so. Not keep cuddling, holding hands, and smiling that wide, loving smile.

  Outside, the church bells tolled seven times and Elise jumped off the crates. Archibald came back inside, cutting the butcher off mid-sentence. He got some coins out and handed her the daily wages. She took the coins with her usual curtsy.

  “You are free to go, Miss Aelin. I shall see you tomorrow morning. Try to be awake and alert. I need you at your best, not sleepwalking,” he said before heading back towards the butcher.

  “Of course, sir. Thank you and have a good evening.”

  With that, she walked out and nearly bumped into Hunter Smith. He was wearing layers of emerald green tonight. Topped with a black, velvet coat and a matching top hat.

  “Hunter? What are you doing here? Honestly, are there five of you? You seem to be everywhere in this town.”

  He gave his roguish grin. “This city is my world, I can travel it quickly and I know how to be at the right time and place. Moreover, I was offered a pretty set of hair ties in return for finding you and fetching you to the Scarlet Crow.”

  “Fetching me to the Scarlet Crow?”

  “Yes. The lovable gang you and Nessa found in the Goblin’s Tavern are there. The tattooed Western Islander… Sanjero, is it?… traded me some of his hair ties in return for finding and handing you over. They know where Nessa works so the muscular woman went over to Brownlees’ workshop to fetch her.

  “Firstly, Fyhre is the name of the woman. Secondly, yes, Sanjero is the man from the Western Isles. Should I go home and wash up and change?” Elise asked, looking down at her practical dress, cardigan, and coat combination.

  “My heartling, this is Nightport, not the Noble circles. No one goes to change before drowning their sorrows in greasy meat and ale.”

  “Oh? Ah. Um. Well. What would I know about the Noble circles?” She tried for a laugh, which sounded as false as a badly tuned fiddle, but Hunter was ignoring her completely.

  He was busy smiling at a young man who had walked past him, throwing admiring glances at Hunter. Or perhaps at his clothes. When the man returned his smile, Hunter took a step closer to Elise. “I think they chose to go to the Scarlet Crow tonight as you ran into those ruffians in the Goblin’s Tavern.”

  “Is the Scarlet Crow safer?” Elise asked.

  They stepped aside, allowing a group of four city guards to pass in a hurry. Were they following the man who had looked at Hunter? Elise couldn’t tell.

  “Mildly, yes. The Scarlet Crow is a Nightport staple. Nearly as old as the town. Everyone goes there and management keeps the ruckus to a minimum. As long as you do not go down into the basement.”

  Elise edged closer to him. “Why? What is down there?”

  “Another tavern, of sorts. The shadier twin of the Scarlet Crow - the White Raven,” Hunter explained.

  “Oh my, the people of Nightport really like their painted birds. Two taverns with colourful bird names in the same building?”

  “They used to be just one tavern. The White Raven is named that because it has three of Arclid’s rare white ravens. The Scarlet Crow was named such because someone once recommended the White Raven to some dignitaries and got it completely wrong. The owners liked the new name. So when the tavern was split into a secret basement for card players, arranged fights, and powder use, and a respectable old-fashioned tavern above it, they named the upper part the Scarlet Crow.”

  Elise gave him an appraising look, trying not to look too impressed. “My, you really do know everything about this city.”

  He pursed his lips. “Well, in this case it is hard not to. I was the one who got the name wrong and called it the Scarlet Crow.”

  She bit back a laugh. “What?”

  “I was only twelve and nervous as a skitter-beetle. It was my first night working the crowds, trying to gather up clientele. No one has ever let me forget the slip-up. These days, I often have to direct punters to either the Scarlet Crow or the White Raven. And far too often… I must tell this story. Like now.”

  Elise suppressed a smile. “You were not joking when you said this city was your world. It seems utterly entangled with your life.”

  He looked grave, staring ahead. “It is. I would go as far as to say that it is a part of me. The streets of this town are like the veins in my body.”

  Elise made no comment, merely quirked an eyebrow.

  They walked for a quarter of an hour. Hunter told her about the flock of white ravens that flew over Arclid. Always chased by hunters who knew what fortune those rare birds could bring in. The three kept in that tavern basement were a good example of that. Just one of them had cost more than Archibald would pay her for all her work. He expanded on how they were hunted, refused their freedom because of their rarity. He stopped when his voice quavered ever so slightly.

  When their walk across town dragged into half an hour, Elise wondered if they shouldn’t have hired a carriage to take them. Her clothes now smelled as much of road dust as printer’s ink, and her hair had been blown around by the wind, making her curled bob an unruly mess.

  A few more minutes and Hunter stopped. With a flourishing hand gesture, he indicated a worn black door. On the door was the faded outline of a scarlet crow in flight. No name. No sign. Only the crow. She supposed that was all that was needed if this tavern was such a Nightport staple.

  “This is where I leave you,” Hunter said with a faint smile.

  “Not coming in with me?”

  He shook his head. “No. No rest for the wicked. There is work to be done.”

  “Are you sure? You seem a bit drained. You bring messages for solicitors in the day and customers for the town’s nightlife in the evening. Do your legs not get tired? Or your mind?”

  “This is how Nightport works,” he said dismissively. “If you want power and influence here, you need to bleed and sweat for this town. She expects nothing less of her children. Work and she will favour you.”

  Elise tilted her head. Was he being serious? This sounded like superstition. A city was just a collection of buildings and people. It had no soul. No expectations.

  She patted his upper arm. “As you wish. If you change your mind and want a glass or two, you know where we are.”

  “I do indeed. Good evening to you, Elise.”

  He took off his black top hat and bowed to her. When he put the hat back on, he peered at her. “Before I go, may I be bold and suggest something?”

  She blinked a few times. “Well… yes, I suppose you may.”

  “Time is precious. You see that in this town. People can disappear out of your life so fast and so mercilessly. If you have someone you value, tell them so. Keep them close.”

  “I am not certain what you are implying here, Hunter.”

  “You know exactly what I mean. You told me when I hit you with my pedal cycle… you are in love with Nessa. It is becoming more and more obvious as the days pass. For everyone else but her, it would seem. Is it because she is a country lass? Or due to her low self-esteem? Either way. I would recommend you tell her how you feel. Do not let time slip away.”

  She pushed the notion away. “Never mind me saying you seemed drained. ‘Downright morose’ is a better fit.”

  “I just see what you have and how you do not claim it. Me – I am not free to live my life the way I wish, and, therefore, I am not likely to find love. I have as little life and freedom as those ravens.” He sighed. “Or maybe it is merely the lack of a good meal. I will go get myself some bread and cheese before getting back on the streets.”

  She looked at his worn face. He had put light powder over the dark circles under his eyes. She could see that as clearly as she saw the frown lines by his mouth.

  It is not hunger, and we both know it. It is loneliness and the pain of having to pretend to be something you are not. Poor wretch.


  “Perhaps I will take your advice. We shall see how the evening goes. Thank you for caring, and I hope you have a fruitful evening. With any luck you will manage to impress your so-called mother.” She pointed to the street, indicating the city in general.

  He seemed to take her meaning and nodded before walking off.

  Elise walked to the tall black door and opened it. Inside was a typical tavern. Not much different than the Goblin’s Tavern. Well no, it was a little better kept, quieter, and painted more conventionally. And, blessedly, it had no ill-tuned harpsichord.

  She soon found Fyhre, Cai, Jac, and Sanjero. She walked over to them, happy to see her new friends again. Fyhre pulled up a chair for her, and she sat down.

  “Hunter found you! He’s an excellent retriever,” Cai said.

  Sanjero put his glass down with a thud. “Aye, ‘course, he did. Those were some splendid hair ties, mate.”

  “I shall attempt to be good enough company to make up for your loss,” Elise said in a honeyed voice. She batted her eyelashes at him theatrically.

  Everyone laughed and Fyhre pushed a full glass of something brown towards her. She took it and gave it a sniff. Sweet, warm, and strong. Winterberry brandy. Just like they had drunk with Layden a few nights ago.

  “No ale tonight?” she asked the table in general.

  “The ale ‘ere is oxen-crap,” Jac said. “But the food is good. We’ve ordered platters of smoked ribs, dried yellowfish, an’ spiced bread. There’s likely to be ‘nuff to feed all of Arclid’s Navy.”

  “Oh, that sounds splendid. I will join you in that and give you coin for it later, if that is acceptable.”

  “Aye, Miss Fancy. That is ‘acceptable’ indeed,” Jac said, imitating her posh accent.

  She grimaced at him, sticking her tongue out like a child, and got another laugh.

  Jac and Sanjero shared a long kiss, seeming extra affectionate tonight. Everyone else busied themselves with their drinks. It was good brandy, Elise mused, and she drank deeply. The boring day and worry about her relationship with Nessa melted into the brandy as it warmed her stomach.