by C. M. Lind
Soli walked in, scolding Randolph with her eyes.
Randolph winked at her and smirked.
“Thank you Mister Randolph.” She bowed her head slightly, and then she took her bag from him.
“You are more than welcome.” He winked again, just to make sure she caught it.
* * *
Soli stepped inside, and Randolph pulled the doors closed behind her. The place was crowded but clean. It appeared that every book, antique, and curio had its place, and that they were well taken care of. There wasn’t even one speck of dust that Soli could see.
Soli thought that Etienne must be the kind of man that liked too many things too much, as everything didn’t fit into his space. There were stuffed birds of prey over the nearby unlit fireplace, positioned as if soaring high in the sky. Books upon books covered the couches nearby and were stacked on Etienne’s golden hued oak desk. Monochromatic art of charcoal and lead adorned the walls, only interrupted by well-crafted maps of Aveline and the surrounding provinces.
Soli smiled politely at the man. Etienne was nothing like the portrait she saw earlier. In the oil painting his eyes had appeared grey and vapid, but, there in front of her, they were of a cobalt hue—intense and bold. He was neither sickly nor thin. He looked healthy and trim; he clearly looked like a man who took pride in his appearance. Even his hair was different. The painting had it as a dull light brown, waifish and limp. But, truly, his hair was a rich mocha brown that was long and glossy.
Soli was surprised but unsure what to make of the man. She gave a small bow of respect with her head and waited to be acknowledged by Etienne Reinout. While the people of Aveline bowed at the knees, the free people of Osterlock did not. Only slaves bowed with their knees, and to expect that of a freeman or a freewoman was insulting. Soli was, most certainly, a freewoman.
Etienne quickly cleaned up his spilled ink and threw the ruined document he was working on in the nearby hammered-tin garbage canister. He stood from his desk and walked over to Soli, keeping a few feet between them. “I was not expecting you.” He eyed her. “Explain yourself.”
“Sir, I have come to inform you that my master, Roed Norling, passed last night. He will no longer be able to provide the services he pledged to you.” She raised her head and presented the rolled up contract. “I am here to fulfill the contract if you wish.”
“Roed was a master storyteller of the North and came highly recommended. He was said to have known every tale of Osterlock legend. Can you give me that?” Etienne didn’t take the contract offered; instead he showed her a cold, detached countenance as his eyes lingered upon the contract.
“Sir, I am not Roed, but I am trained by him and am his only apprentice. I do indeed know every tale that Roed ever told. He made me recite them endlessly in our travels. But, I only know Northern tales. I do not care for the love stories of your people, the ones that sound like children’s tales.” Soli did not hide her contempt. A part of her hoped that he would hate her and immediately dismiss her, so sharing her true feelings of Avelinian tales seemed to feel appropriate. She didn’t have to complete the contract if her substitution was rebuffed; her duty was already fulfilled the moment she offered her services in Roed’s stead. While she needed the coin, the whole Reinout manor had a strange feel to it, like one feels when breathing the uncomfortably stale air of an abandoned house.
There was silence between them, so Soli continued.
“I am also an accomplished singer and am trained in the bowed lyre. I can read to you anything you like as well; I am literate in your language and others.”
His eyes went from the contract to Soli’s bag to her face within a second. “I apologize, Mistress Soli. I am unaccustomed to strangers that are as lovely as you being in the estate that are not here for my cousin. Even then, those harlots don’t come near me.” Etienne genuinely smiled. “From what you claim, accepting you would be a bargain. I don’t believe Roed could read, could he?”
It was not the first time the assumption was made that Soli was for sale in that way, and she ignored the comment. “My master was very talented, but no. He was never able to read your tongue. He never cared for it.”
If Etienne minded her open loathing directed towards his culture, he didn’t show it. “I accept your offer, Mistress Soli, and I am honored to have you.” Etienne took a step closer to her, and he offered his hand to her. She accepted it.
Soli was pleasantly surprised when Etienne shook her hand like she believed one should do: firm and short. Most men in Aveline limply took a woman’s hand for far too long, and sometimes they even would kiss it.
“Your hands are strong, Mister Etienne.” A high compliment from where she came from. Perhaps she wouldn’t mind working for this man as much as she thought. At least she was not working for the other Reinout man; she had heard awful things about him and the women who entered his employ.
The light in Etienne’s eyes told Soli that he understood the compliment. “Yours too, mistress.” He smiled. “Now please, play me music tonight, and I’ll open a new bottle of wine for us both. The others seem to be off. Stories will have to wait for another day. There has been too much serious business as of late.”
Soli took a seat on one of his empty chairs (many were burdened with all manner of books) that allowed her to watch as Etienne perused his wine collection at his nearby liquor cabinet. She removed her lyre from her padded bag. The hollowed out body was crafted of ash, and its twin necks and tuning pegs were made of polished bones of elk and man. Along the boned necks were carved images of a relentless battle between men and a great wyrm with the men losing. She tuned her lyre while Etienne poured the two a white, sweet wine. It was so pale, it nearly looked like water.
When he returned to her, she pulled her bow across the thick gut strings of her lyre, and a deep, clear, somber song filled the room.
* * *
Randolph couldn’t stop smiling like a child after leaving Soli with Etienne. He leaned on the door for a few minutes, suppressing laughter at how high Etienne jumped from his entrance. Even after his laughter subsided, he stood outside the door, stupidly smiling while he thought about Soli. If Etienne was to be her patron, then Randolph would be seeing a whole lot of her. He liked that idea. After a few minutes, he left Etienne’s door. He walked with a lift in his step, leaving the two to their business.
He would return to the parlor, he supposed. Soli would have to walk right by it to leave the way she came in, and, if he heard her walking down the hallway, he could always coincidentally bump into her.
While he was headed to the parlor, he decided not to go through the solarium. Instead he went the long way around, hoping to eat up as much time as he could, passing by the many guest quarters that insulated Lord Jae and Lilane from Etienne’s space. He breathed in and smelled an overpowering lavender and lemon; the rooms had been laundered recently.
Randolph’s smile turned to a smirk. In one of the rooms there would be Lord Jae and his guests. He always saw his women in these guest chambers. Each of these rooms were generic; every single one looked like the last. No personal touch was added. He had never invited any strumpet into his own personal quarters, as far as Randolph could recall, and it was a well-known rule that no one was to even approach Jae’s quarters without a direct invitation. Randolph himself had never even been.
Randolph didn’t need to quiet his steps at all as he went down the hall. The carpet was plush and his footfalls made no noise. While his armor, a mismatched collection of hardened leather and chainmail, did make a bit of noise, he wasn’t concerned. The doors throughout the estate were thick and noise found it difficult to penetrate them.
He wished he could have stayed to figure out what kind of entertainment Soli would provide. Whatever it was, he knew he would love it—and if he didn’t love it, he would lie and say that he did.
Randolph rounded the corner. He saw Lilane outside the only closed door in the hallway. Her wrinkled ear was pressed against the keyhole. She
didn’t need to stoop over too far, since she was shorter than the average person by quite a bit.
Randolph suddenly hated himself for not choosing to go through the solarium.
She turned her saggy, chubby face towards Randolph, straightening her back simultaneously while letting out a slight groan. “I see you’re running around the manor instead of staying outside this room, making sure my son is taken care of.” Her dark blue eyes, unnervingly identical to Jae’s, looked down on him, even though he was taller than her by at least several inches.
“I’m pretty sure the three women in there can take care of him just fine without my help.” Randolph tried to hide his repulsion, but he knew he was doing a piss poor job of it. He didn’t step any closer, but he certainly would not have backed down to Lilane.
“That’s disgusting! You know I wasn’t implying that!” Lilane took three steps towards Randolph before she appeared to think better of it. She brushed a strand of fallen greying hair back into the tight bun on top of her hair and composed herself.
“Yeah, of course not.” Randolph crossed his arms and forced his shoulders back, attempting to have a more commanding posture. He had managed to get his disgusted face under control, and instead focused on looking as serious as possible. He had always been able to keep his interactions with Lilane to a minimum and didn’t want to let her know how innately disturbing he found her. He would take a well-armed intruder any day over a few minutes of conversation with her. “Your son told me to be scarce when he is entertained, so I follow orders.”
“Did he say so?” She folded her hands, attempting a demure posture. “Of course he did. He knows best.”
Randolph didn’t know about him knowing “best,” but he got paid on time every month, so he really didn’t care.
Lilane seemed deep in thought, staring off beyond Randolph.
“Well then, I supposed I shall return to being scarce.” Randolph started to turn away from Lilane, but her sharp, adenoidal voice stopped him.
“Wait, mercenary. My son sounds very happy in there; those sows seem to be doing a fair job. They also sound much more believable than the last ones. Make sure they get a few extra petals when you throw them out.”
“Yeah, of course I will.” Randolph turned around and skittered back around the hallway before he shuddered.
He could hear Lilane groan slightly as she bent back over, putting her ear to the door again.
Chapter 7
Randolph awoke. His face was pressed into the hard desk in the parlor, and something was jabbing him. He pulled himself up, and a single bishop fell from his indented cheek. “So much for my plan,” he mumbled. He smacked the bishop across the room and jumped to his feet as it hit the wall. “You guys were supposed to keep me awake!” He glared at the other pieces on the desk with the look of a defeated general towards his men. Somehow Soli had walked by the parlor and right out the front door without awakening him.
He ran to the window overlooking the courtyard. It was very dark and very late. Not only had his plan to escort Soli home failed, he was running late for his meeting. A meeting he didn’t want to attend, but certainly one he couldn’t afford to miss.
The conquered bishop looked up at him, nestled into the plush carpet, lying helplessly by the wall. He thought about picking it up, but then rolled his eyes and jogged out the parlor into the hall. The maids could handle the mess in the morning.
At the door he saw two guards, different ones than before. They were the night-shifters. They acknowledged Randolph with a tip of their heads before they continued their quiet conversation. The two were debating what ale-house was the superior one, The Blue Boar Tavern or The Red Moon. Randolph had no time to comment, but they were both clearly wrong. The best place was without a doubt Skullsplitters by the quay. They guaranteed to leave you wrecked by morning.
Randolph motioned for the two to unlock the door. Their conversation didn’t miss a beat as both guards complied, undoing the large iron bolts above and below the door in tandem. Randolph pushed the door open and rushed into the brisk yet humid night air. Randolph liked days filled with warm weather and sunshine, not cold and dark nights meeting assassins.
He made his way to the stable and went to the sable colored mare named Silvia. She was small and old but still quick. Randolph also thought the girl was pretty smart, or at least she was calm. Regardless, he was hesitant to use any horse.
When he approached her, Silvia was excited to see him. He put his hand out, patting her near the nose. Silvia nuzzled his hand and licked his fingers before she lowered her head, returning to her hay. “Mr. Saemund can wait a few minutes longer, can’t he girl? Yeah, he’s a scary thing, but he’s no Silvia. You’re a good, friendly girl.” He always spoke calmly to her, afraid that any moment she could turn into a killer. He petted her hair for a few more moments before he gave her a slightly spoiled apple that they kept nearby for the beasts. He laid his hand flat; his fingers almost bended backwards with his intensity. Silvia’s lips grazed Randolph’s flesh, and then she grabbed the apple, unleashing warm, sticky juice all over his palm.
Silvia was pleased with the treat, and Randolph took his time saddling the beast, speaking to her in a hushed, cool tone. “That’s right, we’re calm. You’re calm. I’m your friend. Friends don’t cripple each other.”
He mounted her as if her bones were as fragile as that of a bird, and the two rode out of the stable, off through the estate, and onto the stone streets. The place smelled fresh. The heavy storm the night before had rejuvenated the air around him and cleaned any filth from the walls and roads of the city. Randolph tried to enjoy it. The trip would take him an hour easily, but he was never at ease on a horse or when dealing with Saemund. Of course the creature would choose the only establishment that Randolph didn’t care for, a slimy dive called The Hound’s Breath, for their meeting place. One night several months ago there was a small altercation, some broken bones and tables, and Randolph was left with the bill. He actually had to pay the owner, a greasy little man named Lambert, to be allowed back in last week since Saemund decided he was staying there. Even though Lambert claimed everything was alright between them since Randolph paid the previous damages in full, Randolph couldn’t feel at ease in the place.
But that unease might have been because of Saemund. Randolph fleetingly admitted to himself a few times that Saemund was the real cause of discomfort, and poor Lambert was just the scapegoat.
There was something in the way Saemund treated people that disturbed Randolph. Randolph had been a mercenary since he was fifteen, and he was not the good kind either. He was known to be the one that got a job done no matter what. He was also the kind that took what he wanted when there was no work available to make a semi-honest living. He had seen a lot in his days: butchery, genocide, rape, and famine. But Saemund? He was something altogether different.
Saemund appeared very average except for his towering height. His eyes were brown; his hair was brown, and his skin was tanned like a common field hand. His voice was off though. It seemed to be like how a mockingbird would sound to other birds: close—but not close enough. Something about that gave Randolph chills. But, it was Saemund’s eyes that disturbed him the most: he looked at others like they were literally prey.
Randolph forced those thoughts from his mind and he shook his head fiercely as he trotted through the streets. He told himself that Saemund, the man known as a ghostly mass murderer, worked for the Reinouts. That he had nothing to worry about. If he ever had to, he wouldn’t hesitate to put Saemund down (Jae be damned). But who knew what tricks that thing had at his disposal. Randolph had never seen him fight, but he knew that Saemund made people disappear—completely. Not even their bodies were ever found.
He realized he was still thinking about it, so he once again he shook his head to banish the worrisome Saemund from his thoughts. The night was beautiful, and the stars were shining. Why couldn’t he enjoy himself for the trip at least?
Randolph trotted
up to The Hound’s Breath, petting Silvia on her soft neck “Good girl. I promise to bring you a treat.”
If Silvia understood, she gave no indication.
Randolph dismounted before tying Silvia’s reins to a small hitching post, a dilapidated wooden thing barely anchored to the stone pathway. A bucket that was supposed to be filled with water sat at the foot of the post. It was empty, but Silvia nibbled around the edge of it. She looked to Randolph, pleading with her eyes.
Randolph grabbed the bucket, patted Silvia gently on the nose a few times, and then walked into The Hound’s Breath. The large bell attached to the door rang at the slightest jostling, and his powerful push made it clang loudly. The place was packed with people, all looking poor, drunk and happy. The heavy prevalence of sweat and dirt greeted his nose. While it was technically an inn with a few meager rooms that could be purchased for a pittance, it made its money by offering cheap spirits. It was poorly lit; only a few lanterns blazed in the room, and a small fire sputtered opposite the bar. Randolph walked up to the bar where Lambert was serving from, people chatting all around him.
"Oh. It’s you.” Lambert looked uneasy; he began to bite his fat lower lip, which was covered in half-healed sores. He poured watered-down whiskey for the man to Randolph’s left.
“Yeah.” Randolph sighed. “It’s me.” He looked around the room, trying to find Saemund, but the place was crowded. He could barely hear Lambert with the loud drunk to his left, espousing the latest gossip to anyone who would listen.
“You back to meet with the fellow from before?” Lambert set the whiskey down in front of the drunk, grabbed the copper petal on the counter, and shoved it into the already full lockbox below the counter.
“Yep. That’s all. I’m not here to cause any problems.” Randolph kept his hands at his side, trying to look as non-threatening as possible, all the while holding a bucket.