“Disgusting!” Melissa yelled. “If you do that again I’m leaving”
Fiona patted the bed near her, smiling. “Ok, come back. I just told her you would never notice.”
“Oh I noticed, all right!” Melissa yelled sitting on the very edge of the bed, far from the other two women, and again they began to talk and share.
They talked about the thief, and about if there would be any future endeavors for them all together, and what they each held as plans for their lives, especially with the reward money they intended on winning. Before they parted, the girls had made great progress in sealing their friendships, and much of the aloofness between Cinder and Melissa had melted away and though Cinder was jealous of no one, Melissa could not admit the same. City life was so different she wondered if she would ever adapt and if fleeing home had been as comforting as she had hoped. She did know one thing: she was drawn to her new friends more in those weeks than to any she possessed back home and known for years.
At Master Sellore’s, Dirk watched the biggest, fastest, and best swordsmen he had ever seen, all practicing in a large mirrored room. Will stood behind Selric a step or two, the two of them looking like master and student. But Will didn’t mind and Selric always knew where to find him. Will was not as astounded as Dirk at the gym; Selric had already brought him there; twice. So, he tried explaining everything to Dirk, who looked at him curiously: Will was so different than the filthy, pessimistic loner that Dirk had first met in the sewers. He was confident, and talked with a noble air about him, just like Selric, though sometimes he lapsed back into the lower class behavior that he had known his whole life. The change was surprising, to Dirk, mostly in how quickly it had taken place.
Selric left his associates standing together while he crossed the room and walked through a door there. Dirk looked around: there were between fifteen and twenty men, he guessed, along with one woman, training with everything from spears to heavy wooden clubs. Some were with instructors, some practiced on their own. All appeared confident and skilled and Dirk hoped someday to be half as proficient.
As Dirk drank in the atmosphere, Selric returned with a man of middling height and healthy build. His face was stern and he greeted Dirk with a firm handshake; his hands rough, seemingly small for his size, and as hard as stone. He stared at Dirk, making him uncomfortable as Selric introduced them; the man’s name was Belsarus Ironshod. “He is Senior Master, second only to Master Sellore,” Selric said with a nod and raised brows, letting Dirk know he should show the man great respect. Selric and Will then left the two men alone to talk, walking down a carpeted hallway which led to the rear of the House.
“Dirk,” Belsarus said coolly, “what instrument of destruction is it that you wish to learn?” Dirk fidgeted briefly, shyly, then he drew his blade. “Not my specialty,” Belsarus said, looking at it. “But I can teach you the basics, and some things all warriors should know regardless of their weapon.” Dirk nodded. “Shall we start?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Dirk said dumbly, never thinking his lessons would begin so soon and he wondered when he would have to pay.
“I have about an hour right now. We should use it,” said Belsarus and the hour passed like minutes to Dirk. He felt he had learned so little, but already the sword was more comfortable in his hand: perhaps because all he had learned was how to hold his sword and how to stand when swinging it. He didn’t even learn how to draw it. He never imagined it would take so long to learn swordsmanship, but at least he was now on his way.
They had discussed how often Dirk wished to train: four days a week, two to three hours a day was decided upon. Belsarus mentioned that Selric had “taken care of” his fee, and he could use the facilities for a full year. With that, Belsarus left, urging Dirk to look around, seeing what else the establishment had to offer. Dirk did.
He was astounded, never picturing sweaty, brawny fighters practicing or relaxing in such luxury. There were lush carpets and stuffed furniture everywhere but in the main training hall. Mirrors were a more common sight than bare stone or wooden walls. As he ventured down the back hall, he met Selric and Will who politely gave him a comprehensive tour.
There were three floors and a basement, the latter of which held the large pool and smaller baths. The upper floors had archery and crossbow ranges and rooms for the practice of throwing-weapons; from knives to axes to spears. There were also private training rooms and an auditorium for important lectures on common topics that many people would attend: shield use, “where-to-strike” anatomy, “low blows and cheap shots,” and “duel etiquette,” among other things posted on the upcoming schedule of events. There were even rooms for the pleasures delivered by masseuses and masseurs.
“What do you think?” asked Selric as they sat in the third floor lounge drinking the finest ale that had ever passed Dirk’s lips. At Selric’s question, Dirk got an ear-to-ear smile that he could not contain. Then he broke down.
“It’s great! That big bath they use for swimming...I don’t even know how to swim...and Belsarus...and...and...” he stuttered, talking with his hands like an excited child, leaning forward in his chair. Unable to find the right words, he settled back and gathered his composure. “Yes. It’s nice,” he said calmly, but soon began smiling again. “Thanks for arranging it. I don’t know how to repay you. I mean, I’ll repay you the money, but it seems I owe you more. This is the neatest thing in my life.”
“No. You don’t owe me. We’re friends, or at least, I’d like to be. Besides, someday you may be able to help me.”
“So I do owe you,” Dirk said with a hint of suspicion.
“No. I’m not like that. Don’t expect me to show up and say, “Remember that time I let you use Sellore’s?” No, I wouldn’t do that. What am I offering you, Dirk? Does it cost me anything to let you come here? No…so while it is heavenly for you, to me it is a small sacrifice at most. I just wanted to do it for you.” He paused. “Well, I’d better be off. I’ve got an appointment with a fellow...”
“Darry Trollbeard,” Will interrupted informatively.
“...Yes,” Selric confirmed, “and he seems to have some information...”
“Expensive information,” said the boy.
“...on our temple thief. So enjoy yourself. I will be in touch.”
“When do I have to leave?” Dirk asked uncomfortably.
“Eh?” Selric wondered.
“How long can I stay? I mean, when do I have to leave?”
“Next year,” Selric said with a grin and a wink. “But you might want to go to work…or see Melissa between now and then.” Selric and his little shadow turned and walked out. Dirk left soon after, still feeling out of place at Sellore’s without Selric.
Dirk walked to Cinder’s from Master Sellore’s. As soon as she opened the door, Dirk knew that she had been drinking: her eyes were glassy and she wore her playful, man-eating grin.
“I thought you were Mel and Fiona coming back. Come in sweety,” she said, taking his hand. He sighed but followed along, glad that Cinder’s drunken states were short-lived. If she stopped drinking, in an hour or so she would sober up, and Dirk attributed this to her elven blood or magic or something he could not understand. She tried to drag him into bed.
“I’m not going to do it with you like that,” he said scornfully, holding his ground while Cinder helplessly attempted to move him.
“Like what?” she asked sweetly, still tugging like a little child. “You don’t even know how we’re going to do it.” Dirk hated when she manipulated him. He knew it happened, but could not make himself resist.
“I mean you being drunk,” he said, trying to be angry.
“You have before,” she said and Dirk looked away. “Okay. Fine,” Cinder said, “we don’t have to.” She went and talked to her little songbird, Twillyfoot. “Oh really?” she said to it. “Oh!” She looked at Dirk. “Yes he is. I don’t care, I like him anyway.” At first, Dirk did not believe she was talking to the bird, but then it no longer
mattered: he was not going to be ridiculed by a twirping pile of violet feathers, even if he thought it was simply Cinder being bratty.
“What did he say?” Dirk asked angrily.
“Oh, nothing,” Cinder replied, her nose in the air. If it had not been Cinder treating him like that, he would have slapped her in frustration at her nastiness.
“Come on,” he said, “let’s go to my place.”
“All right,” she said as if no argument had taken place. Though to others, this would not have been considered an argument, it was all the disagreement Cinder could muster, and all the resistance Dirk could offer. They walked to Bessemer’s, high, fluffy, white clouds rolling overhead occasionally and allowing the sun to shine brilliantly through. The wind was strong and gusting, but the sun was still warm even as it sat low in the sky, if not downright hot.
In his room, Dirk drew himself a beer while Cinder walked onto the open roof, looking out over the harbor, the bastions behind it, then out to the Great Sea beyond. Dirk stood in the doorway watching her as she leaned over the low wall, sticking her face forward as if feeling, or maybe smelling, the wind. Her black hair billowed out behind her, flipping and flowing, as did her cloak which was whipping and cracking fiercely. He admired her fair skin and flushed cheeks, her deep eyes with her long dark lashes, the way she leaned against the wall, the way she closed her eyes and felt the world rolling by, and the way she turned and looked at him with a soft, somber, knowing glance, as if she were a natural part of the world that flowed around and through her.
She wordlessly came to him and wrapped her arms momentarily around his slim waist, then released and went inside. Dirk stood for a moment, feeling strange. He felt love, but it was not his feeling. It was as if he could feel Cinder’s emotions; he was inside her. He turned and walked in to his room where they stayed until late that night, talking, touching and simply gazing at each other. They did not make love.
The next day, the group was to meet at The Unicorn’s Run, closed again this day until four bells, for a private lunch. Selric, Fiona and Melissa came down from the north, while Dirk escorted Cinder from the south.
The first three were sitting on the front steps enjoying the warm sun, when Dirk and Cinder came up on the far side of the street. They crossed in front of The Unicorn’s Run and just then a dog fight between three mongrels erupted up the street, under the feet of two draft horses harnessed to a crate laden wagon. One horse was nipped and bolted, leading the other horse, and the wagon, at a fearful gallop down the street.
“Go on Cinder,” Dirk said, letting her go. He turned and held his hands up to stop the runaway cart. Fully confident in Dirk, Cinder stood in the street two steps behind him, where he had let her go. “Besides,” she thought, “if I can just talk to them, they’ll stop.”
“Dirk!” Melissa said urgently as the horses bore down undaunted. “Get out of there, stupid!” She rose and stepped closer, actually moving into the street.
“Umm, that’s not going to work,” Selric said skeptically, but not yet concerned.
“Not a chance,” Melissa replied. The horses made no attempt to turn aside or slow down in their fright, and as Dirk turned to leap away, he saw Cinder standing slack-jawed, and he hesitated, trying to grab her just as Selric flashed across the street and swept her up.
Dirk tried to move, but found himself slowed with his momentum broken, and he was knocked aside by the broad chest of a horse, mercifully out of the way of the clattering hooves and crushing wheels. He landed inches from where Cinder lay, smiling at him, on top of a groaning Selric. They heard Melissa muttering something about “idiots” and when they looked, they saw her leap atop the flying wagon as it rumbled past. Dirk rose slowly and ran after her, Fiona close behind.
Melissa bent forward and tried to reach the reins that skittered along the stones, then the wagon hit a dip in the road and Melissa was thrown up and over the front of the cart. She would have crashed face first onto the street if she had not caught the front of the wagon with her hand, nearly ripping her arm out its socket. She was able to lift herself back into the seat, screaming “Whoa!” repeatedly to the frightened beasts. “Oh, Hells,” she said, leaping onto the back of one of the horses. She grabbed the harness and the one of its partner as well, and both reigned up as their bits were pulled uncomfortably far back and hard into their mouths. They skidded to a standstill, prancing nervously, still skittish and frightened. Melissa patted and calmed them until Dirk came up and took hold of them. At that moment, a Guard patrol arrived.
“Is this your wagon?” one of them barked, pointing at the farm girl, then continuing without giving her a chance to answer. “Somebody could have been killed! Don’t you know...”
“It isn’t mine, asshole,” she said. The guard’s look turned from scolding to anger, but Fiona stepped in as Melissa jumped down and tried to get face to face with him. Dirk maintained his hold on the horses, but moved a step closer.
“No, Captain,” Fiona said. “Melissa, here, caught the runaway wagon.”
“I don’t like her tone,” he said, still pointing at her.
“You don’t have to,” Melissa snapped. “And don’t point at me. I’ll break that finger right off.”
“Why I ought to...” he started.
“Yeah, you should,” Melissa provoked, bumping Fiona. “Try it.”
“No. No,” Fiona said, pressing them apart. “You must forgive her Captain, the excitement of the ordeal has her blood flowing.”
“No it doesn’t,” Melissa said belligerently. Several of the guardsmen stepped forward. Dirk countered their move and they momentarily wavered, eyeing the brawny, determined man. “I almost get killed trying to stop this thing and you blame me!” Her voice grew to a high pitched ferocity.
“Excuse me,” came a calm, melodic voice which momentarily brought everyone’s excitement down a notch. They all stopped and looked: it was Selric, a diplomatic, suave smile on his charming face. He held out his hand to the captain. “What seems to be the problem, Captain?” he asked with an air of authority that his friends had never heard him use before.
“And you are?” the captain asked, looking curiously at him, but shaking his hand respectfully, never sure who one might meet on Andrelia’s streets.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, setting the stage for his grand proclamation. “Stormweather. Selric Arnesson Stormweather.” The captain’s eyes widened. Every soldier in Andrelia knew of the Stormweathers and many had studied at one of their schools before King Alhad had declared it illegal to hire any more men trained at a noble-owned academy, though he still kept those already in service. To terminate all guards trained at those academies would have left the garrison depleted.
“Master Stormweather...” the guard said, but was cut off.
“These are my friends, Captain, and Melissa just stopped this runaway wagon. Quite commendable, actually.”
“Yes. I would say so, Master Stormweather.” He bowed officially. “Now, sir, I’d like to find the owner of this cart.” He turned to Melissa and bowed curtly. “My thanks, brave lady.” He led his men, except one who took the reins cautiously from Dirk and held the cart there, while the others marched up the street. Melissa stormed off toward The Unicorn’s Run, right behind the guardsmen, muttering under her breath.
“She’s a wildcat, I’d say,” said Selric. Dirk laughed nervously in agreement as Fiona flaunted a proud smile.
Not until a week later did the group have a meeting which was more than simply lunching together; which usually Melissa or Fiona would miss because one of them was working. They had been on the “case” for almost three weeks when Selric sent them a note at one of the lunch meetings, telling them that he would not be there. He had some important information and asked them to meet him, instead, at nine bells that night at The Run. Dirk stopped to pick up Cinder at her room in the dock district on his way, as usual. When Cinder opened her door, Dirk saw that Amber was there again. He had met Amber the week prior, the
last time he and Cinder had gone out for dinner. Cinder had stopped pestering Dirk every other day for his attention now that she had met Selric and Amber, and Dirk grew jealous. He would rather be bothered by Cinder than not see her at all.
Amber was a high class escort who Cinder had met a few weeks earlier at a beauty house where they were both being catered to. To Dirk’s disapproval, she introduced Cinder to her clientele. Cinder, ostensibly finding information on the thief, had gone out every night with a different rich, influential gentleman, aristocrat, or priest. Her room was decorated with flowers, gifts, and even a second wardrobe overflowing with new clothing: presents from her admirers. She insisted to Dirk that she was not a prostitute, but it wasn’t polite to refuse gifts.
“Hi,” Cinder and Amber said in unison, smiling gorgeously. Amber was beautiful, almost as much as Cinder, Dirk thought. If she had possessed the elven mystique she might have rivaled her dark haired friend. Amber was blonde with green eyes, in her twenties, with a truly womanly body: large breasts and a curvaceous hour-glass shape. She was nearly as tall as Cinder; her hips wider than the slender half-Faerie, and her legs not quite as long. But they both had long soft hair and delicate skin, wore face paints, perfume, and beautiful form-flattering clothing. Just by appearance, Dirk could tell they were very much alike.
“Hi,” he replied unemotionally. Though Amber liked Dirk very much, he didn’t care for prostitutes and he especially hated the fact that, as he believed, Amber was introducing Cinder to it.
“You remember Amber, don’t you Dirk?” Cinder asked. Amber smiled.
“We have to go,” Dirk said.
Amber gazed at her friend. “Look, Cinder; I have to go, too. Remember tomorrow...eight bells,” she said. Amber threw on a cloak and walked past Dirk, still smiling, though her face showed disappointment. “Good-bye Dirk. It was nice to see you again.”
“Bye,” he said coldly and Cinder glared at him.
“Wait, Amber. You should have an escort. Walk with us. Right, Dirk?” Cinder said, the rare determination in her voice cowing the young man. Amber declined but Cinder insisted and they all left together, Dirk with a lovely woman on each arm.
By Moonlight Wrought (Bt Moonlight Wrought) Page 19