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By Moonlight Wrought (Bt Moonlight Wrought)

Page 23

by Crandall, John


  “He either flew, jumped, or disappeared into thin air,” Dirk said silently to himself, looking out over the southern rail, nearly falling in his dizziness. Then he remembered the heads. He was about to call and remind the stranger that he had forgotten them, but thought better of it. Dirk knew he had to get rid of them before Melissa woke. He went inside, found his sword and, holding the bag open with one hand, laboriously batted the severed parts inside. He carried them out and, whirling them about over his head, let the bag fly over the street and onto the roof of an adjacent building. They landed with a sickening thud. Dirk laughed to himself, though he did not know what he found humorous. He also thought, too late, that maybe the strange Fiona might have wanted to see the heads, though he could not understand what made him think of that. “I’ve been seeing her too, much!” he gasped to himself, walking back to his bed and, strangely, resting well. Somehow, he felt safe.

  Dirk and Melissa woke the next morning holding hands. Dirk felt fine, except for his head which still ached a bit. He wanted to get up and go to Sellore’s, but knew he was not yet ready: while he knew he needed to heal physically, mentally he wanted to train so that such a thing could never happen to him again. Melissa released his hand and hugged him tightly. They lay like that, with Dirk’s arm around her, for almost an hour before the trapdoor popped open and Fiona came up. She turned and took a pair of hands, their nails painted bright red, and pulled them up, thus lifting Cinder into the room, both struggling in their effort. Fiona checked Dirk’s wounds, mumbled a few incantations which further eased Dirk’s pain and the pressure inside his skull. And his teeth seemed not so loose anymore as well. He was definitely on his way to a miraculous recovery, thanks to Fiona’s spell weaving.

  All three women fawned over Dirk, touching and rubbing his body, gently kissing his face. They fed him a tender steak dinner prepared at the Wagon Wheel Inn just down the street and inside the southern gate. Melissa cut the food into tiny pieces, Fiona fed it to him, and Cinder held his cup of fine wine. When Dirk had finished, Melissa pulled on her boots and quickly brushed her hair with Cinder’s brush. After washing her face in the basin, she gathered her gear and kissed Dirk good-bye. “I have to go to work. I’ll be back tonight. Okay?” she said. “Come on Cinder, I’ll walk you.”

  “All right,” Cinder said as she rose. “Goodbye. I’ll come back after work, too.” She kissed him, and he touched the bruise on her mouth that she had tried to conceal with make-up powders and face paints. She smiled kindly in return at him, her expression showing that she would have endured much worse fighting for him as their eyes were locked for several long, non-speaking but very feeling moments. She held his hand to her cheek tightly and closed her eyes, before kissing and releasing it. Dirk’s face showed the same will to endure for her, and Cinder left, Melissa helping steady her down the ladder. Dirk looked at Fiona; she almost bore a kind expression on her face, he thought. She smiled and rubbed his belly as she sat on the edge of the bed.

  “You know, you’re very lucky,” she said. “You have a lot of people who love you.”

  “Yeah,” he scoffed. “Three women who want me for sex things.”

  “Don’t overrate yourself, or underestimate Melissa.”

  “I know. She’s not like that,” he admitted. “I’m just being smart,” he joked.

  “You are gorgeous, but there are other handsome men. We like you for different reasons each. But not one of us likes you only for loving.” Dirk felt low, as if being scorned.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I hope you do, but I can’t be dumb enough to just think it. How would I know why three such special and beautiful women would want to be nice to me?”

  “Well, we’re showing you,” Fiona said with a kind smile.

  “I don’t know how I’d feel if you hadn’t done...” he paused, “well, whatever it is you did. How did you do it?” Fiona smiled at his appreciation.

  “Priestesses, and priests, who are loyal to their deity, are rewarded with special powers; powers that further the deity’s image. Aura Painbliss gives me the power to heal in a mystical, magical way, as well as a few other ways. But I also know the ancient arts of non-magical healing too.”

  “Oh,” Dirk said, closing his eyes, not really understanding, nor caring; not right then.

  “You have other friends, too. Selric was here yesterday, and your manager and Mr. Bessemer asked about you separately.”

  “Oh yeah?” Dirk asked. “That’s surprising,” he thought. He began to feel lucky, indeed.

  They sat and talked and Fiona read to Dirk from a large book of ancient lore she had brought for him, knowing his interest in such things. It told of fallen kingdoms and ancient lords tall and proud, and he enjoyed it immensely. Fiona had a charming voice and her elegant manner made the tome and its characters come to life in Dirk’s mind and he sat as a child enraptured by fairy tales, his eyes closed and his mind roaming. That day was the last that his friends stayed constantly with him. Thereafter, he laid two days resting on his own with only friendly visits each night. By the third he was walking through the store, his dizziness and pain having completely passed, and Dirk was ready to move on to bigger and more important things in his life.

  7

  The broken clouds passed overhead, now and again casting the streets and alleys of Andrelia into darkness, the stars winking in and out. The moon had already set. As It flew through the streets, the Fiend searched for prey; for the humans It so desired to destroy; to devour.

  Jestell Andrews, thief of the night, felt something approach, though she heard nothing but breathing: no footfalls, no voices. She leapt out from hiding, blade drawn against the hooded figure before her. It paused and drew Itself up to Its full height; Its head standing a foot above hers. It swept back the hood and fear gripped Jestell, the knife falling from her hand and her mouth dropping open.

  Jestell turned to flee, but It seized her by her long red locks and jerked her backwards, off of her feet. The Fiend placed Its foot on Jestell’s hair, pinning her to the street. She opened her mouth to scream, but the Fiend struck her. It was going to smash her face, but her beauty was alluring, so the Fiend pummeled her midsection, catching her in the midst of her scream and cutting it short. One blow took Jestell’s breath, the next snapped her ribs like twigs. She brought her knees up to fend off the blows, but instead of hitting again, It bound her wrists to her ankles, behind her back tightly, and stuffed her own hood inside her mouth so far that she could not expel it.

  “Great Aurauch!” Constable Mason said, slamming his fist down onto his map and slouching back in his chair. He stared at the parchment and the markings he had placed in ink; showing the murder sites as well as the areas of disappearances. Markings in black were the ones Mason felt were solitary; unique. The red blemishes he believed related. He concentrated on the red ones, and even with thirty years spent in the Watch he could find no pattern, no motive, no relevancy; only plain viciousness. Women and children slain helplessly; men killed here and there, many with their weapons lying nearby, apparently useless against the murderers, or murderer. Mason leaned forward, resting his chin on his fists, eyes on the map, searching, studying. Then there came a knock on the door.

  “Yes,” Mason called, not gazing up from his map. The door opened and Watchman Odie Spellman came in.

  “Sir, we may have a lead,” he said. Without hesitation Mason stood, nearly thrusting his chair back through the wall. Odie ran out to stay clear of his charging constable. Mason went through the hall, down the stairs and to the intake room, or the main office.

  “Well?” he asked Watchman Sergeant Donder Josh.

  “Sir,” he replied, pointing at a filthy, bearded, and robed vagrant with wild eyes who sat in a chair near the wall. “This man claims to be a seer and says he knows who is responsible for the prostitute murder last week.” Mason looked at the vagrant who slowly rose and stretched out his arms as if he meant to take flight.

  “I had a vision,” he began in a
crackly voice. “I saw the Gronga sneaking into windows and stealing children...his long claws covered in blood...his eyes fiery green. He took this woman as well, and stole into the sewers.”

  The Gronga was a mythological (believed) “bogey” type character with whom mothers threatened their children in order to keep them well behaved. The Gronga would supposedly steal children and take them to his lair in the sewers where he would lock them in cages and eat them at his leisure, throwing the scraps to his servants, the rats. So every disappearance became infallible proof for parents that the Gronga existed, though such jesting or cajoling was used less and less as the real threat of harm loomed larger over every citizen of Andrelia.

  “What!” Mason bellowed grabbing the vagrant and hauling him to the door, where he put his boot firmly to the man’s backside and sent him sprawling into the street. “Get outa here with that nonsense. Don’t waste my time, ya loon.” Mason turned and cast his men a steely glance. “Next time, find out the story before you disturb me.” He stomped back up the stairs and slammed his door.

  “Whew!” Odie sighed. “Next time, get him yourself, Sergeant.”

  “I’m in charge and you’ll do as I say. Now get back to work,” Donder said shaking his head partly in frustration, partly in disappointment. Many of the constables and their watchmen were edgy and frustrated at their inability to solve what they believed were related murders. The killing went on as the protectors stood helplessly by. In districts such as Mason’s, where the constables were convinced of the relativity and where most of the murders took place, massive clue finding expeditions had been launched, but to no avail. In the other districts, no search was made at all, only routine, separate investigations carried out, usually by different investigators who rarely shared information from case to case or district to district. This lack of cooperation only made the chance of solving the linked murders more impossible. So life went on as fear and frustration grew.

  Dirk had already been up and well for a week, cured of his wounds and, indeed as Fiona and the stranger had told him, he bore no scars. It all seemed then to him as a bad dream dissolving with the first rays of revealing sunlight. He stood upon the roof and felt the cool morning wind in his face as a cloud bank rolled in off the sea. Summer was dying and the days shortened. In a few weeks, the warm autumn days with their cold nights would replace the sweltering days and warm evenings; dry breezes would push out the humid stillness; high rolling clouds would fill the normally clear skies. Then, two short months later, the first snows would come and the city would be an island in a sea of white: no one coming in, no one leaving.

  Yet another merchant train entered the city below Dirk, coming up from the warm southern lands, a long line of laden wagons and their mounted guards. Like bees, busy as summer drew to a close, traders became more and more hurried, then frantic, each one trying to get in one last haul. The whole scene made Dirk nervous. Soon it would be winter, and another year would have passed with him stuck within the city walls. He had been busy all week, cramming his head full of information and methods pertaining to the store, especially shipping. Dirk was going to take control of that facet of the store’s management, making sure that ordered loads arrived and departed on time, and that they were correctly loaded. Jenderson would handle the books, as well as placing and receiving orders and keeping stock. Both men would split other duties as needed; customer service, rearrangement of goods and displays, as well as directing the employees.

  Jenderson and Dirk had gotten along remarkably well that week; both had come to at least respect, if not like, the other. Mr. Bessemer gathered what he needed, had scribes copy many of the important documents, then turned the office over to Jenderson. He left, vowing to return in the spring and fill them in on the new business he counted on having up and sprinting by then. The paperwork was complete; Dirk was co-owner of Bessemer’s and after his loan payments, still made over three hundred crowns every month. This was not the income of even the lowliest noble, but Dirk was now as affluent as all but the most prosperous merchants.

  That day, it was back to work as before for Dirk. There were three wagon-loads of goods that he needed to find a caravan for, so that they might travel south in two days at the latest with the protection of numbers, rather than strike out alone. To have his wagons tag along with an arranged caravan, Dirk needed to find then pay the caravan master for the permission, though such a fee was cheaper than hiring his own guards to escort the wagons to their destination.

  Dirk also had two loads on order to deliver throughout the city; one of which he would have to do himself, as he had done for years, business so heavy that week that his deliveryman could not keep up. He also needed to hire more security, since items had come up missing during his illness. His plan was to go to the Stormweather military school, The Brawny Arms Academy, to hire skilled and trusted guards. When a soldier graduated that school, he was under contract to work for his employer two years, for scant pay along with room and board; the remainder of his salary, instead, going to the Stormweathers in exchange for the soldier’s schooling. Thereafter, the man was free to seek employment wherever he desired at standard rates of pay as mercenaries, caravan guards, bodyguards, soldiers, etc.

  Dirk hoped to hire four men to work in two shifts, each pair of men with one guard dog. When Dirk inquired at The Brawny Arms, he was informed, not to his surprise, that the Stormweathers also owned an animal training hall, where he could purchase a trained animal or have animals of his choice trained. They worked with dogs, small and large, great hunting cats, bears, and beasts more strange and mystical, commonly called “monsters.” Dirk hired the men, then the dogs, and took them back to the store. He showed them the area they were to protect with orders to start the next day. He then showed them their quarters; an apartment in the upper story warehouse behind the store. By that time it was six bells and Dirk was famished. He had the foresight to arrange a date with Cinder and he washed, dressed nicely, and met her at the perfume shop. He walked in to the “ding” of the bell which hung over the door.

  “No,” Cinder said to a wizened old man, probably, Dirk thought, in his sixties. “I can’t. Tonight I have an engagement. No, tomorrow too.” She looked at Dirk. “Hello, sweety,” she said to him with a smile, rising and coming to greet him with a kiss. Dirk kissed her long and deeply, dipping Cinder back, her hair almost touching the floor. She was smitten. Dirk had never kissed her like that before; not with such flair and confidence. Cinder stood wide-eyed, staring, smiling, and biting her bottom lip playfully. Neither lover heard the old man pass out the door. “I’m going,” Cinder called into the back, not changing her expression, nor turning her eyes from Dirk’s.

  “All right,” came the answer. Cinder was, for the special occasion, permitted to leave early that day.

  Cinder’s stare made Dirk uncomfortable: to him she seemed like a vampiress, ready to devour him, and he wondered if maybe he should have kissed her in his normally friendly manner. “No,” he thought, “not this time. I’m ready for it,” he said bravely to himself.

  Cinder took his arm, smiling and still staring, teasing him as they left arm-in-arm to dinner. After the meal they went to Gambler’s Paradise, as named, a gambling den for high-class patrons. Though winning was tough and infrequent, a good haul could still be taken in one game if the player was deft enough. And if smart, the winner would quit while ahead: the Paradise was notorious for getting back what they had lost.

  After a small snack the couple enjoyed a round of drinks. “It’s nice to finally get you on a date again,” Dirk mused.

  “Mm-mm,” Cinder agreed, beaming across the table at him, her radiance making her seem rather dream-like to Dirk. She was truly glad to be with him, having been alerted by his illness how easily she might never see him again. “I’d rather be with you than anyone else. But you’re busy, too.”

  “Even Selric?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said. After a moment, she continued. “You see, Selric and I enj
oy each other’s company. He’s rich, sophisticated, charming—very charming—and a wonderful lover. But it will never go beyond that. And I do like being with you just as much, doing the things we do.” Dirk was not sure he understood, but he was not particularly encouraged. Just then he saw a familiar shape pass behind Cinder. It was the stranger; the decapitator of his attackers.

  As the stranger passed, he glanced at Dirk, a sly grin on his face. He stepped behind Cinder, raising his eyebrows and smiling in tribute to her beauty. Dirk grew nervous. Cinder noticed Dirk’s stare and whirled around, her hair flying out around her wildly, but the man had already walked away. Dirk stood, excused himself and went over to the man.

  “What are you doing here?” Dirk asked, trying to be polite.

  “I’m going to have a few drinks and ply my hand at gambling,” he said quite matter-of-factly. Then he smiled wryly saying, “That’s Cinder, is it not?”

  “Yes,” said Dirk, his eyes narrowing. “You know it is. Did you follow us—or her?”

  The man’s reply was evasive. “Have you ever played this?” he asked, walking over to a game table. “It’s called the fox. See that piece? That’s the fox,” he said pointing to a black token on a board designed similar to the track on which charioteers once raced. At various lengths behind the piece, were several white tokens. “Those are the hounds. Players roll the dice, as does the dealer, who gets a head start. If someone catches the fox before he reaches safety,” he pointed then to a line across the board, “they win.” He looked at Dirk.

  “Why don’t you answer any of my questions?” Dirk asked. He thought for a moment, as the man turned away. “Is that what you’re doing?”

 

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