Tallow came down and looked at him as if he’d risen from the grave. Her face became a broad smile. “Dirk!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
“I came...I came to see you,” he fumbled then he paused. “I don’t know. I walked and I ended up here.” He stood up as if realizing where he was, ready to leave, but unlike his other female friends she did not approach and kiss him, but instead kept her distance.
“That’s very nice,” Tallow said, waiting to see what he wanted. “When Vanna, that’s my roommate, is done, we can go upstairs, if you’d like.” He shrugged and nodded, thinking that that would be as good a place to talk as any, deciding that he might as well stay since he had apparently gone there for some reason, even though he did not know right then what that reason had been.
“You don’t want a threesome do you? Free of charge?” Beatrice asked, standing and taking his hand into her two small ones. Dirk looked puzzled, still in a daze at winding up at Tallow’s house. He was surprised that he even remembered her name. But there it was, as clear as day in his memory. Then he snapped to his senses.
“No,” he said, annoyed. Beatrice shrugged, smiled and bounced toward the stairs.
“Let me know if you change your mind, darlin’,” she called once out of sight, followed by the sound of a door closing. Tallow looked at him still. She was definitely enamored, though Dirk was too confused to see it. He was the kind of man she had come to the city to find almost two years ago, but “isn’t he every girl’s dream?” she thought with an audible sigh. He was strong, handsome and well-to-do. He was kind, thoughtful, and quiet, and seemed so smart to someone like her from the country. But now she knew she could never have him, or anyone like him; not permanently. When she turned to prostitution to survive, she ruined any chance of ever getting a man like him. Now all she wanted was to raise enough money and courage to go crawling back home.
“Hi,” Dirk said simply when he saw her soft green eyes focused on him with the innocence of a child and the pain of hard years. Melissa was innocent, but a woman. Tallow seemed just a child; a soiled, disappointed and beleaguered child. Delighting her was easy and would make any man feel like a hero, the kind of satisfaction, like praise and recognition, he had sought his whole life.
“Hi,” she replied, barely audible. She sat down crossing her legs, away from Dirk, as if uncomfortable with him. Dirk did the same, without the crossing of the legs, and they sat on opposite ends of the couch, silent for several minutes.
“I haven’t seen you in a while. Actually since you brought me home.”
“No. I’ve been gone for the last month.”
“Oh,” she said. “Well, it’s nice to see you all the same.”
“Thanks, it’s nice to see you too,” Dirk said. He had always hated prostitutes and could not imagine it being “nice” at all to see her. He had always imagined that they liked what they did, but Tallow seemed to deny it, to ignore it in a sense. It had darkened her, that was clear, but he could still see she had a youthful exuberance which helped her shed herself of the heavy mantle of guilt she might otherwise have felt. He thought if he, or someone in general, could only take her away from such a life she could be someone so much more admirable.
Tallow was pretty and feminine, and her innocence and charm made Dirk feel like a man. He wasn’t on trial, like with Fiona, Melissa, or especially, Cinder. Dirk wanted to make love to her, but he didn’t want to use her, and he couldn’t do it and not pay her either. He could not imagine why he felt so conflicted, but perhaps having always shunned prostitutes made it hard for him to consider employing one. Had he subconsciously thought of her for the past month? He wasn’t sure. Just then, a heavy man, wiping the sweat from his brow while hiding his face, whisked down the stairs in back, across the room and out the front door without a glance or a word.
“We’ll be able to go up in a minute,” Tallow said. “I’ll be right back.” With that, she rose and disappeared up the steps. Dirk looked around the room: it was small and sparsely, but tastefully, decorated. Two paintings, a flower vase on a delicate table, a long low table set before the couch, and two stuffed chairs were all the furnishings. After a few minutes Tallow called him. Dirk went to the stairs, waited a moment then, not seeing her, walked up. There was a small landing at the top with two doors on the left, and one straight ahead from where the sound of splashing water came. Tallow stood in the first doorway on the left: she was smiling and Dirk thought she looked slightly uncomfortable.
“Come in,” she said, and Dirk did. The bed, a large one, lay immediately ahead, while the rest of the room sat off to the left. There was a dressing table and mirror with a stool, a wooden chair, a wardrobe, and the window which was framed by two brass pieces of artwork. Tallow sat on the bed and Dirk went there as well, but placed himself away from her.
“What have you been up to?” Tallow asked, still smiling, though clearly nervous. She climbed into the middle of the bed and sat on her knees, running a finger across her face to remove her hair from it as Dirk shrugged his shoulders in reply to her question.
“Not much,” he said, “I mean, we went on this adventure onto the moors, but that’s all.” He didn’t know why he was trivializing the highlight of his life up to that point, but right then it seemed so distant and long ago. “What have you been doing?” he asked. Tallow turned her head.
“Oh, nothing much,” she murmured, feeling sick thinking of what it was she had done in that room, on that bed, especially then with Dirk right next to her. He realized, too late, it had been a dumb question. Tallow jumped off the bed excitedly, needing to be off it, startling Dirk, but not wanting to appear hurt at his question, so she continued talking as she sat in front of her mirror. “What else have you done?” she asked.
“Well,” Dirk said as he thought, “that’s it, at least since we met. That’s where I’ve been.”
“Oh,” she said. Tallow did not want to appear like she was attacking him sexually, but Dirk was not making his motive clear. He must want sex, or he wouldn’t have come here, she thought. Tallow slowly brushed her hair and watched Dirk in the mirror. He didn’t notice. “Would you like serviced?” she asked, stopping her motions. She saw Dirk smile, then it faded. He shrugged again.
“Serviced?” he then asked, as if unsure exactly what she meant.
“You know…my services? To do it…sex…make love?” Tallow posed, normally using that phrase only as a last resort since what she did was as far from love as anything she could think of.
“I don’t know. Do you?” He looked at her and saw that she watched him. Tallow turned her glance away and setting down her brush, stood. “I wanted to come see you…to see if you were ok…if you were all right,” he said nervously.
“That is sooo sweet of you,” she said. “You don’t need to be nervous.” Tallow walked over to Dirk and asked him to untie the strings holding her dress tightly to her breast. He stared at her curvaceous form as she stood before him, her chest before his face. Dirk released the bow of her bodice and needed do little else as the string unraveled the rest of the way easily and Tallow’s young healthy body spilled over its restraints. Dirk then pulled her onto him, grabbing her shoulders and she straddled his legs, holding his face in her hands and kissing down at him from above. As their passion soared there came two brisk knocks, and the door flew open. Tallow leapt off Dirk and pulled her peeled top back together with one hand, the other raised a Beatrice and two other girls who came into the room and, seeing Dirk, stood slack jawed, staring.
“I need my face paints, Tallow,” said a short, pretty blonde, apparently Vanna, Tallow’s roommate. Beatrice and the other shook the dumb looks from their faces and went to the wardrobes, giggling and whispering to each other, ostensibly looking for garments.
“Great gods!” one of them whispered heartily to the other.
“Can we borrow some clothes?” they asked, chuckling. Dirk pulled the bed covers over top of himself and turned red with anger and embarrass
ment. Before he could begin yelling, Tallow went on the offensive, grabbing her coworkers, first with one hand then with both and shoving them out the door, not concerned that she was awkwardly half naked by the time she turned the key and locked them out. She was leaning against the door, her chest bare and she shrugged at him and laughed. Dirk could not help but chuckle himself and his presence in that room, that bed no longer made him uncomfortable and he laughed louder.
“Where were we?” Tallow mused, pulling her arms free of her loose top and tossing it to the floor, before leaping onto Dirk and kissing him deeply.
When Dirk had gone, his fire quenched, his passion sapped, his guilt grew strong, not that Cinder or Melissa would even care anymore: his relationship with them was so convoluted he didn’t even worry about it anymore. He just did whatever they told him to do and let them sort out whom he belonged to. But for Tallow, he felt he had used her. He felt he had lowered himself. When he made love to her, he vented the frustration he increasingly felt from his three other women friends. He was rough, and he could tell that he had hurt her. But Tallow wanted to please Dirk more than any other man in her life. So she gave him free rein, even begging him to do all he desired. She had done the same for men she would have felt nothing for if they had died stepping off her front porch. For Dirk, she would do anything.
Dirk left money, not so much as payment as it was for her to “buy something nice,” he said, paying her ten times what she normally received. Then he went home and tried to forget about it; and her. He already had too many women in his life. For once he had wanted emotionless sex. He tried to tell himself the bout lacked any heartfelt emotions, but he felt then a flood of emotions, namely frustration and confusion.
Will hid in the shadows, silently fending off invisible warriors with his gleaming knife. He stopped and quickly pressed himself against the wall, in the deepest dark, at the sound of approaching footsteps. He slipped his knife back into its sheath and peered down the street, squatting down as if on a secret mission, which in a way, he was. Coming his way, was the round form and top hat of Trundle the spice merchant, wheeling this way, then that, mumbling to himself. Will threw the tattered cloak over his shoulders and quickly smeared dirt on his face, loudly calling, “Pardon, sir” his palm thrust out, “me mom’s sick. Could you spare a mere piece o’ silver or maybe a gold crown, sir? Please.” Trundle scoffed and went to move by, then with a sudden change of heart, dug deep into a jingling pouch and pulled out a handful of coins. Searching, amidst the gold coins he found one silver and dropped it into Will’s palm.
“Thank you. Thank you much,” the last three words he said quite loudly, even Trundle noticed, but the merchant went up the stairs and through a door, slamming it behind his bulk. “Many blessings on you, sir. Many thanks!” Will called after the man loudly.
Will quickly bent to the ground, searching for a pebble. “Never one when you need one,” he said to himself as his hands groped in the dark for a stone, ever more frantically. “Come on, come on!” Finally, he sighed in frustration, giving up. Standing, he pulled forth the piece of silver he had already stowed away, kissed it hurriedly farewell then hurled it up and through the open shutters of a second story window. Shortly, Selric’s naked torso appeared in the frame, pulling his shirt over his head. He gave Will the “o.k.” sign then whirled suddenly around, as if startled. Pressed for time, he swung out onto the shutter, draping his arm over it then kicking away so that the shutter, and thus himself, again hung next to the wall and out of sight of anyone within. He clung there precariously for several seconds, then with a “crack,” the shutter broke away and came crashing to the street, Selric with it. Will covered his eyes for a moment then fled into the alley, his master scrambling quickly behind. Trundle rushed to the window, but only the broken wood lay below.
“You know I lost a silver tonight,” Will scolded his older friend as they slowed to a walk down the dark alley.
“Oh?” Selric asked, putting his arm around Will’s shoulder. “You did well. A little close, but all is right.” Will reached into Selric’s pouch and slyly pulled forth a coin; it was a gold crown. Will smiled to himself, and so did Selric as he secretly watched Will slide it into his own pocket and said naught about catching the pickpocket at his work.
“What can you talk about for so long?” Will asked. “Do you play or something?”
“Someday...”
“I know, someday I’ll understand.” He paused in thought. “That means you were kissing again. I’ll bet you were lying on top of her too, and she was making sounds like her belly hurt.” Will mocked the image of a woman moaning so much that she would have been dying from the Plague to make such sounds. “I’ll never understand that,” he laughed. Selric laughed heartily.
“I think you’ve been spying when you should be on the lookout,” Selric said.
“Who me?”
They had walked no more than two blocks like this, when a woman, or maybe she was a tall girl, stepped out of the shadows. She was slightly taller than Cinder. She was thinner than the sculpted, voluptuous half-elf, a more slender, girlish body, yet tall and elegant. And young she did seem, like Fiona. Her light curls fell down her back like a waterfall glittering in the moonlight. But, strangely it seemed to Selric, she was dressed as a thug in dark breeches, vest, and heavy boots.
Selric stepped forward, smiling, and released Will, then immediately heard scuffles behind him. When he wheeled around, sword already drawn, he saw a rogue holding Will, a knife to his young throat. Selric shook his head, having been caught so dull in his senses. He could have leapt forth and hewn the villain down, without a chance of the boy being hurt, but another female, more wicked appearing than the first, came and stood by, long sword in her hand. Then, another man brought the count to four. This last one approached Selric.
“Drop the blade, master,” the man holding Will commanded. “Or the urchin’s blood will fill the gutter. And up with your gold, while you’re at it.” With a twist, Selric flipped the sword into its scabbard. He unfastened his belt and lovingly laid the pouch and sword upon the stones.
“Step back,” the second man said. Selric did.
As the man approached, Selric spoke. “Very well, but anyone who steals that sword, I will kill. It is the law of the East. And, if you harm the boy, I will not rest until you all suffer harshly. There is nowhere in this city you can hide from me. I don’t think you know upon whom you ply your trade.” Selric said this with such fellness, that the second man faltered, frozen in his steps, unable to touch the sword.
“Fool,” said the older, darker woman as she walked up. She bent down and picked up the blade and money without hesitation, casting Selric an arrogant, spiteful stare. Then she turned and fled into the dark. The other female, after a sorrowful, kind look toward Selric, ran on behind, her long hair flowing out behind her as she fled. Then the terrified thug next ran off. The apparent leader, the one with a knife to Will’s throat, stood there pondering Selric’s words. He wondered if he killed the boy whether or not flight would be possible. Just as Selric was about to make a move, the thief turned and fled.
“Go after them,” Will pleaded. “They took my knife!” Selric stared after them as their steps died away in the night, along with the urgent cry of: “Alanna...come on!” Selric had such fire in his eyes that Will fell quiet.
“I’ll get it back,” Selric said finally, a kinder look coming over him as he patted Will’s back. “Come, off to bed. Nothing else we can do tonight,” he said as pleasantly as he could, though he could not remember ever feeling so helpless and abused. Will was safe, and though his sword was the most important possession Selric had ever owned, he would get it back. Will, on the other hand, could not be replaced.
The King’s personal messenger, Sir Donaldson, an elderly knight renowned during the reign of Alhad’s father, King Casmar Buchevelt, handed a letter sealed with the King’s crest to Sergeant Donder Josh, then turned on his heel and marched out. Sergeant Josh and Watc
hman Odie looked curiously at each other. Donder swallowed hard and took the notice slowly up the steps, rapping lightly on the constable’s door.
“Enter,” Mason called. Donder Josh went in. The Constable sat facing away from the door, staring out the window.
“There’s...there’s a message here...from the King, sir,” Donder said. Mason swung slowly around, unimpressed; he had gotten letters from the King before. Donder stepped back uncontrollably at the fearsome visage of his constable, noticing that Mason’s eyes were bloodshot and he looked as though he had been in his chair all night. In fact, Donder could not recall seeing his Constable come in that morning. Mason opened the letter unceremoniously, lazily, and his eyes scanned the parchment, his expression going from calm, to anger, to befuddlement, to...tears. He then started to laugh, salty tears running down his parched and wrinkled face. Donder thought his constable had gone mad and again took one slight step back.
“Read it,” Mason commanded, tossing the parchment on his desk in front of the sergeant. Then he turned again. “Out loud.”
“Constable Mason, I don’t know if I should read...”
“Read it!” he yelled. Donder stepped gingerly forward, as if the floor would open up and swallow him if he dared take the letter, but take the letter he did, and he began to read.
“It has come to my attention that you are wasting man hours on a pointless search in your belief that a few murders are related. I am informed by His Eminence Thunderstaff that this is not true. Save my money and your time and put your men back to work as they should be. I want to hear no more of this. Stop the investigation. This is my decree. Do my will. King Alhad Buchevelt.” Donder fell silent, realizing that the tears Mason shed, were tears of utter frustration. Even Donder himself realized that some of the murders were different; that was obvious to anyone who looked honestly at the situation. Perhaps this was because Mason had illustrated to all his men exactly his thinking, and how the deaths were of a different breed, as he schooled them in bringing the murderer or murderers to justice. But different they were, and all at the station knew it.
By Moonlight Wrought (Bt Moonlight Wrought) Page 28