by Robert Beers
Neely noticed her hand. “Naow, missy, we ain't lookin’ fer no trouble. Flynn an’ me are peaceful types, we are. Aren't we, Flynn.”
Flynn nodded, using all his chins. “Aye, that's a fack, that is. Why, Neely an me never even hurt any o’ the’ shopkeepers we robbed ... ow!” Neely stuck his elbow into Flynn's ample belly.
Charity stood up. The two thieves saw the bow in her left hand. Neely backed away, holding up his hands as a shield, “n..n..now, missy. Don't go doin’ nothing rash, now. We means you no harm, an’ that's Bardoc's truth, it is.”
“I'll need a little more proof than that, I think.” Charity drew an arrow and smoothly nocked it while watching them. She saw their eyes widen to nearly popping.
Flynn dropped to his knees and began blubbering. “Oh, spare me, Milady. I promises to never thieve agin. I'll write me mum each day, an ... an I'll put flowers on me Da's grave, I will, an'...an’ I'll serves you, yes I will, an’ you don't have to pay me a mite, you don't. Not a mite.”
Neely looked at his companion for a few seconds, and then he dropped to his knees, as well. “What he says, miss, uh Milady. Iffn you needs a couple of good mates ta be yer helpers an’ such, it's me an’ Flynn, it is.”
Charity lowered her bow. She noticed their eyes following it. She decided to give them a lesson in trustworthiness. “Are you any good with those knives of yours?”
They looked at their knives. They were both longer than the average hunter, but not quite a short sword's length.
Flynn shook his head, causing another chin quake. “Aye, Milady, but Neely's better hittin’ th’ target than meself.”
Charity coolly appraised Neely. He felt a chill in his gut. “Oh, really ... You see that ear on that cornstalk over there?” She pointed to a stalk that stood higher than the others, about a dozen yards down the row.
“Aye ... I see it.” He kept one eye on Charity's bow.
“Do you think you could hit it with your knife?”
He stroked his chin, intrigued. “Well, now ... I don't rightly know, missy. I knows I could give it good scare.”
Charity noticed that his use of Milady had changed to missy. “Let's see how close you come then.”
Neely nodded and drew his knife. He flipped it, and caught it by the blade like an expert. He straightened his arm, sighted along the blade, and then threw in one swift motion. The first arrow caught the knife and carried it another thirty yards down the row. The second arrow severed the ear from the stalk, and the third speared it in the middle halfway to the ground.
Neely stood there, imitating a feeding carp, and Flynn dropped to the ground again, holding his clasped hands in front of him. “Pleeease don't kill me, Milady. I'll be good. I promises I will. An’ so will Neely.” The last came out in a rush.
Neely darted a glance at Flynn, and then stared at Charity. He looked down the row at where his knife lay, then walked to get it and then came back to Charity. He dropped to one knee and held the knife out to her; his back was mast straight. “Milady, I never seen a bow shot like that, an’ I been in th’ army as a bowman an’ tracker meself.” He took a deep breath. “I ain't much ta look at, I knows, but iffn you needs a blade at yer back, Milady...”
Charity took the offered knife, and looked at it. There was a deep scratch on the guard where her arrow had caught it, but it seemed to be in good shape otherwise, Adam, her breath caught at the memory, had known more about such things. She placed the knife back in Neely's hands. “I accept your service and that of your friend's, and I promise that I will defend your lives with my bow as much as you will mine with your blades.” Neely began to rise, but she stopped him with an upraised hand. “One more thing.”
They both chorused. “Yes, Milady.”
“That's just it. My name is Charity, not Milady. I would like it if you both called me by my name. Two fine Innkeepers taught me that, and you would do them honor if you followed that teaching.”
Neely stood. “I will, miss ... uh Charity. I will.”
Flynn was wiping his eyes.” She's more of a lady standin’ in this here cornfield than th’ one's in the wossname ... perpatett.”
“I think you mean parapet.” Charity said.
“An’ smart, too.”
Neely rolled his eyes. Charity smothered a giggle. She walked down the row to retrieve her arrows. Her two new companions followed her.
“Where did you learn to shoot like that? Iffn you don't mind me askin'.” Neely asked out of the side of his mouth.
“I sort of just picked it up, really.” She added at the look on his face. “I guess you could say I was born into it.”
Flynn poked Neely in the small of his back. “A natural, Neely, just like in th’ prophecy!”
Neely didn't answer, but Charity saw the added respect in their eyes. She checked her arrows, and then placed them back into the quiver. “You still haven't answered my question.”
“I don't rightly remember the’ question.” Neely scratched his head under his hat.
“About why you woke me up.”
Neely looked embarrassed.” Well ... uh ... you see, uh, we...”
“You were intending on robbing me, weren't you?”
“Not really. We ... uh ... we just...”
“We was near ta beggin', miss ... uh, Charity, we was. Ain't no one mindful of givin’ Neely an’ me jobs, so we was fixin’ on askin’ if you'd ... uh..."Flynn's voice trailed off in embarrassment.
Charity broke out in a peal of laughter. “You were going to beg from me?”
Neely quickened his steps to get in front of Charity. “But, your clothes are of such fine workmanship ... we thought...”
“The clothes were given to me by a friend, and I have only a few coins that were given to me by my brother, plus the ones I earned making sausage.”
Flynn and Neely stopped short. “You made sausage?”
Flynn swallowed a mouthful of saliva. “You remember sausage, don't you, Neely? Poppin’ on the fire an’ catchin’ the fat on a slice of brown bread...”
Neely's voice became dreamy. “Liver sausage ... pepper sausage ... innards sausage ... blood sausage ... my favorite part is when you first stick the knife in...”
“Mmmm.” Flynn licked his lips. He came out of his reverie enough to ask Charity. “Where do you plan on travelin’ to, Miss Charity?”
Charity blinked at the change of subject, then she pointed towards the mountains behind them.” I came over those. I'm looking for some place where I can get a fresh start.”
Flynn and Neely looked thoughtful for a moment. Flynn lifted a finger.” There's Berggren.”
* * * *
Gilgafed kept his gaze on the vase. It had been a month now. A month! Since that never to be sufficiently damned Wizard had erased his block on that traveling vortex, and still his power hadn't increased to the point where he could light a small faggot. “Is it warming?”
His servant, Cobain touched the vase, “A little.” He glanced nervously at his master. “Perhaps you should rest a bit, Milord.”
Gilgafed tore his gaze away from the vase, and leaned back in his chair. He pounded the arm of the chair in frustration. “Pfaugh! I've rested enough for one half my age. Bring me wine, and then we'll try again.”
He let his perception wander as Cobain rushed to get the wine. Though he was now crippled, his senses were still active enough to explore the world. He passed by the Witch and her hut near the fens. That budding Sorcerer in Grisham showed promise, but would be no factor, where he was concerned, for years yet.
Of the two brats who troubled him, he could sense the girl more acutely than the boy. There was a change in her. He could not put a finger on exactly what it was. It was something to think about, and then see if it could be used. The boy worried him, still. Since that moment of backlash, his perceptions had slipped away from the boy as if he was trying to catch hold of a greased shoat.
He considered the girl again. She seemed to be moving in the direction of Berggr
en; perhaps a note to Cloutier would be in order. The idea touched his fancy. Cloutier would be ideal in dealing with one like her. Yes, indeed.
Chapter Nine
“So, this is Berggren.” Charity looked at the houses on either side of the street. Most of them were two and three story wooden buildings with balcony windows and high, peaked thatched roofs. Beneath their feet, the street was tightly cobbled with rounded stones. Here and there splashes of pigeon droppings showed which houses the birds liked for their roost.
“Aye, miss. ‘Tis a full city, it is.” Flynn's eyes were wide as he caught all the sites he could in the bustling streets. The morning was still young when they made their way through the city's gates. The sleepy guards waved them through without asking if they had anything to declare.
“It's the largest city in this area East of the mountains.” Neely snagged an apple from a cart as they passed it while the vendor was bending over a pack. “Iffn a fresh start is available, it's here.”
“Specially iffn the one lookin’ kin do whut you kin, m'lady.” Flynn looked at her with open admiration.
Charity kept a tight grip on her bow. The street was crowded with carts, horses and crowds of people. She cried out as her foot was trod on by a large man hauling a large sack of what smelled like potatoes on his back.
“Sorry, miss.” The man muttered as he passed them.
“Just watch where ye be treadin’ man.” Neely growled to the man's back.
Charity was just as glad to see him keep going. The fellow was easily twice Neely's size.
They turned a corner, and passed into a street of shops. Smells of cooking filled the morning air, and Charity felt her mouth beginning to water. Her stomach rumbled.
“I'd like to find some breakfast.” She said to her companions.
“There's a likely spot, miss.” Flynn pointed to a storefront with a sign hung over the door carrying a picture of a mug and a loaf of bread.
Charity pushed her way through the crowded street, and opened the door beneath the sign. The smell of fresh baked bread washed over her, and she smelled sausages!
Flynn and Neely followed on her heels.
“Smell that, Flynn?”
“Aye, I do, Neely. Pork bangers, them is.”
“So you'll be wantin’ breakfast, then?” The owner of the voice threw all of Charity's preconceptions of shop owners and Innkeepers out the window. He was so thin as to be cadaverous; his wife, or so she supposed the woman next to him to be, was equally thin. He wore an off-white apron covered with old stains. In his left hand he held a pitcher, his right hand clutched a damp cloth.
“Yes, please.” Charity reached into her belt pouch, and pulled out a silver. The woman snatched it out of her hand, and silently pointed them to the table under the window.
The man set the pitcher and three cups down onto the table. “Hot tisane for three. We have Bangers an’ chips, Fried tomato an’ egg, scones an’ fried bread.”
Flynn looked across the room where a large potbellied man was tucking into a huge plate of sausages, potatoes and fried bread. “Kin I have whut he's havin'?
Neely turned his head in the direction Flynn was pointing. “Looks good. Bring me one, too.”
“That be two coppers extra.”
Her companions looked at Charity. She sighed and dug out the coppers. The man made them disappear.
Charity poured herself a cup of tisane. “I'd like egg and tomato with some scones, please.”
The man nodded and yelled the order over his shoulder. “Two biggun's, break an egg an’ kill a luv apple! Scones on the way, miss.” He nodded to Charity, and then turned to refill the other diner's cup with more tisane.
“Town's busier than I recall.” Neely sipped his tisane.
“Folk runnin’ from the war ‘cross the mountains, I expect.” Flynn picked up a cup, and poured himself a helping.
At Flynn's mention of the war, Charity found her memory journeying back to the last time she had seen Adam. She shook the memory off, and forced herself to return to the present. The street outside was becoming busier. A yellow dog followed a cart pulled by oxen, with a small boy holding a switch walking alongside. The oxen did what oxen do, causing a horseman behind them to curse loudly and swerve his mount to the side. Charity tittered at the sight.
“Somethin’ funny, miss?” Neely looked up from his cup.
Charity told him about the oxen and the horse.
He threw back his head. and laughed. Flynn joined in the joke.
“Here's yer breakfast.” The man plopped down Flynn and Neely's platters. They were piled high with sausages and fried potatoes. A half dozen slices of fried bread ringed the pile. The smell of sage mixed with that of crisped pork floated up from the plates. Flynn wiped the drool from his mouth, and dug in like a starving man.
“Hsst!” Neely dug an elbow into Flynn's side.
“What?” Flynn mumbled around a mouthful of sausage and chips.
“She hasn't been served yet. Where are your manners?” Neely waved a thumb in Charity's direction.
Charity gave Neely a smile that melted his heart. “I'm all right, Neely. You go ahead and eat your breakfast before it gets cold. Mine should be here soon enough.”
Neely eyed his platter longingly.” You're sure, miss?”
“I'm sure. Go ahead, eat.”
Neely tore into his food with fervor equal to Flynn's. Travel biscuits may be sustaining, but they can't compare to freshly fried sausage.
“Here you are, miss.” A plate with two eggs and three slices of fried tomato slid in front of her, followed by a plate with scones and clotted cream.
“Thank you.” She moved her bow so it leaned against the wall, and picked up a scone. It was still warm. She spooned some of the cream onto it, and ate. The flavor of the scone was wonderful. She cut some egg and added a bit of tomato to the slice, and conveyed it to her mouth. “Mmmm.”
Flynn and Neely looked up and nodded agreement.
She signaled to the man, and he came over. “You want something, miss?”
“I just want to tell you how good the food is, and to thank you for it.”
His face nearly cracked a smile. He gave her a half bow. “Thank you, miss. I'll be sure to tell the missus. She don't hear that much in this town.”
Flynn and Neely saluted him with their knives, and mumbled their thanks with full mouths.
The pot-bellied man finished his food, and stood up to leave. He slapped a silver and a copper onto his table, and walked to the door. He looked at Charity and her companions for a long moment, and then left the eatery.
“What was that all about?” Neely nudged Flynn with his elbow.
“Dunno.” Flynn mopped up some of the savory fat with a piece of fried bread. “Gave us the fish eye, though, didn't he?”
“What are you going on about?” Charity picked up the last scone and cream.
Flynn poked his piece of bread in the direction of the door “That fellow with the pillow belly who just left. He was givin’ us the fish eye, he was.”
“Don't like it.” Neely muttered. “Could mean trouble.”
“Like robbin’ us, you mean?” Flynn finished his bread, and washed it down with the last of the tisane.
“Maybe worse. Remember the press gangs of Firth, ten years back?”
Flynn rubbed his wrist. Neely's mention of the press gangs of Firth brought back painful memories. “I think we'd better go, Neely.”
Neely looked at Charity. She nodded. “Right. We're off, then.” He popped a last chip into his mouth, and closed his eyes for a second as he chewed it. “Wish we weren't.”
Charity picked up her bow and quiver.” If we're going to go, let's go.”
Neely opened the door, and peeked to either side.
“See anything?” Flynn was right behind him.
“Naw. Must've been nerves.” Neely looked back at Charity. “Sorry, miss.”
“It's OK, Neely. We may as well see the rest of the city, anyw
ay.”
“Right you are.” Neely pushed the door fully open, and stepped out and to the side.
Flynn and Charity followed. Some of the morning clouds had been swept away by a stiff breeze that blew back their hair.
“Stay where you are.” The voice had the ring of one used to command.
They looked up to see a man wearing rich-looking garments, astride a gleaming white horse. To either side of him stood men at arms wearing chain mail, hoods and surcoats as well, carrying halberds and pikes. They out-numbered them by over four to one. The figure on the horse leaned forward and smiled. Charity did not like the look of that smile. It belonged to a man of indeterminate age, darkly handsome with thick, wavy black hair, high prominent cheekbones and full lips. He was dressed in black silk trimmed with burgundy and forest green. A rapier with an elaborate golden basket hilt lay strapped to his left side. A dagger with an ivory handle capped with gold balanced it on his right.
He groomed an eyebrow with his fingertips. “My name is Lord Cloutier. I am the Earl of this city, and I wish to know your business here, if any.”
“Blimey. He's going to hang us, Neely. We been found out.”
“Shut up.” Neely whispered to Flynn out of the side of his mouth.
Charity stepped forward. “I'm called Charity. My companions are Flynn and Neely. We're refugees of the war across the mountains. We've useful skills, and would like to be given a chance to prove our worth.”
“I'll bet she has useful skills.” The stage whisper was spoken in a coarse voice within the ranks of guardsmen. A leering snicker washed through them.
Cloutier waved them silent. “And what skills might those be?” Another snicker from the rank.
Charity felt the flush warming her face, and damned herself for giving in to the teasing. “I am a trained Butcher's helper.”
“Bet I know what she helped ‘im with.” Snicker.
“Silence!” Cloutier roared the command without turning his head. The faces of the rank went white. He focused his gaze on Charity. The look was predatory. “How old are you?”
She swallowed in spite of her determination not to show fear. “Sixteen summers, my lord.”