Remedy Maker

by Sheri Fredricks

  Aleksander’s expression sobered and grew serious once again. He indicated the man at the table sitting in shadow. “This is Nubbs. He might be able to help us.”

  Fifteen

  Nubbs poured himself another shot of brandy and set the bottle on the table. From where he sat, in the furthest corner of the darkest room in the bar, he observed two recently arrived centaurs scanning the smoke-filled pub. Both wore Savella’s royal signature armband and sharp eyes that narrowed on each patron’s face.

  Hell, who could miss them? Their silver glinted across the length of two hazy rooms.

  The first warrior, decked out in military rags, seemed to be enjoying himself with a confidential air Nubbs recognized. This was Kempor Aleksander, Queen Savella’s head palace guard. His close-cropped, black goatee and arrogant swagger were hard to dismiss from Nubbs’s memory, even after seventy-some years.

  What the hell was he doing here?

  The Centaur in true form following Aleksander wasn’t familiar to Nubbs. Long dark hair touched the man’s broad shoulders, the clean-shaven jaw set. His buckskin coat gleamed smooth and shiny under the phosphorescent light. He filled out his civy shirt well.

  This man gave Nubbs pause for consideration.

  He took a sip of the drink he poured, and let it sit on his tongue and infuse his senses. The true Centaur’s long scar on his hairless cheek wasn’t made from a female’s fingernail in the throes of passion. That much Nubbs was certain. The way his eyes darted around the bar’s interior, zeroing in on the new cage dancer, gave away his personal agenda.

  Nubbs discreetly glanced at the drinkers around him, wondering what the two Centaurs were looking for. Drugs? If so, they had come to the right place.

  No. He swallowed hard. They didn’t seem the type to get jacked up.

  Shit. Not some-thing. He threw back the rest of his shot and reached to pour another. The Centaurs were looking for some-one.

  Nubbs felt like a circus performer who spun plates on the ends of long sticks balanced high above him. He had taken time to set up his various activities just the way he wanted them. Years, actually. Up to, and including, the lackeys who worked for him. He ran the best operation in Boronda, and he made damn sure there wasn’t a goddamn one of them that cheated or stole from him.

  Unlike the fucking Wood Nymph who had tried to shimmer him into a tree during the war—and got away with the tips of his fingers. Four of his left hand digits had been stuck in the tree’s trunk with a full-blown battle waging around him. Aleksander had cut him free.

  Aleksander. Who did he want to find at The Three Legged Mare?

  At the table next to him, a couple of drug-crazed Water Nymphs were shoving their tongues down each other’s throats. The female kept moaning “mercy”, although by the looks of it, she didn’t want any.

  Nubbs made a mental note to talk to the girl once the guy took a hike. He could use a new Nymph over on the east side.

  He’d had himself some Nymph once, and blew his load in under a minute. While it didn’t do much for his manhood, that species was great for business. And that’s what it was all about. Calling the shots, hiring fresh meat, and culling those who no longer profited. He couldn’t afford to lose business, so he kept it all under a tight rein. What encompassed his self-made empire were black market deals, gambling, prostitution, and drugs. Nubbs made sure he was the go-to guy.

  Bacchus. He set the full glass away from him. It was bullshit that he was here in the first place. He could have sent one of his deputies to handle things.

  And there they were, the two Centaurs, headed his way with iron in their backs. He lifted his hand to his face, scrubbed his eyes hard, and cussed again. Shit like this is what gave Centaurs like him bleeding ulcers.

  Apparently, those internal boils didn’t like their brandy neat.

  He rode out the pain that speared through his gut, and gasped for breath. Then he picked up the full glass and shot it down. Fuck my ulcer.

  Aleksander stepped up to the corner table; his buddy had been delayed by the smoked-out Minotaurs.

  Nubbs, formerly of the Centaur Royal Guard, shifted his gaze from the longhaired Centaur with forbidding eyes to his former squad mate. There was an official glint in Aleksander’s eye that prickled the hairs on the back of Nubbs’s neck. He remembered that look well. It was what had propelled Alek to the top of the military food chain, while Nubbs had quietly walked away, content in his undisclosed position in a little-known royal office that didn’t have a damn thing to do with palace politics.

  “Nubbs. How you doin’, man?” Aleksander grasped the outstretched hand and gave it a hearty shake. “It’s been a long time.”

  “Aleksander. I haven’t seen you in almost seventy-five years. How’s it hanging?” Nubbs hadn’t gotten where he was by not knowing how to play the game. He leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs out under the table. If Alek wanted something, let him bring it up.

  Alek gestured with a thumb over his shoulder to the man he’d walked in with. “Hundred bucks says Rhycious takes the Minotaur out in one move.”

  “Why not? I’m bored.” He dug the dough out of his front pocket. “You’re on.”

  Propped up by the wall behind him, Alek crossed his arms, and Nubbs waited.

  “Do you still have your fingers in what goes on around here?” Alek asked.

  Bingo.

  “I might.”

  “What have you heard about anarchy?”

  What have I not heard? “Depends on which side of the line you stand.” He picked up the bottle and tilted it, handing the filled glass to Alek.

  “I stand where I always have.” Alek slugged it down and hissed between his teeth. “The side where you stood and served next to me for two hundred years.” He handed the glass back.

  They watched his friend upend the Minotaur’s chair and walk toward them. Very smooth—it was a practiced move on the Centaur’s part. Nubbs slid the benny across the dirty table.

  Aleksander laughed and pocketed the money, crossing his arms again. When the other man joined them, Nubbs signaled the waitress for two more glasses. The easygoing camaraderie between Alek and his friend spoke of years of common knowledge. Other than a brother who refused his family ties with him, most everyone Nubbs knew before the war was dead.

  “This is Nubbs,” Alek indicated with his chin. “He might be able to help us.” He lifted an elbow and dipped his head toward his friend. “This is Rhycious. We’re working together.”

  And this has mission written all over it. Fuck. He hated assigned operations and, the gods knew, his had been one gut-wrenching cluster-fuck after another.

  He shook hands with Rhycious, and Nubbs indicated to Alek the empty stool across from him. The transitioned Centaur could stand. Alek twirled the chair around and straddled it.

  Rhycious leaned down and kept his voice low. “I need information on an underground movement. One slated to shove Savella off her throne.”

  Nubbs checked his watch. His meeting with the arms dealer wouldn’t start for another hour. It had taken forever to set it up, and he wasn’t going to blow that deal.

  “I don’t know much,” he lied. “Just that it’s an inside job. Someone in a position to reap from Her Majesty’s demise.”

  Oh, he knew a hell of a lot more than what he was saying, but not at the expense of his carefully laid contacts. He’d been assigned his mission, too. Covert that it was.

  The little Satyr returned with two filmy shot glasses and smacked them on the table in front of Aleksander. “Anything else for you, boys?”

  “Why hello, sweet-thing.” Aleksander’s brows bobbed up and down. “Nothing for me, thanks, but I’ve got something for you.”

  “Ugh! Centaurs.” She bleated a few choice words and tore off to serve her other tables clamoring for more drink.

  “There’s got to be more,” Rhycious pressed, fishing for information. “What level? How high up are we talking?”

  Nubbs poured brandy in
all three shot glasses and doled them out accordingly.

  Rhycious pushed his back. “No, thanks.”

  Grabbing up his shot, he glanced at Alek and inclined his head at the only nondrinker in the bar.

  Alek shrugged. “He doesn’t drink. Personal reasons.”

  Nubbs raised his brows. “Never heard of a Centaur that didn’t toss one down now and then.” He raised his glass in a toast toward Rhycious, and dosed himself with the amber liquid. Gods, the shit burned his gut. Maybe he’d start making his deals in bookstores instead. “The chain of command in your underground boy scout camp is as obscure as they come. In all my years on both sides of the Boronda Decree, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  He had to pause and hold his breath, the pain sharp as tacks in his stomach. Sweat broke out on his forehead. Maybe he’d better open a sandwich shop. It would be a much healthier option with better hours.

  A deep breath later, and the twinge abated. “Look, around here, information gets passed around faster than an ugly whore. It can be buried in bullshit and swept under rugs until everyone who ever heard of it is either in the line of fire, dead, or—” he glanced pointedly at Alek— “promoted out of camp. If it were up to me, I’d look for the least likely suspect.”

  Rhycious straightened and leaned his shoulder against the wall, crossing his arms over a Penn State t-shirt.

  The man didn’t appear satisfied with the answer, but it would be all he’d get out of him tonight, here at The Mare, in front of a hundred inquisitive eyes.

  If he could help them out later, he would. Discreetly, of course. No sense in blowing his cover if he didn’t have to. The less Aleksander and Rhycious knew about him and his operatives, the better.

  Alek picked up Rhy’s untouched drink and slugged it down. “Thanks for the drink and the help, Nubbs.” He pushed off the table and made to stand.

  Rhycious slid the backpack off his shoulders and placed it on the table between them. He dug through it in the bad light and took various clear plastic bags out to examine and return. Zipping the pack shut, he shook his long hair back and placed two of the baggies in front of Nubbs.

  “Chew these, or soak them in hot water and drink the tea,” Rhycious said.

  Nubbs glanced up and shook the bags, dried weeds bounced around inside. “What’s this?”

  “Licorice plant. It’s an anti-inflammatory and it’ll protect your stomach lining. What little of it you have left.”

  What the hell?

  He narrowed his eyes at the muscular Centaur who doubled as a fucken tree hugger.

  “Nubbs, meet the Royal Remedy Maker.” Alek laughed and turned the chair back around. “Take his advice and get yourself better. I may need you again.”

  “Stay alive, Kempor Aleksander. I’ll want to win my money back.”

  Rhycious inclined his head and strode into the dim hall. The Minotaur made sure to tuck his injured tail well out of the way, along with hooves and fingers.

  Well now, wasn’t that an fascinating conversation. Nubbs watched the pair retreat. First learning of their mission to uncover the plans of the underground movement, and second, meeting the famous Remedy Maker.

  Nubbs glanced at his watch. Fifteen minutes to spare. He stood and stretched, and moved around the table, out of the dark corner. He’d taken a couple steps when he stopped, turned back, and grabbed the baggies Rhycious had given him.

  Yeah, I’m all for feeling good.

  Sixteen

  “Whoever the traitors are, you can be damn sure they’re not meeting behind palace walls.” Rhycious paused just outside the boulder entrance to The Three Legged Mare, listening to the soft patter of drizzle drip from the tree canopy to the forest floor below. It came as a welcomed relief after the loud racket of the bar.

  He pulled a rubber band from his front pocket, fisted a ponytail, and wrapped it around his damp hair.

  “Definitely not there. That only leaves us with the rest of Boronda to search.” Alek paced a line in front of him like a CO during inspection, hands behind his back, shaking his head. He continued to scuff leaves and twigs with his boot heels, ignoring the inclement weather. “Nubbs said it was someone who’d benefit from having Savella dethroned.”

  “Well, that narrows the field,” Rhy added dryly, an edge to his voice. “Where monarchy resides, dissention grows. It’s the way of life.” It could be anyone—from the kitchen staff who boiled Savella’s poisonous tea, to an advisor allowed inside restricted areas.

  “You’d think I would have heard something from within the ranks. A disgruntled merchant, perhaps.”

  Rhycious shouldered the backpack over his rain jacket, and then flicked his tail to snap the water from it. “I think it’s time to bring in the Wood Nymphs, Alek. They have eyes in areas we don’t. Maybe they already know something.”

  Alek sloughed the droplets from his face and fingered his wet goatee. His military-cut hair stood up in spikes from shaking water from it. “Gamóto. But do we trust them?"

  “Not completely, but I trust Patience. She’s knows Savella’s policies and stands behind Her Majesty. I have to believe there are other Nymphs who also support the Cessation of Enmity treaty.” Rhycious shook the water off his body with a great shudder.

  Working in tandem with the Nymph population screamed wrong on so many levels, it went subdermal. Too many factors might swing against the Centaurs—distrust on both sides being foremost.

  Alek hefted his own smaller bag and adjusted the diagonal cross strap on his chest. “I don’t have the authority to authorize your involvement with the Wood Nymphs. If you want to bring them in, you’ll need permission from Savella.”

  Rhy nodded in understanding. Besides, it was past time to check in and give Savella a report, no matter how insignificant the report might be.

  “If you’re headed to the palace, I’ll keep you company.” Rhycious took a few steps and stopped when Alek’s hand caught his arm.

  Shit. Now what?

  “I suggest you bring Patience with you.”

  “What for? I like her just where she is.”

  There was a long pause, then Alek said, “Proof. She’s a perfect example of how Centaurs can enlist the services of the Wood Nymphs in this quest.”

  The matter-of-fact statement, though correct in reasoning, hit him hard in his protective gut. “I’m not parading her around the palace like some exotic pet.” Nor would he show the esteemed royal advisors how tame their old nemeses could become.

  “You need to introduce her to Savella. Some grudges run deep against those woodland people. Other than their ambassador, their kind isn’t allowed inside our palace walls.

  “Look,” Alek continued, wiping more rain off his forehead. “You said it yourself. It’s time to bring in the Nymphs. The senate majority is going to scream bloody murder when word of our new ally hits the chamber floor.” He glanced at the cloudy night sky, searching for words. After a sigh, he leveled his gaze on Rhycious and frowned. “Like it or not, you’ll need someone in your corner to back you up—someone powerful. Queen Savella will understand the necessity of aligning ourselves with Wood Nymphs.”

  Rhycious fought the urge to punch his fist into the nearest tree. “For once in your godforsaken miserable life, could you be wrong in strategic planning? It gets old.”

  A flicker of thought crossed Alek’s features, and then disappeared beneath his hard warrior exterior. “Sorry. My specialty training for the crown is non-negotiable.”

  “It’s a shame you were born a shit-head.”

  Alek’s body language said it all. Two legs planted in a wide stance, arms crossed. His fingers closest to his sword hilt caressed the smooth metal in loving strokes, as if it were the soft skin of a female.

  “Go get Patience.” Alek’s mouth twitched up at the corners.

  The urge to jump straight up in the air and kick out his hind hooves rode hard on Rhycious. Gods, he didn’t want to go that route. He’d rather have his balls stretched by pliers than pu
t Patience through what lay ahead of them.

  He settled for imprinting the tree behind him with a hoof mark.

  Frustrated by the paradox, Rhycious choked back his frustration. “If we can’t mend the rift between our people from the Wood Nymph side, maybe the bridge should be built from the Centaurs. Either way, it’s all good.”

  Alek nodded and stuck out his arm. “I’ll meet you at the palace. Send word when you arrive.”

  Rhy clasped him below the elbow and they shook the ancient way of the Centaur warrior. “Good luck.”

  “You’re the one who needs luck, my friend.” Alek laughed. “Your little pixie is a Rottweiler in pink lace.”

  “And how would you know that?”

  Alek strode away, snickering. “Got the intel straight from the source—her best friend.” A few twists and turns between trees, and the night shadows swallowed him up.

  Steady drizzle continued to flow and Rhycious stayed rooted to the spot. He flipped up the hood of his jacket to keep his hair somewhat dry, and accumulated water slid icicles down his neck. His mouth took on a bleak, unpleasant twist.

  Silence expanded to fill not just the forest, but the whole world. He absorbed the peace after the flash of anger with Alek. And that’s what it had been—a flash. Not a full-blown, spit flying, checkout session he’d had in the past.

  Rhycious gave himself kudos for self-improvement.

  * * *

  Patience lay on the bed with Daisy lying next to her, wonderwalling where Rhycious had gone off to and when he would be back. It was psychosilly to worry over the man. He’d lived over one-hundred and seventy-five years longer than she had.

  It was the next few years she found herself chewing her lip over. She didn’t want to live two days without him.

  Daisy tapped her arm. “Are you going to tell me what’s up between you and Rhycious?”

  “I ain’t his breezy, if that’s what you mean.” Oh, but gods—she wanted to be his, if only he felt the same way.