by V C Sanford
She wiped the last stray tear from her face with the sleeve of her robe, then grabbed the handle of the bucket she’d been using as a chair and a well-worn straw broom. Head high and eyes shining from unspent tears, she returned to the scene of her latest misadventure.
Two exhausting hours later the room was once again spotless. Damage was minimal, apart from the large section of exposed ceiling lathes left bare after the remaining plaster fell. Nikiva made one last quick check around the area and then gathered up her cleaning supplies to return them to the supply closet.
Tweet, now fully recovered from his frightening ordeal, flitted past in an intricate aerial ballet as he chased a moth that had been unfortunate enough to fly in through her open window. Nikiva knew the pursuit would only keep him busy for a few moments, hopefully, long enough for her to snatch a brief moment of relaxation before the rambunctious kit demanded her attention after another of his never-ending exploits. Closing the door behind her she raced down the hall, stopping briefly at the storage cupboard to put away the broom and bucket. Tweet would grow tired of his game and find her soon enough. Now to enjoy my time off, --- but first a quick dinner and a hot bath.
********
The institution's enormous kitchen was a madhouse. Everyone was racing back and forth trying to finish up their chores in time for the evening’s festivities. Cook, a middle-aged woman almost as big around as she was tall, was standing in the middle of the room on a large meat cutting block that she often used to observe her small kingdom. From her designated perch the portly chef would merrily wave a rolling pin, pointing here and there as she urged the potboys to hurry up and finish putting things away. Ensconced in an alcove near the rear door, two young housemaids sat shelling peas, enjoying the antics as their young beaus scampered around the room like chickens with a fox chasing them.
Nikiva smiled as she entered the crowded room, it was always so entertaining in the kitchen. Most any time of day you could find bakers singing over their rising dough or butcher boys pulling feathers from hens while racing each other to see who finished first. And the smell was wonderful, so different from the pungent odors that surrounded her all day in the labs. It always reminded her of growing up on the farm.
“An what mite I be a gettin’ for ya, Miss Kee`vahh,” Cook drawled, hopping down from her perch on the butcher block. “Dinna is long ov’ah an mos everthin is put to for da evenin’.” She looked over Nikivas’ shoulder anxiously, certain that a diminutive winged bandit was hiding somewhere nearby, ready to pounce upon her wildly curling red locks at any moment. It was bad enough some twisted sorcerer had bred a housecat with a lizard, but then to give it wings… it was sick, that’s what it was. Sick.
Nikiva resigned herself to another night without a hot dinner. Lately, it had developed into something of a habit--- an unwanted habit at that. Hesitantly she responded, “Tweets stalking a moth, so we have a few minutes of peace before he shows up. I know it’s late, but I wonder if there is anything I might use to make a picnic? I could take a basket and a blanket with me and eat while I watch the festivities.” This would be an ideal solution, as well as giving Rhianwen an opportunity to escape her mother’s store. The two teenage girls often spent their free time watching people passing by, making up little stories about how they imagined their lives to be. Considering how poor the town was, the stories were invariably more interesting than the actual lives of the average passerby.
Cook cracked a big smile, Nikiva was so different from the usual gaggle of arrogant brats that demanded, instead of asking, treating her as though she was a common bondservant. Tweet, though a pest at times, had definitely cut down on the vermin infesting the grain bins. “I got jus de thing, you wait.” She trotted into the storage pantry humming merrily under her breath.
“Please tell Cook I’ll be right back, I’m going to take a quick bath and change my clothes.”
Without waiting for an answer from the overworked pot-boy, Nikiva raced down the long hallway toward the students’ bathhouse, barely avoiding two-floor maids and a startled house cat as she swept past. Upon entering the steamy room, she was pleased to find it totally empty. Today she was lucky, no waiting in line and getting stuck with a quick tepid dunk and scrub bath. Hastily she stripped off her dirty clothes, bundling them up and tossing them into a basket of similar items waiting to be washed. Luxuriating in her choice of tubs, she sank to her chin, soaking in the warmth for a few moments. It would be so easy to slowly drift off to sleep...
Startled awake by the water closing over her head, for a moment Nikiva had no idea where she was. It seemed only seconds had passed since she’d stepped into the tub, but the water was tepid, almost cold. Rhianwen would be furious. Dunking under the water to wet her hair, she used the hard lye soap to cut the dust and dirt that had changed her usually bright chestnut hair to a dull copper brown. Two buckets of cold water to rinse later and she felt ready to face the world again.
Slipping the ugly standard grey robe over her head, she turned and studied herself in the long full-length mirror on the wall, for once truly satisfied by what she saw. The slender body in the mirror was due to her lanky father. Her mother had gifted her with thick, dark chestnut hair that reached to the small of her back and freckles that spattered across her small pert nose.
Well, I’ll never be a beauty but all in all, not bad. My eyes are my best feature--- green like the foam of the sea and flaked with gold. I could be a little taller but at least I’m not tiny like Rhianwen. No poets will ever pen epic poems about my beauty, but I usually manage to find plenty of partners at the local dances. Drasst, I’d better hurry or Rhianwen might think I’m not coming at all.
The kitchen was empty except for Tweet, who was hastily finishing the last few bites of some unknown tidbit. He sat licking the last bit of grease from his paws as Nikiva examined the covered basket Cook had provided. Inside were the picked-over remnants of a cold roasted chicken, several half-eaten chunks of cheese and two soft loaves of brown bread. A ceramic container of three-band golden bees honey was tucked in beside it. Even better, wrapped inside a scrap of red cloth and somehow undisturbed by the inquisitive carnivore, was a raisin cake with buttercream icing.
“Pig!” she squealed as the Mir-cat fluttered overhead, eyes on the last bit of cold chicken remaining in the basket. “I guess I should be happy you left me any at all.”
The voracious Mir had not left enough to feed a real cat much less a half-starved human girl and her best friend. Once again, she’d have to improvise. Luckily, the money in her pocket made her feel comfortable, if not exactly flush with wealth. Rhianwen would not have to foot the bill again. Time for fun!!
********
Maxx and Alex spent the morning lounging alongside the ship's rail while the Sea Wyvern awaited the Harbor Master’s signal to unload. One ship, moored beside the Wyvern, was just finishing up. Stirred by the sight of a slaver’s coffle of nubile flesh destined for the evening sale, the Sea Wyverns’ crew let out a series of whistles, catcalls and cheers, followed by a loud united guffaw as one overly enthusiastic sailor leaned too far forward and lost his hold, dropping into the icy salt water. The elderly bosom, torn between laughter and duty, finally tossed the half-drowned youth a line. The excited crew waited, fidgeting impatiently as the ship edged ever closer to the wharf and their long-awaited furloughs.
As soon as the harbormaster gave the signal, Alex grabbed up a nearby box and slung it onto his shoulder. Not to be outdone, Maxx grabbed two equally large bags and carried them both toward the wagon waiting at the end of the loading ramp.
“I shoulda know’d it, las three years I practically ‘ad to beat ya to get much of anythin’ done.” Captain Myles Brannigan leaned forward to get a better view of the two young men at work. “Now, yer ready to unload the whole ship by ye’selves, just so ye can be off.”
It was going to be difficult to replace them. Alex was a born leader, he often managed to keep the peace on board during the long stretches away
from shore when tempers ran short and hot. Other than one incident that earned him the roguish scar, couldn’t remember a time when the boy had ever stepped out of bounds. As for Maxx, he was fair-haired, with startling blue eyes that appeared to bore into your soul and an angelic face that could charm the sourest maiden into a smile. Just average in height, but that was all that was average about the young Duaar. He was one of the strongest men the captain had ever chanced upon, and fast too. Many a fool had mistakenly wagered on a much bigger man, only to lose his hard-earned pay to the wiry muscles hidden beneath the well-worn clothes. He’d have to hire two men in hopes of getting the same amount of work done.
Alex shrugged, offering the captain a rakish grin as he deposited another heavy box on top of several others that had already been brought ashore. Captain Brannigan was like that, always complaining aloud, but never meaning anything he said. Both men had long ago learned that his bark was much worse than his bite. Maxx was already halfway back up to the deck. If he didn’t hurry his brother might get snappish, and unlike the captain, Maxx’s bite hurt.
Not much later Alex dropped the last bolt of cotton on the dock and signaled the harbor master that the job was complete. Captain Brannigan nodded his approval before shaking both boys’ hands one last time.
“Sure’n ye boys twon’t be for changen ye minds?”
Neither hesitated.
“No!” they shouted as one. The Captain shrugged and turned away. There’d soon be two more just like them ready to see the world from the deck of a ship. The sea was a harsh mistress, but her arms were always open to those who heard her siren call. In fact, I see a promising candidate already waiting at the end of the gangway. A big boy too. A sad smile creased his features for roughly a second, then he motioned for the first mate to bring him aboard. Too bad he wasn’t Duaar…
“First thing, we need a place to eat and sleep, and then we need to find a way to earn some money. Let’s get going.” He gathered up his sea bag, shifted his axe so that it didn’t flop around while he walked and headed towards shore. Maxx winked at the gangly young boy waiting to board as he passed. Alex gathered up his sea bag, took a deep breath and followed him away from the busy docks.
Chapter 3
“You’re kidding, right? When you said this place was a bit of a dive you were being generous.”
Maxx swallowed, retching from the stink of the rancid sewage flowing down the street nearby. He found himself silently praying that Alex was teasing him and had no intention of dragging him into the ratty looking bar. The cool breeze off the sea was as familiar as a woman’s touch, and as welcome, as it brought with it a welcome relief for his overworked nostrils. The reek of rotting garbage piled near the entrance of the dance hall had announced the location of the tavern long before the two friends were close enough to make out the faded sign that hung by one rusty nail above the door. Someone had made a halfhearted attempt at painting what could be loosely interpreted as a woman’s leg wearing a ladies dancing shoe. Only the faded lettering “Silver Slipper Tavern” saved it from being an abject failure. Stretched out on top of a nearby rain barrel enjoying the afternoon sun, a local cat greeted them with a yawn, then calmly turned over and went back to sleep.
“What was wrong with the other four dumps we passed? This one serves a better quality of swill?”
“Yep. My father’s second home. He’s usually here until he passed out. Sometimes the city watch would just dump him before our door. Cheaper than taking him to jail I guess.”
Old Maggie had named the place “The Silver Slipper Tavern” in a deliberate attempt to fool unfamiliar travelers into believing that the flophouse was a respectable tavern. Instead, it became the dark heart of Downside, a section of Cabrell usually avoided at all costs by any sensible person.
The two friends stood for a moment listening to the sound of a badly played piano floating on the night air. Old Mort’s still banging away at the only three songs he knows. Nothing changes. Once his good eye had adjusted to the dim lighting in the doorway, Alex pushed open the swinging doors and entered the smoky room. Looking around, he was astonished to find out that something had changed, his father wasn’t inside.
“Well… are we going to stand here until we grow roots or are we going to get that drink?”
Maxx pushed past Alex, passing through the swinging doors of the gaming room. Despite the dim lighting provided by the three smoking oil lamps, he’d no problem seeing. He stepped to the right to avoid a couple of men who lounged against the wall in whispered conversation, then made his way to a vacant bench along a wall near the Bar. Content, he dropped all the packs he carried into a pile and sank down on the hard planks beside them.
Alex ignored his lack of consideration. Maxx was a boor at times. It was better to accept it then make any attempt to explain his bad behavior and tactless comments. He’d often contemplated what drunken debacle had induced the lust of the demon that spawned his recalcitrant brother. He might have the face of an angel, but he had the personality of a denizen born of a distinctly different locale. It was the only explanation that made sense.
Alex let his eyes roam around the room, re-familiarizing himself with the furnishing and decorations he’d not seen in over five years. His expression softened as he studied the single oil painting that hung behind the well-used bar: a portrait of a titian-haired, sloe-eyed beauty with a come-hither smile, and a body that would turn a strong man into a blithering idiot. Especially the eyes, where the artist had captured a glimpse of the devilish personality that had made Maggie such a sensation amongst the youth of Cabrell. But that had been a long time ago and he’d seen the real-life version of the painting too many times.
The rest of the room seemed the same, a scattering of mismatched chairs and tables filled the middle of the room. Along the entire perimeter of the wall ran a narrow board bench, offering seating but little else. There was a curtained door to the rear, leading to a staircase used to access the rooms upstairs. The dirty unkempt condition of the tavern worried him. Something had changed dramatically in the years he’d been gone. Maggie might run a dive, but it had always been a clean dive. Even the dance halls already disreputable clientele had devolved, if that was possible, into an even smarmier group of characters. His eyes narrowed as a smallish, rat-faced man, who had been lounging back in his chair as he studied his cards, nearly fell in his haste to scramble to his feet. He managed to grab the rickety table and steady himself, losing his hat in the process and disrupting the game in progress. Alex was about to turn away when a subtle hand gesture of a second man reclining on the bench nearby made him look more closely.
Drasst! Watch yourself Alex! Don’t jump to conclusions. There’s doubtless a simple answer for his behavior, probably too much of Maggie’s Best. He observed the rat-faced man wander around the room for a few moments, stopping here and there for a brief conversation, before he made his way out of the swinging doors and disappeared.
Alex scanned the room once more before making his way over to a weathered wooden bar made from cast-off planks from salvaged ships, where a haggard-looking barmaid stood wiping at a spill. Silently she poured two shots of rotgut without waiting for his order, the bar minimum.
“Is Maggie around darling?” Alex leaned down and placed his hands against the bar, so he could look the scrawny, but almost pretty young woman, directly in her eyes.
She stopped her half-hearted attempt to clean the dirty countertop, a scarlet flush slowly creeping across her cheeks as she shifted her threadbare bodice to better show her meager assets. It worked. Her body, though on the smallish side, was well rounded, after three months at sea, she easily caught his attention.
“Wait and I’ll get her.” She winked, offering him a wicked smile that hinted of interesting possibilities, before walking over to a swinging door that divided the main room from the kitchen beyond. “Maggie!” She called, “Someone here askin for ya!”
There was a lull in the rattle and bang of the kitchen pots, t
hen a familiar voice answered from behind the stringy curtained door.
“Who is it?”
“Don’t know, never laid eyes on him before.” Not that he’s bad on the eyes at all. That scar adds just a hint of a bad boy, doesn’t hurt his looks at all…The barmaid picked up another glass and half-heartedly wiped it clean, but continued to keep her eyes on the handsome young man before her.
Seconds later a skinny old woman came through the half door behind the bar, drying her hands on an equally old and well-used apron. At one time she must have been a beauty, but years of hard work and harder living had taken their toll on Maggie’s appearance, leaving her haggard and tired looking. Her hair, once an eye-catching titian halo, was now a dull and lusterless mop of rusty copper threaded with salt and pepper grey. She moved closer, peering through squinted eyes at Alex, and then gasped aloud, a wide smile erasing the years from her face.
“Lands sakes nephew! Never thought I’d see your handsome face around these parts again. What brings you back to this hell hole?” She waved the bemused barmaid away, directing her to take care of another customer.
Alex winced as she spoke. The last time he’d visited, she had been leading the crowd in a boisterous roundelay. She wouldn’t be singing any time soon, her voice, once soft and seductive, was now frail and wispy like she was having trouble catching her breath.
“Good to see you too Maggie, we came here straight from the ship.”
He moved forward drawing the old woman into a warm embrace. Drasst! What in the hells had happened to his beautiful aunt? Times may be hard, but…. I’ve bodies laid out for burial that looked livelier than the wizened old woman standing before him.
“Almost didn’t recognize you with that patch over your eye. The scars new too. Came in on the Sea Wyvern, did you?” The old woman asked, pointing her withered arm in the direction of the bay. “Best be leaving the same way. Better still if you had never returned.”