by Casey Odell
“What can I getcha’ to drink?” Miranda eyed Claire nervously.
“I’ll have the Sanre Ale.” Farron beamed up at Miranda as he undid the straps to his weaponry and pack and set them down on the floor underneath the table.
“Just the same,” Claire snapped. He really had no shame.
Miranda hurried away to the bar.
“I think you frightened her.” Farron rested his chin on his hand. The smile faded from his face.
“Just trying to figure out if she’s the Miranda.” And she was growing tired of the girl’s obvious flirting. Did she have any shame?
He raised an eyebrow and looked at her suspiciously. “I thought you didn’t like ales.”
She shrugged. “Why not try it? Maybe I’ll like this one.”
“I never met a tavern maid that didn’t enjoy a good brew every now and then. Are you sure that’s what you really are?”
“Of course!” she said the words almost as if she were proud of the fact. Which she hardly ever was. Or perhaps she really just couldn’t help but rise to the occasion. Especially if it was Farron that rose it. Why did he seem to have that effect on her? “Well, maybe not exactly,” she recovered in a softer tone.
His hand dropped to the table, limp as his attention focused on her.
“Mother never really let me serve. Not truly anyway. I mostly just stayed behind the bar, helped with the basic chores and things like that. She hired other girls to serve, no matter how many times I asked her to let me.”
“Consider yourself lucky then, Claire.”
She sighed. He didn’t need to tell her that. She really wasn’t even sure why she was telling him in the first place. Somehow, he had that effect on her as well. One moment she wanted to shout at him, the next she was pouring out her life story. “It was strange though. But I suppose she always was a little overprotective.”
“As mothers are wont to do.”
A candle in a clear glass globe burned in the center of the table. “So, what’s good, lady-killer?” she asked, changing the subject.
Farron smirked. His appreciation of Miranda’s attention had been obvious. “Well, you seem to like sweet stuff. How about their specialty?”
She glared up at the elf. “You better not be tricking me.”
“My lady, would I do that?”
Miranda arrived with the drinks before she could answer, set them on the table carefully and took the order. She gave Farron one last smile before she took off again.
“I almost feel sorry for her.” Claire took a sip of ale from the hefty wooden mug in front of her and screwed up her face. This one she didn’t much like either.
“My lady, I think you’ve got the wrong impression of me. I am much more charming than you think.” He leaned back in his chair.
She decided to ignore the statement. She’d believe it when she saw it. “So, did you spend a lot of time in this town?”
“Not too much.” He shrugged; the answer short and hardly helpful.
“Why are you so afraid to reveal anything about your past?”
“And what about you, my lady?” He leaned forward on his elbows.
Claire eased back from his imposing presence over the tiny table; her hands fell to her lap. “I think you have a good idea of what mine was like.”
“Why are you so curious about it?”
“I’m not.”
“Oh?” He raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.
“I’m only curious because you try so hard to hide it.” She looked down at the table.
Farron rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “Everyone has a few skeletons in their closet. Even you, I’m sure.”
The gesture made him seem almost normal. Almost coy. Had she reached a soft spot? She grabbed her mug with both hands. Skeletons, he said?
“You want to hear something funny?” She took a sip from her drink, her eyes traced along the wood grain on the table. “I really was betrothed once.” She glanced up to see his reaction.
Farron leaned forward, a look of genuine surprise on his face. He waited silently for a moment for her to continue. When she didn’t he said, “I’m on the edge of my seat already, my lady.”
“Oh, so now you’re suddenly interested in my past?”
“Never said I wasn’t.”
She could feel heat rise to her cheeks. Miranda came with their food just in the nick of time. She set the plate in front of her, filled with noodles, chunks of meat and vegetables. The sweet smell made her stomach to growl impatiently. She thanked Miranda and the girl was back on her way to another table.
“So, what happened?” Farron asked.
Claire picked up her fork and examined it. Two metal prongs were attached to a wooden handle. Sanre sure was weird. She began to poke at her food, regretting having dug up her past. Again.
“As I’ve said, an adopted bar maid isn’t all that appealing of a prospect, not appealing enough anyway. He disappeared about a month before the wedding. No explanation, no warning. He just left.” She stabbed a piece of meat with the odd fork a little forcefully, popped it in her mouth and began to chew; the sweetness tingled across her tongue with a slight salty aftertaste. It was good.
He was quiet for a moment and she looked away, unsure what to say next. She’d rather say nothing at all than talk about that sorry lout. The only thing she was glad about, was the fact that he’d gotten out before the centaurs attacked. Or maybe she wasn’t so glad…
“Ah--” he said softly. “Here, try some.” He pierced a small piece of meat with his fork and held it out to her.
Claire eyed it suspiciously.
“Just try it,” he urged. “I don’t have a disease.”
She took the fork tentatively and bit the meat off. She chewed it slowly, surprised by the sweetness at first. Then heat started to grow in her mouth that soon overpowered the sweet taste. She quickly swallowed but the spicy hotness remained, so she grabbed her mug and gulped down the sour ale until it washed away the burn.
Farron laughed. “Not to your liking, I see.”
Claire glared at the elf. He’d done that on purpose. “You’ve just lost your sharing privileges, my friend.” She slid her plate closer to herself.
Farron quickly reached over, snatched a piece from her plate, and popped it in his mouth. “It’s good,” he said after chewing, nodding with approval.
“You’re so civilized,” she snapped.
“Likewise, my lady.” Farron grinned.
“Fine.” She took another bite. Irritation swelled up inside of her. “Tell me about this so called friend. When do we get to meet her?”
Farron chuckled. “We?”
“Of course. I’m coming along.”
“I don’t think so.” He looked down at his plate as he took another bite.
“And why not? They are doing the favor for me, essentially.” She twisted the fork hard in the noodles.
“I do not think the place is suitable for a lady of your standing.”
“So what do you expect me to do? Just sit by myself in an inn all night while you and the other two are out having a good time? Oh, no. You’re not getting off that easily.” She took a sip of ale and slammed the mug down on the table. “You’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not.”
“I think my concern is whether you will like it.” He pointed his fork at her. “I don’t want to hear any complaining. And if you come, you will not, under any circumstances, tell Aeron or that prince of yours about my friend and what she does.”
Claire swallowed hard. He’d gotten so serious so quick. “Agreed.” Now she was even more curious.
“You know, if you were nicer to girls you wouldn’t have to pay.”
They stood outside a brothel called The Red Curtain and she dearly hoped the name didn’t have a double meaning. The two-storied white house was set back from the road. A small manicured garden stood out front, filled with flowers of all shapes and colors. A path of stepping-stones led up to the front porch,
sprinkled with giggling couples that nuzzled each other in plain sight.
There really was no shame in this town.
The sun had set, leaving the city of sinful pleasures in its twilight glow. Fire torches lit the path to the dwelling. The house itself buzzed with energy. The windows in the front glowed crimson, the curtains illuminated from behind to block the actions inside from public view.
“Could this be where you worked previously?” Claire asked, feigning innocence.
Farron shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know-- why don’t you ask Miranda?” He dug out a folded square of white cloth from inside his shirt.
Claire’s jaw dropped open in shock. “She didn’t!” She snatched the hankie from his hand. A bright red kiss mark decorated the corner of the white handkerchief trimmed with dainty lace. “When did she slip you this little treasure?” She held it out in front of her, dangling it between thumb and fore finger.
“When you went to watch the men at their game.” Farron smiled, pleased with himself.
Claire looked at the hankie considerately. She did have to admire the girl’s brazenness, at least. She’d only left the table-- for a few moments at the most-- to look over the shoulders of a group of men playing a lively game, betting copper coins and golden rings, shouting foreign words whenever one had a certain hand of the colorful cards. She still wasn’t sure how it was played.
“Face it, my lady. I’m more charming than you think.” He leaned in close and pointed his finger at her chest before he spun around and walked up the path to the house.
Claire was taken aback. But still not convinced. It would take more than another bar maiden to convince her otherwise. Though for some reason she was a little irked. How did the girl know the elf and her were not involved? Not that she’d ever consider it. “Hey, you forgot your hankie!” she shouted after him as she waved it in the air.
He just gestured a hand in the air in a dismissive manner without turning around. Fine, she’d just keep it for herself. She folded the dainty white cloth into a small square and tucked it inside her shirt, into her bosom. It was tough not having pockets.
She hurried after the elf who’d reached the porch already and tried not to look around at the couples scattered about. Farron opened the front door filled with an intricate stained glass window of purple and blue. He bowed and motioned for her to enter first. She curtsied back and entered.
Red carpet lined the enclosed hallway and crept up a staircase climbing the right wall. The walls were white and decorated with paintings and tapestries featuring beautiful women in various states of undress. A chandelier filled with crystals glowed radiantly above them. A young woman stood behind a podium by the stairs, her bosom pushed up to her ears and waist cinched tight by a dark blue corseted dress. Long, curly black hair was pulled back into a messy up-do.
“Welcome, good sir. How may I help you this evening?” Scarlet lips curled into a smile below bright sapphire eyes. She leaned forward on the desk as a finger played with a ringlet of hair.
Farron strolled up to the desk. Claire rolled her eyes and wandered to a pair of doors to the left of the entrance. She peeked through the stained glass and caught glimpses of the raucous scene held within. Upbeat music hummed against the panes, begging for her to open the door and set it free. Small tables were scattered haphazardly about the room, accompanied by plush seats filled with cheering men. Claire craned her neck to see further into the room but the view was obscured by the door.
“Curious, my lady?” Farron hovered close behind her. His hand gripped the handle of one of the doors.
She glanced up at him; he wore that cocky grin she’d grown so fond of. He pushed open the door suddenly and she stumbled into the room. The noise hit her like a wall, shocking her senses.
A stage framed by red curtains stood at the end of the room with a line of women standing upon it. They held their colorful skirts up and kicked their legs high into the air to expose bright undergarments for all the world and lecherous eyes to see. Claire’s eyes went wide. They didn’t have this type of entertainment where she was from. Not that she frequented these types of places.
Farron placed a hand on her back and led her across the room to the bar. She plopped down onto a stool, her back to the bar so she could watch the show. She couldn’t help but feel cheerful as the energy of the room surged through her. Farron stood next to her with an amused expression as he shook his head. Claire elbowed him in the side and he leaned in closer.
“So this is the type of place you like?” she shouted into his ear to be heard above the music.
He simply raised an eyebrow and looked at her out of the corner of his eye.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in!”
Claire and Farron spun around in unison. A middle-aged woman approached them, the double doors behind her swung wide open. A golden corset tamed her wild curves and a full skirt swished around her legs. A burgundy wrap decorated her shoulders, giving her look a more sophisticated touch. Dark chestnut hair streaked with silver was pulled back into a loose bun away from a delicate face that could have stopped men in their tracks in her younger days. Two younger women dressed in a similar fashion flanked her.
“Fran!” Farron exclaimed, holding his arms outstretched as he approached the woman.
When he got close enough, Fran slapped Farron across the face, causing several patrons to turn. Claire was stunned; although she had a feeling he’d deserved that. His happy expression turned to one of shock and confusion. Fran said something to the elf that Claire couldn’t hear and they both glanced in her direction. Fran brushed past Farron and strode over to her, her hips swinging as she walked. Claire froze on the barstool, her back straightened stiff as a board.
“And what do we have here?” Fran looked her up and down.
Claire’s breath caught in her throat as the sudden realization hit her like a ton of bricks: the woman’s manner and the way she carried herself were strikingly similar to her mother’s. The blood drained from her face and Fran gave her a curious look.
“I need to speak with you.” Farron clamped a hand down on Fran’s shoulder.
The older woman spun around to face him. “You’ve got a lot of explainin’ to do.” She shoved past him and headed towards the double doors she’d entered.
“Will you be alright here by yourself?” Farron turned to Claire and placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Yes.” She forced a smile up at him. It would probably be for the best if the two worked out their problems before Claire stuck her nose in.
Farron took one last glance at her before he disappeared through the doors after Fran. Claire’s shoulders slumped as soon as he was out of sight. She didn’t know why she had choked up like that. Her mother’s image had hit her so unexpectedly she didn’t know how to react. Of course that woman wasn’t her mother-- not even close.
So that was Farron’s friend. Claire wondered what their connection was, and tried to picture the elf spending time in the saloon along with all the other cheering men. Somehow the image just didn’t work. She shook her head at the thought and decided to lose herself in the performance. Their colorful skirts were truly hypnotizing. Perhaps she could learn a thing or two from these women.
Eventually, the music died down and Claire clapped along with all the men as the performers bowed and took their leave. Then music started up on a lower note and the women from before came out again to mingle with the men. Claire turned around on the stool and leaned her arms on the bar. She gave a quick glance around before she started to undo her hair from the braid and ran her fingers through it.
“Are you here alone, little Miss?” A young man with blonde hair cropped close to his head slid into the seat next to her with an oversized mug in his hands and an obvious buzz already setting in.
Well, that didn’t take long. Claire turned to face the young man, crossed her legs and smiled. She didn’t see the harm in playing along for the time being. She was used to it, being a bar maid and
all. “It seems that I am.”
“And why would such a pretty lady like yourself be all alone in a place like this?” He leaned in closer to her, close enough to smell the alcohol on his breath.
Ugh. But at least he wasn’t sloshing about or grabbing her un-provoked. “I’d hardly think I am as pretty as all these other women.” She motioned to the room around her.
“That’s where you’d be wrong.” He gave her a surprisingly charming smile, with dimples that reminded her of her long-lost fiancé. “You’d best be careful in these parts, an innocent girl like you, all by herself. Someone is bound to try and take advantage of you.”
It was a little late for that speech. “But not you, of course?” Claire leaned in closer to him to test out her feminine wiles. She’d seen the other women do it. Perhaps it could work for her as well-- even without such an ample bosom.
“In a place like this, I think I am more like to be taken advantage of!”
A prospect he should have been well aware of before he’d entered such an establishment. But she smiled anyway.
One of the dancing-skirt women came up then, and threw her arms around his neck. She shot a glare in Claire’s direction. “Billy, why did you leave me?”
Claire leaned back in her chair, her arm resting on the bar next to her. And so it ends.
“Miss Claire,” said a soft voice next to her. She glanced over to see one of the young women that had accompanied Fran earlier. Claire sat up straighter. “Madame Fran wishes to see you.”
“Oh, alright,” she replied in an equally soft voice. She glanced back at Billy. He seemed a little disappointed. So, Claire dug the handkerchief out from her shirt as smooth as she could manage and kissed it before handing it to the young man. The woman hugging him glowered at her as she hopped down from the bar stool. That felt good. She knew she could find a use for that thing.
Claire followed the attendant girl, dressed in a simple beige and gold gown with a full skirt. Her brown hair was pulled back into a modest bun. She led her out the double doors, back into the entrance hall she’d been in before, past the front desk, and down the dark hallway, going deeper into the building. The girl stopped in front of another pair of double doors, the windows covered with red curtains from the inside. At least she knew where the brothel got its name, hopefully. The girl opened the door and entered.