CHAPTER 8
GROWING PAINS
As the tavern door creaked open, her body barely filled half of the frame, the light from the street having no trouble getting past her as she entered. It was early but the tavern was open for first meal, the smell of yeast and coals filling her nostrils as she inhaled deeply. It was obvious that she was tired. The slender girl walked over to the closest bar stool and promptly set herself on it, laying her head down on the bar top and closing her eyes as she waited for someone to notice she was there so she could ask for some food.
The onset of adolescence had seemed to breathe life into the exotic features of the elves, though it was tempered by the human blood that also ran in her veins. Her hair was dark and cut short, its length barely able to cover her face and carelessness allowing a slightly pointed ear to poke its way through the shorn tresses. Her other ear was a distinguishing feature that was best kept hidden. The pink flesh running completely straight was testament to an injury sustained quite some time ago but was now at least physically healed. Instead of the skirts most women wore she wore dark britches, cuffed at the ends to keep them out of the muck, her other clothes seeming to be men’s clothes altered slightly to better suit her body. In truth, from afar she was often mistaken for a man but her face was pretty and definitely feminine. Her large, full mouth parted slightly, a low snore emitting from her nose.
The sound of booted feet didn’t disturb her, nor was she woken by the stool next to her being dragged so that someone could sit on it. Only when the same booted foot hooked itself on her seat and pulled it out from under her did she notice and even then, she was too late to make a graceful recovery. She cursed out loud, her dark, angry eyes tinged with sleep as well as a touch of fear. No one in the bar looked or paid any mind, the few scant patrons too tired or drunk from last night’s endeavors to care.
“You coulda broke my neck,” she whispered, not wishing to break the sanctity of the quiet bar in the morning, rubbing her elbow with her hand. The man who sat beside her took a breath as if to speak but caught himself, pressing his thin lips together and rubbing his temples with his hands. His sandy-blond hair was now streaked with lines of silver and creases had taken their places in the corners of his blue eyes. He took another deep breath, laying his hands primly on the bar top before he spoke, his words even in tone and volume, though his voice shook with what she knew to be anger.
“You should not have stayed out all night by yourself,” was what he said, though she knew he desperately wanted to say more. “I…” He lowered his voice, turning his head slightly toward her, his words coming slightly faster. “I know that I had a bit too much to drink, but you shouldn’t take advantage of that. We were the guests of honor and it was rude of you to go.”
“You were the guest of honor and I didn’t want to sit about, hearing you all rehash the same old bullshit stories I’ve heard too many times to count. I wanted to have some fun.”
“Fun, eh? Did you have your fun with the same playmate as you did two nights ago? Or was it your old pally from last week?” So this was it. The girl turned her head sharply toward him, still keeping her voice down, though the air around them seemed hot with their anger.
“So now it’s out,” she said, almost hissing, the sleep snapped away from her eyes by her ire. “You know what I’ve been up to and you’re mad as piss about it. You’re just mad ’cause you thought coming here would keep me from doing it and it didn’t work.”
“We came here ’cause a third of the town burned to the ground and the pickings were slim,” he said, disbelief at the girl’s logic ringing in his voice. “Granted, I thought you’d wait to know the local idiots at least a month before your pants came flying off but I see I was mistaken. And what have I told you about wearing britches in public? It ain’t ladylike and it’ll attract attention, it will.”
“I like wearing pants when I’m about, Pa,” she said, glad the conversation had turned away from the previous topic. She saw the smug look on her father’s face as he brought it close to hers, his eyes hard and his breath hot and sour.
“Yes, you must have at least a bit of a challenge for them, make them wait at least as long as it takes to get them around your ankles.” Tavera couldn’t believe he had just said that to her and for a moment her mouth just popped open and shut, like a fish out of water. She wanted to hit him, she wanted to curse at him and cause a scene, but all their arguments were like this: quiet and keen and close. The young woman looked away from him. She knew he had already seen the tears in her eyes and she knew he was sorry for what he had said, as good a jab as it had been.
“Look at you, judging me,” she said quietly. “You’ve got a set on you, ain’t yah? And here I am, knowing when Hale the jeweler’s gonna be out of town on business. What’ve you got? The shits and a hangover from too much dark ale. You’ve some nerve, pushing the morals you’ve picked and chosen on me, pissing all over me when you’re the one who dragged me through the streets. Y’know, I ain’t stupid. I could’ve taken up a different profession and maybe done well at it.”
“Maybe you could’ve, but you’ve the heart of a thief, girl. Anything you put your hand to, you’d have wound up taking wrongfully and been on your way. Don’t you see that? You’re lucky I got you when I did or you’d be in the clacks.” He took in a deep breath, resting his head in his hand as he looked over the girl, her back straight and her eyes avoiding his. “Come now,” he said softly, lowering his head as he spoke. “You say you know when Hale’ll be out, do you?”
“Oh well this is dovey,” she hissed, getting up from her chair. “It ain’t right to pick up loose change, ’cept when it adds up to a fullie, is it? Chew Her hems, I’m leaving.”
Her father sat up straight in his chair, neither anger nor greed in his voice. “What about breakfast? You need to eat.”
“Toss off,” she called back, not bothering to turn around. Tavera strode out of the bar and onto the street, the road considerably busier than it had been just a while ago. Her face felt hot and her own angry thoughts muffled the sounds of the city waking up. Just who did he think he was, telling her what to do and then making it okay if it suited his purposes? It was worse than prostitution! A thief she was, or rather a ‘thiefling,’ according to the others they mostly dealt with. She’d been running around in Derk’s shadow for almost seven years now and still, she was ‘Derk’s Kiffer.’ She got more respect from the no-talented hacks that preyed upon the sick, poor and stupid than the people who practiced thievery as an art form, the people she was supposedly being taught to emulate, the ones she sided with most.
How she felt after a ‘take’ proved that she was one of them and not a thug. Tavera relished in the careful planning of the procedure, the consideration of time and place. She looked over and cared for her tools more lovingly than a surgeon cared for his saws and scalpels. The feel of coin or a pretty token in her hand was magnified by the pride she felt by having something she had contrived go well. Tavera was in her element when something that did not belong to her was in her hands.
But she didn’t understand why it was wrong to be herself, why there were laws meant to bar her from expressing herself in the way she best saw fit. If people had destinies, as the temple folk always said and if her destiny was to be a thief, like Derk, and in truth her heart, said, why was the fear of the Jugs pushed upon her as a deterrent? Derk said the fear of the Jugs would keep her good at what she did, and it did. She hadn’t been apprehended once though she had been chased a few times. All that running Derk made her do when they were in the country came in handy. If people should fulfill their destinies, who decided if one destiny was good and should be left to unfold while another should be snuffed out or punished?
Her boots stopped as they found themselves in front of the Temple of the Full Moon. Her adopted mother always went to the temple when she had had a bad day and needed to collect her thoughts, while Derk tended to turn his eyes toward the altar for blessings before carrying out l
arger plans. The temple was open, though the front doors were closed presently, the front steps empty of beggars and children at the moment. Tavera pushed a stray lock of hair out of her face before starting toward the temple.
“Velida?” Tavera looked around to see who was calling out, her eyes widening as they fell upon a blond, handsome young man who was looking directly at her. Velida was the name she had been giving in this town, her real name and handle not an option if she wanted to make good on an escape. She tried to remember his name quickly and anything she might have told him, seeming to remember that he was a new recruit to the town guard and that his name was Loren. His name was important but his occupation would probably prove more fruitful in the near future.
“Lori!” she cried, using a more familiar form of his name, laughing inwardly as he actually blushed. Now she remembered him. He had been standing with a few other young men around his age and they were all snickering as they pointed and talked, too far for her to listen unless she tried. Tavera focused her attention on the young man, smiling primly once he reached her, dodging a cart full of chickens to get across the street. “Nice t’see you. What are you doing on this end of town?”
“Oh, I’m just here with a few of the boys after morning training,” he said, pointing over his shoulder. He had hair the color of corn and faint freckles, his face as honest as a child’s and his eyes as bright. He was new to the guard and the city, having joined to save money for a home of his own in whatever backwoods farming village he was from. Tavera knew he liked her and while he wasn’t stupid, he was as naive as they came. The young man was very handsome and as he smiled helplessly at her, she almost felt guilty for standing as close as she was to him. He put his hands in his pockets, looking her up and down, his hazel eyes filled with curiosity as they fell upon her legs. “Why’re you wearing britches?”
“Oh, both my dresses got dirty, one after the other, and as they’re both in the wash, I had to make do with these. Pardon my shabby appearance!” she said, trying to seem ashamed of her clothes. Boys like him were quick to pay compliments when fished for and if she could endear herself to him and stroke her ego at the same time, why not?
“You look fine in britches, Velida, really. It’s just a strange thing to see a woman in ’em and a stranger thing to see a woman look good in ’em.” He smiled, proud he had managed to come up with such a phrase and was rewarded with another smile from the half-elf girl. He relaxed slightly, ignoring the hoots his fellows were making behind him, looking at the temple that stood just a few yards away. “You goin’ in for worship? I didn’t know you were a regular.”
“Ah, yeah, well, it’s something I do when I’ve had a rough bit, though it’s smoothed out considerably since I got here.” Now she was going to stroke his ego, smiling as his cheeks reddened again and he stood up straight, his hands crossing over his chest, his hair flowing behind him in the breeze. For a moment Tavera almost felt embarrassed by how handsome he was, how intently his eyes were fixed on her and not her pants…did he actually like her? He couldn’t like her, Tavera; he didn’t know Tavera at all and if he did, as a guard and as good as he was, he would most likely arrest her. For the first time in a long while she actually felt uncomfortable in front of someone and her browned face reddened, breaking the intense gaze they had locked.
“Look, I’ve got to be getting inside…morning prayers are about to start,” she said, looking everywhere but at him, taking steps backward and hoping he wouldn’t follow.
“Of course,” he said, putting his hands up, seeming embarrassed that he had kept her from her devotions. Her heart was beating hard in her chest, her stomach feeling as if it had a hundred fish swimming inside of it. Was he just going to go? Why did it matter? She knew where he kept guard and knew when he was most likely to be there. Why had seeing him on the street like this flustered her so? She felt like she was going to throw up, spinning on her heel and heading as quickly as she could toward the temple.
“Hold on,” she heard, her ear pricking up, finding herself facing him once more. He turned his head to the side as if something had suddenly caught his eye before saying, “D’yah think perhaps I could see you another time…like, in the evening? If you were thirsty?”
Tavera thought of a few snotty ways to brush him off and a few coy ways to tell him yes, but none of them seemed right. The bell that signaled morning prayers rang in the Temple of the Full Moon, several other people on the street starting to make their way into the whitewashed building. “Look, I’ve gotta…I’ll…I’ll find you later, right? You have third watch? At the sheep gate?”
“Right,” he said, his eyebrows raised as if impressed that she remembered, nodding and smiling to himself. “Right, well…see you then.”
“Right, yeah….” She couldn’t think of anything to say so she turned around and ran up the steps, weaving between other would-be worshipers to get into the temple as quickly as possible. The priestess was already at the dais, silver chalice in hand, her face calm and as round as the full moon, her silver dress tightly laced so that her breasts seemed to almost spill out of the garment.
It wasn’t fair, she couldn’t help but think as she bowed her head, staring down at her own chest. If she had breasts like those she could use half as many words and a quarter as many promises to get men to pay her mind. At least you’ll know it’s not just their eyes that like you, Derk would say. She didn’t want them to like her, she wanted them to want her so she could get information quicker than the others, so she could get the take before they did. A fine rack would have come in handy but that she lacked so she made up for it with a pretty face, slick words and promises of things to come. But that boy outside…the priestess had raised the chalice now and was speaking the prayer, invoking the Goddess to turn her eyes toward her people, her pale hands gripping the silver cup, the scant sunlight glinting off of it…was it really made of pure silver?
Tavera cursed herself, pushing thoughts of taking the sacred cup aside, reminding herself of its role, of what might befall the temple and the worshipers if the consecrated item was missing. She really was a thief through and through, more than she was a worshiper of the Goddess of the Moon or a girl to take out for beers or someone to spend an evening with, or at least a few moments.
Should she go out with that boy who watched the gates? The priestess lowered the chalice, beckoning the worshipers to come forward, the bodies shuffling out of the pews and queuing in the main aisle. Tavera bit her lip as she approached, keeping her head down and her eyes closed as she moved forward, trying to keep her mind focused on her prayers and the task to come. Should she go out with Lori?
After what seemed like an eternity, she reached the altar and looked toward the priestess. The priestess’ face was calm to the point of seeming unnatural, her gray eyes emotionless, her face as steady as a bust of marble. Tavera kept her eyes locked on the priestess, the Goddess’ avatar on earth, dipping her fingers into the chalice, bringing them to her forehead and then placing her wet fingers into the bowl that lay on the altar. She knew the Goddess answered in riddles so she didn’t think of any questions as she placed the tips of her fingers in the bowl, the fingers that had stolen many things over the last few years. She instead laid to rest that which she wanted to strike from herself, as she was supposed to do.
Her strange new emotions for Loren she left in the bowl. Her contempt for the other members of the Cup who didn’t yet accept her as one of their own. And her wanton ways that made her father give her looks that distressed her…she lifted her fingers from the bowl, which was full of strange gray sand, not bothering to wipe the odd powder from her fingers as she returned to her seat. The rest of the congregation filed through, performing the same ritual. When the last worshiper had performed the rite, the priestess spoke the words Tavera was glad to hear, raising the chalice above her head and tipping it, the liquid contents of the chalice streaming down in a silver ribbon, the contents of the bowl inundated with the libation. A
bell rang from somewhere within the building and the priestess spoke, her voice low and even.
“Now are our secrets hidden in the bosom of our Goddess, swept up in her watery arm and brought close to her heart that we may be free of their burden. Go forth, knowing your secrets are safe, knowing you are free to change if that is what is in your destiny. Go in grace, unburdened by your troubles. Go with love, knowing the Goddess delights in the workings of our hearts.” The bell rang again and the priestess bowed her head, signaling that the worshipers were now free to leave as they saw fit.
Morning prayers were the best, Tavera thought as she exited the building. She always felt lighter after morning prayers and liked the crowd that typically showed up at the first worship. Vespers were full of the more devoted individuals who came to pay tribute to the Goddess of the Moon, the White Lady who had opened the Valley for them all those generations ago, keeper of secrets, bringer of change, reveler in love. The mornings were full of those who came for penance, most of them coming to service before going to bed for the day, coming in from the street after a night of performing things that warranted covering up. The girl scanned the street for the boy she was considering having a drink with. Maybe it was for the best he was gone. Maybe she wouldn’t pass by the sheep gate during his watch but instead avoid him for the rest of their stint in this city. It was doable. But was it what she wanted? Did he only have freckles on his nose?
Both hands were brought to her head and she ruffled her hair as she mumbled to herself, trying to push her thoughts on the farm boy away. Sleep would help. If her mind was fresh she could keep her thoughts from wandering. The bed above the inn sounded wonderful. But wasn’t the fortune teller on the way home? The noise of the street had grown to its early-morning levels and she saw the teller’s booth in the distance. A quick stop there and then to home she would go, barring any unforeseen events. She’d ask just a few questions and those answered, she would go from there. It would work out in the end. Tavera plodded through the streets, her thick boots keeping her feet stable on the slick streets, hoping a glimpse of what was to come would help her decide what to do before it came.
The fortune teller was easy to find. There were several of them in the town but the closest one happened to be the most trusted and was outside a store that sold lamp oil and lamps. The old woman sat directly under the sign bearing the image of an oil jar and a flame. The owner of the store was a thin man who supposedly owed part of his success to the woman and so she was allowed to keep her small operation located there, boasting an awning and an actual low table to display her fortune-telling tools. The faded brown cloak that hid the old woman’s form was meant to add mystery but Tavera was old enough and had been around enough fortunetellers to know better. She wouldn’t fall for any act. However, it didn’t mean this woman couldn’t read signs pointing at what tomorrow held.
Tavera set two blueies on the low table and sat down on the ground before the woman, smiling as broadly as she could manage while tucking her legs under her. The time at the temple had cleared most of her hangover away but there was still a cloud in her head that she was hoping the fortuneteller could dispel. “I’d like to have my fortune told,” she said simply.
The old woman looked up from her tools. Tavera saw bright red blood in one of her eyes and she tried not to react to the strange sight, though she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Other than the strange eye, the woman was unremarkable. Her brown hair was streaked with gray, the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth telling Tavera she was not old but not young, either. The woman’s hands were steady as she gestured toward her tools, her eyes setting on her client. Tavera thought eventually the blood would pool in her eye and drip like a tear but it didn’t. It just clung, bright red in the woman’s gray-blue eyes. “What tools shall I use, what guide rings true for you, seeker?” the woman asked, her voice low but strong.
“Cards, please,” Tavera said. The fortune teller removed the sticks, seedpods and stones from the table and picked the cards up in her long, skinny fingers. The cards looked to be new, shuffling crisply in her hands, the circles falling back into a pile. “And before you ask,” Tavera offered, “I don’t know what season I was born. I just want a reading for what lies ahead of me.” The woman shuffled the cards one more time in a rather businesslike manner, with an air of understanding.
Tavera knew some people had to be coaxed into believing with poems or little tricks, even after they had already paid. Some fortunetellers used such acts to hide the fact they had no skill in reading signs. But the girl knew sometimes the Goddess could be reasoned with on the street corners more than in her own temples so she did business with the fortune tellers from time to time. This one was a professional. It made Tavera anxious to see what the cards held.
The cards shuffled, the fortune teller held them out toward Tavi and she gestured toward three, the woman pulling them out from the company of the others and setting them on the table. The woman then pulled out another three, setting them under the ones Tavi had picked before she pulled out one card to play the part of the Goddess card, setting it over the others from where Tavera was sitting.
“The seen thing is the people come and work together for gain,” the woman said, pointing to the cards. Each card did have at least one person on it, Tavera saw. Each deck of fortune cards was different from one another though the symbols were generally the same. All of the cards in the ‘seen’ row were waxing. Waxing had to do with gain, fruition and abundance. “However,” the woman continued, pointing to the cards she had drawn. “The unseen thing is this. The secret blade comes in the night to cut the cord of love.”
Tavera frowned. Love. She hated when that word came up in fortunes. The focus of the love itself could have been many different things, according to many tellers, but this woman seemed more straightforward. Tavera looked at the Goddess card, the holy one’s emotions regarding the reading, and saw the waxing half-moon. Tavera knew the card.
“Distress and hope,” the woman said, pointing to the Goddess card. “There is a lot of waxing energy in this pull, you should be careful not to get swept up into anything. You are bound to get in over your head.” The fortune teller let Tavera look over the cards for a few breaths before she gathered them up again, shuffling them once before putting them back in their wooden box.
“Is that what the cards say, or what you say?” Tavera chided, seeing a smile form behind the woman’s eyes. The woman pulled out her other tools and set them on the table for the next customer to choose from, but didn’t shoo Tavera away just yet.
“From me, of course,” the fortune teller said, the bright red blood shining in her gaze. “I’ve been doing this a while. It’s my input as someone who has been reading cards for a long time. Been doing it since I was younger than you.” The woman looked her over and made a sound that was half a huff and half a laugh. “Though from the looks of you, you’re very confident. You’ll pull yourself up if you find yourself down, won’t you?”
Tavera just smirked and brought her leg up, feeling the hard ground under her. She had another blueie in her pocket. What did she want to know about more? The group of people? The cord of love? The sword? Tavera pulled the coin out of her pocket and set it down on the table. “Could you tell me anything about this blade?” The blade was the most dangerous thing in the fortune and anything about it could identify the wielder. “Use whatever tool is best for that sort of thing.”
Tavera watched as the woman pulled out a strip of cloth and a black stick, sketching the image of a sword onto it. She then pulled out a small vial of some liquid and dripped it onto the fabric, watching as the ink or chalk bled into the fabric. The fortune teller picked it up in her hands and squinted, the blood in her eye seeming to take up all the white as she did.
“The blade is not the sword of the Baron’s seat. And it is an old blade. That is all I can tell.” There was a bit of confusion on the fortune teller’s face and the woman shrugged. Tavera was
out of money anyway so she stood up and thanked the woman before she set off down the street back toward the inn. If anything started to keep her up at night, she would just have a go into the marketplace or try her hand at cards at the tavern and come back.
Well, the blade didn’t belong to the sword and seat; that was good. It meant no one she knew would come under threat from the browncloaks. And there hadn’t been any mention of blood or death. Some fortune tellers liked to default to ‘love’ when she asked, falsely assuming that because she was a young woman, she was there to find out about a future husband or a lover. Tavera had been interested in shedding a bit of light on her situation with Lori but ‘love’ was a bit too heavy for that part to be about him. She liked him and maybe wanted to get some information from him. He was handsome and sweet. That was all there was to that. As for the rest of it, while it hadn’t exactly cleared anything up it did give her a bit to look forward to. All the waxing cards meant growth and as for the secret blade, Tavera was good at finding out secrets. There was a chance she could find the unseen bit before its ominousness ruined anything. Her stomach growled and she remembered Derk’s insistence upon her having breakfast and she smirked, knowing he had at least been right about that. Cruel about everything else but kind about that. Tavera laughed, realizing she had just spent all her money at the fortune teller’s, falling back upon the fact that she could just grab something on the way back toward their room.
Tavera walked, almost bumping into a young woman who was too busy ordering some men around to notice the thief, too engrossed in the task of pointing with a stick at the various items on a large cart. Tavera heard the young woman shriek as a trunk fell off the cart and spilled open, yards of fabric spilling onto the dirty ground. The man at fault shouted in protest as she raised the stick to hit him and people started to crowd and push, trying to see what the commotion was about. Tavera used the diversion to pull a bun off of a tray and she turned the corner and pulled it apart to see what it was stuffed with. Just honey and nuts. No phantom weapons whatsoever. She took a bite and tucked the rest away to give to Derk when she inevitably went back to the room. He would be hungry.
Thieves at Heart Page 8