Self-Made Scoundrel (32 page)

“Bread?” the man asked, pulling out a mug from under the counter and setting it in front of Derk.

“Yeah, on the bottom. And just boiled water to drink,” Derk added. As soon as the barkeep went back to get his meal, Derk leaned his head against his hand, barely able to keep his eyes open. He pulled out paper and pouch, rolling a cigarette while he waited. Running his tongue over the edge, he raised his brows at the barkeep as the food was set in front of him. It was simple fare, the egg cut into slices so rounds of nutty white nestled the rich, orange yolks, atop white, creamy beans and brown bread. Tired as he was, Derk’s stomach gurgled in response.

“Did you decide on midday?” the barkeep asked. Derk tried hard not to look at the browncloaks. The food definitely gave him something to pay attention to so he looked at his plate.

“Yeah, I’ll probably go for the custard. Been in the mood for eggs lately.” Derk picked up the bread and took a bite out of it, tearing into the food. He put a hand over his mouth, talking through the mouthful. “What do I owe for the food?”

“Four blueies altogether,” the barkeep said. Derk didn’t bother to comment on the price. It was one blueie more than he liked to pay for breakfast, but he wasn’t about to haggle when he had food in his mouth. With his free hand he reached into his pocket and pulled out the four blue metal coins, careful to sandwich the white lunar in there for Hock’s bet. “You’re new here, aren’t you?” the keep asked, tucking the coins away. Derk could hear them clink, the blueies in one purse, the white coin in another. “What’s your name?”

“Eh, my friends call me Lurk,” Derk said, taking another bite. He’d have to come back and pick up the bet after all was said and done. If he was lucky he’d get to see part of the fight. Hock wouldn’t come around. The man who had taken Derk under his wing owed a bit of money but didn’t want to pay it back just yet. Hence why Derk was in the bar. The barkeep nodded and went into the kitchen leaving Derk to finish his meal in peace. By the time he had wiped the last smear of beans off his mouth his water was cool enough to drink and he gulped it down before he hopped down off his bar stool. He lit his cigarette on the oil lamp sitting on the edge of the bar top, saluted the browncloaks and stepped outside.

It was too bright. Derk squinted as he closed his purse, his cigarette dangling between his lips. It was going to be a warm autumn. People were starting to get to work, booths popped open like mushrooms since he walked down the street just before his meal. He turned down an alley, noting the group of younger men laughing and jumping over some crates. Derk walked past, keeping an eye on them. One of the boys’ heads popped up, and called out, “Lurk! Hold up!” Derk slowed and then turned, sure to keep his attention on the small throng. These were streetsmen in training, self-training as it may be. They weren’t to be trusted but they were good to have at one’s disposal at times. He flicked a bit of ash into the gutter and took another drag off his cigarette, waiting to see what would happen.

The boy named Shamsee stumbled over, pulling something out of his pocket. Derk watched as the boy with the curly hair and big brown eyes pulled a stack of cards out of his pocket. When the boy looked up and smiled at him, Derk noted the black eye. The boy had a knack for getting into trouble but always managed to avoid serious injury or legal consequence. He claimed his whole family was lucky, that his mam had birthed five children, of which he was the last. It was the biggest family Derk had ever heard of but he suspected the mom didn’t have any brains left to give the boy by the time he was made. But the Goddess gives out luck at least.

“I’ve a stack of cards here and I can guess yours. If I guess, you owe me a blueie,” Shamsee said. He shuffled the cards on his knee, several of them spilling to the ground.

“Quick, Sham. I’m on my way to temple for a sleep. Gotta be up in time for the fight tonight,” Derk muttered, pulling at his cigarette one more time before he looked to the other boys behind Sham. “Any of you want the rest?” The smoke and the flavor began to wind its way around his brain, making his head swim a bit but not so much he wouldn’t be able to avoid getting taken by a pack of young troublemakers. The boys shook their head and kept their distance. Sham lifted his head, rearranging the cards in his hands.

“Oh, you’re going to be there?” Shamsee said. His hands were dirty and his shirt sleeves too long for the weather. “I might go, if I can sneak in. I got kicked out of the Two Fisted a phase ago. Not my fault, mind you, he just got mad when I said the Skinner got sick on his food. Helping people not get sick on his food, you know, I didn’t say anything about his beer. The beer is good.” Shamsee splayed the cards out carefully, his tongue sticking out of his mouth as he did. “Okay now, pick one!”

Derk reached out with the hand holding the smoke and pulled out a card, looking it over. His face fell and he threw the card into Shamsee’s face. “Sham, you chicken-brain, these are fortune telling cards! Get these away from me!” Shamsee tried to catch the card Derk threw and dropped the others in the process. Derk turned to leave, hearing the boys all laughing, most of them directing their ridicule at Sham.

“No wonder I couldn’t play Four Are The Seasons with these!” Shamsee cackled. “Hey, you owe me for telling your fortune then! One blueie!”

“Grab betwixt, Shamsee,” Derk called back, gesturing rudely behind his back and flicking the butt to the side. A peal of laughter followed him onto the main street. Derk patted his shirt and pockets to make sure nothing had been taken from him during the failed bit of showmanship. He still had his pouch and dagger. Ignoring the increasing hustle and bustle of the street, he turned down the side street and entered the temple through the backdoor, nodding to the priestess there, noting the cudgel across her lap. As always it was quiet within the temple, the soft notes of a hymn being played in the sanctuary. Derk made his way to the basement stairs, pulling out the wooden token given to him that morning in exchange for the one they had given him the day before. The older priestess looked it over and then let him pass.

The room downstairs was almost empty, most of last night’s previous inhabitants already up and probably wandering the streets or on their way to the next town. A trio of people who had shown up right when Derk had left for the evening were still asleep, probably weary from hard travels. It had been obvious from their appearance they had ridden hard. Derk went to the wicker boxes the Church provided to hold belongings and pulled out his pack and bedroll before he looked at the trio once more, finding a corner to set up his sleeping space. He unfolded a mat provided by the church and put his pack where he could lay his head. His boots found their way to the foot, his pants folded and placed atop them. Sitting on the makeshift bed, he pulled his shirt off, knowing in the basement of the church he could sleep soundly

As soon as he laid his head down the thoughts came flooding in. The heist. The door. The store. His tools. The store owner. He was supposed to be at the fight that night, another reason Derk wanted to have it done within a certain amount of time so he could make an appearance toward the end. Getting in at the end would be hard but doable. He’d have to pay to get in. The trapdoor where the special dyes were kept. Derk knew where it was because he had sent Jezlen in to trade. One look at Jezlen and the shop owner suspected nothing when the Forester entered, claiming he had something rare to trade. It wasn’t entirely a lie. Jezlen did know how to prepare and transport plenty of things in such a way their effects would be maximized. It had more to do with the fact his mother was a healer than it did with Jezlen being an elf. His mother being a healer meant the Forester knew the best things to put in his pipe or soak in alcohol.

The effects of the herbs Jezlen had given him to smoke earlier were kicking in a bit more, slowing down the once racing thoughts. The trap door. He would climb in through a window since the back door was locked from the inside with a padlock and the front door was on the main street. A lamp was lit on the street corner, and putting it out would draw more attention than breaking in through the front door. There was a lock on the trapdoor leading to where the special dyes were kept. Just powders. He would pick up a bottle of fixing powder as well. And then he’d go to the fight. And then he would pick up Hock’s money. Head South to Bluemist to meet Hock and wait for Jezlen.

Derk anticipated succeeding. Hock had hinted if he did this, there could be others in Bluemist waiting to congratulate him. If this was the step Derk had to take to get into the Cup, he would ride to Sindra and ask her to marry him again. But first, the window, the lock, the trapdoor.

In his thoughts when he opened the trapdoor there wasn’t anything there but the card he had pulled from Shamsee. The New Moon Card. The empty card. He hated fortune telling. Something about the card made him not want to touch it but it was where he needed to go. Without bending over it was in his hand, the thick paper between his fingertips. The gaping emptiness of the black moon in a black sky, offering nothing. Something beyond the card moved. When he looked, Sindra was there, smiling. There were tears in her eyes, making her normally dark grey eyes look like metal, sharp and cold. Before he could say anything, he was in her arms and her mouth was on his, kissing him hungrily. He couldn’t speak or say anything, just succumbed to her hot skin and warm body, the walls of the shop falling away so they were left in darkness, naked.

Derk woke with a start, finding himself in the temple and feeling disoriented. His dream had felt so real but the time spent so short. His heart still rattled in his chest and his skin was damp and hot. Derk cursed Jezlen under his breath, turning over on his bedroll. Waking up dressed, in the church, alone…Derk took a breath, breathing in and out slowly, feeling air fill his lungs, his belly, pouring into his arms and legs. The sound of people talking quietly registered at the edge of his mind and he slowly sat up on the bedroll, letting the blankets pile in his lap.

Two priestesses were quietly cleaning the room. The trio was gone and in their place a mother and a child sat against a wall. The child played quietly with dolls made of scraps of fabric. The mother didn’t seem to notice. The woman stared off into space, mouth slightly open. Derk noticed her arm was in a sling, the hand bandaged. A reddish spot on the off-white the dressing hinted it would need to be changed soon. Derk took one last deep breath, fully in the room, in the Valley, his dream pushed away.

Reaching over, he grabbed his shirt, pulling it on over his head before he stood up, dressing quickly. There wasn’t a mirror in the room so he looked to the little girl, noticing she was staring at him. He held his hands out to the side and smiled warmly at her. “How do I look?” he asked. The little girl’s eyes went wide and she buried her face in her mother’s side. But he saw one blue eye peek out and the corner of the girl’s mouth curl in a smile. Derk stowed his pack in the wicker box and tapped one of the Sisters on the shoulder. “Sister, I think you should see to that woman,” he said, indicating the mother with a nod of his head. “Her hand needs to be tended to, I think.”

“Thank you,” the priestesses said. Derk gave one last look to the little girl and the woman before he went upstairs. He was sure to get the new token for the night from the priestess at the top of the stairs, turning to enter the temple for a blessing before he headed out.

The temple was full of people who came for prayer before evening meal, sitting in the pews. Derk slid into an empty row and pulled his bracelet off, finding the white bead through feel more than sight. He put his hands over his chest and bowed his head. A priest was at the altar, playing a small harp and singing “Light of Revelation.” Not really what Derk wanted.

He rolled the knots between his fingers, reciting the Titles, the Attributes, the Loves and the Mercies. At the beginning of each list he felt each stone bead, felt their polish, the unseen nicks in their surfaces. And when he came to the end, he felt the Goddess Bead. He had replaced it with a bigger one, a finer one. Derk held it in his hand, holding the image of the Goddess in his mind as he made his prayer.

“Blessed Goddess, Holy Mother, put your light in my eyes. Guide my hand with your own. Hide me in my work and grant me success in my endeavor. Show me the way through the dark. May your Black Hand guide me and those I love.” He kissed the Goddess Bead and slipped the bracelet back on before he slid out of the seat, dipping his fingers into the bowl of holy water set up in the vestibule, anointing his head and heart before he stepped out onto the street.

Stealing Away

Derk wasn’t hungry but he would grab something to eat and drink while the sun went down. He’d go by the Two Fisted and get seen around there before ducking to the dyer’s store and make his score. Then back to the Two Fisted to get Hock’s money if there was any to be had, and then maybe a game of cards. The Happy Owl was supposed to have good singers. He should celebrate a bit by himself before the congratulations from Hock and Drink came rolling in. A smile curled up his mouth as the thought solidified in his brain.

He stopped at a food stall and sat at the small table set up beside it, trying not to get grease on his face or clothes. Bread fried in bacon grease with onions. It was a bit too rich for his taste so he left the last few bites for whatever man or beast cared for the rest, deciding he would get a beer at the Two Fisted before he went to the dyers.

The streets were full of people heading home for their suppers but Derk felt alone. Alone in his purpose. He missed his friends, the few he had. He missed Sindra. He even missed Jezlen. Maybe he’d take Jezlen to meet Gam sooner rather than later. Jezlen never seemed interested when he mentioned it, and Old Gam always seemed apprehensive about meeting him after Derk relayed stories. Jezlen was a…reliable person. Derk could rely on him. The Forester had a peculiar sense of humor and strange tastes but Derk appreciated the change in pace from the average Valleyman.