Self-Made Scoundrel (31 page)

“I painted some of the icons, yes,” she said, sitting up straighter in her chair. “I learned from the High Priestess Kerla of Whitehill. She’s the leading expert in depictions of the Goddess in art.”

“But you painted as a girl, right?” Derk asked, cocking his head to the side. She nodded. He could tell she was pleased with herself. More than likely she showed promise at an early age, ability which was noticed and cultivated. He wondered how old she had been when she left her family to learn. “Is your mam or pa the artistic one?” he asked.

“My pa was, truth be told,” she said. Her light eyes brightened, as if she was hungry to tell the story. “He makes pots, you see, with clay from the lake bed. And he used to paint them and I used to help him.” In the young priestess’ face, he could see the memory, the happiness with it all. Digging out clay. Watching her pa mold it.

“Which did you do?” he asked, leaning over the table.

The priestess pointed to a clay piece. “I did that one.” She pointed to another. “This one too.” Derk leaned over as close as he could, not touching the icons with his hands. They were good, actually. Carefully painted lines, the black spiral representing the palm of the Goddess artfully stylized on her work.

“Well, I’ve got four blueies to spend. I need the rest for a bath. I’m going to see my lady in a bit, so what’ve you got?”

The priestess’ face fell, looking over pieces. She picked up one of the knotted bracelets. “This is five pieces.”

“I’ve got four, I told you. Five and four ain’t the same in the Valley yet, are they?” He looked it over. The knots were careful and tightly woven and the beads were a beautiful mix of black and white. “I mean, will it even fit?” he asked, holding out his wrist. “I’ll give you the four for the red one.”

“What moon were you born in?” she asked, exchanging the black and grey bracelet for the red one. “What’s your line of work? Because-”

“I know what red is for, Sister. Four for the red one,” he said, still holding out his hand. Pale brows furrowed on her face and she picked it up, tying it around his wrist. Her fingers felt smooth and tickled his skin. He thought about the book he had caught her reading last night but thought better than to bring it up. Derk reached into his purse and pulled out the four blue coins and put them on the table.

“And what’s your name, in case I have more than a few coins and want to purchase an icon by yourself? Your work is lovely.” He leaned over and looked at it again, wondering how much they were. “I’ll say, this piece is by Sister So-And-So, isn’t it? I recognize the art. I’ll take it.” He wanted to smile but the look on her face made it hard to grin. Her disappointment was evident.

“It’s…Arika,” she said. “Sister Arika of Three Pines of Ayilkin. I mark all my pieces like this,” she said, picking up one of the pieces. On the back the letter ‘A’ was written three times, the points of a triangle. “I’m…I’m glad you like them,” she said.

“Or maybe you can do a new version of the Illustrated Workings?” he suggested, raising his brows. The priestess laughed. “I’d pay for that. Have a blessed day.”

“May the Goddess hold you in Her Bosom,” the priestess replied. Derk walked backwards a few steps and almost fell down the first one, catching himself just in time before he turned around and went down the stairs.

He didn’t bother to stop, just slowed his pace as Drink fell in beside him. “Giving it back?” she asked. Derk held up his wrist to show his new bracelet.

“No, just thought I could use it,” he answered. “Spending the rest on a bath. You could use one yourself.”

Drink laughed. “I guess you’d be the expert on being wet.”

“About that,” Derk asked, lowering his voice. “I was wondering about last night-”

“You’re not in yet. Though I don’t hate you,” Drink said, locking her eyes with him. “Just stick with Hock or whoever he passes you on to. Do what he says. Do your thing. Meet a few other people.” She nodded, slipping her hand under the strap of her pack. “Come this time next year, you’ll be feathered and not fluffed, and floating to boot.”

Derk laughed. “You like crows, don’t you? You’re from Ayilkin, aren’t you?”

“Most commoners like crows. They’re smart, loyal to their families, adaptable. Black as the night, they can hide in the Goddess’ hair. And,” she added, gritting her teeth but still smiling, “being from Ayilkin Barony, I’m more than partial to their sayings.” Red brows furrowed on her face as she tilted her head slightly with her question. “You the son of a priestess?”

“No,” Derk laughed, amused she was guessing. He supposed knowing a bit more about his background was important to her, knowing what the Cup was taking on by taking him on. Perhaps if she knew more about him, she would just let him in. “Just in love with one.” It was all he would offer her right now.

Drink didn’t seem satisfied with his answer but she drew back, stopping in the street so Derk had to stop as well. “I’m heading to the Holy Bowl. I’m sure I’ll see you again.”

“I’ll make sure you do,” Derk said, with a bow, a bow too proper for the occasion but he didn’t care. The confusion on her freckled face was worth it. He tipped his cap to her and she turned and left, not bothering to look back as she cut across the street. Derk just shook his head and turned. The bathhouse was waiting. He’d have a bath and try to plan out the best way to impress Drink and the rest before the year was through.

Finished Business

“From your bed I’ve been turned, from your life I’ve been spurned, yet in my heart you remain. Though gone from my eyes, in my thoughts you arise, my love for you, Sindra, the same.” Derk looked over the verse, holding the lamp black pencil in his mouth. It was good. Not the best poetry. But sometimes the most heartfelt emotions were best relayed in small phrases. A grip of birch paper couldn’t hold all his thoughts and feelings about Sindra, easily filled with his requests for her to reconsider his offer. But hearts weren’t won with logic.

He signed the letter, “All my love, Der-” He cursed. After all these years he still wasn’t used to signing his name and he had started to write an ‘s.’ Looking it over and considering the letter, Derk managed to turn it into a rather convincing ‘k.’ He added the vowel marks, careful not to smudge what was already there. “All poetry should have the vowels put in,” he said, waiting for the pigment to set before he carefully folded it thirds and then folded the sides, carefully fashioning the letter into the shape of flower. The customary shape for a love note.

Derk took a sip of his beer and set both the letter and the drink aside before he looked at the second sheet of paper. “Cel,” he started. “I’m doing well but not good. Always busy and swimming as you say. I’ve something for yeh when I come see you next, shud be afore our first dance. Stay good.” He stared at the words, wondering how to close the letter to Old Gam. Derk missed her. He had left it out of the letter but he did.

Derk glanced over at the letter intended for Sindra and wondered, if he could have either one of them sitting across from him, which one it would be? Intelligent, gorgeous and good Sindra? Or cunning, crass and boisterous Celeel? He loved Sindra, loved who she was. A woman of importance and conviction, who he could talk to about things he couldn’t talk to others about. She talked about Church policy, history and scripture with authority. She was kind. He loved to look at her to the point it was almost blasphemous. Celeel on the other hand…he could be himself in a different way with Old Gam. The Derk he always knew he was. She made him laugh and told him plainly when he was being stupid. Except when it came to Sindra. Then her advice was ‘Do what you want, you dumb fapper.’ What he wanted now was one of them on his lap. He couldn’t even decide which one he enjoyed sleeping with more. Each had their charms. Derk shifted in his seat and blew out his cheeks, trying not to think
of either of them. He drew two crescents back to back and overlapping, the symbol for ‘friendship’ and just wrote ‘Myself’ at the close of Gam’s letter, draining his glass before he folded the paper in thirds. He scrawled their final destinations on the backs and then got up from his table, not bothering to push his chair in behind him.

Derk shoved his letters and his pencil in his bag as he headed toward the lightening sky. All the carts heading out would be leaving through the East Gate and one was bound to be heading to Portsmouth, another to South-of-Downs. A bit of cold night air still hung over the city but the approach of summer put a hint of heat in the breeze. Derk yawned, eager to get to bed but still having a few things to do before he turned in.

The bustle of carts getting ready to depart beckoned to him and he listened out for the locations and spaces called out by drivers willing to take letters or people to other locations. Derk helped a pregnant woman and her little boy up into a cart, handing them their bags before he bowed his head to them, listening, straining his ears.

“Portsmouth!” a woman called, waving her whip in the air. Derk pushed his way past a guard and approached the woman, waving his hat above his head to get her attention

“I’ve a letter for Portsmouth,” he said, pulling out the letter for Gam. He handed her the letter and two blue coins, one to get it to Portsmouth, one to get it to Gam’s door. He’d only know if Gam got it when he went to go see her. As his plans stood now a month would be the earliest he could get to Portsmouth. A letter would have to do.

“You wrote the address on the back?” the woman asked. Despite the chill she wore a sleeveless shirt. Her arms looked like they were made from ropes, strips of muscles stretching under skin and over bone. Her straw-yellow hair was tied in two long braids hanging down her back.

“As much as I could recall,” Derk said hopefully. He had written ‘Portsmouth of Tyeskin, The Apartments above the Bone Carvers store on Blue street, second level, Celeel.’

“Better for you, not me,” the woman laughed, putting the letter in a bag. “If weather holds fair, should be in Portsmouth in a phase and three,” she said.

“Sooner than I’ll be there,” Derk smirked, tipping his hat to the woman, letting her go back to her shouting and trying to sort out the rest of the calls. A woman in grey robes caught his eye and he rushed over. “Where are you headed, Sister?” he asked.

“Taking priestesses where they need to go, new assignments and all.” Derk looked behind her to the cart. A half-dozen girls, wrapped in grey and white shawls sat in the back, holding packs and bundles on their laps.

“Will you be stopping at the temple in South-of-Downs?” Derk asked. “I have a letter.”

The old priestess pointed over her shoulder. “You can give it to Darika back there, she’s assigned there.” Derk walked to the back of the cart, reaching into his bag. He was regretting having folded the letter the way he had. It was obvious what it was. All the girls were looking at him.

“Which of you is Darika?” he asked. A girl with a round face and a slightly upturned nose raised her hand, her short brown curls spilling beyond the edges of her headscarf. “I’ve a letter for…the High Priestess.” He pulled it out and handed it to her. The girl’s eyes went wide and he heard the other girls giggle, one of them snorting with laughter. “I would appreciate it,” he said. Feeling bad for putting the girl out, he handed her two coins, hoping the extra would save her a bit of face.

“Are you plowing the High Priestess?” one of the girl’s asked, a little too loudly for Derk’s taste. He avoided their stares and looked around, as if the answer was to be found in the air. He couldn’t think of anything so he just bowed to them and turned on his heels and left.

Another errand before he turned in for the night. He would need his rest. Derk had planned a sizable heist for tonight and Hock was in town to help. But before he could do that he had to lay down a bet for tonight’s fight. A young man just kicked out of the Martial Academy of Gorskin was to go up against one of Block Lord Sunny’s better boys. Hock thought Sunny’s boy was going to win. While the fight was going on, Derk planned to pop into Ferix’s dye shop and steal a few packets of dye.

Autumn was making its way through the Valley and Lover’s Moon would have people wanting to wear their finest clothes for the festivals before they went indoors for the cold months. He would save a bit for Gam. Gam would make something beautiful with the colors and her fibers. She had a talent. Sindra wouldn’t be taking him on for the winter, he knew that. It didn’t mean he couldn’t spend the night with her and get her something. Maybe a scarf this year, to keep her warm. Last winter she had gotten sick to the point she couldn’t speak except in a hilarious rasp. It seemed like a long time ago. He had kissed her anyway, not caring. Even after she reminded him she wouldn’t take vows with him. Derk yawned, a smile pulling at his mouth as he remembered her heavy lidded eyes, flushed, dark skin and slender fingers in his hair.

The bar where the fight would be taking place was serving customers already, the front doors propped open with barrels. Someone was slumped in their seat at the bar, head on the bar top. Derk knew the situation well. He cast a glance about the bar, managing to not look surprised at the table of three browncloaks at the corner table, eating their morning meal after getting off watch. Last night’s beer barely wafted through the scents of toasted barley cereal, pork belly and ember cooked eggs. Derk hopped up onto the bar stool, feeling very tired. The bartender looked like he was about to get off shift as well. He laid his eyes on Derk, eyed the guards and then looked back to Derk, business written on his scruffy face. “What’ll it be?” the man asked.

“I wanted to ask, what’ll you have for midday meal?” Derk asked, hands in his lap. “Just curious as to what I should have when I come back.”

“We’ve got custard and greens but if you want something heavier, barley bread and rabbit shred made with dried fruit and beer.”

“Those both sound good,” Derk mused, tapping his fingers on the counter top. The noise did nothing to wake the sleeping man, just quieted the snore emitting from him. “How about for now, an ember cooked egg and creamed beans if you have any leftover.”