Tarant: arrival

[moonshadows]

After nearly three weeks of hiking across the continent, even relatively flat and welcoming land with plenty of flora and fauna to augment our meager supplies, the sight of Tarant in the distance was a welcome one. Poor Virgil looked ready to weep with relief; the journey had not been easy on him. Unwilling to complain or let his weakness hold us back, he had spent much of the first week in a haze of exhaustion before letting it slip that he’d been surreptitiously healing the blisters and sores brought about by so much physical activity. After that, I’d put together a simple stimulant to keep his energy up. The softness that had once given a gentle curve to his belly was gone, and his square face had lost the heaviness that spoke of rich food and excess drink. His hair had lightened considerably due to bleaching from the sun, his skin had darkened, and he looked like quite a different person than the excitable fellow who had greeted my emergence from the fiery wreckage of the Zephyr. Grim-faced from long days of exertion and a lack of creature comforts, he bore his sword and leather armor with ease and carried an aura of danger about him.

I wondered if I looked the same.

My upbringing had left me no stranger to long days on the move and little to fill my belly with at the end of them, but the armor and weapons had taken a bit of time to adjust to, and I knew that my skin must bear testament to the effects of wind and sun as much as Virgil’s. I feared to look at my reflection in his shaving glass lest I see my father’s blood peering back at me, but Virgil hadn’t said a word about it despite my practically abandoning the mask of a gently-reared lady while on the road. He still turned his back while I changed, and I afforded him the same courtesy, but we had fallen into a much more casual pattern with each other, something akin to comrades rather than an unmarried man and unmarried woman sharing the same space. We laughed and joked together, neither of us mentioning our pasts. He taught me how to not look like I had no idea what I was doing with my sword; I taught him the basics of outdoor survival. The fiction that my nonhuman blood was elven served to explain my familiarity with hunting and hiking, and the frantic research I’d done a few years ago allowed me to pass cursory cultural expectations. Quiet moments in the evenings or during rests made it quite clear that he still afforded me the reverence due to Nasrudin’s reincarnation, despite our growing closeness, and I began to worry discreetly about the day when he discovered my true heritage.

We entered the city early in the morning, arms and armor hidden beneath the Panarii robes taken from the temple’s abandoned stores, with little more on our minds than a warm meal, hot bath, and soft bed. A guard standing watch at the west end of the Garrillon Bridge gave us directions to the Bridesdale Inn. With thick, coarse cloth covering our heads, few gave us a second look as we trudged through the city streets, just a couple of anonymous Panarii going about their business.

“I don't much like cities,” Virgil muttered to me as we turned up Devonshire Way towards Vermillion Road. “...always feel so crowded, hedged in…”

Wordlessly, I groped for his hand and squeezed it, letting my touch bring comfort in the absence of any appropriate words.

We reached our destination without incident, and I stifled a wince as I handed over the coins to pay for a room; it was more than I’d wanted to spend, but the image of two corpses and a note hung before my eyes. The Bridesdale Inn was not a place that would tolerate assault on its guests, and being back in a city was making both of us nervous: Virgil from whatever haunted his past, and me from the threat of being recognized, both for what I had been born as, and what I had not died from. Once the door was locked behind us, we both gave a little sigh of relief.

Virgil grinned at me as we shed our packs and robes. “It’ll feel good to get out of this armor for a change, won’t it? Er, Miss Clarisse?” He colored slightly, remembering that we were once again in civilized surroundings and the informality of the wilderness was no longer appropriate.

“A bath will feel better,” I answered with a smile. “After that, perhaps a good meal and a nap before we venture out in search of the telegraph office?”

Longingly, he glanced at the two very comfortable-looking beds in the room. “As much as I’d love to reverse the order of that, I’d feel bad sullying the bedlinens.” Resolutely, he squared his shoulders. “You first, Miss Clarisse.”

The porcelain tub filled with hot water and gently-scented suds was a luxury beyond words, and the sheer amount of grime in the water as I finally stepped out made me feel that I had shed my skin and emerged a lady once again. Wrapped in an enormous towel of soft cotton, I opened the door of the bathroom and smiled. Virgil, clean clothes gingerly held away from his body, stood ramrod straight with his back to me. As my bare feet crossed the room to the other bed, his ears pinked and he began to shuffle sideways to the bathroom, still keeping his back turned. I had no doubt that his face was beet red; my time indulging in the hot water must have afforded him ample opportunity to notice that I hadn’t unpacked a change of clothing, and guess at what would pass for my state of dress when I emerged at last. The door clicked shut; behind it, the sounds of water filling the tub drowned out my chuckle. It seemed our time alone together hadn’t quite erased those boundaries after all.

The man who emerged from the bathroom half an hour later was fit and tanned, with a roguish smile and an air of exuberance. He bowed gallantly to me; gracefully, I curtseyed back. The rich brown of his trousers and the jacket stolen from a dead assassin complemented the deep blue of my dress, and my hair had grown out enough to look exotic without being out of place in polite society. The mysterious ring was securely tucked into my bodice, where I could keep it with me and still not risk it being seen.

“Madam,” Virgil said with perfect decorum, “shall we dine?”

He offered me his arm; with matching decorum, I took it. “We shall.”

The ease with which he guided us to a quiet restaurant hinted that this was not his first time in Tarant, but I said nothing. More of our precious stash of coin went to pay for a good, hot meal, one not composed of campfire biscuits, beans, and whatever I could shoot or pluck from the ground. We both ate too much and enjoyed every bite, and retired afterwards to a small park half a block away where we could sit in comfortable silence and watch the passers-by. Enmeshed in the webs of propriety, we fell into the only pattern allowed for an unwed woman keeping company with an unmarried man, and perhaps there was more than the fulfillment of societal expectations as our fingers brushed against each other, lingering, or in the small smiles and sideways glances of admiration. The heat high on my cheekbones told me plainly that there would be spots of color there as Virgil’s eyes caressed the curve of my neck, or perhaps my misleading ear. For my part, I couldn’t help notice that he’d trimmed his beard down to the discreet fringe it had been when we’d met, just enough of a presence on his chin to keep him from looking too boyish. As the thought crossed my mind, Virgil caught me looking at him and smiled. The expression lit up his face, making him seem ten years younger and a lifetime more innocent, and the heat on my cheeks intensified. Demurely, I looked away but did not reclaim my fingers when his warm, soft-rough hand enveloped them.

It wasn’t that I’d never been admired, I thought, suddenly aware of the way heart was beating. After all, I’d emerged into the world of society a veteran at fending off unwanted advances. But half of my previous suitors hadn’t been gentlemen, and the gentlemen I’d known in the life that had gone up in flames before I set foot on the Zephyr hadn’t seen me as a lady. I had been a woman, yes. A student, more promising than most, but not a figure to be courted outside of men barely past boyhood and looking for little more than a night’s entertainment. None of them would have been comfortable spending any amount of time in the company of a woman bearing weapons, much less ones she knew how to use easily, or wearing the type of armor that revealed nearly as much as it protected. My world had been divided into orc and human, I realized. The wild, and the civilized. But just as I could never truly separate the two halves of my parentage, I would never fully belong to either world. There could be no Clarisse without Vorak, and in that instant of blinding comprehension I understood that I had never taken an interest in any of my suitors because none of them had appealed to both of my natures. Vorak would never be satisfied with the tame role of a gentleman’s pampered wife, and Clarisse would not settle for a man who was not able to hold his own in a battle of wits.

Suddenly, I was very aware of Virgil’s hand surrounding mine.

It could have been something out of a children’s story: the Living One and her noble protector, the man with a tragic past who turned to the Panari just in time to save the woman destined to save the world. Grateful, she swoons into his arms and they fall in love. Perhaps she even returns the favor at some point, saving him from the clutches of the Evil One, and they live happily ever after. A perfect children’s tale, except that the Living One was a half-orc, and half-orcs didn’t get happy endings. No matter what Virgil may or may not have thought of me, when the truth of my blood came out…

Gently, I reclaimed my hand. Better for both of us to not get involved in that way. When the truth inevitably came out, there would only be pain and heartbreak for both of us. Assuming he even felt that way to begin with.

“I suppose we should go see if Joachim sent us a telegram, hmm?” Virgil’s voice was light, an unwitting underscore to my dark thoughts.

“Yes,” I said, letting him help me up, guilt weighing heavy in my chest as I laid my hand on his arm and let myself be swept into the steps of society’s dance.

 

“Good afternoon,” the clerk said pleasantly as the bell hung from the door announced our entrance. “How may we at the Tarant Telegraph Office help you today?”

I wrapped myself in Clarisse, pushing all thoughts of Vorak to the back of my mind. “Good afternoon. Do you have a telegram for Virgil?”

“Virgil, Virgil…” He shuffled through a stack of papers. “Yes, we do as a matter of fact. That will be two coins, miss.”

“Alright.” I fished the coins out and handed them over.

The clerk handed me the telegram and smiled. “Thank you, please come again.”

We bowed our way out of the shop and returned to the small park before daring to look at what we’d been given.

 

HAVE DISCOVERED SOMETHING INTERESTING

CONCERNING OUR FRIENDS WITH THE AMULETS

STOP   AM OFF TO INVESTIGATE MY THEORIES

REGARDING THEM AND AM UNABLE TO MEET WITH

YOU IN TARANT STOP   PLEASE ACCEPT MY

HUMBLEST APOLOGIES AND VISIT THE TEMPLE ON

LIONS HEAD CIRCLE IF YOU HAVE QUESTIONS STOP

TRAVEL TO STILLWATER WHEN YOU CAN STOP

WILL LEAVE WORD WITH INNKEEPER THERE AS TO

WHERE YOU CAN FIND ME STOP   JOACHIM  END

 

Virgil looked as if he’d been spurned by a lover. “The telegram sent by Elder Joachim...I-I don't know what to make of it.” He handed it back to me, both hands running nervously through his hair as he paced back and forth, clearly agitated. “It seems that he thinks it very important to find out why these men are trying to kill you...much more important than being here to protect you...” The words trailed off just before they could become a growl.

Gently, I said, “I thought that was your job, Virgil...”

“It is, blast it!” Angrily, he turned away, fists clenched as if he were looking for something to strike. Then the anger drained out and his shoulders drooped. “I’m sorry…I-I don’t mean to get so angry,” he said miserably, eyes pleading for me to understand. “I just don't have any idea what's going on here. All I know is that Joachim showed me a better way, a new faith, and…now I'm involved in something even I don't believe.” Almost fearfully, he asked, “What do you think?”

“I think those beds at the inn looked very comfortable,” I said crisply, folding the telegram neatly and tucking it in my sleeve. “I think we should take a well-deserved rest and then figure out how far Stillwater is and if we can afford provisions for there and back, and find some work around here if we can’t.”

Relief smoothed out Virgil’s tanned face, and he rubbed his hands together briskly. “Alright. Listen, Tarant is a big city, and a man needs to watch what he does and who he talks to. Believe me, I know a lot about surviving in places like this. This, and worse,” he added darkly. “Just keep one eye always open, and one hand always on your weapon. You can't trust strangers, and sometimes not even your friends. I used to, uh...” The words tumbled to a halt and the haunted look had returned when he glanced at me. “I used to...well...that was another time.” Uncomfortable now, he avoided my eyes. “I...uh...know my way around. Just be on your guard, and I'll be watching out for you as well...”

“Thank you,” I said softly, taking one of his hands in mine. “Maybe we can look into finding P. Schuyler and Sons, and see if they can tell us the owner of the ring? We should visit the Panarii temple on Lion’s Head Circle, too, and see what the scriptures actually say about this ‘evil one’, although I must admit to being more worried about the assassins finding me.”

“There is a particular wisdom to your words,” Virgil laughed. “And crying about this prophecy gibberish isn't going to keep a knife out of your ribs.  I'll shut up for a while, and we'll concentrate on that ring. If we find the owner, maybe we'll find out why those bloody assassins want it so badly.”

“Virgil…” Gently, I touched his jaw and bit my lip at how my heart leaped. “It’s your life, too. You don’t have to help me with this, but you are, and the prophesy is important to you. That makes it important whether I believe in it or not. Perhaps I am who you say; until something happens to either prove or disprove it beyond the shadow of a doubt, I’m willing to accept the possibility.”

His mouth dropped open; after a minute, he shook his head and grinned. “Aren’t we quite a pair?” he laughed. “The would-be elven god and his jester.”

“Virgil…”

“I don’t know which of us is crazier,” he continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “We’ll probably both end up in the asylum.”

“Virgil!”

Smirking at how I was fighting not to smile, he went on, “Might be a tad safer, in any case. At least there, you know who the bloody madmen are.”

“Virgil,” I said patiently, both hands on my hips, “we are going back to the inn, and we are getting a decent night’s sleep. I have had a very long month.”

The humor faded. “So have I,” he said solemnly. “You’re right; let’s get some rest. We can figure things out tomorrow.”

The walk back was silent, each of us distracted by our thoughts. When we returned to our room, Virgil grabbed his nightshirt and turned away from me to strip off shirt and jacket. His skin was just as pale, protected as it had been by his armor, but the softness that had rounded his arms and hung around his middle was gone. As I had back in Shrouded Hills, I watched him change, and he seemed to feel my eyes on him. Both arms stuck into the sleeves of the nightshirt he hadn’t yet pulled over his head, he turned to give me a stern look.

“I’m still no bloody warrior.”

I met his look with one of my own. “Then why are you trying so hard to keep a knife out of my ribs?”

Face red, he turned away and shrugged into the nightshirt. I dug out the loose shirt and trews that passed for my nightclothes and went into the bathroom to change, unsurprised to discover upon emerging that Virgil was already tucked into one of the beds and, to all appearances, fast asleep. I followed his lead and snuggled down between crisp sheets, the down comforter weighing gently upon me and the soft mattress cradling my body tenderly.

“Good night, Virgil,” I murmured before closing my eyes.

It may have been my imagination, but I thought I heard his breathing hitch as if at the last second, he’d thought better of speaking.

 

Neither of us awoke for dinner, exhausted as we were from our long trek. Dawn saw us both rise from our slumber, only to exchange awkward smiles and attempt to return to the dreams that had been so rudely interrupted. It was not to be, however, and only minutes later we dressed and set out in search of breakfast, and answers.

Breakfast was easy to come by. Fortified by eggs and bacon, toast and butter, tea and milk, we began our inquiries regarding the town of Stillwater. The prospect of a two-week trip made us quail, and it was with guilty relief that we tallied up our remaining coin and discovered that we were considerably short of what either of us would be comfortable arriving at Stillwater with. It was several hours yet before we would need to either remove our belongings from the inn or pay for a second night, so Virgil escorted me to the Hall of Records, pointed out the university library, and begged my leave to go see what work was to be had for an enterprising – and unscrupulous – young man.

The Hall of Records, it turned out, was down a staircase and nestled inside a quiet, dimly-lit basement. It took no effort at all to assume the role of a gently-raised young woman, and timidly I made my way to the solitary desk surrounded by towering wooden file cabinets. The young woman at the desk waved me over with a kind smile.

“Greetings, madam,” she said as I approached, her voice swallowed by the shadows. “How may I be of service to you?”

I swallowed, my eyes very wide. “I hope you can help me, madam. I’m looking for a…P. Schuyler?”

“P. Schuyler?” She pursed her lips. “The man, or the store?”

“The store,” I said, nearly whispering, my eyes focused on the countertop where my hands gripped each other tightly. “It’s about a ring…”

The clerk laid her hand comfortingly on mine. “Hoping your fellow will pop the question, eh? Well, if you’re looking for a proper ring, or just want to get him thinking about it, you can find the place down a little alley off of Devonshire Way.”

“Thank you.” I beamed at her in genuine relief. “Thank you ever so much.”

Back outside in the sunlight, I considered visiting Devonshire Way in search of this alley, but imagining Virgil frantically searching for me put an end to that thought and I turned instead to my own personal wonderland: the library. The librarian had some reservations regarding my presence, but several minutes of delighted rhapsodizing over the books under her protection convinced her that it wouldn’t hurt to let me read, so long as I didn’t try to remove any of them. I thanked her profusely, warned her about Virgil looking for me, and fairly flew to the chemistry section. Two hours flew by in a glory of academic bliss, the mysteries of the world unfolding beneath my fingertips, clean lines of formulae describing the abstract shapes of cause and effect. When the librarian’s quiet cough returned me to the physical world, it was with a nearly-audible thump, the pure forms of chemical notation and relationship falling down about my ears like shards of imaginary glass.

“Might…” I ducked my head shyly, looking up with wide eyes as I reverently replaced my printed companions. “…might I come back sometime?”

The librarian’s stern visage thawed into an unaccustomed smile. “I think you enjoy the books more than anyone actually attending the university. Come back whenever you like, dearie.”

I nearly hugged her, babbling my profuse thanks.

Virgil smiled warmly at both of us as the librarian led me back to the entrance and bowed gallantly before offering me his arm. Still walking on air from having stretched my mind, I took it and he led me out into the sun.

“You really do read for fun,” he teased.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “You doubted me?”

“Never! …I just didn’t expect you to be practically glowing. I suppose asking if you enjoyed yourself would be foolish…did you have any luck with the Hall of Records?”

That brought me back to reality. “Alley off of Devonshire Way. You?”

Scowling, he made a so-so gesture with his other hand. “One that pays in coin, but we’d have to go into the sewers and find a gentleman’s wedding ring. The other is easy enough, just a rat infestation, but it only pays in whatever we find as we’re clearing out the rats. Let’s check out P. Schuyler and Sons on the way back. Who knows,” he added with forced cheer, “maybe we’ll find the owner of the ring and he’ll reward us handsomely.”

“That’s the spirit,” I smiled.

 

A young man in a suit smiled charmingly as we entered the small jewelry shop. “Hello. Welcome to P. Schuyler and Sons, dealers in the rare and beautiful. My name is James Kingsford. How might I help you?”

“Mr. Kingsford,” I purred, the hand not curled around Virgil’s arm extended for him to bow over, “I do hope you can help me. I have come into possession of a ring, you see…”

He smiled a bit thinly. “I’m afraid we don’t buy here, madam.”

I forced my eyes as wide as they would go. “Oh, you misunderstand me! I’m not selling, I’m hoping to find the owner so that I might return it. Such a fine ring, surely the owner would be…grateful…”

James Kingsford relaxed slightly. “So sorry, madam, but that’s out of the question. It’s strictly against policy to divulge the identity of any of our clients.”

“Perhaps if we spoke to Mr. Schuyler…?” interjected Virgil.

“That’s quite impossible. Mr. Schuyler is unavailable at this time. The Schuylers are very busy men. Perhaps if you came back in a few weeks…”

Disappointed, fighting down Vorak’s orcish temper, I let Virgil lead me back to the inn.

“Well,” he said once we had returned to our room, “what shall we do now?”

“Kill rats,” I replied shortly, grabbing up armor and undergarments and stalking to the bathroom to change.

It was somewhat of a surprise that the afternoon had barely begun as we made our way across the city, armor and weapons hidden beneath Panarii robes, eating common fare bought from a street vendor. Once we’d reached the rougher industrial district, we rolled our robes up and carried them. The armor would be better cover here, and Vorak’s experienced scowl sent more than one questioning glance running for cover. Virgil spoke quietly to the gnome gentleman whose warehouse we were to clear of its infestation, then indicated with a jerk of his head that I should follow as he unlocked the doors.

The next hour passed in a delightfully bloody haze. Virgil sorted through crates and shelves, organizing the contents while I allowed myself to be Vorak and slaughtered rats by the dozen, tossing them in an empty crate while Virgil averted his eyes. In the gnome’s defense, these were significantly larger-than-average rats, and some of them had grown to sizes prodigious enough that in another setting, I might have butchered them for their meat. Living in the city, however, I doubted their flesh would be healthy to consume. When the buildings were clear, I sheathed my daggers and took stock of our payment, the ferocity of Vorak sinking down beneath the lucidity of Clarisse again. Sugar…brewer’s yeast…metal shavings and casings…a couple packets of “migraine cure”, which I pocketed after reading the ingredients…more sugar…well, at least we would be well-supplied in that respect for our trip to Stillwater. Sacks of fertilizer, small springs and assorted mechanical components – what kind of business had owned these warehouses, anyway? – a bundle of arrows and, incongruously enough, several large chunks of metal ore. In several trips, we sold most of our “payment” to various shopkeepers, and some to a junk dealer. The metal shavings, we threw out. Not even the junk dealer wanted them. In the end, our pay was several pounds of sugar, a quiver of arrows, two packets of migraine cure, and a few hundred coin.

“Well, I’d say that was worth it,” said Virgil cheerfully.

“Indeed. Where was that gentleman who wanted a ring?”

Virgil wrinkled his nose at me. “You really want to go down into the sewers after a wedding ring? We have enough coin to finance a trip to Stillwater and back…”

“I’m feeling generous.” I grinned at him. “What would Nasrudin do?”

That stopped him in his tracks, a pensive look on his face. “What indeed. How about this, Miss Clarisse – we’ll see if we can find this chap’s ring, take a nice long bath, get some dinner, and then visit the Panarii temple. Tomorrow, we can get supplies and head off to Stillwater where hopefully, we’ll find out what’s going on.”

“Sounds wonderful.” I told him. Now…where was that chap?”