Jeffrey Quyle - The Healing Spring

His door was ajar. Kestrel felt suddenly alert, and he held his staff in readiness, as he stood outside his room. He pushed the door open with his staff, then cautiously peeked inside. The room had been torn apart, with his small supply of belongings scattered across the floor. He checked the hidden pocket of his pack, and found it cut open, with Silvan’s directions of how to write coded messages, and where to leave them, gone. His communications with Center Trunk were already compromised before he had even had a chance to use them.

It would be weeks before he even needed to use them, so there was no immediate loss, but it was a blow. He had an option, he realized; with Dewberry’s help, he could pass messages to Alicia, getting information to Center Trunk on an almost instantaneous basis. If anything, it dawned on him, the thieves may have forced Kestrel into a better form of communications.

Kestrel lit his room’s lantern from the one downstairs at the desk, then returned to his room and pushed the door shut, throwing the bolt securely in place, and sat on his bed. He thought back to the men he had seen leaving the inn as he arrived; could they have been the thieves who had plundered his room? He tried to remember them, and his memory painted their clothes in shades of deep red, the same as the Uniontown ambassador’s entourage, but he had no clear, reliable recollection. He couldn’t imagine why anyone from Uniontown would want to rob him, yet his instincts jumped to the conclusion that the robbery was the work of forces from Uniontown.

He kicked off his boots, still damp on the inside from the swamp water they had received while saving Jonson, and laid back on his bed. He felt exhausted, as the rush of adrenaline from the discovery of the burglary passed away, and before he knew it, he was asleep.

Kestrel awoke to the sound of banging on his door. “Sir? Sir? Will you be leaving us today, sir?” the innkeeper’s voice called.

“Just a minute,” Kestrel called groggily. He sat up and saw bright sunlight streaming in through his window, then staggered over to the door and opened it. “We’ll need to clean the room sir, if you’re leaving today,” the innkeeper said, as Kestrel kept the door cracked only inches open.

“I’ll pack up and be out in just a little bit,” Kestrel told him, then pushed the door closed again, and sat down on his mattress. He looked about the room, then stood again and quickly stuffed his belongings into his pack, strapped his weapons securely in place, then left the inn, and went to Castona’s shop.

“Someone broke into my room last night and stole my instructions for how to pass messages to Center Trunk,” he told the merchant.

“Did they learn any names?” Castona asked intently.

“No, no names, but they know the code I was supposed to use. Where I can I stay tonight that will be safe?” Kestrel asked.

“Why not stay at the palace?” Castona suggested. “Go ask the herald to assign a room to you, and you’ll have a suite. It’ll make it easy for you after the reception.”

Kestrel thanked his friend, and went to the palace gate, where he received prompt entrance, and was sent to wait in another parlor.

“How can I help you, young champion?” Moresond said as he entered the room.

“I’d like a place to spend the night, and I thought the palace would be safe, if you have a room I can use,” Kestrel answered.

“As a Captain of the Fleet, you are always welcome to use one of our guest suites, and as the Champion, I suppose we should have a specific suite reserved for you somewhere anyway. Follow me and we’ll set something up for this evening,” the herald replied. He led Kestrel to meet the steward, who in turn took Kestrel to a sunny wing of the palace with wide, high windows that allowed much sunlight to enter the hallway.

“Here is your room,” the steward and another servant announced as they opened a door at the end of the hall, and let him enter first.

His room was a suite of five rooms — a lobby, a sitting room, a dining room, and two bedrooms, plus a bath and a balcony patio. “Is this sufficient?” the steward asked. “We would have had better for you if we had known you were coming.

“This is more than I’ve ever had before,” Kestrel breathed. “Thank you,” he added. “This is perfect.”

“If you need anything, pull this cord,” the servant showed a cord that wrapped around a pulley and disappeared in a small hole in the floor. “This will alert the staff, and someone will come immediately.”

With that the two staff members discreetly departed, and Kestrel unloaded his goods. He removed his boots and placed them by the fire to dry. He went into the bathroom and started filling a tub with hot water, amazed at the pipe that delivered the hot water from some mysterious source, then soaked and relaxed in the tub. He decided to take full advantage of the palace amenities; he got out of the tub, and donned the robe that hung on his wall before he pulled the magical cord that brought a maid to his door within minutes. The young lady graciously agreed to deliver food to his room, and just a few minutes later he sat at the dining room table and ate a late lunch that was his first meal of the day.

It was almost time to meet Merilla, he realized with a start as he nibbled on the food, and so he rushed to throw on clothes and ran through the streets to reach the millinery shop. “She’s been waiting; her mother thought you were a phony, but I had faith,” Daley said as soon as Kestrel entered the door. He went back to the stairs and called, and Kestrel heard Merilla’s footsteps on the stairs, then saw her standing at the doorway, shining and beautiful in her gown, looking at him with a dazzling smile that disappeared a moment later.

“What’s wrong?” Kestrel asked.

“Where’s your shirt?” Merilla asked.

“Oh, I left it at the palace. I have a room there now. I thought I could change when we got back,” he declared.

“Tsk,” Daley said from behind his counter. “Your mother is going to be furious when she finds out he rates his own room at the palace! She was so sure he was a homeless fortune hunter,” he laughed gently.

Merilla laughed. “He did hunt a fortune for me, in a fashion. That yeti he killed gave me enough to buy my own house!”

Kestrel was delighted to see the girl in such good spirits after the debacle of their encounter the previous night. “Let’s be on our way,” he suggested, and went out in the street to flag down a carriage to protect Merilla’s gown from the elements.

They rode in silence on the way to the palace, sitting across from one another, Kestrel discreetly examining Merilla’s beauty.

“Yes, I’m wearing make up!” she finally laughed. “A girl’s got to do something special when invited to the palace! I’ll never be going back like this again.”

They disembarked at the palace gate, and Merilla was impressed when Kestrel was immediately ushered inside, ahead of the line of invitees waiting to enter and attend the reception as guests. Holding hands, they walked to the correct wing of the palace and entered Kestrel’s suite.

“Oh Kestrel, all of this is for you?” Merilla asked in amazement as he changed shirts, buttoning up the flimsy material that exposed his skin for everyone to see.

“I feel like I’m on display,” he complained.

“And how do you think this feels?” Merilla asked, tugging at the low collar on her gown, one that showed her cleavage.

Before Kestrel could answer, there was a knock at the door, and Kestrel answered to find the steward there. “The Doge wanted assurance that you felt well enough to attend tonight,” the man politely let Kestrel know he was late.