Alex Bledsoe - Burn Me Deadly

Before she left that morning, she kissed me while she thought I was still sleeping. Through my eyelashes I watched her stand in the doorway, her figure silhouetted against the gray dawn sky beyond. How had I landed a woman so beautiful? She was slender, with hips just wide enough she’d never be mistaken for a man and breasts that rose deliciously against the front of whatever she wore. She had a lithe way of moving, a natural grace that turned heads wherever she went. I felt a little tug somewhere inside, the way I used to when we first met. Back then it was because I was afraid something might take her away; now I feared something might do the same to me. Mortality is grand.

She descended the rickety steps attached to the outside of the building. I heard one of the town’s cats meow as Liz no doubt stopped to pet it. Then she was gone. I rested a little longer, then made myself get out of bed, clean up and face the day. I’d given the world a week and a half to arrange its nefarious plots against me, and now it was time for me to get to work untangling them. I no longer needed the bandage on my head, and could take a deep breath without pain. My hands, when I held them in front of me, remained steady.

After I dressed, I strapped on a sword for the first time since the ambush. I chose the Shadow Slasher III, a little light for my normal tastes, but since I wasn’t up to full strength, it seemed like a good choice. I felt a little nudge as the hilt tapped the bruise my Jackblade had left when I fell on it. For some reason this reactivated the anger that had lain dormant since my injury, and a surge of righteous energy shot through me. I burst out the door and down the stairs with the assurance that someone, eventually, was going to get their ass kicked.

“What the hell are you looking so damn happy about?” Mrs. Talbot said as I came around the corner of the building. Our landlady wore a shapeless dress too short for a woman her age, and her dull gray hair fell haphazardly around her plump, drink-veined face. She crouched on the edge of the porch and expertly sharpened a wicked-looking cleaver. “Did that whack on the head make you simple?”

“It just made me appreciate your beauty even more.”

She laughed the way a cat spits out hair. “Yeah, you’re simple now; that proves it.” Then she pulled a leaf from a nearby bush and split it with the cleaver into two paper-thin mirror images. She nodded in satisfaction.

“I should pay you to sharpen my swords,” I said, impressed.

“You can’t afford me,” she retorted, then went back inside. I headed for the livery stable.

I passed Ditch Street (actually Canal Street, but changed in common usage to more accurately reflect its character) and saw the former Lizard’s Kiss now completely closed and abandoned. The windows on both floors were shuttered and boarded over, and the welcoming awnings removed. Nothing moved around it. Had I seen it wrong? Had the red-scarved workers been moving things out of the building instead of into it? No, I was certain I’d seen at least one large covered piece of furniture carried inside by the sullen-looking laborers. I stood gazing at it for a long time, until someone bumped into me and brought me back to the moment. Yeah, it was odd, but I had enough mysteries to wrangle.

The livery building was located in the middle of town, convenient to both land and river travelers. The stable had room for twelve horses, and the little corral out back could manage additional ones, or any other livestock that needed minding. The big arching sign over the main barn doors read Pinster Beast Boarding, and beneath it hung a painted shingle with a horse reclined in a canopied bed. The owner, Hank Pinster, found that incredibly funny and loved pointing it out to first-time customers.

At one corner of the building a smaller door led into a separate, independent office. The much more tasteful shingle over it said Dumont Confidential Courier Service. The wagon was gone, which meant Liz was off making a delivery. As Neceda was the only port for this section of Muscodia, lots of things were shipped through it, providing Liz with a steady living. Considering my iffy career, that was a good thing.

Hank met me at the stable door with a sad, rueful shake of his head. He wore heavy boots and a leather blacksmith’s apron. Most blacksmiths wouldn’t work in the same barn as the horses, but Hank had a way with the animals that kept them from panicking at the noise and burning smells. The ends of his long ragged hair were singed from stray sparks. “Helluva thing to happen to a good horse,” he said ruefully. “Helluva thing.” He clapped me hard on the shoulder. My ribs reminded me of their existence, and I winced. “Oh, sorry, Mr. LaCrosse. I thought you were well.”

“I’m fine,” I grunted. “The hospital told me my saddle and bridle and other stuff got dropped off down here.”

“ ‘Tack,’ Mr. LaCrosse. It’s called ‘tack.’ ”

“Guess I’m not very tackful, then.”

His expression didn’t change. “Well. Yes, the fella who took you to the hospital brought that stuff here on his way out of town, trying to sell it. I told him you were a friend, so he just left it. I’ve got it stored away. C’mon in here.”

I followed him past the stalls toward the little storage area at the back. The stable odor seemed especially strong after the hospital’s herb-flavored aroma. Seven horses were currently in residence, including a magnificent midnight-black stallion and an equally expensive white gelding. All regarded me with the same superior loathing every horse except Lola always had for me. Hank was right; she was a good horse. I realized suddenly how much I’d miss her.

Hank turned and looked behind us, making sure we were alone. Then he led me into the very last stall, where a thick gray mare stood against the back wall. He closed the gate and motioned me over to the horse. “This one ought to do you fine, Mr. LaCrosse,” he said extra loud. “She was raised by a little girl and only ridden to school on bright spring days. Take your time and look her over.” As he patted her cheek he leaned closer to me and said softly, “Somebody came by here asking about you.”

“Official guy with a big sidekick?” I asked.

Hank shook his head. “No. That big black stud and the white gelding belong to them. This was an old man. He had white hair, and wore these weird padded gloves, kind of like the ones I use when I’m heating things in the fire. He seemed like he was either crazy or in a lot of pain.”

“What did he want?”

“Wanted to know if you’d come down here to get a new horse yet.”

“Are you serious?”

He nodded.

“When was this?”

“Yesterday.”

So my mysterious hospital visitor knew I’d been discharged and that I was in the market for a new horse. He could only know that if he knew what happened to my old one. “Was it the same farmer who brought my stuff to you?”

“Nah, totally different fella. That one was little and fat looking. I don’t remember his name, but I’ve seen him buying meat at the markets and such. And yes, before you ask, if I see him again I will get his name. But the old man…” He shivered a little at the memory. “He was just weird. Smelled bad, too, like rotten meat. Gave me the creeps. Upset the horses.”

I nodded. “Did the fat little farmer mention where he found me?”

Hank shook his head. “All he said was that he found two corpses and a dead horse in the woods down some ravine. When I saw it was your saddle, I sent my boy Leon to tell Liz.”

I nodded. “Thanks for watching out for me, Hank. And just so you know, that official fellow with the fancy horse might ask about me, too.”

He frowned. “Why is the government interested in you?”