Барб Хенди - Of Truth and Beasts

“We will have enough,” Ore-Locks said, “once I trade this to cover it.”

He rolled the crystal in his large hand, watching the motion trigger the tiniest glow within its prisms.

As casually as he could, Chane said, “All right. While Ore-Locks settles into his room, I will go down and order food.”

The dwarf looked at him for a long moment, finally nodded, and stepped out. As soon as he was gone, Chane turned to Wynn.

“I need to go out.”

She shifted uncomfortably. “I know.”

Sau’ilahk hovered in an alley across from the large inn. His quarry appeared to have settled for the night. He pondered conjuring another servitor of Air to slip inside and function as his ears. But the place appeared too active. Indoors, within lit, contained areas—possibly with low ceilings—his creation might be spotted before it located Wynn.

Chane suddenly stepped out the front door.

Sau’ilahk lost his train of thought. Chane was no match for Sau’ilahk’s conjury, but this enigmatic undead had exhibited some arcane skill. It would be prudent to know exactly what he was up to, as Sau’ilahk had never been fond of surprises.

He blinked to the next corner, watching Chane stride back toward port.

Chane did not like deceiving Wynn. She assumed that he needed to feed, and he had chosen not to correct her. Between the brass cup’s draught and the still-lingering influence of Welstiel’s violet concoction, he did not feel hungry. By now, he should. But not even a twinge of hunger had come since Chathburh. Chane had other needs this night, new ones only beginning to nag at him.

He had not been prepared for what Welstiel’s concoction would do to him. Even in knowing, the thought of consuming it again left him frightened. Suffering through those days in his cabin had been horrible. But soon enough, Wynn would leave civilization.

There might come a time when he would need to remain conscious, whether it was day or night. He had only one more dose of the violet concoction. And worse, he had not told Wynn that he had taken their pouch of guild-funded coins from their travel chest. But tonight he needed the money.

With his cloak’s hood pulled forward, he ignored passersby. He made his way back to the shops inward from the port, to find the shabby multilingual sign above a door: APOTHECARY.

Late as it was, he reached for the latch but stopped short, staring at Welstiel’s ring on his third finger. It hid his nature from unnatural detection but also dulled his awareness more and more the longer he wore it. He could still sense some deceptions when spoken, but that ability and his senses were more acute without the ring.

Chane slipped off the ring and tucked it into the coin pouch.

The night world instantly took on a bizarre shimmer, like the air in summer heat. It passed, and the night grew bright in his eyes. He heard a rat in a nearby alley fussing with some piece of discarded paper, and the soft lap of water on the floating walkways below the piers another block away.

Grasping the door handle, Chane pressed down—and it opened. Upon entering, he was instantly assaulted by musty air wrapped in too many scents to separate them.

Small lanterns sat on faded tables or hung from low rafters, illuminating walls lined with close-spaced shelves laden with hundreds of glass, clay, wood, and tin vessels of all sizes. The counter to the right supported a long box tilted so customers could see into it. In its little divided cubicles were powders and flake substances beneath cheap, poorly cast glass lids.

“I’m just closing up,” a scratchy voice said.

Chane started slightly and turned.

An old woman stood in an archway to a back room filled with small tables and strange apparatus. Wild, steel gray hair hung in straggles over her face, which had one missing eye. She didn’t wear a patch, but had inserted a polished orb of jet or obsidian with a red dot in place of an iris. Two large moles decorated the left side of her nose, and her hooded robe might have once been red. She leaned on a gnarled cane.

“I need several components,” he said. “One in particular.”

She looked him up and down. “Why would the likes of you come here for such a ... component, as you call it?”

Her mockery of the term suggested she knew he was after something more important—more expensive and perhaps questionable—than was on display in the shop. It was also to probe to see if he was willing and able to pay for it.

“Because it is ... very rare,” he answered.

After Chane left, Wynn took advantage of the privacy and the rare luxury of the inn. She stripped down to her shift, then lifted the pearl-glazed pitcher and basin and fresh towels off the dresser and settled down on the floor. Before she’d even finished pouring water in the basin, Shade stuck her face in the bowl and started lapping. Wynn let her drink, for the water wasn’t soapy yet. The dog was probably hungry, as well.

“We’ll have supper soon,” she said.

She took her time washing. She’d barely finished and pulled on her short robe when a soft, triple knock came. Shade’s nose rose in the air, along with her ears, as she sniffed repeatedly, and Wynn didn’t need to guess as she opened the door.

A slender woman in a lavender gown stood outside, holding a huge tray with three covered plates.

“Your dinner, miss.”

“Thank you ...” Wynn trailed off.

Should she pay the girl now? How much would this cost? The girl was watching her and offered a demure smile.

“Mechaela will settle accounts upon your departure.”

“Thank you,” Wynn said, taking the tray, which was heavier than it looked. After a brief nod, the girl vanished down hall.

Wynn shut the door with her hip and hauled the tray to a small table. When she lifted one plate cover, she found a grilled salmon fillet, steamed green beans, and roasted potatoes—and the same under the other two covers. After so much time on a ship, the food probably smelled more exquisite than it truly was. But where had the staff found fresh green beans at this time of year?

Obviously, Chane had ordered a plate for Shade, who already fidgeted at Wynn’s side. Wynn set one plate down and had barely taken her hand back before Shade was halfway done. She shook her head at the sight and sighed, but the third plate gave her pause. It couldn’t be for Chane.

Reluctantly, she picked up the plate, opened the door, and knocked on the one across the hall. “Ore-Locks, supper.”

He opened the door almost immediately, but he looked past her, into her room.

“Where is Chane?” he asked.

“Out,” she said, offering the plate.

He didn’t take it. “How long?”

“He’s just getting supplies,” she said.

“Again ... at this time of night?”

Why would it matter to Ore-Locks where Chane went or what he did? The dwarf looked at her, the barest crease forming on his brow and between his eyes.

“Is not his purpose to protect you?” he asked. “Leaving you at a guild annex was one thing. Not the same as ... here , and without even telling me.”

Wynn blinked. Ore-Locks was angry that Chane had left her unguarded?

“I will stay with you until he returns,” he said, taking a step.

“No—I’m fine,” she said, shoving the plate out into his chest. “Shade is with me ... and I’m just across the hall.”

Ore-Locks’s jaw muscles bulged. “You will stay inside your room?”

“Yes,” she answered, uncertainly, wondering if he had some genuine concern for her.

“Bäalâle Seatt is our purpose,” he added. “At present, you are the one best suited to find it.”

Uncertainty vanished as Wynn stiffened. This was the Ore-Locks she knew.