A Tailor's Son (Valadfar) (26 page)

Harold waited for what seemed like forever after William had
finished dressing his wounds before Harold even thought of leaving
the chapel. After William had finished feeding on Paul, he wrapped the
rags that he had ripped from Paul’s clothing around his wounds,
yelping as he pulled them tight. Although his wounds would not kill
him, they still seemed to have hurt William. Even in his weakened state,
Harold did not want to face William now. Harold knew he would not
stand a chance. Harold would be killed before he could get close
enough to kill the creature in his chest. Harold would have to leave it
for someone else. He would have to rely on the city building an army to
face William. Harold had the letter from Paul to the O’Brien’s and his
diary now. He could actually prove his innocence.

He made his way out of the catacombs into the main church.
Harold was thankful William had left. There were no clues as to where
he had gone or how long ago. With no sun to tell the time it looked the
same as when Harold had arrived, the only difference being the
morning rain had moved off and the afternoon downpour was washing
in from the front arch. Harold was not sure of the time but it could not
be any later than three or four o’clock. He had spent most of the day
squashed into a small corner of damp stone and his tired body yelled at
him with aches and pains. Harold stood flicking through the church
records and finally found what he was looking for, Paul Augustus’
address. Harold left the church of Saint Anne’s and made his way back
across the city, heading to Paul’s home in the hopes he could find
something more to prove his innocence. Paul’s journal would go a long
way to proving it, but Harold had to be sure the guards couldn’t dispute
his innocence.

The alley outside Paul’s residence was busy, bustling with
traders and patrons who made their way to market. Harold knew he
would have to be quick, Muriel would be worried sick and Harold was
beginning to feel nauseous from fatigue. He was thankful Paul lived in
such a slum area where people would be used to the sound of the
collection of unpaid dues. Harold called on all the strength he had and
kicked the lock just below the handle, the old wood gave way much
easier then Harold had expected. A ragged old mutt who had been
sniffing through a pile of rubbish close by raised his head and barked,
warning him against disturbing him again before returning to his
foraging but that was the only creature that seemed to take notice to
Harold breaking an entry.

Inside Paul’s hovel it was black. Harold kept the door ajar
while he fumbled across a shadow he presumed to be a table. Finally,
his fingers rested against the matches he had been looking for and
Harold slid them into his hand, careful not to drop any. Lighting them
gave off a gentle glow across the room. In the centre Harold could
make out a coffee table and what looked like a candle, so he made his
way towards it, almost falling over a pile of books left in his path. With
the candle lit, the room slowly started to light but Harold did not have
to look far for what he was after. A diary, which predated the one
Harold had read, was the only book not piled on the floor or hidden
away in the spider-infested bookshelf. Harold was tempted to sit there
and read it but he worried that, although no one looked up at him when
he entered, someone may well have alerted the guard.

The sound of the rattle from outside told him Harold was
right, and he bolted for the door, crashing out into the street with the
diary held under his arm more protectively than most would hold a
baby, and Harold ran. Ran with all the decorum of a shot fox, but
Harold ran all the same. He took the side roads most of the way home,
never stopping. The streets were busy, it was not easy and his chest
burned with ice in the cold air. It had begun raining again, not
surprisingly, the short break in the clouds fading back to darkness.
Harold knew if he stopped he would not have the energy to start again
and he had no idea if the guard were tracking him down or not. The last
thing he wanted to do was get thrown into a cell for breaking an entry
now he was so close to clearing his name. After what seemed like
forever Harold fell against his front door panting, waiting for his breath
to return before knocking. His legs as weak as a rotten beam, Harold
waited until he felt safe before slipping the book into his left hand and
rapping against the woodwork with his right. The door slid open
slightly

Muriel said and his stomach churned over like a mason’s drill.
“Are you okay, did they hurt you?”
Harold asked, taking Muriel’s
face in his hand looking deep into her eyes. She pressed into his palm
and Harold felt his fear melt away, if only his exhaustion had gone with
it.
“I’m fine. They only came about the men down the street. Someone said
they saw you there.”
“
What did you tell them
?” Harold asked looking out through the
sodden windows to see if anyone was watching the house.

“Nothing much, I told them I was watching the place for your mother and
as far as I knew you had gone with her down to Port Lust.”
Muriel said.
“
My mother hasn’t gone to Port Lust.”
Harold replied somewhat
puzzled.
“I know that. Didn’t think you’d want them going snooping where she is
though.”
Muriel said, smiling at him again. She always smiled, no matter
what and Harold loved that about her. Muriel’s street life had given her
a wisdom Harold was still trying to learn fast. Her simple lie was
believed, and why wouldn’t they believe it. The guard were looking for
a murderer and a prostitute, not a woman who could afford the kind of
dress Muriel was wearing. Harold knew they would not return. The
house was safe at last. He would still have to watch out on the streets
but he could sleep safely within his own bed for the time being. The
guard would send word to Port Lust and the village constables could
look for him there until he had time to organise his defence. Harold sat
to rest in his father’s chair and began telling Muriel what had happened.
He drifted off to sleep before reaching the end of his story.
It was still dark when Harold awoke covered in a blanket
Muriel must have lain over him as he slept. Harold could hear the bell
towers in the distance ring out five times. Muriel must have left him in
the night and gone to her room upstairs. He crept up, making sure the
old stairs did not creak under his feet. Harold remembered the times he
had snuck out when he was younger, and knew exactly where to put his
feet so the old beams remained silent. Harold listened at Muriel’s door,
her gentle breathing letting him know she was safely asleep, before
making his way downstairs again where he returned to his father’s chair
with Paul’s diary in his hands once more. Harold flicked through the
pages reading as quickly as he could. Paul had written everything right
up to the moment he hid himself away in the catacombs. Harold now
had the two books he needed. One filled with the mad scribbling of a
dying man, the other containing the full story of what he had done
since his return from The Dark Gulf. Harold closed the book and laid it
to rest above the fireplace.
Harold had been reading for hours. The sound of the bells
chiming ten must have woken Muriel as Harold heard the bed springs
shift and the door creaking open shortly after. Today was the first day
of the rest of his life – or so Harold thought at the time. Muriel came
downstairs, her hair still entangled from her sleep and already dressed
in her new gown – it seemed that she now had two dresses but Harold
was not sure she would ever want to wear her old one again, he would
have to find the time to make her more. She sat down beside him and
Harold began to talk, trying to find some answers from the night
before, his memory still blank.
“So what happens now then, Harold?”
She asked, fiddling with the
embroidering at the edge of her sleeves. “
Harold?
” She repeated with
such urgency Harold felt confused.
“We try to enjoy ourselves a bit
.” Harold said throwing her a smile,
hoping to lighten the mood. She returned it but only half-heartedly.
Harold could tell Muriel was unsure if things would last between them
now that normality was on the brink of returning.
“What do you mean?”
She asked nervously, rubbing the sleep
from her eyes.
“How about we go visit the palace, go watch the guards change with the
rest of the toffs?”
Harold hated to admit it but he enjoyed walking through
the noble parts of town, the cobbled roads and statues. The noble’s
houses themselves had been restored under William’s wise leadership.
The irony of the best and worst person to enter the city sharing the
same name was not lost on him. Although nearly all of his saving had
gone, he could not reopen the shop yet so had the time to spare.
“
I don’t think it’s wise to. We should get your evidence before a noble so
they can represent you in a court hearing. Just showing it to a guard won’t necessarily
mean you’ll be free.”
Muriel said. She was happy it might all be ending but
she could tell Harold really had no idea what to do with the books he
had gathered or how to use them to prove he wasn’t behind it all. She
could see him handing them over to some guard who would lose them
and cash in on the bounty no doubt now on his head.
“
I know a noble, I used to do work for him; He’s something to do with the
newspaper presses. I’ll get a courier to take word to him later today I promise.”
Harold said not questioning how Muriel knew so much about the legal
workings of the noble houses.
“So it’s finally over for us?”
Muriel asked.
“Yes, the guard will have to find and stop William now. We know what
he is and how to kill him and once the court pardon me I can reopen the shop and we
can plan what we’ll do next.”
“So you still plan for it to be ‘us’ then?”
Muriel asked bluntly.
“Of course Muriel, you mean more to me than I think you know. Tell me,
how did you come to be on that street the day this all started? I want to know it all.”
“
If I tell you Harry, will you still want to be with me?”
Muriel asked
and Harold nodded. He called her over with a gesture of his arms and
they sat together in the armchair. For so long he had wanted to know
everything about Muriel and that morning might have been his last
chance.
Harold listened intently as the strong woman that he had
fallen in love with melted as she started her story and told him
everything.
Her mother had run away from her drunkard of a father back
in Bracetire Harbour when Muriel was just five years old. They had
taken a ship straight to Neeskmouth docks. Her mother changed her
name shortly after arriving, wanting a new start in a new kingdom. She
took her name from the current lord at that time, William’s wife, and
her surname from one that seemed so common within the city, thus
becoming Adelaide Smith and her daughter Muriel Smith. Neither of
them could speak Neeskmouthain when they first arrived and the first
few weeks were hard until Adelaide managed to get a job as a dancer at
the
Plucked Eagle
. Things were going well until Adelaide was viciously
attacked one night coming back to the board lodgings they had been
staying at. She was raped and severely beaten. Her legs had been so
badly damaged by the three men that had soiled her she was unable to
walk properly again, let alone dance. Once her wounds healed enough
to walk the harbour Adelaide took to being a sailor’s woman, having
three or four ‘husbands’ that helped pay the rent and came back to visit
her while they were on land instead of dancing for coin she turned to
the only other trade that seemed plentiful for a women of poor birth.
When Muriel turned around ten she remembered finally
moving out of the boarding lodges and having a permanent home in
the public harbour. There were a lot of other working girls in that street
that became like sisters to Muriel. While her mother was entertaining
her ‘husbands’ Muriel would go out, sometimes until late at night and
spend time with these women. This lasted until around Muriel’s twelfth
birthday when one of her mother’s sailors brought an unfortunate gift
back for her mother. Not a fine necklace or spices, but instead cholera,
brought back from another of his wives in The Dark Gulf. Muriel took
to looking after her mother as her symptoms worsened. At first it was
just internal disturbances, nausea and dizziness that led to violent
vomiting and diarrhoea. Muriel cried as she told him of how at such a
young age it worried her so, but when her mother’s stools started
turning to a gray liquid and the muscular cramps followed, she could
not cope alone anymore.
Muriel’s street sisters started caring for her mother, sparing
what money and time they could for the little girl they had got to know,
but they couldn‘t keep it up forever. It took almost a full year for
Adelaide to die. Muriel told Harold how the image of her mother’s
puckered blue lips in a cadaverous face stayed with Muriel forever, it
was how when she had seen what William could do she was not scared
for she had seen something worse and did every time she closed her
eyes. Alone and scared, Muriel relied more and more on her street
sisters who took to showing her their trade. Muriel’s first client had
been when she was just thirteen. She would never be able to forget that
time, the feelings as the man’s hands roughly probed her. The rawness
she felt and his sharp thrusts as he ignored her yelps of pain. She told
Harold that sometimes before she met him she would awake screaming
at night, still able to smell the foulness of spirits on his breath and feel
the blood that stained her legs after he had finished. Muriel had worked
as a bunter, a helper for the older girls for the next few years, just trying
to make enough money to pay the rent on the house and keep fed. She
had learnt the language well and you would never have known she had
not been born to this life. Things had been hard for her and she had
seen and done things no child should have to, but she had been lucky in
some aspects to work for herself. That was until one night she took on
a Drow client. He was over from Portse on work, or so he said. It
turned out that he had been staying for a long time. Her ‘still tight
cunny’ as he put it would be worth more than she was getting and he
offered her a home in return for a share of money each week. That was
how she came by her current home and had been working for
O’Brien’s gang down by the docks that night. O’Brien had been good
for her, when he was sober, even helping her to learn to read in return
for a little action now and again. Muriel had planned to learn to read
and get away from the docks. She wanted to get a job as a scribe for a
noble or even as a house maid but it hadn’t worked out that way.
When O’Brien was drunk, the night she had met Harold, he
had beaten Muriel for not getting a client, demanding double the
money by the end of the evening. Muriel’s voice trailed off and with her
story over, Harold did not know what to say to her. Harold longed to
make her happy, to take her away from all this but the horrors she had
been through came as such a shock to him that all words failed in its
wake. It was no wonder Muriel had been so strong for him; she had
always had to be. She didn’t know any other life than of pain and fear.
“
Muriel, I don’t know what to say. I wish I could take all that away.
Give you the life you deserved. Stop all those things happening.”
Harold paused. “
I
want you to have the keys to Thistlebrook Cottage. It was our summer home when I
was a boy. It’s the place I told you of in Port Lust. It needs work but you will be safe
there. I want you to have it.”
Harold said. Muriel cradled his face and smiled
before shifting around so she sat in his lap. His heart began racing and
she kissed him. Harold knew she felt it as his excitement rose beneath
her. With the same caring grin Harold had loved since he’d first saw it,
Muriel smiled at him.
“
But only if you come with me.”
She said kissing him again. Muriel
had never told anyone the story of her life. It was too shocking for her
to cope with most of the time and she expected people to run away
after hearing it. People tended not to be able to see past what she’d
done. They saw her as soiled but Harold wasn’t like that. Not anymore.
Her hands reached down to his fastening and gently she took him and
caressed him as he grew hard they begun to move as one. Their beings
entwined as their bodies combined and their lips met repeatedly.
Panting and glowing deep red, she laid abreast him. She moaned and
Harold’s body replied. He could see the sadness in her eyes still but it
was fading, being replaced with warmth.