By Moonlight Wrought (Bt Moonlight Wrought) (13 page)

         Melissa thought often about Dirk:  he was
the kind of man she would like to marry, build a farm and raise half-a-dozen
children with.  She was thinking about him as she climbed the stairs.  She went
to the second floor, down the hall and opened the door to her new room.  It was
small and simple, with only a bed, a nightstand, a dresser, and one window,
though cleaner and possessing finer furnishings than her last room.  She would
miss the room where she and Dirk had first become friends.  She would miss
making dinner for him there, too.  Everyone at her new home ate together in the
dining room—those not on duty next door in the mansion. 

         Melissa set her sack of belongings, as
well as her backpack, onto the bed.  Brushing the hair out of her eyes she
opened the shutters and, squinting, looked out into the street.  Their house
was near the north gate and, like Bessemer’s down at the south gate and a
massive city away from Dirk, traffic was heavy.  It was the height of the
trading season and merchant trains were carrying goods from this town to that
city, and from that port to this castle.  The season meant a lot of itinerate
people from all walks coming to Andrelia to sell, buy or trade and there were
many strangers in town.  So far away from Dirk, Melissa could not help but see
how it mirrored their growing distance while even lying side by side.  At that
moment she could not see how moving physically farther from him would bring him
closer romantically.  But then maybe such complications were better put on
hold, at least for a while.

         Melissa heard footsteps behind her and
turned solemnly to see who it was.  “Hello,” Fiona said, walking over and
sitting on the bed, laying her mace down next to her.  Melissa turned and
leaned back against the wall with a sigh.

         “Hi,” she said as they looked at each
other.

         “I’m so glad you finally decided to come
over,” Fiona said brightly, to which Melissa faintly smiled.  “Do you have any
weapons?” asked Fiona.

         “Just this,” Melissa said, patting her
hunting knife, “two wood-axes in my pack, and my bow.”

         “Would you like to go buy a sword?”

         “I don’t have that kind of money,”
Melissa said with surprise.

         “I’ll spot you some until you get
paid...enough for a short sword,” Fiona said, rising up.  “Come on.”  So
Melissa went with Fiona to a weapon shop, as much to purchase a weapon as to
get more acquainted.  She looked around carefully, finally buying a short
sword:  straight with a keen edge and a silver pommel.  “You need some kind of
armor.  This isn’t much, but it helps,” Fiona said pointing to her own
protection, convincing Melissa to buy a leather tunic like she wore.  Melissa
bought the armor, a small brightly polished helm and some razor sharp war
arrows before her funds were exhausted.

         They talked a great deal that day. 
Melissa had only ever had one girlfriend before; friends in her life had always
seemed to be men, or boys.  It was nice for her, she thought, to have someone
again with whom she could talk about males, especially now that she found, all
of a sudden, that she could not understand them anymore, primarily Dirk. 
Melissa hoped Fiona might stay her friend for a long time:  she no longer trusted
women, in general, but Fiona warmed to Melissa like she did to no other and her
infatuation for her made Melissa appreciate her friendship and open up to her.

         Melissa had never met anyone as
intelligent as Fiona:  she knew so much.  She knew history, different
languages, religion, and always seemed to have the right answers for any of
Melissa’s questions.  Melissa felt secure.  Fiona, she thought, could solve any
problem.

         “How old are you?” Melissa asked, as they
leisurely walked home.  “You look like...well...real young.”

         “I’m twenty.”

         “Wow!  You don’t look that old.  How long
have you worked for Delsenar?”

         “About two years.  Only Marlo, you know,
the fat guy, and Relarius, the handsome swordsman,” she said with her brows
raised teasingly, smiling, “are newer than I.  Donagee...”

         “The tall man?” Melissa asked.

         “...yeah.  He and Anna, that bitch, have
been there longer.  Gosh...Don has been here about six years, I think.  Anna’s
been here half that and thinks she owns the place,” Fiona sighed haughtily. 
“Do you want some wine?” she asked, trying to change subjects, looking
disgusted at the mention of Anna’s name.

         “I don’t like wine,” said Melissa.

         “You can have a beer.”

         “All right,” Melissa said, so they stopped
and had a few drinks before going back to the house, where Melissa tried to
settle in as best she could.  All of her new co-workers, except for Anna, were
kind to her.  Melissa felt comfortable there in time and her job grew easier as
she learned Delsenar’s rules of where she could, and could not, go within the
mansion.  Her home was cleaner and better furnished and it was more secure with
all the armed guards living there.  Life, physically, became easy for Melissa,
and more promising for Fiona.  But emotionally Melissa’s short-lived bliss
would change, the turmoil of her life would return and peace would be far away
in her future.

          Dirk relocated as well, to the top of
Bessemer’s so that he could better guard the store.  It was a fair trade-off
for both Dirk and Mr. Bessemer:  not only did the establishment essentially
have a twenty-four hour guard, but Dirk no longer had to pay rent.  Bessemer’s
was huge: three expansive floors and two full basement levels filled with
virtually anything desired.  It was the most comprehensive shop in the city,
and thus the western civilized world. 

         There was also an additional floor above
the third filled with unused odds and ends, actually one-half of a level,
reachable only by a ladder; the other half of the level being a porch accessed
through a balcony door.  This is where Dirk decided he should set up his
belongings.  He cleared out all the clutter and moved any furnishings he wanted
up from the store itself, marking the cost of each thing off of his allotted tab.

         He also went shopping for his personal
items.  First he picked a fine array of clothing, including a pair of expensive
new boots he had wanted for some time.  Then he purchased a small keg of tasty,
yet inexpensive, wine.  Dirk chose a suit of leather armor covered in metal
studs and a tall pair of matching gauntlets (still unable to afford steel
armor) and he bought a helmet and a wooden shield banded in iron.  But Dirk’s
pride and joy was his sword, the same he had been admiring for over two years but
had never really thought he would own.  It was still in the store, being such
an expensive and large piece of work that few could afford it or were skilled
in its use, and it cost him fully two-thirds of his allotment, but he
absolutely had to have it:  of excellent workmanship nearly five feet long with
an extra long grip for two handed use, double edged, keenly sharp, and in the
right light it seemed to glow with an orange hue.

         Dirk, like Melissa, was soon comfortable
in his new home.  He found himself in the store at least twenty hours each day,
on the average, but never tired of it.  He sometimes felt as if someone had
opened a store in his home and he tried to be around as much as possible to
keep an eye on
his
things, which in a sense they were, since Dirk had
now become responsible for it all.

         Cinder knew that Dirk had moved so after
work one day she went to see him.  She walked as quickly as her heels on the
cobblestones allowed, swinging her hips in synchrony with the twirl of her
purse.  She smiled, as always, at the group of men across the street that
whistled and accosted her, flicking her fingers “hello” and batting her lashes
as she bound up the step and inside.  She walked past the desk, the girl was
elsewhere, and went to a remote corner of the first floor where she knew the
office to be.  In an aisle, before reaching the office, she was confronted by a
man. 

         “Can I help you?” the man asked,
smiling. 

         Cinder answered sweetly, “I’m looking for
Dirk.”

         “Oh!  Well, my name is Jenderson.  I run
the affairs here, you might say.  Let me see if I can find him.”  Jenderson
backed away, climbed to the third floor and called up the ladder.  The trap
door at the summit of the ladder was opened and Dirk’s face appeared.                                             

         “There is a young lady here to see you,”
Jenderson said.

         “I’ll be right down,” Dirk called,
closing the door again and putting on his shirt.  Dirk had been exercising.  He
did it often; it was the only way to keep his strength since he no longer had
the opportunity to deliver as many heavy goods as his old back-breaking job had
required.  And he never knew if or when he would be sent back to that same task,
permanently or temporarily to help with extra-large deliveries. 

         Dirk was mildly surprised in Jenderson’s
politeness.  The day that Dirk had started his new job, he had had an argument
with Mr. Jenderson and things had remained tense between them.  Dirk’s
confidence and enthusiasm, along with his new friendship with Mr. Bessemer,
clashed with Jenderson’s authoritarian attitude.  Jenderson was the store
manager and with Mr. Bessemer usually busy or gone, he ran the store, as well
as the massive task of handling the accounting books and ledgers.  Over the
past several years, Jenderson had made all important decisions; buying merchandise
from new sources, or discontinuing a contract with a current supplier, for
instance.  Dirk and Jenderson’s relationship was strained since Jenderson was
responsible for the store in total, but he could not, by Bessemer’s orders,
command Dirk any longer.  Dirk had free reign to do anything he felt necessary
to keep the store’s security intact.  In fact, since Dirk walked the store,
sword strapped to his back, shoplifting thefts were down and there had not been
a single robbery or burglary:  but it had only been a week.

         Dirk donned his leather jerkin and
gauntlets, and strapped his sword on before sliding down the ladder.  He made
his way down the stairs and found Cinder sorting through a rack of simple
undergarments and he smiled, knowing that she would never put anything so plain
on her spectacular body, so he made no offer to buy her anything. 

         Cinder was eye pleasing as usual, to say
the least, dressed in black this time:  her dress, hose, and shoes.  Only the
delicate white of her face and arms showed any contrast.  Wearing dark face
paints and red of the deepest cherries on her lips and long nails, as well as
the ribbons in her hair, Cinder was indeed eye-catching.  Her gaze narrowed in
a seductive stare as Dirk walked up, and she held her arms out for him.  She
seemed a completely different woman:  darker, sexier, and she possessed not one
quality of immaturity that day.  Dirk obliged her with a hug and Cinder dug her
fingernails into his back, though he could not feel it through the stiff leather
of his armor.

         “Would you like dinner?” she asked,
taking one of his large hands with both of hers, then smiling impishly, making
Dirk blush by the way she twisted and turned nervously; the way her eyes were
locked onto his.

         “Sure, why not,” he said, mildly
displeased.  “I don’t have much money, though.”

         “Oh, that’s okay, I’ll buy,” she said. 
“I’ll think of how you can repay me later,” she joked, looking back enticingly
over her shoulder with a very large smile as she dragged him after her, her nose
wrinkling impishly.  They laughed together as she dropped his hand and took his
arm in the usual fashion.  As they neared the store entrance Jenderson moved
behind the counter.

         “I’m going out,” Dirk said.

         “I see,” said Jenderson, looking Cinder
up and down suspiciously over the spectacles he wore only while doing ledgers.

         “I’ll be back before close.”

         “Do as you see fit,” Jenderson said to
Dirk, then turned to Cinder with a pleasant smile.  “You have a nice evening.”

         “I will,” quipped Dirk as he led Cinder
out the door, allowing her to decide on the tavern that evening.  She chose
The
Crossbow
. 

         Vandelar stood at the bar, sipping his
most recent of many ales, killing yet another evening in Andrelia, looking for
any excitement or chance to draw him back outside the city walls once more. 
Boris Treeskeller, a large clumsy man, bumped him again and Vandelar cast him a
tired glare.

         “Sorry Van,” Boris said meaningfully, but
his intoxication was apparent.  He was in the midst of telling his friends a
boisterous tale of how he had pummeled a man whom they all knew, named Aris,
then had had his way with Aris’s long time lover, Selene.  She, according to
Boris, desperately wanted him despite acting to the contrary.  All those at the
bar, except for Vandelar, were laughing, slapping their hands on the wood, and
shoving each other in their loud, lewd bragging.  After bumping Vandelar, Boris
gave himself more room, for though he was taller and broader, this last part
mostly in the belly, Vandelar was known as a skilled warrior and woodsman who
often traveled the Wild alone, something Boris did not have the grit for.  And
he was not yet drunk enough to think that he could match Vandelar.