By Moonlight Wrought (Bt Moonlight Wrought) (17 page)

         They heaved only a moment, Fiona using
the log—Melissa and Dirk their strong backs—when the old farmer pushed the
stack of sturdy crates under the axle.  As the three relaxed, Varley rolled the
new wheel over and lifted it into place, then walked into the barn, quickly to
emerge with a thick iron pin and a heavy hammer.  Varley slid the pin through a
hole in the axle, just outside the wheel and began to methodically rap one end
of it.  Dirk took the hammer from him and with one great swipe bent the pin
clear around; then the other end; it was now fastened and held the wheel in
place.

         “I’ll hitch the horse,” Melissa said,
walking over and retrieving the animal that had been grazing nearby.  Once
hitched, Melissa led the beast forward and the wagon rolled off the crates with
a heavy thud, but the wheel held.  Varley was just then emerging from his
small, dark cottage, though they had not noticed him leave.

         “The wife will fix ya up.  I’ve got to
get these taters into town.  Somebody’s got to feed the city folk.  I greatly
thank ya for your help.”  He climbed into the wagon and drove off straight
toward Andrelia without so much as a glance back.  Shortly, Mrs. Astin, a large
matronly woman who dwarfed her husband in size as well as boisterousness, came
out of the house bearing a tray of food.  Her clothes were plain brown and
sturdy, her hair in a tight bun, and she smiled profusely, her cheeks red and
full.  She reminded Dirk of the grandmother he had never met, but knew
somewhere in his past he had surely had.

         “Here we are,” she said, setting the tray
upon the lush grass before the cottage.  On it were a large sliced ham, two
loaves of dark bread and half-a-dozen apples.  “Name’s Thelma.  Sure am
thankful for yer help.  The well’s over there.”  She pointed across the yard
and placed three wooden mugs down near the tray.  “Give a yell when yer
finished.”  She turned and went promptly inside, calling the dogs with her.

         Dirk—momentarily forgetting his manners—sat
right down to eat, realizing for the first time how hungry he had become.  The
day had been simple physically for him, compared to delivering furniture, but
mentally it was taxing on him simply because the world he had always known,
perhaps the largest city in the world, now seemed so small.  Melissa and Fiona,
however, thanked Thelma before joining Dirk, sitting down just as he remembered
himself and stood up politely to thank her as well.

         After their lunch, they talked briefly
with Thelma and walked around the farm.  Melissa showed the two city-folk what
living in the country meant:  the animals, the quiet, that smell of growing
things, the open vastness and feelings of freedom.  She also showed them the
work.  While Melissa had been talking privately with Mrs. Astin, she learned
that several tasks had been “left undone,” as she put it, by her market fevered
husband over the past several weeks.  Melissa, missing the work she grew up
performing, coaxed Fiona and Dirk into trying their hands at it.

         Fiona was quite adept at looking busy
while actually doing little work at all, as Dirk huffed and puffed his way in a
bullish manner through every task.  Melissa seemed to wait until he was nearly
finished doing it the hard way before she would show him the shortcuts, or
easier methods, always with a quick smile to Fiona, causing Dirk to feel
rightfully outnumbered when alone with the two young ladies.

         They had a busy day, with hay to be put
in the loft, a stretch of fence posts which needed replaced, a bucket needing
patching, firewood needing cut for the now distant-seeming autumn.  A sagging
beam in the barn required an additional support column put up, the three cows
needed milked (Dirk was uncomfortable with that one and left it to Fiona), and
two chickens had to be caught—Dirk also had trouble with this one, but finally
laid his hands on them, to the amusement of the girls who giggled whenever he
dove and came up empty.  It wasn’t until much later that he learned the
chickens never needed ‘caught’ in the first place and it had been another joke
on the part of the women.

         Melissa kept finding tasks, no matter how
small, and Fiona did less and less work with each successive one.  But Dirk
didn’t mind:  he actually enjoyed the labor and thought that it might be nice
to have a farm with Melissa as a wife to cook and care for him, and to be in
his bed...but he grew uncomfortable with this last thought there in the
daylight, and quickly cleared his mind of it.  Dirk then realized that Fiona
had been watching while he daydreamed, and smiled as if she knew what he was
thinking.  Dirk blushed, wondering if his face had told her the whole story,
and Fiona grinned wickedly at his embarrassment. 

         About an hour before dark, Varley Astin
returned in his creaking wagon and the three city dwellers were invited into
the close, friendly shack for a dinner that was, though common, delicious and
more than enough for them all; even the ravenous Dirk who ate until it hurt for
him to move.

         “Is this how all farmers eat?” he asked
groaning as he leaned back in his chair, remembering Melissa’s delicious
repasts.

         “Hard work requires much energy,” Mrs.
Astin said, laying a huge slice of hot pie before him.  He groaned again and
refused politely, but in a few moments found room in his stomach for the
sweets.  “Besides, times in winter are very lean,” she added softly.

         The friends graciously denied any
compensation other than dinner, having enjoyed their day of freedom, and waved
farewell as Melissa led them back to the path through the woods carrying their
only solid memory of their day, two pies, still warm.  They walked across the
field as the sun hung near the city’s vast walls, visible just above the tree
tops.  As they disappeared into the foliage, the farmer and his wife could be
seen waving good-bye; Varley smiling then for the first time.

         Though Cinder had an engagement of one
sort or another nearly every night, she usually canceled such dates when Dirk
came around.  She enjoyed his company; that much was obvious even to Dirk. 
They were surely more than lovers.  Though neither made much money, Cinder’s
gambling—and the sum she still possessed from her ‘inheritance’—kept them
supplied with enough currency to fraternize at Cinder’s expensive tastes two to
three occasions a week.  There were times when Dirk would not go see Cinder for
four or five days at a stretch, but she would always show up at Bessemer’s to
learn the reason and coerce him into another night on the town.  It always
worked; but once. 

         On this occasion, one of the four guards
was ill and could not make his rounds, so Dirk had to stay and assume his
duties.  Cinder remained with Dirk, preferring to spend her time with him in
the store than not at all, and she saw his new bedroom for the first time.  She
also received a tour of the establishment which after closing, dark and quiet,
appeared extremely vast.  So the next night Cinder insisted Dirk would have to
atone for their missed dinner engagement.

         He did, and from Bessemer’s Dirk led her
west all the way to the harbor.  There they turned north and strolled up the
boardwalk.  It was well after dark because Cinder had not been able to leave
work until late.  The smell of fish was strong on the dock, understandably, as
was the pungent, salty sea-air, tinged with the faint odor of decay and wet
wood.  Lights from bastions protecting the outer side of the harbor twinkled
through the darkness and reflected off of the dark waters, and the sounds of
crews unloading their cargoes even at that late hour under lamplight drifted
along the docks.

         Cinder held Dirk’s huge arm as always,
stroking and clasping his hand now and again, walking slowly, carefully,
keeping her heels from getting stuck between the cracks of the walk.  “It’s
nice to walk with you,” Cinder said, leaning her head on his arm.  He leaned
over and kissed her midnight tresses.

         “Maybe someday you can take me for a walk
in your woods,” he said.

         “Maybe,” she answered kindly, though she
had no desire to see the forest, not for some time at least.  They heard the
sound of singing grow louder as they moved north, emanating from a ship where
sailors from far away Trendia were passing the night with a raucous party.  The
decks of the huge Trendian vessel were swarming with four or five dozen sailors
brawling, gambling, and singing.  Some called and waved as the two passed by. 
Dirk and Cinder waved back.

         “Care to join us, Andrelians?” one sailor
called, while those around him grew quiet, waiting for a response.  Dirk
immediately looked at Cinder.

         “Don’t even tease them,” he warned and
she smiled at him.

         “I like a good time, Dirk, but I know
better than to go on a ship with fifty drunken sailors, even in your care.  I
wouldn’t see daylight for a week.”  She put her head back on his arm.

         “Probably never,” he said, disgusted then
turned to the ship, “No.  Thank you, anyway.  Maybe another time.”  The sailors
laughed.

         “Wise decision, friend,” the first sailor
called humorously.  “Fare thee well, and yer lass.”  The sailors cheered a
salute to Cinder and proclaimed Dirk’s good fortunes for several minutes until
the two had passed well into the night.

         They arrived at the
Snapdragon
and
found it much like the other taverns that they frequented on those evenings
when a fun time was all that was desired, not a fine meal or quiet
conversation.  Andrelia had more inns and taverns than the couple could visit
in a year’s time.  On those nights they usually ate somewhere first, or if not
particularly hungry relied on the fare at the festhall they had chosen that
particular night; such common food as boiled eggs, biscuits, nuts, crackers,
pretzels, cheese, etc.  But there was always plenty to drink, from honey mead
and beer, to brandy, wine, and even the newly discovered whiskey.  Festhalls
had drinks, usually a light atmosphere, large crowds, and were most often found
in the dock district, that being the “seediest” part of town.  The seedier the
place, the more bizarre the entertainment:  from a singing minstrel and bands,
to drugs and exotic dancers, well evidenced at
The Spittoon
.  The
Snapdragon
was mild as far as festhalls went.  It was bright and clean, with a pretty
young minstrel singing for the guests.  Though there was an entrance fee,
Cinder made the money back in her first hour of gambling.

         Cinder was dressed for the occasion; much
brighter and sophisticated in a three-quarter length, backless dress of a light
blue color.  Dirk was even outfitted accordingly, since they had first gone to
eat at an expensive inn.  He wore a new silk shirt and fine boots, but no armor
or gauntlets, this time.  He did bring his sword, however.  Several times out,
maybe inspired by Cinder’s table success or high class attire, they had been
waylaid and robbed.  Dirk had even been attacked, though not seriously.  Weak
willed thieves liked to take those rare opportunities to hit a man as large as
Dirk while their accomplices could hold his lady at knife point, guaranteeing
he would not respond.  So now he always wore his sword, and he hoped when he
had saved enough money that he could learn professional skills in sword
fighting at one of the many academies in town.

         After three hours, Cinder was ready to
move on to a more exciting place and they were about to rise from the table
when Dirk saw Melissa and Fiona paying the entrance fee at the front and only
door.  Melissa saw Dirk and quickly tried to turn and leave, but Fiona grabbed
her and spoke quietly with her.  Dirk could not hear them, but he could passably
read lips; an interesting trait he had mastered as a lonely orphan, always
being on the outside of conversations.  Melissa’s back was turned, but he could
read Fiona’s mouth and saw most of what she said.

         “I told you to give it a while.  He’s not
going to fall in love and marry you in one month.  Come on,” she commanded,
dragging Melissa toward Dirk.  Fiona walked by and ran her hand across Dirk’s
cheek, and Cinder’s.  “Hi, Dirky,” she said, sitting across from him, next to
Cinder.  Melissa sat in the other chair between Fiona and Dirk.

         “Hello,” Melissa said quietly, trying to
smile.  Her head was down but her eyes up, looking across at Cinder.

         “Hi,” Cinder said perkily.  “I’m Cinder. 
Do you know Dirk?”

         “Yes,” said Fiona, looking at her
studiously, actually sliding her chair near the half-elf and leaning even closer,
as if she needed an exceptionally close look at her.  She studied Cinder
closely, sternly.

         “Yeah,” Melissa said, her eyes now on
Dirk.  He smiled uncomfortably at her.

         “This is Melissa.  She used to work with
me.  And that’s Fiona.  They work together now,” Dirk said.

         “Oh!” Cinder exclaimed.  “And what do you
both do?”

         “We’re bodyguards,” Fiona said, studying
her, trying to see if she had the brains to match her body; meaning, was she as
shallow and flighty as she appeared?

         “What?  That can’t be,” Cinder giggled. 
“You’re both much too pretty for that.  You should have someone to guard
your
bodies.  What do you really do?”