By Moonlight Wrought (Bt Moonlight Wrought) (22 page)

         “We know that,” Dirk said.

         “I bet,” the kid mumbled, then looked at
Fiona, “What else?”

         “He?” Fiona asked.  “There’s only one of
them?”

         “Yeah,” he said, looking at her in
disbelief.

         “What’s your name?” Fiona asked.

         “Will.  Okay?  Enough?  Now can I go?”

         “One more,” Fiona said.  “Will, why do
you live down here?”

         “Nowhere better.”

         “Isn’t it dangerous?”

         “No.  I can ditch anything.”

         “Except me,” Melissa said.

         “I slipped,” he said, sneering at her.

         “No you didn’t, you little twerp,” she
said, trying to throttle him, but Fiona grabbed her hands as Will ran behind
her for protection.  “I got you on the run.”

         “What are you afraid of, Will,” Fiona
asked, turning to the dirt-smeared boy.

         “I’m not afraid of
her
.  She’s
stupid, and slow.”

         “Why you...” Melissa snarled angrily.

         “Clumsy!” Will replied, trying not to
smile at the reaction he was getting from her.  Then he felt Dirk’s huge hand
on his shoulder and he knew it was time to be quiet.

         “Why don’t you come up with us?” Fiona
asked him.

         “No thanks.”

         “We’ll buy you some dinner.  Anything you
want.”

         “Why?  Are you one of those people who
always wants to give me money to go home with you.  At least you’re a woman. 
And you’re pretty,” he said as if in afterthought.

         “No, I’m not one of those people.  But
maybe when you get older...” she said with a wink, touching his face like an
older sister.

         “All right, let’s go.  Can I have my
bear, please, ma’am?”  Fiona laughed at his change of manners and handed it
over to him gently.  “Not that I need it anymore.  It’s just all I
remember…well..from when I was little.”

         “Yeah…like yesterday?” Dirk said with a
laugh, feeling proud he had managed to sneak in a witty jab.

         When they reached the surface, they went
to the festhall’s front door.  “I gotta change,” said Melissa.  “Look, why
don’t you all come around if you figure anything out.”  She tried to smack Will
in the head, but he knocked her hand away.

         “Don’t you want a beer?” Fiona asked.

         “I’ll get one at home.  I reek.”

         “You shot real good,” Dirk said, taking
her hand.

         “Thanks.  Come see me some time.”  She
smiled.  “Bye Fiona.”

         “Later, gorgeous,” Will called.  She
glared at him as she walked away.  “Nice door knockers,” he said to Dirk, “and
ass.”  Dirk was aghast.

         “Watch your mouth, kid,” Dirk said, not
looking at him, but straight ahead as they walked to the front door.  Will made
a face at him.  Dirk knew it and softly smacked him with a gentle backhand and
Will didn’t make any more.  They all went inside where they found Cinder
sitting on Selric’s lap and she waved happily.

         “Where’s Melissa?” Cinder asked.

         “She went home to change,” Fiona said.

         “Whoa!” Will said to Dirk.  “What a
doll.  Is she with us, too?” Will said, like most males, drawn immediately to
Cinder.

         “She
was
with me,” Dirk said
slowly, looking at her and her new friend.  Will ran over to her and Cinder
looked at him curiously.

           “Hi, they found me living in the sewer
all alone in the dark and the cold.  I don’t have any family, just Fred.”  He
held up the bear but didn’t stop talking even to breathe.  “They said I could
go home with you.  Don’t send me back down there alone.  Please, please.”  He
put his head against her breast.

         Cinder did not know what to do with him;
too immature, too much a child herself, to fall for his intentionally pitiful
act, but she did care all the same, though she was not pleased with having his
dirty head against her dress. 

         “Oh, did they?” she asked, looking at
them curiously, wondering if and why they chose her for such a thing without
her consent.  “I’m sure we can find somewhere for you.”  She turned to Selric. 
“Can’t you take him?  You have a big place.”

         “Sure, if you’d like,” he offered
insincerely, willing to help Cinder in any manner during his first attempts to
woo her.  Fiona, meanwhile, ordered Will some dinner:  beef steak, rolls,
beans, potatoes, and milk.  Though he protested the latter, wanting beer
instead, he lost the argument.

         After some discussion, it was decided
that Selric won the prize, to the objection of Will, who was finding it hard to
go with anyone and leave his home in the sewer.  He might have thought of
staying had one of the women decided to take him in.  As it was, Will knew he
would just slip off after his meal, though he would need to find a new home, or
avoid his for at least a while, knowing the group would go there looking for
him.

         Soon Fiona left and Dirk managed to drag
Cinder away from Selric, leaving the young nobleman and the urchin alone at the
table.  Selric sternly questioned Will for several minutes but found the boy’s
answers evasive.  At Will’s insistence, and seeing no harm in it, Selric bought
him a beer, and then took the pleased, and stumbling, child home with him. 
They had all agreed to meet in three days, after each had, especially Selric who
claimed to have some leads, tried to gain a little information on this thief.  

         The next day, Dirk found a note pinned on
the underside of his trapdoor.  “Dirk, meet me for lunch at
The Unicorn’s
Run
.  It was signed:  “SS”.  Dirk exercised for an hour and needed to take
care of some store business, then went downstairs where he saw Jenderson.

         “Well, aren’t we up early this morning?”
Jenderson asked.

         “I’m up early every morning,” Dirk said.

         “Perhaps, but I can only judge by how
early
I
see you doing anything.”

         “Yeah, yeah, yeah.  Don’t you have
anything to do?” Dirk asked, feeling superior to his former boss.

         “I was going to mention that to you.”

         “Actually, I do.  I’ll be busy for a
while, then I’m having lunch with Selric.  Maybe you know him, Selric
Stormweather
?”

         “Oh, friends with nobility now are we? 
Why don’t you bring him ‘round to spend some of that Stormweather gold at our
little establishment?”

         “I might do that,” Dirk said, turning and
leaving.

         “Say hello to the Stormweathers for me,” Jenderson
said skeptically.  Dirk raised his hand in acknowledgement without turning his
head to look at him.

         After finishing his work, Dirk washed and
put on his best shirt before heading to
The Run
.  When he got there, the
sign read “Closed-Open at 4 Bells”.  He looked around for a moment, then
screwed up his courage and knocked on the door.  A tall burly man, Dirk
recognized as the barkeep from the night before, opened it.

         “Dirk?” he asked, sneering at him.

         “Yes.”

         “Come on in,” he said, his sneer turning
to a smile.  “Master Selric is waiting for you.”  He waved his hand, showing
him where Selric indeed sat waiting in the corner and Selric called him over
like they were old friends.

         “Sit down,” he said.  “Sorry we didn’t
get to talk much last night.  Your company was too charming.”

         “That’s all right,” Dirk said while the
man who answered the door brought them each a beer.  Dirk looked around.  There
were a dozen wooden columns supporting the low ceiling and the room was dark
and cozy. 
The Unicorn’s Run
was a “class” establishment made with
extensive use of rare wood and brass.  The tables were heavy affairs and the
whole atmosphere, with the columns and low ceiling, was one of closeness;
warmth.  Upstairs were the rooms where gambling and other games took place as
well as the bedrooms of the pleasure girls.  Now and again, Dirk would see a
beautiful woman go from between what he thought to be the kitchen and a
stairway up.  Dirk couldn’t imagine why a man who employed so many attractive
women would be distracted so heavily by his three, granted beautiful, friends.

         Dirk and Selric got briefly acquainted before
their conversation led to their “adventure.”  Selric was a good
conversationalist, listening intently, and making Dirk feel respected and his
input welcome.  When Dirk mentioned that he was basically unskilled and wished
to learn how to really use a weapon, Selric perked up.  “I tell you what,”
Selric said.  “If you really want to learn, I’ve got just the place.  I own it
actually, or at least my father does:  Master Sellore’s House of Arms.  Some of
the best warriors in the city work there either part- or full-time.  I exercise
there once in a while.  I’ve even been known to give a few lessons.  Sometime,
I’ll take you over there and we’ll find you a tutor.”

         “Wow, that would be great!” Dirk said,
though he was doubtful such a wonderful promise would ever come true:  his life
never seemed to work out in such a way.

         “It usually costs one-hundred pieces of
gold a year, but I’ll see what I can do.  I’ll get you a good rate, and if you
still can’t get the money, I’ll loan it to you until we catch this guy. 
Speaking of which, I, at one time, was an acolyte in the temple to Aurus, the
god of justice and honor, and last week I was speaking to the wife of the High
Priest.”  He paused, smiling as if remembering some pleasant memory.  “Well,
she told me that their altar had been defiled and they were furious. You don’t
want the worshipers of Aurus furious, especially at you.  It seems they had the
ground floor patrolled as only they could:  exits, windows, gates, and walls
all heavily guarded.  What Will says seems to be true so far:  this thief must
strike from, and escape to, the rooftops.” 

         “Aside from vowing to separate the
thief’s head from his shoulders, they themselves have offered two thousand gold
crowns for his capture; if you can find him before they do.  So with all the
other temple rewards and the money offered by the King, it should, and does in
fact, top ten thousand in gold.  That’s two thousand for each of us.”  Dirk
suddenly began to think Fiona’s choice in an adventure was truly a masterful
idea.  Dirk and Selric mulled over ideas of how to over-watch the temples,
especially those not yet vandalized and it was agreed that scanning the rooftops
would be the best course of immediate action.

         Selric offered up more information he had
gleaned from the constable’s office:  there was seemingly no pattern to the
robberies.  Sometimes the thief struck on consecutive nights, sometimes a week
apart.  Some temples two or three times, others once, some not at all.   Yet
the locations were totally random.  Sometimes consecutive strikes were door to
door, other times a robbery was dozens of city blocks away from the previous
one.  So, the men decided to be out as many nights as they could and be on the
roof tops, as well.

         Their course decided, Selric and Dirk
drank a few more beers and in their conversation Dirk asked Selric what it was
he did for a living. 

         Selric laughed.  “I’m a navigator,” he
said proudly, though with a facetious smile.  Selric told Dirk about the
mysterious East and of their ways and, of course, their women.  Then, very
dramatically, he told him how he had saved the ship on the return voyage from a
gargantuan squid.  Dirk had never heard of such a fantastic creature and sat
enthralled throughout the entire forty-five minute story.  In short, as Selric
told it, when
The Maiden
had been brought dead in the water and several
crew members hauled overboard, Selric climbed the rocking mast, crossbow in
hand, dodging thrashing tentacles.  Once into the crows nest, he carefully
aimed his weapon and shot the beast in the eye, driving it back into the deep. 
Selric’s version was much longer winded, with heroic but modest tones,
assigning his valor to duty and loyalty to his mates.

         Dirk was skeptical, though enthralled,
and Selric agreed that it was indeed fantastic, but true.  With the devotion
that Dirk put into finding the temple desecrator over the next few weeks, the
story and the importance of finding its truthfulness faded and Dirk never found
out how much or how little of it was, in fact, truth.  But it was a pleasant
tale all the same.

         The full moon illuminated the city with a
radiant, glistening glow; a dim silvery daylight, casting strong shadows on the
streets and making every dark corner impenetrable.  The buildings of white
stone reflected the light, looking skeletal, as if made from the bones of
giants long dead.  While those of wood were dark and shadowy, hauntingly lying
in contrast.  The Fiend could travel with ease and speed to every part of the
city this night, for the stronger the moonlight, the blacker the shadows.  It
raced through the back streets and alleys, sniffing the air, sensing for
victims.  Not just any human, but females, and pretty ones.  Those are the
ones, the soft ones that the men like to protect and feel the most loss over
when ravaged and taken; the ones It had learned to like best.  They came to
occupy Its thoughts constantly.  Each time It took one, their lure increased,
their draw on It more powerful.  Its hunger had changed since It came to the
city.  Its original purpose for infiltrating the vast city was more difficult
to remember with each passing night and each feeding.  But the targets once desired
no longer sated Its hunger so the Fiend would now pick Its own prey. 

         The Fiend growled deep within Its throat,
Its eyes scanning the dark.  It had been taught to not randomly kill; such left
too broad of a swathe.  It had to be careful to leave as small a trail as
possible:  hide or consume what bodies It could; use different weapons and
different ways to chase Life from the humans and their pets.  These were the
thoughts in the Fiend’s head when It came to the city, but now It saw how
unimportant those things were.  It should, and would, kill how It wanted.  The
Fiend was all that mattered now.  No longer was there any purpose but
self-gratification.

         It enjoyed fear.  It enjoyed catching her
sleeping or mating, or walking, even in the lamplight:  especially those places
she felt safe—although daylight still kept the Fiend hidden and at bay.  It was
a wolf amongst unguarded sheep.  “Be careful at night,” they said.  “Don’t go
out alone.  Bar your shutters.  Trust no strangers.  Stay out of dark alleys.” 
It knew that It could get them even if they took all those precautions.  A
deep, undulating laugh-like growl emanated from Its chest, then It heard real
laughter.  The sound burned It like fire and Its hatred flared.  The Fiend
would snuff out the laughter and replace it with sobbing, wailing, and crying. 
Joy would be pain; happiness would be sorrow.  The Fiend gnashed Its teeth,
barely able to restrain from ripping apart the first thing upon which It laid
Its claws.  It followed the sickening smell of laughter, tracking it to an
alley.  The Fiend crept slowly and found, in a deep doorway hiding in Its
shadows they lay:  a man and a woman.  It would crush the man then take her.

         It floated near and struck the man in the
back of his head as he lay writhing  atop the female.  She screamed as blood,
bone, and brains splattered over her face, the walls, and the ground around
her.  The Fiend relished her fear, growing stronger, more powerful as It tossed
the man aside, and took his place on and inside her.

         Vandelar moped down the street.  He was
bored.  His city commitments were wearing on him.  Perhaps there was time for
one last trip into the Wild before winter hit.  Then, he remembered Dirk.  “Yes,
I think I’ll stop by Bessemer’s in the morning,” he thought.  He stepped up his
pace.  “At last, a break in the boredom,” he said to himself, deciding he would
finally leave Andrelia.  Just then a scream shattered his thoughts.  Vandelar
stopped and looked around, peering into the shadows.  He saw nothing.  The
scream had been close by, so he called out.  In reply he heard whimpering and
sobbing, then wild, pitiful cries, the voice filled with despair and sorrow as
the last bits of life were ripped from the body which held it.

         Vandelar raced to the alley where a woman
was clearly dying.  He looked up and down the street and as he expected, being
after one bell in the morning, no help was in sight.   Peering into the alley,
he saw a mangled, bloody corpse lying in a pool of moonlight.  Near it, the
butchered half-naked body of a woman.  She struggled then lay still as a large
broad shape stood up over her.  The form was cloaked in shadow and Vandelar
could not tell what it was, though it seemed as large as a troll.  He flashed
out his sword, whirling and spinning it in several impressive maneuvers and
walking into the alley toward the form that now stood, obviously, facing him. 
“Time to die,” Vandelar said bitterly, swallowing hard, and pointing his sword
directly at the Fiend’s face.  It snarled and leapt out of Its shadows, small
axe in Its hand.

         Vandelar turned the Fiend aside, sending
him sprawling across the alley.  In a flash, Vandelar was on It, sword arcing
down to split Its skull.  But the Fiend swung up with a tremendous blow, so
mighty that it shattered Vandelar’s trusty sword which had served him on many
journeys in the Wild.  The largest remnant flew across the alley and stuck in
the wall, but one of the many other small fragments flew into his face, ripping
open his cheek and leaving in his hand a few inches of weakened, jagged steel
above the hilt.  Vandelar looked at his once keen blade and his bravery
wavered.  The Fiend felt that fear and that was all It needed, drinking in the
terror and strengthening Itself. 

         It leapt again.  This time Vandelar had
no blade to deflect It, so he jabbed at the axe wielding wrist, slashing it
open.  Blood shot out like a geyser from the severed artery and the axe fell
with a “clank” to the stones.  Without pausing to revel, Vandelar swung the
blade up toward the towering midsection, but his wrist was caught by a strong
claw-like hand. The Fiend brought Its damaged arm into Vandelar’s stomach,
knocking the breath from him, while crushing his sword arm with Its other
claw.  Vandelar screamed in pain and fell to his knees, dropping his broken
sword and simultaneously, with his other hand, reaching for his great knife.
Just as he freed the blade, the Fiend smashed Its palm into his face, shooting
Its blood all down Vandelar’s front.  Stunned, Vandelar never saw the same blow
repeated.  This time it was so hard that it whipped Vandelar’s head back and
snapped his neck.  Vandelar, hero of the Wild, was dead before his body came to
rest.

         When the Fiend turned, It saw a man at
the alleyway entrance, a small sword in his hand.  “Hey you, stop right
there.”  The Fiend, with Its keen senses, heard the footsteps of men coming
long before the man standing there could have—five men—and It knew by the clank
of steel and the heavy boots, that the City Watch approached.  It got ready.  As
the Fiend expected, when the man heard the approach, he was ready to smile in
victory, but as he turned back to face the Fiend, It loosed Its knife.  The
powerful throw sent the knife through the man’s forehead, up to the hilt, and
the blade burst out the backside of his skull.

         The Fiend turned and sped off.  Using
window sills, ledges, shutters, cracks, and drainpipes, the Fiend scaled the
building as quickly as a man runs upon open ground.  It looked down to see the
Watch enter the scene.  One stopped, vomiting at the sight, two ran to the
other end of the alley, one checked the dead man, and the other was busy
picking himself up after slipping in the pool of the Fiend’s blood.  None of
them looked up and It leapt away from roof to roof.  The Watch arrived only in
time to comfort the woman as her last breath hissed.

         On Its way back, the Fiend spotted a
female on a rooftop, her thick, light hair, glittering in the bright
moonlight.  It was about to move in for a better smell, when another female
appeared, this one with short bright hair.  As a star streaked across the sky they
looked Its direction and the Fiend slipped away.  Two more were unnecessary,
though It greatly desired to take and then kill them.  But not that night, so
It passed over the rooftops and stole home unseen.

         Selric had taken Will home to a cool
reception by his father and grandfather, who insisted that he sleep in the
servants’ house.  Violet, being the soft-hearted angel that she was, said that
if Selric wished, Will could sleep wherever Selric decided, in this case, his
room, and with but a glance, she convinced the two older men to her desires. 

         Though Will was accepted into the home,
he was not allowed to speak to the men unless spoken to, and he would eat in
the kitchen with the highest ranking servants and the personal valets of the
other gents, which is what it was assumed Will would become to Selric.  Though
both Selric and Will fully expected the boy to disappear at any moment, that
moment never quite seemed right to the urchin.  Will thought it might not hurt
to live that well-fed and safe life, before he would return to the joy of total
independence. 

         When Selric was not present, only Violet,
and occasionally Mendric, would even speak to him, and only the mother worried
if he had been fed or bathed, etc.  It was not that the men were ruthless or
cold, but the males of a noble Mendenaran family took no part in rearing their
own boys until of fighting age, let alone an orphan in training as a valet.

         Will refused to sleep in the bed that
Selric had moved into his room for him, so Selric secured a mound of cushions,
pillows, and blankets and put them near his bed:  though it seemed mean and
base, as he would do for a pet, it was how Will described his old
accommodations and Selric thought he would appreciate such.  But when he woke,
Selric found that Will had moved the bedding mound into the corner of the room,
out of Selric’s direct view.

         Selric’s room was at the base of one of
the towers in the manor proper.  When one entered the door, the room wrapped
around in a semi-circle back to the right.  Selric’s bed was as far around in
the room as it could go, so Will put his bedding near the door.  Just outside
the room lay a hallway to the main foyer and a staircase up into the tower. 
There were two other doors in the foyer.  One leading into the main room of the
manor, the hearth room, and the other entrance was actually two large, heavy
double-doors leading out onto the front landing.

         For the first week, Will thought seriously
of running away, but the fact of having to find a new home, they knew where his
old one was, and since he had a warm dry bed where he was, he decided to stay. 
Selric taught him bits of etiquette, how to dress properly—with clothing Lady
Violet had bought personally for him—and other things that someone associating
with the upper class needed to know.  More importantly, Selric bought Will ‘work’
clothing and a knife:  Will had been begging for a sword.  The boy had beamed
with happiness when he unfolded his new silk shirt and the blade rolled out
from inside onto the bed.

         After the first trying days, where Selric
despised having someone to watch over and thus limit her free-wheeling style of
living, Selric began taking Will on his fact finding missions and he proved to
be an eager mind and a quick eye.  Selric began to think having a helper and a
lookout might in fact be quite handy.  The two spent much time together and
grew reasonably close, needing what each other offered.  Selric was protective
and sheltering; Will, admiring and eager to please.  Selric found that Will
proved especially useful at running messages to and from his many paramours. 
To make him even more useful, Selric began to teach him techniques of stealth,
speed, and how to pick a simple lock or the pocket of a passer-by.  Selric saw
in Will a boy who was learning what he had wanted when he had been young.  Will
saw in Selric the man he wanted to grow up to be.  As time passed, this
symbiotic relationship would allow them to read each others actions and facial
expressions, and they could relay a great deal of information without saying a
word.  But that would be discovered in the months to come.  Right now they were
still getting to know each other and they worked on finding the temple thief.

         It took a week-and-a-half of long nights
for one of the group to even spot who they thought might possibly be the temple
thief.  One night as Melissa sat, bow in lap, on a flat warehouse roof within
bow shot of three major temples, she saw a short figure in a long cloak leaping
across the rooftops. 

         “Stop,” she yelled.  The figure paused,
looked her direction, and as quick as a ferret, bolted out of sight.  Melissa
followed him in her sights and fired, her arrow snapping as it hit the chimney
behind which he disappeared.  Melissa, a deft and a strong leaper, took off
after him, but when she got to where she had last seen him, there was no
trace.  The next afternoon, at their daily lunch meeting at the
Harvest
Hearth
, Melissa relayed the story.  But with no other leads, the group had
to keep on with their current plan of spending any free nighttime hours on the
rooftops.  Their lunch over, Selric, Will, and Dirk went to Master Sellore’s
House of Arms.  Melissa and Fiona, free of work that day, wanted to relax, and
Fiona knew just the place. 

         She led Melissa and Cinder past
Bessemer’s and out the South Gate.  They bore right, along the wall, and came
to a sandy beach a longbow’s shot from the city.  The ocean, calmed by natural
off-shore break waters, gently lapped the shore.  Cheers and whistles came down
from the walls that encircled the city and the girls spied what must have been
a dozen guardsmen waving happily.  Fiona had her shirt halfway removed, but
quickly pulled it back down.