Authors: Margaret Weis
“As well it should, my dear,” said Ramone slyly. “As well it should.”
She cast him a withering glance. “I’m glad you find it amusing, Papa. I hope
you will laugh heartily when you discover my poor body, torn to shreds—”
“No, no, Evelina,” said her father petting her, soothing her. “Nothing like
that will happen, I assure you.”
Evelina examined herself critically, arranging and rearranging the heavy
blond curls that fell over her shoulders in a bright mass.
“Hand me my veil,” she ordered her father, who was quick to do her bidding.
He brought the silken veil and, playing lady’s maid, carefully draped it over
Evelina’s head. She adjusted the veil to best advantage as she talked. “I will
want something for myself.”
“My dear, the money—” Ramone began.
“I’ll take my share, of course,” said Evelina. “But I want something more. I
want to join the troupe. Glimmershanks has made vague promises before, but now
he can jolly well act on them. It’s that, or you can do this on your own,” she
added petulantly.
“I’ll talk to him this afternoon. I’m sure he’ll agree,” said Ramone,
fawning over her. “And now, my dear, you really should be going. This monster
is not one to let grass grow under his claws—”
“And what do I do if he doesn’t show up?”
“He will,” said Ramone. “And, if not, you’ll go to him.”
Evelina regarded herself in the mirror. She was young in years, only
fifteen, though wise enough in the ways of the •world to have been thirty. With
shrewd business sense, she and her father had seen to it that the flower of her
youth had not been squandered on those who would not properly appreciate it.
The rose might not be fresh off the vine, but neither was it wilting or
crumpled. She could be taken for a unspoilt blossom under the right
circumstances.
Evelina gave the veil a final tweak. She smoothed her skirt— a castoff of
some burgher’s daughter—and tugged on the tightly laced bodice so that it would
reveal more bosom. She longed for a golden circlet to hold her veil in place
and promised herself that this would be her first acquisition, once she had her
share of the money. Lacking the circlet, she tied the veil with a ribbon. She
gave her veiled face a full-lipped smile, nodded in satisfaction, then turned
to her parent.
“How do I look, Papa?”
“A little too good, my dear,” said Ramone anxiously. “He’ll never believe
your story.”
“Don’t worry,” Evelina assured him. “I’ll take care
of that.”
Ven began his search for the thief at the Rat and Parrot. He had some vague
hope of finding Ramone there, celebrating his victory. If he could not find the
thief at the tavern, Ven intended to ask questions, discover all he could about
the man—where he lived, where he was likely to be found. Ven knew what he was
doing was dangerous. The guard had warned him last night.
“You came off lucky, lad. Most of the time we find young fools such as you
dumped in the alley with a knife between their ribs. These bastards are clever.
Let the sheriff find the thief who stole your money.”
Ven saw the look in Bellona’s eyes, the look that said she despised him. She
could not despise him any more than he despised himself, however, and he was
determined to prove his worth to both of them. Ramone had played Ven for a fool
once. He would not play him so again.
In trying to follow the twisted, tangled city streets to the Rat and Parrot,
Ven immediately lost his way. He continued doggedly on, walking up and down the
streets and byways of a most disreputable part of the city until he eventually
found objects that seemed familiar. At length, he saw the sign—a parrot holding
a squirming rat by the tail. His pulse quickened.
As he walked toward the tavern, noticed a pretty young girl lingering in the
street as though waiting for someone. The girl was so very pretty that she
seemed out of place in such rough surroundings, and he could not help but stare
at her. Drawing nearer, he saw she was nervous. She shrank away from the tavern’s
customers as they came for their morning ale, blushing and lowering her veiled
head at their crude remarks. Still, she waited, looking closely into the faces
of all who passed her by.
Ven could not take his eyes from her. He had come to view everything in this
city as ugly and it was a joy to him to see something beautiful. He did not
lose sight of his goal, however, and he would have entered the tavern without
saying a word to the girl. To his astonishment, she came up to him, timidly
blocked his way.
“Pardon me, sir,” she said in a low, sweet voice, “but are you called Ven?”
“I am,” he said, more startled than ever. She laid her hand on his arm and
he felt her trembling. “Oh, thank the good God, young sir, that I have found
you. I hoped you would come back. I ... I ... you see . . . Oh! How can I say
this? I am so ashamed!”
She slid her hands beneath the veil, covered her face, and began to sob.
Ven was completely undone. He’d never seen a woman cry before and he had no
idea what to do. He gazed at her helplessly, afraid to touch her.
“I’ll go get help,” he said.
He didn’t quite know how it happened, but the girl had her arms around him.
She raised her eyes, her face pale and drawn with terror.
“No, don’t, sir. Please. He’ll find out and he’ll kill me! Ah, me, I am in
such sad straits!”
She began to sob again. Ven didn’t know what to do. She was sweetness and
warmth and tears, clinging to him. He was dumbfounded.
“I have to talk to you,” she said, or at least that’s what he thought she
said. It was hard to hear her, through her sobs and the golden curls. “Not
here. I’m afraid he’ll see us together. Go to the plaza. Wait for me at the
well.”
She sprang away from him and shoved him away from her. “Go, sir,” she
pleaded with him. “For my sake. Meet me at the well!”
Drawing her veil over her face, she looked about in terror, then hastened
off down the street.
Mystified, charmed by her beauty, and convinced that this strange
assignation had something to do with his money, Ven did as he was told. He
crossed the street to the plaza where a line of women and children, armed with
buckets, waited to draw water at the public well. Ven roamed about the plaza
and soon the girl joined him. She led him to a stone wall, shaded by a
branching linden tree, whose leaves were just starting to yellow and fall. She
sat down, inviting him to sit beside her with a pat of her hand upon the wall,
and a shy look from her brown eyes.
Ven had never seen such beauty. She had blond hair that hung unbound in
shining ringlets down to her waist. Her eyes were large and open wide to the
world, giving up all the secrets to her heart. When she smiled, a little dent
appeared in one cheek. Her hands and feet were small and dainty as a lady’s,
though she was not a lady by her dress, which was plain, but neat and clean.
She lifted her veil and Ven saw that one cheek was bruised.
“Someone hit you,” said Ven.
She blushed and hurriedly lowered her veil again. “It’s nothing,” she
answered, confused.
“Who was it?” he demanded.
She shook back her hair, placed her hand on his arm. He was the one who
trembled now, at her touch.
“Please, let it go. We don’t have much time. My name is Evelina. My father
is”—she paused, bit her lip, then gasped out in a rush—”the man who robbed you
last night.”
Ven stared at her, amazed, not knowing what to say.
She drooped her head. A tear slid down her bruised cheek and fell on his
arm. The tear’s touch was cool and burning so that he flinched.
“My father bragged about it! I could not believe he would do such a thing. I
told him he must return the money to you, but he refused. I ... I tried to take
it from him, but he . . .” She swallowed, shook her head.
“He hit you,” said Ven angrily.
Her hand clenched spasmodically on his arm. “Papa is not a bad man,” she
said pleadingly. “He has never done anything like this before, I swear! We have
no money. Still,” she added, lifting her chin, her eyes flashing, “I would
rather starve to death than eat bread bought by stolen money. And that is why I’m
going to help you get it back.”
“Just tell me where to find your father,” said Ven grimly. “I •won’t have
you involved.”
“I don’t mind,” she returned, leaning into him.
Her movement caused her veil to slip from her hair. She was rose scent and
pale skin and enticing fullness and shadow beneath her chemise.
“Especially now that I’ve met you. I want to help you and I want to save my
father. Do you know the penalty for theft? Hanging! They will hang him. Poor
Father. You won’t tell anyone, will you kind, gentle sir? Promise me you won’t.”
“I promise,” said Ven. “Please calm yourself, Mistress.”
“Not Mistress,” she said shyly. “I am not a fine lady. My name is Evelina.”
“Evelina,” he repeated, and he wondered that the sparrows pecking at bugs at
his feet didn’t burst into song.
“Here is my idea,” said Evelina. “Father and I plan to leave the city tonight.
We’re traveling to Ausden, where they say there is work to be had. Father
wanted to leave today, but I told him I couldn’t, I had something I needed to
do. He was afraid to stay in the city, for fear the sheriff might be looking
for him, and so he left. We have arranged to meet tonight at a little shrine on
the road east of here. He’ll be alone. If you come with me, I’ll see to it that
he gives you back your money. But you must promise me that you will come alone
and that you won’t. . .” Her chin quivered. “You won’t hurt him very much.”
“I won’t hurt him at all,” said Ven. “I just want my money. It’s all my
mother and I have to live on for the winter.”
“God bless you, sir,” Evelina said, pressing his arm. “I’ll meet you here
tonight at twilight.”
She drew the veil over her face. With a wave and a smile, she walked away.
He watched her until he lost sight of her in the crowded streets. Feeling as if
he were dreaming, he left the plaza, led by force of habit to walk back in the
direction of the faire-grounds.
Halfway there, Ven halted. He didn’t want to go back to the tent. He didn’t
want to meet Bellona or tell her anything about what had happened. He didn’t
want to talk about Evelina, especially with Bellona. He wanted to keep Evelina’s
face and words pure in his mind, there to dance and sparkle and blaze like the
magic, to hold her image as he held the magic in the hands of his being and
feel her tingle in his blood and burn in his bones.
Ven altered his direction. He walked toward the
thick trees of the forest. Feeling at home in the woods, he sat by himself
beneath the branches and kept his eyes on the sun. That orb seemed so reluctant
to disappear from the sky that he wondered impatiently, more than once, if
something had happened to stop it.
VEN RETURNED TO THE PLAZA LONG BEFORE SUNSET. HE sat on the wall next to the
well, watched the sun teeter on the chimney tops, and waited impatiently for it
to fall. With agonizing slowness, the sun descended from chimney to rooftop,
languished behind the buildings for an eon, then, finally, sank into a puddle
of its own radiance and was extinguished.
Evelina came to him in the soft blue-purple of half-night. Ven saw her the
moment she entered the plaza and he never took his gaze from her. She walked
with the grace of the bending willow. The evening breeze, scented with late
roses, ruffled the few curls of hair that escaped from the demurely draped
veil. She did not find him so easily as he found her, but located him at last
and smiled at him.
He met her with the awkward, uncomfortable reserve of one who has been
thinking and dreaming of nothing else but this meeting.
Evelina appeared embarrassed and blushing. She was too shy to look directly
at him, but glanced at him from beneath modestly lowered lashes. She was the
poet’s dream of the innocent maiden, something Evelina had never been.
Life held no secrets from this girl. As a child, she slept in the same room
as her father and whoever his companion happened to be that night. She fell
asleep to a lullaby of grunts and gasps. But Evelina had seen innocence, if she’d
never experienced it. She had a spy’s talent for observation, an actress’s
talent for mimicry, and a dog’s instinct for doing whatever it took to please
the one who handed out the food.
Evelina saw innocence in Ven. From the first moment she met him and felt his
strong body shudder when she touched him, she knew exactly the sort of girl she
needed to be. She reveled in her role and in her power over him, enjoying
herself, though she could not help but feel some doubt about this plan. Ven
was, as her father had said, very comely to look upon. She found it difficult
to believe he was the monster her father had described. Evelina, who did not
trust her father in the least, began to wonder if Ramone had been the one to
imbibe the opiate.
“If that’s the case, Papa dear,” Evelina muttered to herself, “what fools we
will look! I hope Glimmershanks beats you senseless. If he doesn’t, I will.”
True, Ven did have a peculiar way of walking. Evelina noted this oddity
about him as they left the plaza. He moved with a graceful lope like an animal.
He had an animal quality about him, one she found quite attractive. She eyed
him askance, as they walked, remembering the feel of her hand resting on his
arm; the movement of strong, hard muscle beneath the sun-browned skin. He was
different from any other man she had ever met. He smelled of leather and wood
smoke, not grime and cheap ale. Although undoubtedly a rube, he was more a
gentleman than the supposed “gentlemen” she met in the alehouses, who made
grabs for her bosom or tried to slide their hands up her skirts. Evelina
imagined his hands lifting her skirts and her heart lurched. Playing the demure
young virgin with Ven was going to be harder than she had imagined.