By Moonlight Wrought (Bt Moonlight Wrought) Read online

  “You are certainly...special, Angelique. I don’t know if I’ll ever settle down in that way, but a part of me certainly hopes that I will.” Selric wrapped his arms around her waist.

  Angelique’s smile faded quickly, her lips parting as she placed her own arms around Selric’s neck, waiting, and edging forward. Selric leaned Angelique to the side and pressed his lips to hers, finding them naturally warm, soft, and oddly receptive. He slipped his tongue into her mouth and ran it over her teeth, feeling her gasp, and he inhaled her sweet, cool breath. Angelique touched her tongue timidly to his, and feeling its slickness, pulled it back away. But Selric held Angelique tightly and ran his tongue over hers, despite the fact that she tried to hide it in the back of her mouth. Slowly, she brought it out, intermingling it with his. Then he stopped. Angelique’s heart thumped. She knew that he must be able to feel it, pressed together as they were. She was queasy, light headed, and when Selric stood her upright again, she fell immediately back into his arms, unable to look him in the eye.

  “Shall we go back in?” he asked, his arm around her waist for support. Angelique nodded and walked, ever more steadily, with him. She knew, sadly, that kissing would never be the same.

  “I really owe you for getting me that job. I can’t believe I start tomorrow. How can I repay you?” Melissa asked. Dirk was wondering just that as they stood outside the warehouse, Melissa stroking Candy while Dirk loaded the wagon.

  “That’s okay,” he finally said, realizing he liked having her near him; that was payment enough for Dirk.

  “Would you like to come over tonight? I’m cooking a chicken,” Melissa asked as if that would be payment enough. In fact, to Dirk, it would be. He had not eaten chicken since his last dinner at the Red Pheasant, where he ventured each month only after saving enough money. Dirk’s meals usually came from the market, consisting of cheap sausages, hard bread, and watered beer.

  “That would be good,” he said calmly, but his mouth began to water and his stomach rumbled as he imagined the wholesome food. Melissa heard and smiled.

  “See you...a little before sunset? That’ll give me time,” she said, looking at the sun, “to buy it and clean it and all.”

  “All right,” Dirk said. “What time?”

  “Time?” she asked.

  “What time…what hour?” he asked. When she still seemed puzzled he laughed and added, “Can’t you tell time?”

  “Tell time? Tell it what? Huh?” Melissa asked, then she remembered having been asked that same question before. “You mean that big tower...clock thing?” The great clock tower could be seen from almost all parts of town, and heard from even farther.

  “Yes that tower-clock thing,” said Dirk, finding her country innocence charming. Melissa blushed, but such emotions made the strong girl uncomfortable and she tended to hide it with anger. “That’s okay, I understand. I’ll be there around dusk,” Dirk said kindly. They smiled at each other, said good-bye, Melissa gave him directions and Dirk finished loading the wagon so that he could make the final delivery and then get ready for the big meal that night.

  Dirk arrived early at Melissa’s. He waited on the street as long as he could bear before going inside and trudging slowly up to the top floor of the three-story building, trying not to be too early. He knocked: timidly at first, each rap more bold than the last. “Come in,” Melissa’s voice rang out clearly through the thick door. Dirk peered inside: Melissa stood by a small table which was littered with a bloody mess of feathers. A long hunting knife, also blood spattered, protruded from the table top. Near Melissa was an old stove and on it were two large iron pots, steam rolling up from them. The only other items in the small room were a bed (the covers on it messed), a large chest, and a tremendous longbow sitting in the corner. “Well, come in,” Melissa repeated. “Have a seat.” She motioned to the bed.

  “You shouldn’t just say ‘come in.’ What if I had been a bad man?” Dirk asked as he looked about.

  “I think a bad man might find that I can be a worse woman,” she said in a rather fell way. Her eyes were lost for a moment then she laughed lightly and nodded. “Well, sit down.”

  Unsure of just where to sit, Dirk put himself at the foot of the bed, on its very corner as if afraid to touch the bed itself. Melissa cleaned up the carcass and stored her cooking herbs in their pouch. She pulled a lantern from the chest, placed it upon the lid and struck it alight. With a heave, she shoved the table toward the bed, the legs skipping and sputtering as they slid across the warped, knobby floor, then set the light upon it and slid the chest around to sit opposite the bed.

  “Maybe you’ll be more comfortable here,” Melissa said, patting the lid of the cedar chest. Dirk rose and moved around the table, but he was not yet ready to sit down.

  He was surprised; the room was a lot like his own. He knew that furnishings were not all that important, since, if like him, Melissa spent very little time inside anyway. For the working class of Andrelia, there was always work to be done, earning what little pay people of their lot could. The lantern was dim, not more than a few candles worth of light, casting long shadows into which Dirk ventured to reach the bow in the corner. “I hope you brought a knife,” Melissa called as she stirred the pot.

  “Yes,” Dirk said, feeling for the small knife that he always wore on his hip he used for cutting knots, opening crates, and other work-related tasks, as well as for eating. He then picked up the bow, pulled it, and pretended to shoot an arrow.

  “Did you have a hard time finding me?” Melissa asked, looking to the dinner and not at her new friend in the corner.

  “No.”

  “It should be ready soon...the dinner, I mean.” Melissa stopped primping the food and turned to look at Dirk, leaning against the wall with her arms folded. Dirk glanced up from the bow as he lowered it, placing the weapon back in the corner.

  “You are lucky…living in a building where you can have a stove. Costs extra doesn’t it?”

  “Yes. Though I guess in the long run I might save money cooking my own food. It is expensive to eat in the market, I have learned. And the food isn’t that good,” she said with a chuckle. “You don’t have a stove?”

  “Oh no. I can’t cook and can’t afford a room with a stove.”

  “Is it that much more?” she asked.

  “Oh yeah,” he scoffed. When she still looked puzzled he continued. “All these old wooden buildings with stoves and such have been treated with some kind of magic.” Again Melissa looked puzzled. “To help make them resistant to flames.”

  “That’s dumb. People where I live all have stoves and fireplaces and…”

  “Well, we have some stupid and careless people here. Even with the precautions we still have fires. They are pretty horrible.”

  “Wow. You know a lot,” she marveled. When Dirk realized she was being honest he smiled. “You must have lived here a long time to learn about this place. It’s so huge,” she said, pushing the fingers of both hands through her hair, then holding the back of it up, letting her neck cool.

  “My whole life.” Dirk went back to his seat on the bed.

  “Sorry I don’t have any furniture. I’ve only been here a few days and I’m out of money. I think I’ll buy some wood and make some someday.”

  “That’s okay. You don’t need anything but a bed,” and when the words had left his mouth he shuddered, but despite how lascivious he sounded, Melissa seemed not to notice.

  “I guess you’re right,” she said, “but it would be nice to have a chair or two.” Melissa briskly walked to the chest, opened it and produced a plate, a mug and a fork, all of battered pewter, then set them on the table top nearer the chest than the bed. “Here. Come sit,” she pleaded. Dirk rose again and ambled over, sitting down on the trunk while Melissa sat on the bed across from him.

  “Don’t you have another plate?” he asked.

  “No. I’ll eat out of the pot. I do it all the time. Guess I didn’t plan on having any guests when I set up here
,” she added, another brief but forlorn expression passed her tan face. Both then fell silent and looked around: at the table, the dusk outside the window, dinner on the stove, even each other. “I’m from Stoneheim. It’s a long way from here,” Melissa said to break the long silence.

  “The mining town?”

  “Yes. My mother and father own a farm there.” Again, there was silence. “What’s the matter?” she finally asked, wondering if Dirk’s silence was due to something she had done wrong.

  “Nothing,” he answered pleasantly, actually smiling slightly.

  “Where do your parents live?” she then asked, desperately hoping for a genuine answer from him, a spark that might start a true conversation, rather than the awkward questions and answers they then stumbled through.

  Dirk looked hurt, but quickly replied. “I don’t have any. I was raised in a church orphanage.”

  “Oh,” said Melissa, feeling badly for him, but realizing then that there was nothing she could say to ease his pain, nor anything she could likely talk to him about.

  Dirk was not purposely trying to be uncommunicative, he simply had nothing to say; conversation was not that important to him. He had had very few meaningful discussions in his life: his focus—and thus is conversations—involved weather, trade, work and small-talk. But Dirk was happy to be in Melissa’s company. Her friendliness—that country simplicity she exuded—made him more comfortable than any other time in his life. And that night he felt as if he was in a home of a friend he had known for years. “Do you like my bow?” she asked, desperately trying to strike some emotion in him.

  “Yes. It’s nice.”

  “Do you want to learn how to shoot?” she asked. Dirk was embarrassed, knowing he must have looked awkward when he held the weapon, lest she would not have known of his ignorance.

  “Yes, I’d like to,” he said nonetheless. Melissa rose and retrieved it.

  “Get up,” she said, patting his shoulder. Dirk stood and was hit in the backside as Melissa threw open the chest lid. Not bothered by Dirk’s partial blocking of her way, she quickly pulled out a quiver of long arrows. It was not until after she had let the lid fall back down that Dirk moved out from his cramped space between the chest and the table.

  Melissa handed Dirk the bow, it was nearly as tall as he, and standing behind him, she positioned his arms. “Now pull it slowly back,” she said. “Hold it there. Hold it!” she continued. “Hold it while you sight: until you’re ready to shoot.” The bow had a heavy pull, and although it did not fatigue Dirk, he thought that it must have been near impossible for Melissa to hold like that for any length of time.

  “There’s nothing to shoot,” he complained.

  “Pretend,” Melissa urged. “Pretend there’s a trophy stag with a rack a man’s height across.”

  “Why would I want to shoot a deer?”

  “We all don’t live on sausages, Dirk. It’s food.” Melissa repositioned Dirk’s pulling arm just a bit and felt the iron of the muscles in his shoulder and in the back of his arm. “I don’t know how you have the muscles you do, eating all that slop,” she scoffed. Melissa then put an arrow into his hands, correctly placing it between the string and his fingers. “It’s ready. Let it go.”

  “Where?” Dirk asked, growing nervous.

  “At the wall,” said Melissa impatiently.

  “Okay...” Dirk sighed with apprehension, finally releasing the shaft. The arrow sped across the tiny room and slammed into the wall, wobbling after it had struck.

  “My turn,” Melissa said, deftly grabbing the bow and twirling it in her fingers. In one fluid, effortless motion, she pulled forth a shaft, knocked it to the string and drew it back, steadily. She held it for one, two seconds at most. With a twang, the shaft raced on the same path that Dirk’s had traveled. It thudded right next to his; motionless. Dirk walked over: her arrow had come to rest touching his, tip to tip.

  “You’re good,” he said. “Pretty strong, too.” He looked from the arrows to the girl, and nodded his appreciation.

  “Thanks.” Melissa pulled the arrows free with a grunt. “Not like you,” she admired with a tinge of blush Dirk mistook for exertion.

  A pounding came from the other side of the wall. “Knock it off,” sounded the muffled yell. Melissa ignored it. Dirk, however, was used to living with rude neighbors.

  “Shut up!” he called back. Soon the shutters next door flew open, striking the wall, so Dirk moved to the window and looked outside. A man was already yelling threats of physical harm to whomever challenged him, and then he saw Dirk: his size, his scowl, and his muscles.

  “Well...” the man stuttered, “let’s be civil. Try to be quiet,” he said hurriedly, then ducked back inside, slamming his shutters closed.

  Dirk smiled with satisfaction, and when he turned around he saw Melissa placing the chicken onto the stove top. One pot was already on the table. She moved her athletic form agilely around the room, her stocking-ed feet making not a sound. She found a couple of rags to use as napkins; a loaf of bread and a bottle of cheap wine three-quarter full in the chest. She used her knife, in concert with the fork, to scoop out an array of vegetables from the pot onto Dirk’s plate. It was a tremendous helping compared to the fare to which he was accustomed. Melissa retrieved the bird and set it in the middle of the table, then whisked to the door and opened it, allowing a breeze to blow through the warm room.

  “Come on,” she said, sitting on the bed. Dirk walked over. If he had just arrived, he would never have recognized the mess the room had recently been. Everything looked very nice to him then, and to top it all off the chicken was tremendous, more like a turkey. Dirk had never seen so much food at one meal for just two people.

  “Do you always eat like this?” he asked, digging into his vegetables, a mix of beans, peas and some kind of sprouts that hung out his mouth as he chewed his first eager bite.

  “See? You need a stove,” she surmised with a grin.

  “I don’t know. I guess I don’t know how to prepare it. Too much trouble.” He tore off a leg, as big around as his fist, and took a ravenous bite.

  “Oh, I could show you. It’s easy.”

  “No wonder you don’t have any money left,” Dirk marveled.

  “This is more thrifty than eating in the market or at an inn, I tell you,” Melissa argued.

  “I suppose you could be right. I just don’t know how to cook, or have the means to do it.”

  “Well, you can eat with me whenever you like. It’s just as easy to cook for two.” Dirk nodded eagerly, then continued eating, the thought of her company every dinner reassuring to him.

  Dirk was amazed: Melissa ate nearly as much as he did. She was not feminine, nor was she the crude opposite. She just seemed natural to him: normal. But he didn’t mind, it was just that her mannerisms were so very different than the women he had known. To Melissa, he was certainly different.

  Melissa liked him; handsome, strong, quietly nice, and he had not attempted to bed her since she’d known him, nor made any wisecracks about her aggressiveness or lack of femininity, her appetite or innocent friendliness toward men. But Melissa viewed being feminine as being helpless. Being feminine could not stop a man from taking what he wanted. Being feminine could not harvest the crops, put meat on the table, or birth a calf. Maybe city life was different: “People don’t have to do those things here,” she thought as she watched Dirk eat. She began to worry that maybe he was not interested in her as a woman, but watching Dirk made her feel good. He clearly enjoyed his meal; the first emotion she had seen him show all day or night. Melissa began to worry that the man she had invited up to her room to show him her gratitude for employment, was growing more attractive in her eyes. All she could do was wait and see. Certainly she could not exist in Andrelia without any acquaintances. Melissa decided to worry later about any repercussions. Besides, he hardly seemed interested.

  With the passing of the meal, the conversation picked up and they were soon enjoying themsel
ves as if they were friends, which both hoped they would become. They parted late that night with a brief farewell: they would see each other in the morning for their first full day of work together.

  2

  It whirled through the streets like the first gust of a coming storm, speeding past the darkened windows, yet creeping through the shadows cast by glowing lamps; gas lamps there in the poorest district in Andrelia that often flickered and went out in Its passing, unlike the magically glowing, un-extinguishable orbs of the noble heights. It passed unseen through the city: looking, searching, hunting. The Fiend came out of hiding most nights to sate its evil hunger on the fear of humanity. It would race down this alley and up that street on the endless search to quench Its fire of wicked depravity.

  Akeen tried to get the lock open; money was low and Barlow the tailor had a profitable business, thus a loaded coffer. “A few more minutes,” he thought, “and it will be open.” But Akeen kept losing his concentration: there were children playing in an abandoned building across the dark alleyway. Akeen sat huddled, hidden deep in the recesses of the back doorway to Barlow’s, trying to gain entrance, safely out of sight of any passing watchman.

  The youths were screaming, calling for each other, playing some game of hide-and-seek. Akeen tried again, this time he was disturbed, he thought, by the wind. But when he turned he noted no sign of any gusts, just the smell of a dusty draft. He hadn’t noticed before, but as he peered into the alley behind him he saw the door across the way standing ajar. Returning to his work, Akeen tried the lock yet another time, but to no avail: he felt something, a distracting, stale stillness. He drew a deep breath and tried again.

  The children continued to call out. This time it sounded as though it was an end to the game. “Damned kids,” he said to himself. “Maybe I’ll go scare them off. Why don’t their parents watch them better? It’s getting so a thief can’t make a living anymore. We used to be the only ones out at this time of night. Now, no telling who or what is out and about,” he grumbled.