By Moonlight Wrought (Bt Moonlight Wrought) (24 page)

         They had discussed how often Dirk wished
to train:  four days a week, two to three hours a day was decided upon. 
Belsarus mentioned that Selric had “taken care of” his fee, and he could use
the facilities for a full year.  With that, Belsarus left, urging Dirk to look
around, seeing what else the establishment had to offer.  Dirk did.

         He was astounded, never picturing sweaty,
brawny fighters practicing or relaxing in such luxury.  There were lush carpets
and stuffed furniture everywhere but in the main training hall.  Mirrors were a
more common sight than bare stone or wooden walls.  As he ventured down the
back hall, he met Selric and Will who politely gave him a comprehensive tour. 

         There were three floors and a basement,
the latter of which held the large pool and smaller baths.  The upper floors
had archery and crossbow ranges and rooms for the practice of throwing-weapons;
from knives to axes to spears.  There were also private training rooms and an
auditorium for important lectures on common topics that many people would
attend:  shield use, “where-to-strike” anatomy, “low blows and cheap shots,”
and “duel etiquette,” among other things posted on the upcoming schedule of events. 
There were even rooms for the pleasures delivered by masseuses and masseurs.

         “What do you think?” asked Selric as they
sat in the third floor lounge drinking the finest ale that had ever passed
Dirk’s lips.  At Selric’s question, Dirk got an ear-to-ear smile that he could
not contain.  Then he broke down.

         “It’s great!  That big bath they use for
swimming...I don’t even know how to swim...and Belsarus...and...and...” he
stuttered, talking with his hands like an excited child, leaning forward in his
chair.  Unable to find the right words, he settled back and gathered his
composure.  “Yes.  It’s nice,” he said calmly, but soon began smiling again. 
“Thanks for arranging it.  I don’t know how to repay you.  I mean, I’ll repay
you the money, but it seems I owe you more.  This is the neatest thing in my
life.”

         “No. You don’t owe me.  We’re friends, or
at least, I’d like to be.  Besides, someday you may be able to help me.”

         “So I do owe you,” Dirk said with a hint
of suspicion.

         “No.  I’m not like that.  Don’t expect me
to show up and say, “Remember that time I let you use Sellore’s?” No, I
wouldn’t do that.  What am I offering you, Dirk?  Does it cost me anything to
let you come here?  No…so while it is heavenly for you, to me it is a small
sacrifice at most.  I just wanted to do it for you.”  He paused.  “Well, I’d
better be off.  I’ve got an appointment with a fellow...”

         “Darry Trollbeard,” Will interrupted
informatively.

         “...Yes,” Selric confirmed, “and he seems
to have some information...”

         “Expensive information,” said the boy.

         “...on our temple thief.  So enjoy
yourself.  I will be in touch.” 

         “When do I have to leave?” Dirk asked
uncomfortably.

         “Eh?” Selric wondered.

         “How long can I stay?  I mean, when do I
have to leave?”

         “Next year,” Selric said with a grin and
a wink.  “But you might want to go to work…or see Melissa between now and
then.”  Selric and his little shadow turned and walked out.  Dirk left soon
after, still feeling out of place at Sellore’s without Selric.

         Dirk walked to Cinder’s from
Master
Sellore’s
.  As soon as she opened the door, Dirk knew that she had been
drinking:  her eyes were glassy and she wore her playful, man-eating grin.

         “I thought you were Mel and Fiona coming
back.  Come in sweety,” she said, taking his hand.  He sighed but followed
along, glad that Cinder’s drunken states were short-lived.  If she stopped
drinking, in an hour or so she would sober up, and Dirk attributed this to her
elven blood or magic or something he could not understand.  She tried to drag
him into bed.

         “I’m not going to do it with you like
that,” he said scornfully, holding his ground while Cinder helplessly attempted
to move him.

         “Like what?” she asked sweetly, still
tugging like a little child.  “You don’t even know how we’re going to do it.” 
Dirk hated when she manipulated him.  He knew it happened, but could not make
himself resist.

         “I mean you being drunk,” he said, trying
to be angry.

         “You have before,” she said and Dirk
looked away.  “Okay.  Fine,” Cinder said, “we don’t have to.”  She went and
talked to her little songbird, Twillyfoot.  “Oh really?” she said to it. 
“Oh!”  She looked at Dirk.  “Yes he is.  I don’t care, I like him anyway.”  At
first, Dirk did not believe she was talking to the bird, but then it no longer
mattered:  he was not going to be ridiculed by a twirping pile of violet
feathers, even if he thought it was simply Cinder being bratty.

         “What did he say?” Dirk asked angrily.

         “Oh, nothing,” Cinder replied, her nose
in the air.  If it had not been Cinder treating him like that, he would have
slapped her in frustration at her nastiness.

         “Come on,” he said, “let’s go to my
place.”

         “All right,” she said as if no argument
had taken place.  Though to others, this would not have been considered an
argument, it was all the disagreement Cinder could muster, and all the
resistance Dirk could offer.  They walked to Bessemer’s, high, fluffy, white
clouds rolling overhead occasionally and allowing the sun to shine brilliantly
through.  The wind was strong and gusting, but the sun was still warm even as
it sat low in the sky, if not downright hot.

         In his room, Dirk drew himself a beer
while Cinder walked onto the open roof, looking out over the harbor, the
bastions behind it, then out to the Great Sea beyond.  Dirk stood in the
doorway watching her as she leaned over the low wall, sticking her face forward
as if feeling, or maybe smelling, the wind.  Her black hair billowed out behind
her, flipping and flowing, as did her cloak which was whipping and cracking
fiercely.  He admired her fair skin and flushed cheeks, her deep eyes with her
long dark lashes, the way she leaned against the wall, the way she closed her
eyes and felt the world rolling by, and the way she turned and looked at him
with a soft, somber, knowing glance, as if she were a natural part of the world
that flowed around and through her.

         She wordlessly came to him and wrapped
her arms momentarily around his slim waist, then released and went inside. 
Dirk stood for a moment, feeling strange. He felt love, but it was not
his
feeling.  It was as if he could feel Cinder’s emotions; he was inside her.  He
turned and walked in to his room where they stayed until late that night,
talking, touching and simply gazing at each other.  They did not make love.

         The next day, the group was to meet at
The
Unicorn’s Run
, closed again this day until four bells, for a private
lunch.  Selric, Fiona and Melissa came down from the north, while Dirk escorted
Cinder from the south.

         The first three were sitting on the front
steps enjoying the warm sun, when Dirk and Cinder came up on the far side of
the street.  They crossed in front of
The Unicorn’s Run
and just then a
dog fight between three mongrels erupted up the street, under the feet of two
draft horses harnessed to a crate laden wagon.  One horse was nipped and bolted,
leading the other horse, and the wagon, at a fearful gallop down the street.

         “Go on Cinder,” Dirk said, letting her
go.  He turned and held his hands up to stop the runaway cart.  Fully confident
in Dirk, Cinder stood in the street two steps behind him, where he had let her
go.  “Besides,” she thought, “if I can just talk to them, they’ll stop.”

         “Dirk!” Melissa said urgently as the
horses bore down undaunted.  “Get out of there, stupid!”  She rose and stepped closer,
actually moving into the street.

         “Umm, that’s not going to work,” Selric
said skeptically, but not yet concerned.

         “Not a chance,” Melissa replied.  The
horses made no attempt to turn aside or slow down in their fright, and as Dirk
turned to leap away, he saw Cinder standing slack-jawed, and he hesitated,
trying to grab her just as Selric flashed across the street and swept her up.

         Dirk tried to move, but found himself
slowed with his momentum broken, and he was knocked aside by the broad chest of
a horse, mercifully out of the way of the clattering hooves and crushing
wheels.  He landed inches from where Cinder lay, smiling at him, on top of a
groaning Selric.  They heard Melissa muttering something about “idiots” and
when they looked, they saw her leap atop the flying wagon as it rumbled past. 
Dirk rose slowly and ran after her, Fiona close behind.

         Melissa bent forward and tried to reach
the reins that skittered along the stones, then the wagon hit a dip in the road
and Melissa was thrown up and over the front of the cart.  She would have
crashed face first onto the street if she had not caught the front of the wagon
with her hand, nearly ripping her arm out its socket.  She was able to lift
herself back into the seat, screaming “Whoa!” repeatedly to the frightened
beasts.  “Oh, Hells,” she said, leaping onto the back of one of the horses. 
She grabbed the harness and the one of its partner as well, and both reigned up
as their bits were pulled uncomfortably far back and hard into their mouths.  They
skidded to a standstill, prancing nervously, still skittish and frightened. 
Melissa patted and calmed them until Dirk came up and took hold of them.  At
that moment, a Guard patrol arrived.

         “Is this your wagon?” one of them barked,
pointing at the farm girl, then continuing without giving her a chance to
answer.  “Somebody could have been killed!  Don’t you know...”

         “It isn’t mine, asshole,” she said.  The
guard’s look turned from scolding to anger, but Fiona stepped in as Melissa
jumped down and tried to get face to face with him.  Dirk maintained his hold
on the horses, but moved a step closer.

         “No, Captain,” Fiona said.  “Melissa,
here, caught the runaway wagon.”

         “I don’t like her tone,” he said, still
pointing at her.

         “You don’t have to,” Melissa snapped. 
“And don’t point at me.  I’ll break that finger right off.”

         “Why I ought to...” he started.

         “Yeah, you should,” Melissa provoked,
bumping Fiona.  “Try it.”

         “No.  No,” Fiona said, pressing them
apart.  “You must forgive her Captain, the excitement of the ordeal has her
blood flowing.”

         “No it doesn’t,” Melissa said
belligerently.  Several of the guardsmen stepped forward.  Dirk countered their
move and they momentarily wavered, eyeing the brawny, determined man.  “I
almost get killed trying to stop this thing and you blame me!”  Her voice grew
to a high pitched ferocity.

         “Excuse me,” came a calm, melodic voice
which momentarily brought everyone’s excitement down a notch.  They all stopped
and looked:  it was Selric, a diplomatic, suave smile on his charming face.  He
held out his hand to the captain.  “What seems to be the problem, Captain?” he
asked with an air of authority that his friends had never heard him use
before. 

         “And you are?” the captain asked, looking
curiously at him, but shaking his hand respectfully, never sure who one might
meet on Andrelia’s streets.

         “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, setting the
stage for his grand proclamation.  “Stormweather.  Selric Arnesson
Stormweather.”  The captain’s eyes widened.  Every soldier in Andrelia knew of
the Stormweathers and many had studied at one of their schools before King
Alhad had declared it illegal to hire any more men trained at a noble-owned
academy, though he still kept those already in service.  To terminate all
guards trained at those academies would have left the garrison depleted.

         “Master Stormweather...” the guard said,
but was cut off.

         “These are my friends, Captain, and
Melissa just stopped this runaway wagon.  Quite commendable, actually.”

         “Yes.  I would say so, Master Stormweather.” 
He bowed officially.  “Now, sir, I’d like to find the owner of this cart.”  He
turned to Melissa and bowed curtly.  “My thanks, brave lady.”  He led his men,
except one who took the reins cautiously from Dirk and held the cart there,
while the others marched up the street.  Melissa stormed off toward
The Unicorn’s
Run
, right behind the guardsmen, muttering under her breath.

         “She’s a wildcat, I’d say,” said Selric. 
Dirk laughed nervously in agreement as Fiona flaunted a proud smile.

         Not until a week later did the group have
a meeting which was more than simply lunching together; which usually Melissa
or Fiona would miss because one of them was working.  They had been on the
“case” for almost three weeks when Selric sent them a note at one of the lunch
meetings, telling them that he would not be there.  He had some important
information and asked them to meet him, instead, at nine bells that night at
The
Run
.  Dirk stopped to pick up Cinder at her room in the dock district on
his way, as usual.  When Cinder opened her door, Dirk saw that Amber was there
again.  He had met Amber the week prior, the last time he and Cinder had gone
out for dinner.  Cinder had stopped pestering Dirk every other day for his
attention now that she had met Selric and Amber, and Dirk grew jealous.  He
would rather be bothered by Cinder than not see her at all.