Wander West, in Shadow

They drew their horses to a trot as they passed beneath the shadows of the watchtowers, the men on the battlements hailing Roark. Martimeos noted, with interest, that while one of the watchtowers seemed unmarred, simply a round pillar of gray stone with stairs winding along it to the top - the other looked like it had been more recently constructed. Or - recently repaired. Some of the stone around the base bore the mark of having felt the scorch of flame, blackened, and around it he could see other scorched boulders, lying covered in snow. It looked as if the watchtower had been razed, at one point, and rebuilt. He wondered what could have happened if, as Kells said, Twin Lamps had never felt the scourge of war.

Men rushed to greet them as they neared the town walls, ready to take their horses from them - to lead them to the stables built into the side of the city walls, beside the gate, a large stone building made of the same stone as the wall, with thatched roof and an expansive wooden log fence to contain the area for the horses to graze in.

Martimeos helped Elyse down from the horse as men approached to take it from him; men who wore much the same uniform that Kells and Roark did, burnished breastplates with orange tabard with the black suns of Twin Lamps emblazoned upon them, with flaring green pants and knee-high boots, missing only the armband that marked Roark as captain. Elyse still carried Cecil, his head on her shoulder, soothing him as he mewled in pain from whatever injury he had taken to his leg.

Roark had hopped down from his horse himself as he drew near the gate, barking harsh orders to the soldiers who approached him. He stood with his back to them, shaking his head, his silver hair glinting in the sun. Kells approached to stand by their side as his horse was led away, he gave them a worried glance, then called out cautiously, "Cap'n?"

Roark spun around, his eyes flashing, his face red with livid rage. He settled his gaze on Elyse. "I can't believe," he snarled, "I just had to watch a man die for your damned cat." He clenched and unclenched his fists, the cords in his neck standing out in his anger.

Elyse's eyes widened with shock. "Cap'n..." Kells said softly, but Roark interrupted him.

"No! We were on pace to outrun him - we could have made it! Nielson had to die because a girl charmed him with a pretty face, then dropped her stupid kitten and had to go diving after it - was his life worth it?" Roark's face was nearly purple with rage, the scars and pockmarks on it appearing grotesque. He trembled with fury - for one brief moment Martimeos almost thought he was going to step forward and strike her, and his hand drifted toward his sword. But the captain just shook his head, looking at Elyse with disgust.

Elyse had gone deathly pale, her eyes wide; she was almost trembling at the sight of Roark's rage. But her voice was firm when she first spoke, though it began to waver quickly. "Cecil is not merely my cat, he is my familiar," she hissed, taking a shaking step toward the captain. "And-and I told Nielson time and again I did not need his protection - I told him I had the Art - I did not ask him to die! I..." she paused, as a tear rolled down her cheek, almost as if she were surprised by its presence; she shifted Cecil's weight so she could scrub it away furiously with a free hand. "I would have never asked that of him - of anyone! I told him to look after himself! I..." she stopped; no matter how quickly she wiped her face, more tears appeared to replace them. "I'm sorry," she said finally, miserably. "I...I did not mean for him..."

"I don't give the slightest damn if he's your familiar," Roark began to snarl, but Kells interrupted him.

"Cap'n," Kells snapped, surprisingly forceful for someone addressing his superior. Roark glared at him, but Kells stood firm. "Come on. Familiars are important to a witch. I know something of this; many would lay down their lives for their familiars. Stop this. It's unbecoming."

Roark and Kells stood for a long moment, staring at each other. Finally Roark glanced back at Martimeos and Elyse, Martim looking at him warily with a hand on his blade, Elyse glaring at him defiantly even as tears streaked her face. Finally he softened, some of the rage going out of him, the color draining from his face. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "...You're right, boy," he said quietly to Kells. "Thank you for preventing me from shaming myself further." He turned back to Elyse, shaking his head. "Forgive me, lass. I've...just seen too many of my men die in recent days. I should not have blamed you. It's just that Nielson was a green recruit, too young to go like that. " Elyse did not say anything in return, just remained glaring at him, trembling slightly.

Kells coughed awkwardly, then chuckled to break the silence. "So Nielson being green is the whole reason you're upset, eh? Would have been fine with me losing my head then, I s'pose, Cap'n?."

Roark gave Kells the grimmest smile Martim had ever seen, trying to return his chuckle; it sounded forced. "More than fine, boy, it would have been a relief." He shook his head once more, returning Kell's grim scoff. He turned back to Martimeos and Elyse; looking ashamed as he addressed them. "I must leave you now. I've got to go and make my report. I hope...you will still stay to speak to the mayor when I meet with him. Kells, will you guide them to find a room in town?"

"Would the two of you mind waiting here for a bit, actually?" Kells asked, banging a hand against his breastplate. "I'd like a quick change of clothes. I could use a drink, but according to someone there's no drinking in uniform." He rolled his eyes at Roark, who waved him off as he began walking away. "I'll be right back, promise," he said, without waiting for an answer, and then dashed off, disappearing into the milling crowd of soldiers about the stables.

They were left alone for a moment in front of the gates of Twin Lamps. The snow here was a dirty mush, trampled on by the feet of many busy soldiers and horses, men heading out on patrol. It looked like the town was fairly large - at least there were many soldiers at this gate - though, Martim supposed, they might have most of their forces arrayed on this side to deal with the threat from the rider. The walls were thick, as well as tall - built to withstand a good siege, he thought. They gained a fair amount of odd glances, standing there in the snow beneath the walls amongst all the soldiers - few enough who were not of the town guard seemed to be coming out from the gate - though many of the odd looks seemed to be reserved for Cecil rather than the two of them in particular. Truth be told, he was just looking around as an excuse to avoid Elyse's tears. He had always felt incredibly awkward when women cried. But he was forced to confront them when Elyse shoved Cecil into his arms. "Here, fool, carry Cecil a moment," she snapped, scrubbing her face to clear it of the salty tracks of her weeping.

Cecil meowed pitifully in his ear, then began to nibble on it, as Martim coughed and awkwardly stroked his back to comfort him, unsure of what to say. It surely had been grim business with Nielson...but, well, it had not been the first time he had seen a man die in battle, nor the most gruesome carnage he had seen. Nielson had been a soldier, after all..."Erm," he said, "So, is...Cecil alright? Do you think?"

Elyse glared at him with bleary eyes. "A broken leg, I suspect," she muttered angrily. "Hopefully a cast, rest, and some healing can save him from a limp." She crossed her arms, scowling even more frightfully, and Martimeos furrowed his brow in cconfusion. He was beginning to think she was angry at him.

But no, he thought, that could not be the case - why would she be? But she certainly was upset, which he thought he could understand. Maybe some talk about the Art would cheer her up - it always took his thoughts off of grim reality. "So. Did you see - when you cast your glamour as a flame, it behaved as if-" he began.

Elyse regarded him with deadly coolness. "Is the Art all you think about, wizard?" she asked, her voice deceptively, dangerously soft. "Is spell-scribble and sigil-work all that occupies that head of yours? You cannot give a moment's thought to the slain?"

Martimeos' eyes widened in surprise; he felt bashful for a moment. He did suppose he had been more excited over the discovery than was appropriate in the wake of a man's death, though he had brought it up to try to lift her spirits. But...he honestly had not expected Elyse to be so shaken. He tried a more direct approach. "I, hmm. I know it can be a shock to see violence like that-"

But Elyse interrupted him with an outraged cry. "My tears were not for the gore! Clean your ears out and listen to what I say, fool wizard. Did I not tell you my mother was a swamp-witch, and not a kindly one? She killed the men who entered her swamp - that was not the first man I saw slain in front of me. I...ah!" She stamped her feet in frustration, throwing up her arms. "Damn you, fool, I should not have wept before you. I am not so delicate as all that."

Martimeos was silent for a moment. He remembered some of his father's advice on women - when they are upset, boy, and you don't know why - leave well enough alone. Time will cool their temper and give you the chance to guess at why they're angry at you. But Martimeos had an inquisitive mind; one that would not let him leave a question unanswered once it had begun to bother him. "Then...what was it?" he asked.

Elyse growled, sounding almost like an angry animal for a moment. "What was it," she hissed. "What was it, he asks. What it was, wizard, was that Nielson put himself in between me and the charge of that rider! I never asked him to! He got killed trying to protect me - and then you, Martimeos, stupid fool that you are, did the same damn thing. Ah!" With a cry of rage she punched his arm. "I cannot believe you had to ask me this! Is it not obvious? I do not want men dying for me because they think I am pretty - how vile! Maybe mother was wrong that men are dangerous, but I am beginning to believe they are mad."

Martimeos scoffed, delicately shifting Cecil's weight in his arms, for which he was rewarded with a hiss and the larger cat biting his ear even harder. "Ow! Well, if it's any consolation, I wasn't planning on dying. I planned to jump out of the way-"

"Brilliant plan," Elyse muttered. "The genius of wizards truly knows no bounds." A passing soldier gave her an odd look upon hearing the word 'wizard', and she glowered at him so fiercely that he nearly tripped in his haste to be on his way.

"-nor do I think you can truly say that is why Nielson did what he did. You may not have seen much of soldiers growing up in your swamp, but dying to protect others is simply part of what they do. At least, the good ones." Martimeos desperately tried to shift Cecil to a more comfortable position so the large cat would stop gnawing on his ear.

Some of Elyse's anger seemed to drain away. She cast her eyes down to the ground. "But...the captain said..."

"The captain was wroth at losing one of his men. I don't think he gives a damn about your pretty face, but I'm sure he would have done the same as Nielson if he was in that position. People say things they do not mean in their anger." He winced as Cecil continued to needle his ear with his fangs. "Cecil, I beg of you," he whispered to the cat.

Elyse still stared forlornly at the ground, kicking at a ball of dirty ice by her feet. "I don't know," she said quietly. "In my experience, people are more honest in their anger, not less."

"And besides," Martimeos continued, "Have you not done something similar yourself? I did not want you coming along to face the glimmerling-"

"Yes you did. You asked me to come."

Martimeos rolled his eyes. "You made me ask you."

Elyse tapped her foot, crossing her arms, staring off into the distance. "I remember no such thing," she said airily.

"Regardless - Cecil, you're about to have two broken legs if you don't stop - regardless," he pushed on, as Elyse glared at him and opened her mouth to berate him for threatening her familar, "-you could have run from the ruins as the Mirrit attacked me; instead you drew its ire, knowing well you might be killed. 'Twas just a dangerous situation, you cannot say those who die may have done it for someone. I promise you, I did not put myself in the path of that charge merely because I think you are pretty - and neither did Nielson, moonstruck as he was. May he rest in peace."

"That was not the same," Elyse sniffed, her arms still crossed, looking away from him. But then she said softly, "Cecil, you may stop biting him now." And the big cat immediately removed his teeth from Martim's ear and rested his head on his shoulder, purring. She still seemed upset, but less so than before, and Martimeos supposed that was enough.

Kells soon joined them, looking a bit more clean, his dark hair damp, as if he had dashed water in his face and hair to scrub it free of some of the grime. His breastplate and tabard gone, he now wore a smart black coat, surprisingly well-tailored for a common soldier, that extended down to his knees, though he still wore the flaring green pants tucked into the same knee-high boots he had worn on the road. "Much better," he grinned at them. Elyse returned his friendliness with a sniff, and his grey eyes glanced towards her, full of concern. "Ah, Elyse," he said, rubing the back of his head, "I hope you pay no mind to Cap'n's outburst. He's a good man, really, just cares for his men, and has a bit of a temper. He did not mean what he said."

"If he did not mean it, he might not have said it," Elyse answerd, crossing her arms and looking away from him. "And you seem awfully cheerful for someone who just lost his friend."

Kells blinked, then shrugged. "I did not know Nielson so well as that - he was new to the guard. And not the first man I've seen killed. I will drink to his memory, I and all the guard, and he will be in my thoughts, but...'tis just the way of soldiers. Born to Die." Elyse glared at him, frowning at that, but he gave her no chance to retort. "Let's head in under the walls, shall we? The town is crowded, but I know an inn or two that I might be able to convince..."

He led them in beneath the thick stone wall surrounding Twin Lamps, through a small entryway to the side of the closed main gates, one usually reserved for the use of soldiers. As they passed through the small stone tunnel, he greeted and waved at other members of the guard tramping through, boots splashing in melted snow that had collected in the dark.

As they passed through again, into light, Martimeos whistled appreciatively. Twin Lamps was as large a town as he had ever seen - he wondered if some might call it a city. He had never been clear about what, exactly, the distinction was between a town and a city - though he had heard, on the road, some say that a town was not truly a city until it had outgrown its walls, so he supposed by that standard Twin Lamps did not qualify. But still, it was impressive - timber-reinforced stone and clay buildings crowded against each other, some looking almost four stories tall, flickering fires within giving their windows an orange glow, smoke poured from dozens of chimneys into the sky, giving the town an ashy, burning scent. Alleyways were full of large wooden barrels collecting rain and melted snow water. He saw some roofs in what he had begun to think of as the Silverfish style - brightly painted shingles - though most others had roofs of unpainted clay or wood. The streets were well-worn cobblestone, the snow here already entirely melted, leaving dirty puddles that they delicately picked their way past as Kells led them through the winding streets.

And it was true, Twin Lamps seemed full to bursting - crowds thronged the streets, the angry, sullen faces of farmers forced off their land, dressed in simple woolen garb, beside guards pushing their way through the streets. The townsfolk themselves, besides the farmers, seemed to have a certain taste in fashion - flaring pants, much like those the guard wore, for the men, though in an array of colors besides green. The women, on the other hand, wore colorful, form-fitting jackets, buttoned up to their neck and extending down to their wrists, the fancier ones woven through with thread depicting floral patterns, and tended towards long hair covered by large black bonnets - and almost to a woman, they wore long black skirts beneath these, long enough to brush against the streets and soak up puddle-water if they were not careful. He noted that the townsfolk seemed disdainful of the farmers - resentful of them, probably, for crowding the town. And for bringing their animals with them. He saw ducks waddling along the street; one farmer herding a small flock of sheep, nearly blocking an entire alley as he did so, as the townfolk groaned and shouted at him in irritation. And in more than a few places, the smell of animal dung overwhelmed the smell of smoke, causing him to raise his red scarf to cover his nose. He even got a few sniffs himself, as people glanced at Cecil in his arms in irritation, though more than that he got odd looks and raised eyebrows. In the sky above him, he could see Flit darting from roof to roof, a bright red flash exploring the town.

Elyse, for her part, was overwhelmed. She had never seen so many people gathered in one place before. Silverfish had, in fact, been the first village she had seen - though she hadn't thought it all that impressive; a few houses gathered, and mostly abandoned, it barely qualified as a village, and much of it was built into the nature of the land itself. In Twin Lamps, however, she could not see a single tree from the streets; the buildings seemed to press in on her, making her feel claustrophobic. And the streets, she had no idea how anyone ever made their way through this town - they were an incomprehensible tangle of stone to her - and all the buildings looked so similar to her eyes; how did anyone ever know where they were? And the crowds - people bumped and jostled against each other - against her - she snapped at the offenders the first few times it happened, but they did not even give her a second glance, eventually she sullenly accepted that it was just the way of things.

She felt...small. She knew she was short - Martimeos practically towered over her, after all - but when only a few people were around, she did not notice it so much; here, in a crowd, she felt like a stunted sapling in a forest of full grown-oaks, constantly craning her neck up to look at people's faces. The crowd jostled her so much that she nearly found herself separated from Martimeos and Kells; she had to squirm her way past strangers to reach out and grab on to Martim's black-furred cloak so she would not become lost - if she lost sight of them she thought she would probably never find them again in all this madness. Martimeos looked back at her, and she glared at him. She was still upset with him, though she had to admit the wizard's words outside the town gates had had a point. She still found it a bit chilling how both he and Kells seemed to glibly accept the death of a man they had traveled and camped with, even if only for a little while. She might have seen men die, and not wept, but - not men she knew. Not men who had picked flowers for her hair and called her pretty and blushed when she laughed at them. She remembered reading somewhere, in the books she had been given by strangers in her mother's swamp, that no man was ever truly faithful, for they were all half in love with death. She found herself wondering how true that might be.

Kells expertly navigated through the crowded streets, cutting through alleyways that he told them were shortcuts with a wink and a grin. He led them south - at least Elyse thought it was south, she had long since become utterly confused in which direction they were actually headed - to a somewhat cleaner part of town, where the crowds thinned somewhat and contained fewer farmfolk and animals. Here, the buildings were full of shop windows and signs, full of wares Elyse would have never thought you could make an entire business of - she saw an whole building dedicated to the selling of perfumes - maybe they were doing better business than usual to cover up the scent of animal dung? - and eventually led them to a large, three-story inn.

It was white clay brick reinforced by dark weather-worn timber, like many other buildings, but its roof was clay shingles painted in garish red and white stripes. Even from the street, they could hear the roar of voices from within. A painted sign above its door, however, declared the name of the inn to be 'The White Queen', and featured the face of a beautiful, regal-looking woman, with long white hair, blood-red lips, and a silver crown, rising above the snow-capped peaks of a mountain range, eyes closed, smiling serenely. Martimeos scowled at that, and Kells laughed nervously. "Yeah...like I said, some here were pretty fond of her. Nobody will start a fight over it, though."

As they approached the entrance to the inn, however, the thick wooden-plank door swung open, sending a blast of hot air and noise into the street. An extraordinarily large man, whose dark face could have made Roark's look pretty, bald and thickly muscled, dressed and thick leather and with a cudgel by his belt, effortlessly pushed four young women - all blonde, and farmfolk, by the look of their simple woolen dresses and sullen faces - out into the street. A curvaceous woman in a loud purple silken dress that clung alluringly to her form appeared in the doorway behind him, frowning at the girls. She was of a darker complexion, and dozens of ribbons fluttered in her hair; around her shoulders she wore a fanciful woolen shawl, woven in dark blue and purple patterns, tassels dangling from it, and her fingers glittered with gold and silver rings. When she spoke, her words had a strange, almost lyrical accent. "Shame on you girls," she snapped. "Shame on you for trying to pay for your rooms like - that. I am running an inn, not a whorehouse! Surely there are cheaper places for you to stay." She put a disdainful emphasis on the word cheaper.

The farm girls blushed crimson; what looked to be the eldest of them recovered the quickest, stamping her foot in the street, careless of the puddles. "All the other inns are full - there's no place for us! You're putting us on the streets! My pa' grew the food that feeds your guests - show a little mercy!"

The woman in the purple dress sniffed at her. "Harald," she said simply; and the beast of a man who had thrown the girls into the streets growled, put a hand on his cudgel, and stepped forward. The farmgirls scattered, disappearing down the streets. "How disgraceful," she muttered, fretting with her shawl. Then her eyes brightened as they landed on Kells, Martimeos and Elyse. "Oh, how fortuitous!" she clapped. "Rooms open, and already one of our brave young guards brings new business. Kells, darling, how are you? How do the patrols go?"

Kells gave a little formal bow; Harald gave a derogatory grunt at that. "Not so well, Madame Rouchard. Another patrol gone missing; we lost a man from ours today."

"Just Madame Ro, I tell you - your tongue never gets my name quite right." She tutted sympathetically, but her words seemed harsh. "You guardsmen best get your act together and do your jobs; my clients are running out of coin and farmfolk are becoming more aggressive by the day." She glanced at his two companions, looking a bit skeptical. "And who is this you bring me?"

"Travelers, we picked up on the road," Kells responded, sweeping aside with yet another bow.

Martimeos stepped forward, attempting a copy of Kell's bow, though he was awkwardly burdened by Cecil. "Ah, Martimeos, ma'am," he said, trying to sound as formal and fancy as he could - he got the impression this woman liked that sort of thing.

"Madame," she corrected him with a sniff. "And you, dear?"

Martimeos wished he had some way of covertly communicating to Elyse to try and be a bit friendlier. The witch crossed her arms, looked Madame Ro up and down for a long moment, and gave a disdainful sniff to rival the woman's own. "Elyse, madame," she answered sharply.

Madame Ro gave a huff and frowned, until Kells stepped in and quickly said, "You may be interested - Martimeos and Elyse both practice the Art."

Then the woman's eyes lit up with delight; she clapped her hands, her frown quickly turning into a broad smile. "Oh! You should have said so - a wizard and a witch! I tried to learn the Art in my youth, you know - but found I had more charm with coin than spells. Fear not for unfriendly faces here - Twin Lamps is open to the Art, and The White Queen most of all! It has been far, far too long since we had those who practice the Art visiting - you will receive a discount, of course - and we have all the best amenities for those who, I know, live their lives on the road. We can have a hot bath brought to your room, desks and chairs for your spellwork, and familiars - is that your familiar, dear? They are of course welcome here, as long as they keep their waste to the street - but they are always clever beasts, are they not, not like these farmfolk's animals at all! Oh, it will be a pleasure to have both a wizard and a witch beneath my roof!"

Despite her enthusiasm, Martimeos still grimaced when she told him the price - that was the discount? He had thought his current stockpile of coin, plus the reward from Silverfish, a considerable sum that should easily carry him as far as he needed, but little more than a month here and it would all be gone. He considered asking whether he and Elyse might share a room, but a look from Kells told him that what good will the Art bought him with Madame Ro might be lost entirely if he turned out to be a cheapskate. He accepted her offer, and with a clap of delight she led them inside, with Kells following in, saying he'd like to stop for a drink.

The inn's common room was large, but despite the roar of conversation, you could feel the tension in the room. Madame Ro's clientele was diverse, and all of them irritated - merchants with caravans stranded, some of them rather exotic-looking - he boggled at a man with three rings in his nose and a mustache that dangled below his belt - all sat among themselves, while townsfolk native to Twin Lamps all sat in another corner, some of them surely just stopping in for a drink. And in one pipesmoke filled corner, farmfolk wearing straw hats and muddy boots sat and glowered angrily at everyone, muttering amongst themselves. That last worried Martimeos. He did not know much of politics, but wherever the farmfolk were that dissatisfied, disaster was sure to follow.

Madame Ro led them to their rooms on the third floor as Kells stayed downstairs to drink - both just across the hall from each other, as it turned out; the farmgirls who had been kicked out had apparently been sisters who wanted to stay close by. At least they were getting their coin's worth - they were spacious, generous rooms, with soft down beds and feather-stuffed pillows; Martimeos did not think he'd slept somewhere so nice in a long while. And true to her word, they were equipped with spacious desks, which Madame Ro slid a drawer open to reveal a supply of long white candles - "For I know how often your kind like to read by candlelight," she winked - and even came with wooden dressers for them to store their extra clothes, with Madame Ro mentioning she could have the maids wash their travel-stained ones. "You are welcome to practice what Art you will in here - so long as it is not something that damages my inn or its patrons!" she laughed.

She left them, then, saying as she did so that she would send up maids to attend to their needs. As soon as she did, Martimeos took the opportunity to enter Elyse's room so he might finally deposit Cecil on her bed - the poor beast was panting, giving another small, pained mewl as he gingerly put him down. Elyse was sitting on her bed as he did so - she did not look up at him as he did this; instead she remained staring at the floor. "Thank you, Martimeos," she murmured, as he stood.

"I think I am going to join Kells downstairs for a drink. Will you join us?" Martimeos asked. He found himself a little concerned about Elyse - beneath her usual sharpness, she still seemed forlon.

"No - I must tend to Cecil - and after, I think I should like a hot bath." Her eyes remained upon the floor.

Martimeos considered her for a moment. Then he shrugged - if Nielson's death still irked her, there was nothing he could really do about it, it seemed. "Very well."

Elyse watched him go. As he left her room, for a moment - only the briefest of moments - she imagined she saw him walking out the doorway without a head.

The door closed behind him, and Elyse put her hands to her head, grabbing fistfuls of hair, drawing deep breaths.

She turned to Cecil, her poor Cecil, wrapping her arms around him, listening to his rumbling purr as she reached out with the Art. After a few moments, she sighed with relief. The leg was not badly broken, it seemed - fractured, surely, but not crushed or fragmented. While she could detect that with the Art, she did not have the skill to heal it, though. She laid the apothecary bag she had got in Silverfish on the bed, rooting through its contents. As she was considering her options, a knock came at the door and a pretty young maid entered, a small girl younger than she, in a billowing white dress, her blonde hair woven in braids beneath her bonnet, asking her if she would like anything.

Elyse rose and said she would like her clothes cleaned, and a bath brought to her room, tossing aside her hat and lifting her dress above her head. The maid blushed furiously seeing that she wore nothing beneath, and with a startled jump quickly moved to close the door behind her so no one in the hall would see, doing her best to open the door just the tiniest gap so she could pop out as quickly as possible as she left with Elyse's dress in her hands.

Taking some water from her waterskin, she mixed together a paste in her mortar and pestle from a few powders in the bag, following Minerva's instructions, and then with some consideration took her dagger and cut a long strip of cloth from the bedsheets. She smeared this paste along the strip of cloth, being generous with it, making sure to let it soak in, and then tightly wound it around Cecil's leg, making sure to keep it snug. In a few hours, the paste ought to harden, making the beginnings of a cast - though she thought she'd probably have to repeat the procedure a few times to truly form one thick enough for him. Cecil blinked sleepily at her as she did this, exhausted by the trauma. She scratched the thick mane of fur on his neck, smiling as he stretched and purred.

She heard a scraping noise in the hallway, and soon a knock came at the door again, and the same young maid let herself in again. She stared for a long moment and blushed to the roots of her hair once more, looking away and asking whether Elyse might get dressed so they could drag the bathtub into the room. When Elyse told her she had no other clothes, she buried her face in her hands and asked her to hide while she brought in the bathtub.

Elyse told her this was nonsense and, once the bathtub was in the doorway, helped the girl maneuver it in - a task made more difficult by the girl blushing and refusing to look in her direction. The bathtub was a large, heavy, oblong bowl of shining brass - though certainly large enough for her, she thought Martimeos might be a bit uncomfortable if he tried to relax in it.

"Oh, thank goodness all the men are downstairs drinking," the maid fretted, once the bowl was set in the center of the room. Next she had to make several trips, carrying sloshing buckets of steaming hot water - though she was certainly stronger than she looked, carrying two buckets on each arm every time - to fill up the tub. On her last trip, panting and out of breath, she brought up a few towels with her, along with a cake of soap. Elyse sniffed at this, surprised by the pleasant scent. She had heard of soap before, but never seen it - she had oils she might rub into her skin to take away the stink when she bathed, but never soap. She thanked the maid and told her to talk to the young man downstairs in the red scarf and the black-furred cloak for compensation. The maid bowed her head, still blushing, but Elyse noticed, stealing glances and leaving the room more slowly than she needed to. That was fine; she could look if she wanted.

Once the door was shut, Elyse slipped into the tub, yelping a bit at how hot the water was - they really must have brought it to a boil before bringing it to her bath. She settled in, adjusting, trying to relax. But every time she closed her eyes, all she could see - all she could think of - was that rider's cattle-skull helm, its chattering teeth, blood-dripping blade raised high, yellow eyes gleaming...Nielson, putting himself between her and the rider, and losing his head for it...and Martimeos, despite seeing this, moments later, doing the same thing. What if her glamour had not worked? Would she be alone here, now, while Martimeos lay headless in some empty field?

She drew her knees up close to her and sank further into the water, until her nose was just barely above it. The whole journey...the talking head, Nielson dying because of her - no matter what she heard, part of her could not get that thought out of her head - it was what the captain had said, and wouldn't he know better than anyone? - Martimeos nearly suffering the same fate - it pricked her mind, bringing up memories she had long since tried to put behind her. But as she sank into the water, feeling the heat sink into her bones, they welled up out of the darkness of her mind and overwhelmed her.