A Tailor's Son (Valadfar) (21 page)

“
You mean I didn’t treat you like cattle?”
Harold said as Muriel
laughed. Now would have been a perfect time to ask about her life
story, but Harold was too shy and the moment soon passed as they
walked on in silence.

“Would you ever move to the country?”
Muriel said, choosing not to
answer his question but asking one of her own.
“
Yeah, I would. I’ve wanted to for a long time, but there is not much call
for a tailor down there – at least not one that does the style of work my father taught
me.”
Harold said. There was also the fear of the demons at Briers Hill.
At least within the city wall the guards kept watch for movement of the
shadow demons. Harold dodged the contents of a slop bucket, which
someone threw from the upper window close by snapping back from
another daydream.
“What is it you make, then?”
She asked and actually seemed
interested. Most people grew bored and the mere mention of a tailor’s
work.
“We mainly make suits for businessmen and bankers, some uniforms for
the bigger factories too. Sometimes we make evening dresses for the ladies of the city
and make the odd repair, but not many.”
Harold said, trying to make
needlework sound less boring than it was.
“
You mean them dolled up scarlet’s?”
Muriel’s brow wrinkled and
Harold could not help but chuckle. That was the reason he had never
found the right type of girl, the noble and middle classes were more like
dolls than people and Harold would never have been allowed to date
below his standing.
“Yeah, I mean those types. Well there it is.”
Harold said pointing at
the house. Harold was thankful to see that there was no guard wagon
anywhere in sight. Surely only a lunatic would come home when the
guard were looking for them. That was his genius. At least Harold
hoped the guard wouldn’t think it was his stupidity.

As soon as they went inside Harold showed Muriel to his
parent’s old room. It was hard for him to walk into the room and be
surrounded by the memories of his father, but the lavish blue carpet
and thick mattress would seem like a palace to Muriel. It helped to ease
his pain a little to think of her enjoying that which his father had
worked so hard to provide for his mother. The house felt chilled and
empty and Harold wanted to inject life and love back into it before it
became a mausoleum to the memories of the horror that had unfolded
there. Muriel had no luggage to stash away and no need to unpack so
they spent the rest of the day trying to plan what to do next. They sat
around the coffee table in the lounge not far from the chair that had
not long before been Harold’s father’s favourite resting spot. The
sunken imprint of his years of sitting in the fabric still showed and
Harold had to fight the sadness to think that even that would in time
fade. The memories would always be there but they would come up
less. Only the odd smell or thought would jog a memory of a time spent
together and the pain of the loss, but it would become less often. Time
would heal all wounds but for now Harold sat fighting his thoughts
with a pile of books from the library scattered around the ornate top
like playing cards in some strange game.

“Harold.”
Muriel said looking from behind one of the books.
“
This seems to be describing the way that William has been acting.”
It had
surprised Harold that Muriel could actually read. He had not had many
dealings with working girls other than seeing them go in and out of the
Queens, but he doubted the ability to read the written language was a
needed skill for their line of work. Some of them could barely speak
Neeskmouthain let alone read it. It felt like another missed opportunity
to find out more about her but he had other things to focus on. She slid
the book across the table to him and pointed to a faded article inside.
“There, that page.”
Muriel said pointing to a sun stained page that had
been read by countless eyes over the centuries. Harold took the book
from Muriel and begun to read.
In eastern parts of the Green Stone Isles during
the early parts of the fourteenth century of the old calendar there were reports of men
and women who seemed to move in packs, much like that of wolves. These humans
slaughtered countless victims and consumed their blood in the most hideous of
cannibalistic ways. This led to stories that these people had been consumed by the
spirits of wolves in the local area. The wolf people of the jungles would later spark
stories of vampires in traders and sailors that encountered them during the early
exploration of the known world. The wolf men seemed to share a single intelligence,
a pack mentality which allowed for their blood lust to drive them on to pillage and
ravaged the small villages of the Isles but they seemed almost protective of each other.
When Maria Theresa of Stratholme, the leading power in the world at the time,
ordered the complete annihilation of them, the general office kept several specimens
found inside the temples for observation. Defiling the temples and slaughtering many
of the so called wolf people dispelled the false belief that they had been in cohorts with
demons or wolf spirits. The specimens kept for testing within Stratholme led to other
theories. Such as, these unknown substances secreted by the leach-like creatures that
filled the spawning pits at the hearts of the temples, changed people.

Harold rubbed his tired eyes focusing on the old text as he
continued reading.
These vampire-like or blood-sucking people seemed to possess
extreme strength and a reaction to sunlight. It seemed that the sun actually weakened
them. The reports from the brave knights who valiantly battled the wolf men reported
that the only way to kill them was to sever the head from the body or to drive something
deep into the chest cavity where a large crab like structure was almost always present.
However, there have been no reports found in the ransacked libraries after the Orcish
invasion of Stratholme to confirm they even existed and the wolf men of the isles have
subsequently vanished into myth with no temples remaining since the great crusades,
unless they are hidden so deep within the jungle the scholars and bards have yet to find
them.’
Harold let the book fall closed. At least they had some idea what
they were after now. It wasn’t some magic abomination or raised
zombie. It was a creature of a kind that had somehow existed since the
old times. It may have even dated back to the time of the titans. Harold
would later learn the wolf men, or in their own tongue the blood god,
Rakta Ishvara and the battle with the Stratholme knights had not been
the first time their kind faced being wiped out. Their kind had clung on
since the fall of the titans and the sealing of the demons from the
world. They predated Sacellum and held secrets most mortal races and
even the long living Elves had long since forgotten.

“This certainly seems like him.”
Harold said, wondering how they
suddenly reappeared after so long absent from the chronicles of the
world.

“Maybe he’s a survivor of that.”
Muriel said sliding the book back
away from Harold so she could read more.
“No, he can’t be. He had family here, remember? The guard found his
body some time ago. Someone must have done this to him.”
Harold said, feeling
the letter from his wife turning into a lead weight within his chest
pocket.
“You mean there might be more of them?”
Muriel said, letting the
book slip from her hands back to the table.

“
There could be, but I don’t think so. We would have heard about them
but that’s not to say there won’t be if we don’t do something soon.”
Harold said
trying hard to convince himself.

“At least it says how to kill him.”
Muriel said relaxing slightly.
Harold nodded doubtfully. Inside Harold was filled with uncertainty.
After finding out how to kill the Rakta Ishvara he should have been
filled with hope. After all, it was what they had been seeking for many
days but despite all Harold had achieved since the explosion, he did not
know if he was capable of slicing a man’s head off. It would be a step
further than Harold had ever thought to go. He worried if he really had
it in him to do that to a man even one as evil as William seemed.

“Are you okay, you look pale?”
Muriel asked looking at him with
her deep and beautiful eyes.
“
I’m all right, just in a little bit of shock. How are you taking this so
calmly?”
Harold asked. The shock and horror had faded from Muriel so
fast Harold was worried she was bottling it all up and would pop like an
overheated cask of wine.
“I’m a whore remember, I’ve seen the evil side of humanity. I know there
is a hell and I know that there are demons. Most of them walk the streets of the
harbour at night. There’s little that can scare or shock me any more Harry. I’ve
serviced mages,
I
’ve lain with thugs. William is nothing compared to some of the sick
and strange things I have seen. That I have had to do.”
Muriel said with a heavy
heart. Harold had no words that could follow a statement like that and
noticed Muriel was uncomfortable with the silence so he broke it the
only way Harold could think of.
“
It is getting late. If you want a bath, feel free. The bathroom is next to
your room. Shall I start heating the water for you?”
He said. It was all Harold
could think of to say. He didn’t even realise it himself but on some deep
level inside himself Harold had asked it as he wanted nothing more
than to wash the soiled memories from the women he had started to
love. To cleanse her from all the hardships she had before he found
her.
“Yeah, I might if that’s all right.”
Muriel had replied, it would
make a change to bath in warm water and she had noticed the coconut
milk on the side on her way in. It would be a luxury to take her mind
away from the memories trying to force their way to the surface.
“Yes of course. I’ll start the fire now.”
Harold paused. The next
question was one he’d wanted to ask since he had found out how
quickly it was going to happen, but as with everything Harold often
tried saying, he couldn’t find the words. “S
ay Muriel, my father is going to be
buried tomorrow, will you come with me?”
He asked not wanting to face it
alone.
“Harold. I’m so sorry but I don’t think it would be proper.”
Muriel
replied and Harold knew it was just because the only dress she had
would not be proper for mourning.
“Could you at least sleep on it and give me an answer in the dawn?”
He
added. “
Enjoy your bath.”
Harold said, but the truth was he needed the
support of her being there. The funeral should not be this quick but
with his father’s sickness they wanted to get him in the ground quickly
to stop the chance of any infections. The stories of the plagues from
Stratholme in the south still fresh in everyone’s collective minds.
Harold waited until he heard the last bucket of water poured
and then made his way upstairs. Harold had taken the dress he had
made for her from under his mother’s chair and cradled it under his
arms. Muriel’s soiled dress lay crumpled on the bed. Harold moved it
into the wicker basket that sat on the floor and in its place laid her gift
in pride of place, waiting for her return. Smiling to himself, he made his
way downstairs to finish cooking the turnip soup, the excitement of
Muriel’s surprise pushing the sadness from his mind. With perfect
timing, Harold heard Muriel come out of the bathroom just as he was
dishing the soup up into little bowls on the table. The last of the
candles lay between in brass holders giving a dim light to the room. The
fire flickered slowly on the damp logs to keep them warm. Hearing
steps on the stairs, Harold held his breath and turned, expecting to see
Muriel in her new dress, but Harold was mistaken. Instead, she stopped
on the stairs, wrapped in a towel with her still wet hair hanging in red
clumpy locks around her shoulders. There was no makeup or powder
on her young face, yet she was beautiful to him. She held the dress
Harold had made in her arms loosely as if she may break it.
“Harold, this dress-”
Was all that she said as she stood there
holding it in the dim light from the flickering candles. Muriel had never
held such a wonderfully made dress and no one in her life had ever
given her something so beautiful without expecting something in
return. Harold really was different to anyone else, she decided that
then.
“It’s for you. I made it for you. Don‘t you like it?”
Harold asked
worried he had made a mistake in her taste of got the sizes wrong.
Harold had after all only gone from his memory of her figure to make
it.
“
It’s beautiful, but I couldn’t take it. It’s too fine for me.”
She replied.
Harold could see in the reflection of the dim light that her eyes had
glazed. Her hard exterior breached, she was so close to tears. Now was
his chance and, as scared as Harold was he had to take it.
“
Nothing is too beautiful or fine for you.”
Harold said standing up
from the table.
“
Please stop.”
Muriel said, but the look in her eyes told him she
did not mean it.
“
Muriel. I have to tell you. I might not get another chance. Ever since I
first saw you, my feelings for you have been growing. I have never felt this way about
anyone.”
Harold said through dry lips. His throat was so parched but he
could not stop. He could not waste this chance. For once he would find
the words he needed, for he could not let the only women he had ever
loved get away. So Harold pressed on. “
You are the most perfect woman I’ve
ever met.”
Harold said feeling his hands shaking.
“Harold I don’t know what to say.”
She said with small silver tears
staining her cheeks. The smile she gave him then would stay with him
to the end of his days.
“
Then don’t say anything. Go and get dressed. Our soup will soon go
cold.”
Harold said smiling back and sitting back down.
“Harold-”
Muriel said. “
Well, thank you
.” Discreetly as she
could she trotted back up the stairs. She never actually said anything
but from that moment on Harold knew he was not alone in the world.
It was true what Harold had told her of all the women he had known in
his life Harold had loved none as much as he had grown to love her. It
could have been because everything else had been stripped away and
she shone out like a beacon in the night of something good, he did not
know or care for the reasons. All Harold knew was how much he loved
her. Muriel did come back down in the dress Harold had made and an
angel could not have looked more beautiful. As they sat down to eat a
rather plain soup, the meal seemed to taste better than any before in his
life, his taste empowered with a new zest for life even with the loss of
his father never far from his thoughts. Seeing her in the candle light
Harold felt his father would approve.
.