Sleepless (Curse of the Blood Fox Trilogy, Book #1) (10 page)

“Hello, dear,
how wonderful of you to choose our humble store and not our competitors, those
awful Monrow's.” I hadn't realized there was another shop. “I would absolutely
be delighted to help you, but I am afraid that our services tonight are very
limited. We are behind schedule, you see, on some sensational outfits that have
been designed for tonight's festival, some that were even supposed to be for
yesterday's. It's so hard, not knowing what color the moon is going to be. Some
people order four or five of the same outfit in different colors, just so they
can stand a chance.” She let out a long sigh, and her breath smelled like
peppermint. “It's overwhelming, darling, pure and simple.”

“Would you
happen to have anyone free to mend something?” I asked, indicating my robe. She
squinted, peering harder at it through her elaborate spectacles, then nodded
both her head and them.

“That
shouldn't be too difficult. I believe I have just the person for the job.”
Suddenly her wispy, gentle voice turned into the piercing shriek of a barn owl.
“MIRANDA! Get over here, my dear. Miranda!”

A young, thin
girl arrived at her elbow. She was short, head only just at the level of the feathers
on the older woman's spectacles. She had tawny hair tied tight behind her head,
and her eyes wouldn't quite meet anything she looked at.

“Yes, ma'am?”

“Take this
lady into the back room, please, and get her request. She needs a mending job,
you see? Do you feel ready to do some mending?”

“Oh yes,
ma'am, yes I do. I'm truly grateful. You have no idea how ready I am.”

“I am glad,”
the lady said with a relieved sigh, bowing deeply to me. “Just follow her, my
dear. You are in capable hands.”

I was pretty
sure I was in apprentice hands, actually, and ones that had never done anything
professional, but I didn't say so. The young girl, Miranda, led me to the back
of the store and behind a small, curtained doorway. Inside was a little room
with a bench, a mirror, a dresser and a sink. Miranda motioned me to stand in
the middle of the room so that she could look me over.

“Hmm,” she
said, circling. She stood on her tip-toes to peek over my shoulder, then bent
down low to examine the hem of my pants. “Hmmmmm. Mmm-hmm.”

When she
started examining my sheaths, I put in helpfully, “It's just the robe. I'd like
it patched a little, if you could.”

“Oh
certainly, certainly, I'm just taking in your feel,” the girl said. I noticed
she had a nice spattering of freckles on her cheeks. “That's what my granpap
calls it, the feel. That's how you can tell what the person wants, and what
style fits them.” She sighed, staring at my chin. “Granpap was the best in the
business, before his hands stopped working so well. People still come to him
for advice, though. Man, he has the best advice. With everything, not just
clothes.”

I dumped my
bag and swords, and stripped off Traken's robe quickly along with the sash.
Miranda let out a squeal as the cloth touched her hands. “What is this stuff?
Spidersilk? It's spidersilk, right? Man, I've never felt anything like it
before. Granpap used to tell me stories about stuff like this, though. Clothes
that could make you feel like you were bathing in mist, he said. I can't
believe I get to work on one of these, Donnie's gonna be so jealous. It's....”
She wrinkled her nose, examining it over. “It's dirty, that's what it is.” Her
face brightened. “Two coppers more and we'll wash it for you.”

“I don't
think I really have time for washing,” I said. Miranda threw her hands up.

“Pah! There
isn't no time wasted. We have this really good sorcerer down by the book shop?
He isn't scary like most magic-users. Makes us cleaning charms real cheap. Just
stick on the charm and the clothes is dry. Watch this.”

Miranda
hurried the robe over to the sink at the side of the room and pumped the faucet
until the basin was full. Then she expertly doused it in suds of some sort of
powdered soap and scrubbed along a cloth stone for a good while. When she was
satisfied, she took the robe out and grabbed a strange pink paper from the
dresser next to her. She stuck it to the sopping wet material, said a word I
couldn't understand, and suddenly the robe didn't look so damp. She lifted it
for me to touch, and it was indeed as dry as I had handed it to her.

I was
impressed enough that I decided not to mention that I hadn't actually agreed to
pay the extra price. “How long will the mending take?”

“Oh, nothing
at all. Ten minutes, five minutes,” she scrunched her nose as she turned the
shirt around and saw the large slice in the back, “an hour, maybe less. Will
you be here, ma'am, or at the festival?”

“Actually,
I'd like to use your sink to wash the rest of my clothes, if you don't mind,” I
said. “Apparently the only way to get into the last inn in town is to look
presentable.”

Miranda
nodded her head vigorously, but stopped when I removed my hat and pants. She
seemed to be looking at me for the first time, and I heard a low whistle emit
from her mouth.

“My, you're
so young! I mean, I don't mean offense. But those scars, and all those weapons.
What a life you must lead. My mam, she always says that warriors and the like
don't last long. I never seen one as young as you, though.” She paused. “Not to
bring you bad luck, I didn't mean it that way at all, I'm sure you'll be okay,
ma'am. I just heard, and thought...”

“No bad
intentions taken,” I said amiably, throwing my clothes in the sink. “It will
take more than saying so to kill me.”

“My mam, she
says that's what you all say. A false sense of bravado, is what she says. Not
that you do, just saying what she says. She says that being a fighter is a
perfectly good waste of a life.”

“That is a
good point… but, if no one stood up and fought, what would we have?” I kept my
eyes down as I grabbed a spare cloth nearby and dipped it in the sudsy water.
“If someone hurts another, should we just let them get away with it?”

“I don't
know,” Miranda said, her tone crooning and thoughtful as she rummaged through a
drawer full of hundreds of different colored threads. “I don't really think
about these things much. My mam does though. She says that revenge only leads
to more revenge, and that if people just keep killing each other then we're all
gonna end up dead. She says the gods give them that do bad what they deserve in
the end.”

“Reasonable,”
I said quietly, “yet it doesn't make me happy.” I started using the damp cloth
to scrub the dirt off my arms and spoke louder. “What if fighters
are
the revenge plan of the gods?”

“Don't ask
me,” she said, whistling a little to herself. “My mam says that revenge doesn't
really take pain away. She says it just grows and grows unless you face it.”

“Easy enough
words,” I said, remembering all those dark years I spent chasing after faceless
demons. Even now, my chest still burned with it. No amount of justice dealt had
been able to quench that fire yet. Even my life would be worth it for answers.

“You say
something?” Miranda asked. I glanced at her as I scrubbed my abused feet. She
held up the robe and continued without waiting for a response. “I've got a good
eye for sizes. My Granpap says so too. This isn't yours at all.” Her eyes
twinkled. “Is it a man's?”

“It is,” I
said, sending her a lop-sided grin. “A present, you could say.”

“This is very
good material to give as a present, you know. I think this man fancies you,
ma'am. I bet he's dark and handsome, isn't he?” She giggled.

“And furry,”
I said. The girl screwed up her face.

“That isn't
romantic.” A grin moved and stretched her freckles. “I like you. You're not at
all like how my mam says your type are. You let me talk just as much as Granpap
does.”

She went back
to humming and muttering to herself before I could respond, and so I took the
compliment silently and continued cleaning myself and my pants. Miranda whistled
loudly in weird little jingles as I worked, and only paused once when I asked
her for the word to the drying charms.

It was just
as I was sliding the long, loose pants back on, fresh and soft-feeling, that
Miranda let out a triumphant snort.

“All done,”
she called. “You're going to be so amazed. Mam and Granpap and even Donnie say
I've got the quickest hands they ever seen at this, and I know it's true cause
my mam never lies. She won't even let the rooster feel good about his crow in
the morning if he doesn't do it half as long and well as the day before. That's
what Granpap says. Anyway, try it. Try it on, try it on. You'll love it.”

I reached for
the robe and immediately felt that something was different about it. For the
first time, I cast my eyes down on Miranda's work area; there were threads,
needles, shears, and a worrisome amount of cloth strips that looked
suspiciously like they belonged to Traken's robe. I slid the robe hesitantly
over my shoulders.

“See what I
mean?” Miranda said, chin raised proudly as I examined myself in the mirror,
tying the sash back on slowly. “I'm good at feeling out people, right? I told
Granpap I was. And don't worry about the extra cost, I did it for free. It's my
first real job, you know? That means you get a special discount.”

She was,
indeed, good at feeling people out—at least their size. The robe now fit my
frame perfectly; my smaller, not so Traken-sized frame. The sleeves seemed
unaltered, but the cloth clinging to my sides even without the help of the sash
told me that this was not going to fit that lanky trickster anymore.

Oh my
, was all I could think.
Traken is
going to be so unhappy
.

As the sun
was sending its last rays over the horizon and a pale red moon was peeking into
the sky, I made my way through the crowds and back towards the Marlduk Inn. I
had taken the time to purchase more sandals, these ones much more cushioned
than my last, and to eat properly just in case my sorcerer decided once again
that food was unnecessary. Traken came into view soon enough, leaning against
one of the thick stone pillars that made up the entrance to the inn. His robe,
my
robe, was neatly pressed and intact, and he was tossing a small melon in the
air and grinning unabashedly at an elegantly dressed couple walking by. They,
probably not knowing what to make of a grinning mercenary, hurried on.

I got within
a couple feet before Traken turned. His smirking mouth moved as if to speak,
but then just hung there. As I had expected, his eyes took on a rather
petrifying steeliness.  

“I didn't
mean to,” I explained quickly, holding up my hands as if to block an attack. “I
just told her to mend it. I suppose she thought I'd like it fitted as well.”

Traken’s face
was a laughable mix of horror and understandable regret, and though it was
awful of me, I quite enjoyed the look.

“Who is she?”
he asked, voice dripping with cheerful malignancy.

“I will not
tell.”

“You
certainly didn't pay her, did you?”

“Yes, but,
well... it was really impressive that she could do something like this so fast.
I didn't want to dissuade such talent.”

His eyes
hardened further.

“I'm sorry,”
I said, throwing my hands together in mock-prayer. “I'll buy you a new one.”

“You're
laughing,” he said. I was, and bit my tongue to hold it down.

“I do mourn
the disfigurement of this excellent top, but... it is a little funny.”

“You have the
gall to ask for my robe in the first place, and now you bring it back ruined
and with a grin on your face. You enjoy twisting me about, don't you?”

“Oh, so very
much.”

He made a chortling
noise in his throat. “I suppose that means I am just going to have to keep
yours.”

This froze
me. I stared desolately at the beautiful designs of the garment that I had gone
through the last five years with. “I think you could still fit into this one if
you tried, Traken.”

He chortled,
tossing the melon on the ground. “It fits you so well, though. We shouldn't let
that go to waste.”

“And you
should not take your foul mood out on perfectly good melons,” I said, my eyes
following the fruit as it rolled towards the street. “For shame.”

Traken turned
towards the door, a secret smile just visible on his lips. “You do like your
food, don't you?”

“Food is
magnificent,” I assured him, following. “Taste is the one thing that has never
gotten old. Which reminds me, there was this booth that was setting up near the
tailor shop that had a fantastic smell coming from it.”

“We aren't
going to the festival,” Traken said, immediately cutting short my mounting
jubilance.

“What? Why?”

He never
answered—our conversation was forced to a stop abruptly upon entering the inn.
The elaborate lobby of the Marlduk was almost too noisy to think in. The area
was full of milling guests, fluffed-up personages of noble lineage all showing
off in silken gowns and starched suits. Not a single festival robe could be
seen among them, most likely considered the celebratory outfit of “commoners”.
The dramatizations within were staggering. One lady with many gold necklaces
looping around her ample neck trilled so loudly that I actually ducked behind
Traken to avoid the sound.