Martin cut off his thoughts. He didn’t want to see further into the man’s future. He’d made such a mistake in the past and then found himself in conversation with someone he knew to be facing death.
Death would win. Death always won.
Deliberately keeping his steps light, Martin made his way to the Stone’s Throw. He kept a cautious eye on passersby, ears tuned to scuttling in alleyways.
The place had called to him when he’d first made a delivery last sevenday to the local magistrate. Were thieves present, requiring his intervention?
Early in the eve, children still roamed the streets, some on their way home to dinner, others gathering around the inns’ back doors, hoping for a handout from a kindhearted cook. They were safe from the menace the city dwellers didn’t see. The unholy beings didn’t take children to Martin’s knowledge, and crime kept most folk safely at home during the darkest hours.
He’d been scarcely older than some of those children when he’d first arrived, knowing no one and searching for others like himself. There must be others. Gran told him so. Yet, in all his time here, he’d found no evidence. But, of course, having to keep his nature secret surely didn’t help.
Woodsmoke flavored the air, generously seasoned with the ever-present aroma of sea and surf that came with living in a harbor. Pausing outside the tavern, Martin breathed deeply of bitter hops and succulent pork, the scents comforting. His mouth watered.
Go inside,something told him. Sensing no immediate danger, he slipped through the door.
“Greetings, stranger,” came from a few of the patrons. “Stranger” he would stay until he provided a name, for many came and went in this harbor town.
He wouldn’t provide his name, nor would he lie. “Stranger” suited in many ways.
Martin nodded in answer and located an empty seat at the bar, perusing the room for a familiar face and coming up empty. Though he’d met many E’Skaarans, he kept to himself whenever possible. Keeping others at bay helped protect his secrets.
Commander Enys asked minimal questions, with so much family to talk about that he overlooked the one-sidedness of their conversations. Plus, Martin’s promotion to captain guaranteed more duty-related topics.
While he neatly dodged Enys-related females, he’d entertained himself with an Enys second-cousin-once-removed for a season until the young man left for further schooling elsewhere.
Occasionally Martin enjoyed a pint with his fellow guards or even joined the commander’s family for dinner—sans nieces.
Tonight, he longed for a different kind of company.
Soot stained the dull grey walls around the cheery hearth fire, and an antique wooden clock filled the mantlepiece—likely someone’s prized possession. The clock showed the same time though minutes passed by, yet no one remarked on why the proprietor hadn’t repaired the clock.
The tavern maid slid an ale and a pork pie—the eve’s favored dish, apparently—across the timeworn oak of the bar top. The server wore her gray-flecked brown hair in a bun. Laugh lines around her eyes crinkled when she smiled.
“Well, hello there, handsome. Haven’t seen you in here before.” She leaned over the bar and hissed from behind her hand. “Let me tell you, you’re a sight better to look at than most of these codgers. And I take it you wouldn’t pinch a lady’s bottom, would you?” The brassy woman dropped an eyelid over one dark eye. “Should you find one.”
“Addie! Woman, I’m thirsting to death down here.”
The woman, Addie apparently, rolled her eyes, dancing away to the other end of the bar. “Hold yer horses. I’m waiting on a customer.” Her voice cut over the din of the crowded room.
Martin turned his attention back to the dinner he hadn’t ordered. Ale and pork pie: simple fare. Back home, the villagers ate a lot of mutton before…
No. Martin would not think of before.
The ale brought back memories of his father and the villagers socializing over a pint, though he’d been too young to join in.
Before. Alwaysbefore.When he’d been an ordinary son of ordinary parents, destined to become a farmer and raise more lambs for the slaughter. Before the villagers summoned the Chosen and allowed his parents to be taken without interfering. Did they deserve his punishment? Maybe, though it pained him to have carried out justice without conscious thought.
He’d kept a close eye on his fingers since that day. Though he’d tried many times, except for lighting a lantern in Petran’s cabin aboard theSeabird, he’d yet to produce fire again. Perhaps the danger brought about the defense. With no one to ask, he might never know.
Fire, like wards, possessed a mind of its own.
Martin ate in silence, soaking in the laughter, chatter, scents of his meal, ale, and a hint of soot from the fireplace. His heart ached to not feel alone, as he had from the moment he’d been driven from his home.
No, for a brief time, he hadn’t been alone. A very brief time.
Too brief.
Petran. If only Petran had left the ship with him.
