Keystone (Gatewalkers) Page 6

  Something acrid broke through the stifling floral smell. Charlie sniffed. “Do you smell that?”

  “Smell what?”

  “Is something burning?”

  Rhys made an odd strangled noise combined with a hiss. He slid past her to blow out the flame beneath what looked like a miniature cauldron propped up on three long, skinny legs.

  “Tell me of this private job,” he said, measuring pale powder into the mini cauldron and stirring it in, “and what your mysterious source has said of me. I have already turned down contracts from landowners wanting to pad their personal security forces, fearful that a Great Gate to Ard Ri’s own realm will open in their gardens. If it is something of that nature, I decline.”

  Charlie drifted over to one of the tables and started playing with a candle flame, passing her fingers back and forth. Candles were one of her guilty pleasures. “We need you in a more specialized capacity.”

  A long fingered hand flew out of the darkness and snatched her hand away. “You will burn yourself.” His fingers felt like a metal bracelet around her wrist.

  Charlie fought to keep her face in character. Burn herself on a fake flame? Not likely. “We intend to find the Keystone and those responsible for stealing it.”

  He released her wrist as if it were suddenly red hot. “How do you intend to accomplish this?”

  “With your assistance,” Charlie said. “My source assures me that –” don’t mention his bloodline! “– you… have a means.” She absently started playing with the candle flame again.

  Watching him closely, Charlie caught the slight hesitation at her words. Thus his forced chuckle didn’t fool her.

  “Your source is telling you tales,” he said.

  “I have no reason not to believe them.” Charlie let her finger linger too close to the candle flame, and it bit her fingertip. Charlie gave a startled gasp, automatically thrusting the offended finger into her mouth. It had only been a small sting, but the one thing the VR projectors were not supposed to simulate under any circumstances was pain. Charlie told herself she must have imagined it, but she warily decided not to test it.

  “If that is why you came, I am afraid you will leave disappointed.” Rhys picked up a large knife and attacked some poor hapless tuber on a cutting board.

  “You are the only one who can help us find Princess Maelyn.” Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You’re my only hope.

  The steady snap of the knife against the chopping board paused. Charlie could almost picture the clockwork ticking. Rhys started chopping again, more slowly. He scraped the chopped pieces into a bowl, and then tested the concoction in the mini cauldron.

  Would this be the time to let him mull it over, or push a little? Then again, they were working on a deadline here, in more ways than one. Her half hour was probably already half over. How about the Han Solo approach? “You would be rewarded for your assistance, of course,” Charlie said.

  Rhys snorted. “What would I do with a reward?”

  Charlie shrugged. “Fix up your house?”

  “I like my house as it is.” Rhys set the cauldron aside and covered the bowl with a cloth.

  “Buy fancy new alchemy equipment?”

  “Alchemy? I have no interest in turning lead into gold, nor any similar nonsense.”

  She shrugged. “How am I supposed to know what all this stuff is for?” she said, gesturing at all the apparatuses. “What is this stuff anyway?” she said, indicating the green paste in a ceramic bowl near her elbow.

  “Poison,” he said. He started choosing bottles and jars off the shelves, and packed them carefully in a wooden box. “

  Right.” Charlie scooted away from the bowl. Dying within the first quest of the game would be lame. “Ummmm.” Charlie cast about for another idea. “You could buy fancy new clothes?”

  “Who is there to see me?”

  “Get a girlfriend?” Charlie muttered under her breath.

  He stopped and looked back over his shoulder. Charlie didn’t need to see his face to read the funky look he sent her.

  Right. Sharp hearing then. Mental note. Get a life? But she didn’t say it out loud.

  Rhys closed up the box with a pair of leather straps to keep it secure. He tucked it under one arm, then started blowing out the lights.

  “What are you doing?” Charlie said uneasily. She wasn’t afraid of the dark, but she hadn’t realized how much those small lights brightened the room until now.

  “Leaving. I suggest you precede me.” He blew out another candle. Only two candles and the low burning flames in the fireplace were left.

  “Wait, there was another pixie with me earlier. Did you see where she went?”

  Rhys shrugged, the motion barely detectable to Charlie’s eyes. He pulled a lantern from one of the shelves and set it on a table. Its dirty glass was thick and wavy, but the glowing pink thing inside was clearly Lallia.

  “I hate pixies,” Rhys said bluntly.

  Tom gave a cry of outrage and dematerialized. Blue sparks erupted from the lantern and Tom rematerialized inside it, staggering as if dizzy.

  “If you want them, bring them with you,” Rhys said. “The lantern is enchanted to keep them from escaping.”

  Charlie quickly scooped up Tom and Lallia’s lantern before scurrying up the stairs into the round room. Rhys emerged a few moments later, swathed in a thick black cloak with a deep hood that hid his face.

  “You opened the curtains,” he said, chiding.

  “I can’t see in the dark,” Charlie said, crossing into the entranceway.

  Rhys slipped past her, opened the outside door and gestured her through.

  “I haven’t given up on you yet,” Charlie reminded him, stepping out onto the porch. He closed the door behind them and set off across the yard to step through the gap in the fence. Charlie followed.

  “You could fix that fence,” she said.

  “I like my house the way it is,” he said, striding down the street.

  Right. Not interested in reward. New tactic. “You will be famous throughout the kingdom.”

  He genuinely laughed at that. “I do not need fame.”

  Charlie could have smacked herself on the forehead. Fame was probably the last thing he wanted, considering he barely escaped the mass slaughter of his family. Lallia had said not to bring up his bloodline, but that might be the only thing she had left. “I don’t suppose you would do it just to save the world?”

  “No.”

  “I’m not doing a very good job of this, am I.”

  “No.” Rhys said, but she heard a smile in his voice. That had to be a good sign, right?

  Charlie followed him through the town’s twisty, narrow streets. Drying laundry hung across courtyards, hole-in-the-wall fountains provided water for the neighboring dwellings, and dirty children played with dirtier dogs. The buildings showed signs of wear and tear, like moisture stains and sagging, and scuffed doors. Some of the streets were slick with mud and moisture runoff. All in all, it really felt like a real pseudo-medieval town, complete with donkeys, oxen, and the products thereof. Not many games were willing to go that far to make things realistic, especially since the home editions cut out that kind of detail.

  ***

  Rhys turned off the street to mount the steps to a blue door. A neatly painted sign hanging over the door showed a stylized cat eye with a yellow iris, and beneath it a mortar and pestle. Graceful, unreadable letters scrolled vertically along the side of the sign.

  Charlie followed Rhys inside, and for the second time the fish smell of the town gave way to the smell of dried herbs. This time it was a much subtler transition, a harmonious blending of scents reaching out to envelop her rather than smacking her with a wall of smell.

  Sturdy wooden shelves held neatly labeled jars, bottles, and boxes. Some had additional pictographs or runes on their labels. Little honeycomb racks held sticks of incense and tied bundles of dried herbs. More racks held varied-colored candles that were probably scented as well;
Charlie eyed them longingly, wishing they were real. The shelves next to the candles held little glass jars of honey.

  “Don’t you dare release those pixies in here!” cried a shrill voice at Charlie’s feet.

  Charlie looked down. A tiny old man with brown skin more wrinkled than Mr. Patchett’s waved a tiny twig broom at her. Doll sized spectacles perched on his crooked nose and tufts of white hair stuck out from his huge pointed ears.

  The pixies pressed their faces to the glass of the lantern, smearing their features into strange contortions.

  “Pesky pixies!” the tiny brown man railed. “Wouldn’t they just love to make a wreck of Mistress Taryn’s shop. With all the work I do to keep it straight and tidy!”

  “I won’t let them out in here,” Charlie said.

  The tiny man sniffed, but lowered his twig broom. “See that you don’t.” His long ears twitched. “Spiders!” he spat, as if it were a curse. He scuttled under one of the shelves. The thwacks of a tiny broom emerged shortly after.

  Charlie glanced over some of the labels on the jars and bottles: lady’s mantle, willow bark, chamomile, cobwebs, mint, anise, nightshade, rosemary, boswellia, ginger, thyme, sage, yarrow, and more. A locked, lacquered box had a plaque that read “powdered dragon bone.”

  Charlie pointed at the “powdered dragon bone.” “What’s that for?”

  Rhys’ eyes followed her finger. “It helps one see in the dark. Among other things.”

  “Not that either of us need help to see in the dark.” A woman languidly rose from a chair across the room. Though she spoke to Rhys, her buttercup yellow, cat-slitted eyes fastened on Charlie. Her skin was dark blue, her hair long and glossy black, pulled up into elaborate knots pinned with shell combs. Her ears fanned into three sharp points like fins. Black kohl lined her eyes, powdered mica caused her eyelids to glitter, and purple glossed her lips. Her gown was obsidian black with slashed sleeves over a deep purple chemise. A carved shell necklace hugged her neck, shell rings wrapped around her fingers, and her long, sharpened nails were lacquered electric blue.

  “Who is your new… friend?” the blue woman continued. She had the air of a cat that had just been ousted from her favorite chair. “You are not cheating on me, are you, Rhys?” It was hard to tell if she were serious or teasing. Her unblinking eyes never left Charlie.

  “Of course not, Taryn,” Rhys answered. “This young lady is trying to convince me to take on a contract.” Rhys lowered his hood, and Charlie was surprised to see he was a lot older than she had assumed, though he certainly didn’t move like an older man, and his voice didn’t sound old. Deep lines ran from the sides of his nose to the corners of his mouth, and the corners of his colorless eyes were thick with crow’s feet. His straight white hair hung loose past his shoulders to the middle of his back, and even his eyelashes, bushy eyebrows, and chin bristles were white. Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi indeed.

  He also had pointed ears. Go figure.

  Taryn’s yellow eyes dismissed Charlie and turned to Rhys. “What have you brought me?” she said, extending a blue nailed hand, palm down.

  Rhys accepted the hand and brushed his lips to her knuckles. “Nothing you will find satisfaction with, I am sure.”

  She glided to a table toward the back of the shop, leading Rhys. They set about haggling over the contents of his box with almost gag-worthy pseudo flirting. Charlie did her best not to listen in, which was why it took a while to realize that despite the veneer, they both bargained rather ruthlessly.

  Charlie wandered between the shelves. Nothing had prices marked on them. By the sounds of it, commerce was based largely on trade. She wondered if it was one of the standard style games where you could sell just about anything short of rocks to a non-player shop keeper, but you would get lousy prices. Then again, Taryn certainly didn’t seem like she would take just anything.

  “Look,” Charlie broke into the haggling session, “I don’t mean to be a nuisance, but I am limited on time and I really do need your help, Rhys. You are literally the only one I can turn to right now.”

  Taryn’s eyebrow flickered upward, and Charlie expected some sort of scathing rebuke for interrupting. Instead, her yellow gaze turned on Rhys. “Are you being unreasonably stubborn?”

  His expression turned shuttered, closed. “I do not take well to lost causes, nor to suicide contracts.”

  “It isn’t a lost cause yet,” Charlie said. “But it may be soon.” Her half an hour was probably nearly up, and she hadn’t even had the chance to fight anything yet. She should have scheduled herself for the full hour.

  Taryn tilted her head, leaning toward Charlie. “What contract is this that the patron of lost causes has given it up for lost?”

  “Rescuing Princess Maelyn,” Charlie said.

  Taryn’s eyes widened. Unexpectedly, she laughed. “That is a lost cause.” Her look turned speculative. Taryn crossed to stand before Charlie, head tilted slightly upward to meet her gaze, as Charlie was several inches taller. Taryn reached up to clasp Charlie’s jaw, turning her face this way and that.

  “I heard the reports,” Taryn said, “of those who found the princess’s slain escorts. They were some of Seinne Sonne’s finest soldiers. Nearly all of their heads were missing. Not simply cut off, but taken. Do you know what this says to me? This says to me: terradi.”

  Charlie glanced over Taryn’s shoulder, but the term seemed to be unfamiliar to Rhys too.

  “I lived in the Black Forest when I was young. Not all of Ard Ri’s monsters followed him through the Gates.” Taryn played with her necklace, nails clicking against the shell, the gesture almost nervous. “Terradi will skin a man and leave him living, just to hear the screams. The only thing they love more than killing elves is killing each other for the sake of their twisted sense of honor. A terradi’s greatest pride is in taking the head of a worthy opponent, or taking the head of a child, because a child is the enemy’s future. These are what took the princess. Do you still wish to rescue her?”

  “All the more,” Charlie said. “I’m not afraid.”

  Taryn smiled, flashing sharp teeth. “You should be.” She released Charlie’s jaw and slapped her shoulder hard enough to sting. “You intrigue me. I will help you. But –” she held up a finger, with its wicked electric blue nail, “–understand that it is not without price.”

  Charlie nodded. She hoped it wouldn’t be too steep. Then again, since there wasn’t much left of her time slot, she could probably agree to anything. “I don’t have any money yet –”

  Taryn cut her off with a sharp wave. “Money is not interesting. Gold and silver and copper shine prettily, but they corrode and melt too quickly.”

  “Be sure not to sell her your soul,” Rhys said. Charlie wasn’t quite sure if he was joking.

  “You should go with her,” Taryn said, turning her baleful gaze on him.

  “I make no impossible bargains.” Rhys crossed his arms.

  “I was going to save this as a bargaining chip,” Taryn said. “But I think you will not be returning for it.” Taryn handed Charlie a fist-sized jar. “Aloe extract. For his sensitive skin. He is worse than any elven maiden.”

  Rhys scowled. “That is worth at least a silver piece.”

  Taryn’s shoulders rolled in an elegant shrug. “You are such a terrible bargainer, I’ve stolen far more than that from you over the years.”

  Taryn braced her hands on the table in the middle of her shop. Her yellow cat eyes fastened on Charlie as if she were the mouse Taryn waited for. “You still wish to rescue the princess.”

  “More than before,” Charlie said.

  Taryn’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. She turned and plucked a large, fanged skull from a display niche, the bone nearly brown with age but lovingly polished.

  Taryn ran her nails over the dome of the skull. “This once belonged to my husband. With this I won my freedom, and I’ve no want to give it back. I’ve more than a half share of terradi blood, but it’s not endeared me to them nor t
hem to me. If they take Seinne Sonne, my head will be some warrior’s prize. We talk business.”

  Charlie crossed to stand on the opposite side of the table. She laid her hands on the table, mirroring Taryn’s pose.

  “I suppose I might settle for this….” Taryn’s blue, long-nailed fingers reached out and plucked up Charlie’s dragon pendant from her chest.

  “No!” Charlie snatched it back.

  Taryn slowly lifted a challenging eyebrow, raising a shoulder in a shrug. “Long ago,” Taryn said, “my ancestors were dragon riders. But then the Nightmare Wars came, and there were no more dragons. But. It is rumored that there are dragon nests left undiscovered in the Northern Reaches. For my assistance, you will find me a dragon egg in your travels and bring it back. Are we agreed?” Taryn eyed her narrowly, then held up her hand, palm outward.

  Sounded like the typical “impossible” errand quest. Charlie nodded. “Agreed.” Charlie placed her hand on Taryn’s.

  Taryn’s fingers closed around Charlie’s. Taryn squeezed her hand. “Take care of my boy,” she said, fierce and almost feral.

  Charlie nodded, feeling more as if that were the true bargain.

  She seized Charlie’s wrist and pulled her along in her wake. “Come. I have something else for you as well, though it may not be as useful as the aloe.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Many Meetings

  Taryn led Charlie two flights up a twisting stone stair at the back of the shop. Taryn rapped on one of the doors at the top.

  “One moment! One moment!” a male voice called from inside.

  Taryn opened the door anyway. Or rather, opened it as far as it would go, then shoved her shoulder against it until it opened wide enough to pass through.

  As Charlie stepped through the doorway and around the junk piled against it, she thought at first the room was a library of some kind. Shelves, tables, chairs, and floor were all piled with books, scrolls, knickknacks, and scattered papers. It wasn’t nearly organized enough to be a library, and as she looked around she saw signs of actual habitation, like clothing and dishes and other bric-a-brac among the clutter. There was even a bed buried under stacks of books. A cauldron with burned-smelling contents sat in the fireplace, and nearby sat metal sheets with pale beige lumps arrayed in even rows. Large windows with cloudy, wavy glass allowed sunlight to pour in.