Dusty Willows (Part 2)

She hurried up the steps at the front of the building, taking them in two hopping strides. The curtains were drawn in both front windows on the ground floor, with only the faintest light seeping under the door in front of her. She hesitated before knocking, pulling her hat from her back, where it hung by a string around her neck, and placing it deliberately onto the top of her head. She again hesitated - taking a moment to brush her half coat with both of her hands.

Finally she drew in a deep breath and knocked three times solidly. There was silence for a dozen or so heart beats, before she heard the sound of a dead bolt being unlocked. The door opened a fingers-width and a low voice came from inside, "Enter."

She pushed the door open the rest of the way, and was met with the back of a person who had already turned to walk to the counter that separated off the left third of the room. She had entered the room through a door halfway along one of its long sides. The entire room was lit only by a small oil lamp on the counter, that cast long, flickering shadows into golden-lacquered walls, and a floor covered mostly by a burgundy rug covered with light swirling patterns. Paintings covered the wall on her right, but were hard to see in the darkness. In front of her a hallway led to even deeper darkness. It was sparsely furnished except for a high backed chair, upholstered to match the rug, and two stools fronting the counter. A slightly acrid smell hung in the air. Bare as it was, the room hinted at wealth that was at odds with it's exterior, and with most of the buildings around it.

The lone figure had already made his way back around the counter, and was swinging the gate back down that barred the only entrance to the area behind, by the time Evelyn turned to look his way. Dark-haired, with wide shoulders that somehow made him look taller than his medium height, the man sat down, and began rummaging through papers, apparently unaware that anyone else was in the room. Following his example, she made her way to the chair at the opposite end of the room, and lounged with her best look of non-concern, both legs crossed over one arm of the chair.

The man continued to rummage for so long that Evelyn was sure he must have been through every paper in the room at least twice, before grunting under his breathe, and holding one paper up to the light. He set it down, and pulled a massive, leather-bound ledger from somewhere against the wall, and placed it on the counter, ominously.

From her angle and distance it was impossible to see much of what was happening on the counter, but she kept her seat. After several more moments of turning heavy pages, and another few running his finger up and down what she presumed to be the correct one, he grabbed a fountain pen from the single well on the counter and made a few hurried marks.  Finally, after studying his work, and replacing the pen, he crossed the fingers of both hands, placing his elbows on the counter, and looked at her.

"Evelyn." He smiled in a decidedly unfriendly way, made more so by the deep shadows flickering across his face. His voice was almost startling after the extended silence. "Evelyn Quickhammer. Evelyn Nightwind." His accent was thick and emphasized the hard letters and the last sound of every word. "The Girl Gambler." She grimaced slightly at that.

"I think soon they will call you Evelyn Pennyless." He barked a small laugh and as his smile consistently deepened, it also became even more unfriendly, "What do you think?" He spoke slowly and deliberately, which was for the best, as she may not have been able understand him otherwise.

She put on her best innocent face and looked at him. "I have plenty of pennies, Andrek." She put away the knife that she had been using to clean under her nails. "Why?" She tried her best to look shocked, "do you need a loan?" She swung her legs around quickly so that her whole body was facing the man. She loaded her voice with concern and frowned, her eyes painfully large. "If you are that hard up for money, just come out and ask. Don't let your pride get in the way." Her eyes were wide, as she stared at him waiting for a response.

"You always think you are a funny woman." His expression never changed, as he stared from the lamp-lit side of the room. "Unfortunately for you, the world doesn't deal in funny."

"Only in your little portion, Andrek. I assure you, the rest of us very much enjoy it." She stood and started walking towards him. He kept his eyes on her the whole time, till she stood staring directly down on to them. "You should try fun sometime. You might actually find that it's as fun as its name implies." She put her hands on the counter and leaned on them slight. "Besides, it's good for your heart."

Silence ticked on as each waited for the other to speak. Neither willing to be the first to look away. "You know I hate it when you wear hat in here."

She shrugged slightly. "Must have forgot to take it off before I came in." When it became obvious that she still wasn't going to remove it, he stood, without breaking eye contact. She lifted an eyebrow as she began to look up at him. "Well..." She said slightly turning her head.

He put one finger onto the paper he had so diligently sought and slid it across the counter to her. "It normally doesn't take me so long to find these things. I just really want to enjoy this." The paper hit the ridge on the edge of the counter. "No reason to rush on such a happy day." She looked down at the paper - an invoice with her name on the top. "If this is correct," he tapped with the finger that was still on the page, "Please sign for receipt of the product." With is other hand he pointed to one tiny line on the massive ledger page with the number 429 written in flowing script at the top corner.

She looked at the invoice. "I'd like to see it before I sign." He took his level gaze from her and scanned under the counter before pulling up a small wooden box. Made of oiled pine with a lid that fit securely inside the top, it was smooth as she ran her fingers around the edges. When she lifted the top, an acidic smell, like that of the house itself, but much stronger, rushed out. She touched the top of a couple of the paper cylinders, arranged in alternating columns of five and six. One hundred. It should seem like a lot, but deep down she new it wasn't. Something inside of her felt like is was suddenly knocked loose, and she was not sure that she would be able to regain control of it again. She swallowed hard hard to fight the rising lump in her throat.

She replaced the top of the box and signed the ledger in silence. Placing the invoice in a coat pocket, she looked back at Andrek. He smiled again, "I have waited a long time to say this." He closed the ledger with a loud thump. "Evelyn, daughter of Landrau, your credit with us is now gone." His smile was infuriating, but she could think of nothing more to say, so merely looked at him for a moment longer. He sat down, as if she was not there anymore, and started writing in a smaller book.

 "Please go."

The deadbolt clicked almost immediately after the door closed behind her. She walked in silence for a while, her thoughts a hundred miles and twenty years away. That little part of her was still loose, but she was no longer sure she wanted to regain control of it. The feelings it left were still a connection, still a tether to hold on to.

As she approached the opening of the canyon, she pushed the wide brim of her hat down in the front to shield herself form the glare of the sun, and began to take more notice of the people around her. She smiled, at a slightly older man with pretty eyes, produced a flower out of thin air for a crying child, and gave a chilly glare to a man that was looking at her - only because he was obviously a prick. Overall, by the time she stood before the door of the Stone Raven, she was mostly back to herself. The inn was huge and sprawling, built right up against the cliff not far from where it opened into the canyon that housed the greater part of Dusty Willows. The giant statue that give the in its name stared down at her as she made her way into the front door of the inn.

Dusty Willows

The great clock tower at the center of the square chimed noon; twelve strong, drawn-out beats from the iron and brick giant, each loud enough to make it impossible for Evelyn to hear what the short man in front of her was saying. She pretended to, and nodded interestedly while he spoke with increasing volume.

Finally, he said something and waited for a response. She put on a confused face, motioning for him to speak louder. He gestured fervently with his free hand, volume ever increasing, as she continued to urge him to louder and louder tones. He posed his question a final time, and as the twelfth beat began she shook her head, and gestured again.   

“....perfectly crafted!” the final words came out as a scream as the last chime ended. She put her hand over her mouth to suppress her laughter. He gave a start, and seemed to draw into himself as all those within hearing looked at him like they would at a misbehaving child. He didn’t seem to realize that she had been the cause of his momentary embarrassment. Which made her smile even more. With a quick shrug he seemed to come back to himself and offered the blade to her: a foot and a half of Imperial steel, needle thin at the point and never wider than any two of her fingers. Too long to be a dagger, not quite long enough to be a sword, and the perfect size to fit unnoticed in the scabbard on the outside of her thigh.

She took it from him. Whatever else he had said, the sword was finely crafted - perfect would have been an overstatement - but she wouldn’t quibble after he had been able to make this for her on such short notice. It shone like only newly-forged Steel could, and felt very good in her hand.

“It will do nicely.” She brandished it impressively, before sheathing it in a heartsbreath with a motion that was far more complex than it actually was impressive. “Very nicely.” The man wasn’t impressed - he serviced some of the brightest young, second-rate noble duelists in the city, and so was well accustomed to ostentation - but she still gave him a striking smile and a small bow to finish. “May you find shelter and shade.” She bowed slightly lower. If this man wasn’t going to be impressed, she was at least going to have some fun. “May you always have a fire to rest beside.” Turning the flourish into a proffering gesture, she offered him three coins that previously hadn’t been in her hands - that motion was actually quite easy. “And may our next meeting find you healthier, happier, and wiser than this day.”

She held the coins in her outstretched hand, head down, with her overly-dramatic bow still perfectly positioned. It wasn’t a normal bow for a woman - that would have looked strange in a pair of pants and boots - yet neither was it a gentleman’s gesture. It was instead a thing of dirt, and horses and untamed wilderness. Something that was as foreign to this place as she still felt sometimes.

He had the same expression as before, when she finally met his eye. Maybe it was permanent. Terribly and unfortunately permanent. “Thank you, Mistress.” It had the hint of a question to it, as if he suspected that he was being mocked, but wasn’t sharp enough to figure out just how. She smiled again, turning to walk down the street without another word. She could almost pity a man that wasn’t even quick enough to keep up with an Outland’s woman.  

She moved toward the center of the square, until she was on the fringe of the masses ringing the outside. The shops here in Dusty Willows were full - as, she suspected, most every store in the whole city was - creating a ring of people that left the center of the square strangely open. She squinted up at the clock tower which rose from the multi-colored paving stones a few dozen paces in front of her.  

Five minutes after noon. She was never good with counting the days in hours. She knew how to do it, it just never made any sense to her; or seemed practical; or really necessary at all. It took more effort than she would like to admit to run the numbers in her head. That gave her 55 minutes till one o’clock: the arbitrarily named time of the day when she had to make sure she was back at the tavern. Just tell me to be there at midday. Everyone knows what midday means. After some quick estimation and guesswork, it seemed to her that 55 minutes should be just enough time to make her final stop and still get to the Stone Raven.   

She left the square through the western gate, and plunged into the streets of Dusty Willows, which were haphazard, with sudden curves and cuts, awkward intersections, and unexpected dead ends, that could easily confuse the unwary, or probably that shopkeeper. The buildings were spaced randomly and had no consistent shape or size, although many had too-steep roofs on them. The dust here was far worse than it was back in the square, falling from the cliffs that loomed menacingly on both sides and seemed to push in on the houses  that crowded up against them, till they spilled out into the streets themselves. The dust came in occasional large gusts, falling from the heights above in waves that caused men to pull scarves over the faces, or jump into doorways, when they came blowing down the street. Boys, if you think this is bad….

She took a series of quick turns, and finally came to a stop in front of a nondescript building that stuck out by several strides from the houses around it. This was the real reason that she had insisted their meeting be in Dusty Willows rather than one of the nicer areas of Londrium. She drew a deep breath and walked up to knock on the door.