For fans of The Night Angel Trilogy and fantasy author Brent Weeks
The Beginning Part 3
Aaaaand this is the last part of my first chapter, so enjoy :) (Sorry, this one's even longer) Oh and I won’t be posting any more than this when it comes to this novel as I have been advised not to for good reason. But thanks for even reading this far, whoever you may be :D
He knocked on the open door before stepping into the room the red-haired woman had just left. The room was a dappled grey stone with a low ceiling and a simple metal tub on a low dais. The tub was currently being refilled with hot spring water, the steam starting to fill the rectangular room. Matilda was leaning over it and regularly checking the temperature like a mother would for her child. He smiled again and walked her way, the dark grey floorboards barely making a sound as they obediently held his weight.
“Sorry about my niece,” she said in his general direction, eyes still on the water, “she always does things at the most awkward of times.”
He smiled another pearly flash of white, “Oh, it’s no problem, truth be told…so…she’s your niece? Really?”
Matilda chuckled, “Of course, can’t you see she gets ‘er looks from my side?” she smiled, mock vanity in her expression and stance.
“Well, of course,” he said easily, his charming smile naturally rising to the surface as he relaxed, “I was merely referring to the fact that having family so close to her would surely mean she would have been married off and so living with her betrothed.” He watched her expression carefully as she responded.
“Well I don’t concern myself with all that - you’d be better off talking to George: he’s the one she talks to about things like that,” she answered dismissively, “he’s truly like a father to her.” She smiled to herself at that thought.
As Zachariah perched on the edge of the bath tub she raised her head and straightened up, wincing again at the effort.
“Thank you, Matilda, you have done more than enough for me,” he gestured at the bath, “with both this, the meal and patching me up after…well you know.” He smiled gratefully.
“Ah, you can never do enough fer friendly folk,” she replied with a contented smile, “Anyway, I’d best get out yer way really, hadn’t I?” she said with one last check of the water. “Just a bit longer an’ that should be piping hot.” She waddled back to the door and just before she closed it behind her, stuck her head back in and called, “if you need anything, just holler, oh, an’ don’t forget to bar the door so as not to be disturbed by the servant lasses.”
“Thank you, I will.” He replied suppressing another smile. When she left, nodding to herself, he did as she said and pushed the bar over the door. He then made his way to the tub and checked the temperature himself, just to make sure. It was indeed boiling hot, so he turned the tap and stopped the water flow.
He took his scabbard and belt off, untied his leather jerkin and had just taken off his linen undershirt when he suddenly felt something near. He froze, analysing the source’s whereabouts through the vibrations in the stone. Shifting his feet a little to flatten them completely to the floor he was able to feel the vibrations more clearly. It was near enough that it wasn’t simply outside the door he had just barred, and as he closed his eyes in concentration, he found it was a person. He focused further and, judging from the lightness of the movements it made, found the person female. He opened his eyes, slowly and carefully drew his sword from the scabbard on the floor and quietly moved towards it, his feet scuffling lightly against the stone beneath. As he drew closer he realised the woman was in the small room leading off from this one, a room he hadn’t taken much notice of earlier. He gripped his sword tighter and slowly opened the door: just because she was female didn’t mean she wasn’t dangerous. As he stepped in the room, he saw it was full of laundry and lengths of cloth like the one the red-haired woman was wearing, and the woman he was sensing must be the small, mouse-like servant girl sorting laundry. She jumped as the door shut behind him and stood, panic stricken, staring at the sword. He quickly apologised and lowered it, backing out of the room and laying it beside the tub. When he turned back to the doorway, the girl was slowly edging her way to the outer door but froze again when he noticed her.
“My apologies again, lass,” he said, his face reflecting his words, “I meant no harm; I just didn’t expect anyone to be here.”
“Oh,” the girl sighed, relaxing a little, “I’m sorry too, I’m used to the men falling into the bath after a few too many drinks, in which case I’m able to escape without their knowledge; but you were so quiet, I never even knew you were there.” Her eyes then rolled over his body frowning slightly, clearly trying to figure out how someone of his build could be so quiet. He allowed himself a proud grin, which got them both laughing. As the atmosphere relaxed, something occurred to him to ask.
“Um…I was wondering, if you don’t mind me asking, about the woman who left here not five minutes ago?” he asked, wondering how much servant girls were told, “you wouldn’t happen to know her name would you?”
“Oh, Miss Wynn, the Innkeeper’s niece?”
“She’s Miss Wynn?!” he asked incredulously, “W…how…but…she…but… how did she…what about the paintings? How did she paint them?” The serving lass giggled.
“With paint of course.”
“No, I mean how did she get out of the city?” he replied, quieter now, trying to control his exasperated tone.
“I don’t understand,” she said frowning, “she stands in her room and paints them. She does it every Friday from dawn to Saturday at dusk.”
“Right, so you’re telling me she has never been out of the city, correct?”
“Well, not as far as I know, Sir, although,” she said, leaning towards him and lowering her voice, “it wouldn’t surprise me if she has at one time or another, fiery one she is, if you know what I mean.”
“Ah, so she’s the rebellious type is she?” he said, grinning to himself: this was going to be an interesting friendship. But first he needed to know her name. “So…you don’t happen to know Miss Wynn’s first name, do you?” he asked casually.
“I don’t actually, but it shouldn’t be hard to find out, there is always gossip among servants, Sir,” She added, a mock sly smile on her lips, “I will do my best.”
“Thanks.” He said as they walked to the door. He unbarred it for her and opened it with a gracious bow, to which she curtsied in reply, giggling again as she walked back down the corridor.
Zachariah closed the door and re-barred it. He took a length of cloth from the small laundry room, closing the door behind him and walked back to the tub. He dropped the cloth on the floor and continued undressing before stepping into the steaming water. Feeling his aching muscles relax, he was enormously grateful: the steam he inhaled was warm and comforting, making it feel as though he was wrapped in hundreds of warm blankets; and with that thought, he fell into a deep and energising sleep.
When he awoke, he glanced at the sky through the small window in the wall above his head and realised it was late into the evening. The bath was tepid now and he decided to get out before it turned uncomfortably cold. He took the length of cloth from the floor and dried himself. As he got redressed there was a timid knock at the door.
“Who’s there?” he called. He had learnt not to ask ‘who is it?’ as that question did not include anyone accompanying the person knocking on the door.
“Freya, the serving girl you spoke to earlier,” replied the familiar mousey voice, only it came even quieter than before. Slightly confused, he replied softly, realising there was a reason for the decrease in volume.
“Ok, hang on.” He replaced his belt and scabbard over his trousers, but didn’t bother with a shirt, curiosity building as to what information she may have brought back. He ran his fingers through his hair and unbarred the door, opening it as quietly as he could manage to let her through. Once she was in, mumbling her thanks, he quickly shut and re-barred it.
“So what’s with all the hush?” he asked and then, seeing her eyes well up, “what’s wrong?”
“I…there are men downstairs…I had a bad feeling about them when I saw them come in…and then I heard them asking for a dark-haired man…they said he was called Zachariah…Matilda told him she didn’t let out information about customers staying here…and then he gave her this horrible look and asked if he could search the inn, saying he had orders from the Count to find this man…and Matilda couldn’t argue…so I ran up here to tell you…and now I need to know – are you running from Count Nihlus?” she finally stopped her panicky gush of words and stared up at him, tears streaking down her face.
“No, of course not!” he replied, eyebrows raised in honesty, “I have no idea who these men are.”
“Oh,” she sighed, “I hoped not - you were so nice and all,” she managed a weak smile and laid her head on his chest, trying to get her breath back.
He raised a hand to her arm awkwardly, wanting to comfort her but not really sure how to react as he felt her thinning tears smudge across his just-dried skin.
“So what can I do?” he asked quietly. Just then there was a loud rapping on the door.
“Open up, Count Nihlus’ orders!”
Zachariah was just about to reply when Freya put her hand over his mouth and shook her head in a ‘no’. She then called back,
“Just a minute: this is a bathroom,” with false annoyance. Then whispered, “There’s a trapdoor under the rug in the laundry room, it goes under the corridor straight into room 29, go there now, close the trapdoor behind you and make your way to the end, but don’t whatever you do open the door under room 29, they won’t have checked there yet.”
“Then how will I get out?” he whispered back, already shifting his weight to his left foot ready to run.
“I’ll open the door under room 29 when they’re gone,” she explained quickly, the panic building up in her stance again.
“Right.” He nodded and ran without making a sound to the laundry room, removing the rug quickly and heaving the trapdoor open. He leaned over the hole and saw there was a ladder on one side leading down into darkness. He quickly jumped into the hole, grabbing the top rung and finding his footing. He looked back up at Freya, concern written all over her face,
“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine, thank you Freya, and good luck.” He smiled reassuringly. She tried to smile back, but it didn’t reach her eyes,
“You too,” she replied, and as he made his way down the ladder she suddenly remembered something, “Oh! Enya – Miss Wynn’s name is Enya,” she called almost inaudibly into the darkness, unsure of whether he would hear or not.
“Thanks.” He called back up and she could hear the smile in his voice.
Copyright © (2009) by Stevie-leigh Harmer. All Rights Reserved.
Thanks for reading! :P
And again, any comments and/or criticisms are very much welcome :)
He knocked on the open door before stepping into the room the red-haired woman had just left. The room was a dappled grey stone with a low ceiling and a simple metal tub on a low dais. The tub was currently being refilled with hot spring water, the steam starting to fill the rectangular room. Matilda was leaning over it and regularly checking the temperature like a mother would for her child. He smiled again and walked her way, the dark grey floorboards barely making a sound as they obediently held his weight.
“Sorry about my niece,” she said in his general direction, eyes still on the water, “she always does things at the most awkward of times.”
He smiled another pearly flash of white, “Oh, it’s no problem, truth be told…so…she’s your niece? Really?”
Matilda chuckled, “Of course, can’t you see she gets ‘er looks from my side?” she smiled, mock vanity in her expression and stance.
“Well, of course,” he said easily, his charming smile naturally rising to the surface as he relaxed, “I was merely referring to the fact that having family so close to her would surely mean she would have been married off and so living with her betrothed.” He watched her expression carefully as she responded.
“Well I don’t concern myself with all that - you’d be better off talking to George: he’s the one she talks to about things like that,” she answered dismissively, “he’s truly like a father to her.” She smiled to herself at that thought.
As Zachariah perched on the edge of the bath tub she raised her head and straightened up, wincing again at the effort.
“Thank you, Matilda, you have done more than enough for me,” he gestured at the bath, “with both this, the meal and patching me up after…well you know.” He smiled gratefully.
“Ah, you can never do enough fer friendly folk,” she replied with a contented smile, “Anyway, I’d best get out yer way really, hadn’t I?” she said with one last check of the water. “Just a bit longer an’ that should be piping hot.” She waddled back to the door and just before she closed it behind her, stuck her head back in and called, “if you need anything, just holler, oh, an’ don’t forget to bar the door so as not to be disturbed by the servant lasses.”
“Thank you, I will.” He replied suppressing another smile. When she left, nodding to herself, he did as she said and pushed the bar over the door. He then made his way to the tub and checked the temperature himself, just to make sure. It was indeed boiling hot, so he turned the tap and stopped the water flow.
He took his scabbard and belt off, untied his leather jerkin and had just taken off his linen undershirt when he suddenly felt something near. He froze, analysing the source’s whereabouts through the vibrations in the stone. Shifting his feet a little to flatten them completely to the floor he was able to feel the vibrations more clearly. It was near enough that it wasn’t simply outside the door he had just barred, and as he closed his eyes in concentration, he found it was a person. He focused further and, judging from the lightness of the movements it made, found the person female. He opened his eyes, slowly and carefully drew his sword from the scabbard on the floor and quietly moved towards it, his feet scuffling lightly against the stone beneath. As he drew closer he realised the woman was in the small room leading off from this one, a room he hadn’t taken much notice of earlier. He gripped his sword tighter and slowly opened the door: just because she was female didn’t mean she wasn’t dangerous. As he stepped in the room, he saw it was full of laundry and lengths of cloth like the one the red-haired woman was wearing, and the woman he was sensing must be the small, mouse-like servant girl sorting laundry. She jumped as the door shut behind him and stood, panic stricken, staring at the sword. He quickly apologised and lowered it, backing out of the room and laying it beside the tub. When he turned back to the doorway, the girl was slowly edging her way to the outer door but froze again when he noticed her.
“My apologies again, lass,” he said, his face reflecting his words, “I meant no harm; I just didn’t expect anyone to be here.”
“Oh,” the girl sighed, relaxing a little, “I’m sorry too, I’m used to the men falling into the bath after a few too many drinks, in which case I’m able to escape without their knowledge; but you were so quiet, I never even knew you were there.” Her eyes then rolled over his body frowning slightly, clearly trying to figure out how someone of his build could be so quiet. He allowed himself a proud grin, which got them both laughing. As the atmosphere relaxed, something occurred to him to ask.
“Um…I was wondering, if you don’t mind me asking, about the woman who left here not five minutes ago?” he asked, wondering how much servant girls were told, “you wouldn’t happen to know her name would you?”
“Oh, Miss Wynn, the Innkeeper’s niece?”
“She’s Miss Wynn?!” he asked incredulously, “W…how…but…she…but… how did she…what about the paintings? How did she paint them?” The serving lass giggled.
“With paint of course.”
“No, I mean how did she get out of the city?” he replied, quieter now, trying to control his exasperated tone.
“I don’t understand,” she said frowning, “she stands in her room and paints them. She does it every Friday from dawn to Saturday at dusk.”
“Right, so you’re telling me she has never been out of the city, correct?”
“Well, not as far as I know, Sir, although,” she said, leaning towards him and lowering her voice, “it wouldn’t surprise me if she has at one time or another, fiery one she is, if you know what I mean.”
“Ah, so she’s the rebellious type is she?” he said, grinning to himself: this was going to be an interesting friendship. But first he needed to know her name. “So…you don’t happen to know Miss Wynn’s first name, do you?” he asked casually.
“I don’t actually, but it shouldn’t be hard to find out, there is always gossip among servants, Sir,” She added, a mock sly smile on her lips, “I will do my best.”
“Thanks.” He said as they walked to the door. He unbarred it for her and opened it with a gracious bow, to which she curtsied in reply, giggling again as she walked back down the corridor.
Zachariah closed the door and re-barred it. He took a length of cloth from the small laundry room, closing the door behind him and walked back to the tub. He dropped the cloth on the floor and continued undressing before stepping into the steaming water. Feeling his aching muscles relax, he was enormously grateful: the steam he inhaled was warm and comforting, making it feel as though he was wrapped in hundreds of warm blankets; and with that thought, he fell into a deep and energising sleep.
When he awoke, he glanced at the sky through the small window in the wall above his head and realised it was late into the evening. The bath was tepid now and he decided to get out before it turned uncomfortably cold. He took the length of cloth from the floor and dried himself. As he got redressed there was a timid knock at the door.
“Who’s there?” he called. He had learnt not to ask ‘who is it?’ as that question did not include anyone accompanying the person knocking on the door.
“Freya, the serving girl you spoke to earlier,” replied the familiar mousey voice, only it came even quieter than before. Slightly confused, he replied softly, realising there was a reason for the decrease in volume.
“Ok, hang on.” He replaced his belt and scabbard over his trousers, but didn’t bother with a shirt, curiosity building as to what information she may have brought back. He ran his fingers through his hair and unbarred the door, opening it as quietly as he could manage to let her through. Once she was in, mumbling her thanks, he quickly shut and re-barred it.
“So what’s with all the hush?” he asked and then, seeing her eyes well up, “what’s wrong?”
“I…there are men downstairs…I had a bad feeling about them when I saw them come in…and then I heard them asking for a dark-haired man…they said he was called Zachariah…Matilda told him she didn’t let out information about customers staying here…and then he gave her this horrible look and asked if he could search the inn, saying he had orders from the Count to find this man…and Matilda couldn’t argue…so I ran up here to tell you…and now I need to know – are you running from Count Nihlus?” she finally stopped her panicky gush of words and stared up at him, tears streaking down her face.
“No, of course not!” he replied, eyebrows raised in honesty, “I have no idea who these men are.”
“Oh,” she sighed, “I hoped not - you were so nice and all,” she managed a weak smile and laid her head on his chest, trying to get her breath back.
He raised a hand to her arm awkwardly, wanting to comfort her but not really sure how to react as he felt her thinning tears smudge across his just-dried skin.
“So what can I do?” he asked quietly. Just then there was a loud rapping on the door.
“Open up, Count Nihlus’ orders!”
Zachariah was just about to reply when Freya put her hand over his mouth and shook her head in a ‘no’. She then called back,
“Just a minute: this is a bathroom,” with false annoyance. Then whispered, “There’s a trapdoor under the rug in the laundry room, it goes under the corridor straight into room 29, go there now, close the trapdoor behind you and make your way to the end, but don’t whatever you do open the door under room 29, they won’t have checked there yet.”
“Then how will I get out?” he whispered back, already shifting his weight to his left foot ready to run.
“I’ll open the door under room 29 when they’re gone,” she explained quickly, the panic building up in her stance again.
“Right.” He nodded and ran without making a sound to the laundry room, removing the rug quickly and heaving the trapdoor open. He leaned over the hole and saw there was a ladder on one side leading down into darkness. He quickly jumped into the hole, grabbing the top rung and finding his footing. He looked back up at Freya, concern written all over her face,
“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine, thank you Freya, and good luck.” He smiled reassuringly. She tried to smile back, but it didn’t reach her eyes,
“You too,” she replied, and as he made his way down the ladder she suddenly remembered something, “Oh! Enya – Miss Wynn’s name is Enya,” she called almost inaudibly into the darkness, unsure of whether he would hear or not.
“Thanks.” He called back up and she could hear the smile in his voice.
Copyright © (2009) by Stevie-leigh Harmer. All Rights Reserved.
Thanks for reading! :P
And again, any comments and/or criticisms are very much welcome :)
Comment
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Comment by Heaven-leigh on June 5, 2009 at 2:50am - Lol! I actually have no idea, I just kinda decided they would have taps that were connected to a well/river/spring or suchlike...hmm....might look that up.....anyway, that's just how I saw it in my head *shrugs* thanks for the head up though :D Appreciate it!
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Comment by Homer on June 5, 2009 at 1:50am - Love the writing but I do have one question... did they really have taps back in the day? O_o I mean i know its fantasy and all but I thought it was wells and heating water over fire, not just magic hot water from a tap lol... not trying to make fun of your work or anything but I found it amusing :D... Keep it up!
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Comment by Heaven-leigh on May 19, 2009 at 7:41am
- Lol, thanks :P Hope my other stories can keep you just as entertained :D
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Comment by Taylor on May 18, 2009 at 2:14am - awwwwww no more :( as long as you write other stories i guess you can be forgiven :D
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Comment by Heaven-leigh on May 10, 2009 at 1:11pm
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Hehehe, well thanks very much :P
Oh of course :D Lol, I'm sorry *whines* But you will definitely get a copy when it's published :)
Oh it's no problem, I'm just happy you've read it, doesn't bother me when :D And thanks for commenting :) It's much appreciated...
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![[e]LiFaN[t]™©](http://api.ning.com/files/iIp--UyNHl9P-hiFESEIHoM5KHPepjgaPsO5nPTE2BWBSrOB7r6Gfo83j5z8ubziaVA*IyRbe8sKPA69hsa*3J86gEqWsNEm/tattoo.jpg?width=48&height=48&crop=1%3A1)
Comment by [e]LiFaN[t]™© on May 7, 2009 at 6:39pm -
sorry i havent read em till now btw, i didnt realise they were up! ive been using my ipod to reply to comments and mails but thats it, so i didnt see... but my god they are good!!
so is this the normal fiction or the fantasy one?
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Comment by [e]LiFaN[t]™© on May 7, 2009 at 6:35pm
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NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!! i want MORE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! it was getting heaps good... :(((
you're sending me a copy as soon as you get published you hear?? and that better be soon!!! lol
...dammit, we have another Archie on our hands... have us hooked and then leave us hanging.... but at least you have good reason....
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Comment by Heaven-leigh on May 7, 2009 at 7:59am
- *shrugs* Ok fair enough, clearly I need a little education in this area :)
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Comment by Heaven-leigh on May 6, 2009 at 9:32am
- Is it not basically the same thing? Just a certain style and professionalism :P *Dodges flying things* No? Ok then...
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Comment by Heaven-leigh on May 5, 2009 at 8:41am
- Lol good times :) My mind is already running away with lots of ideas for an assassin story :D Should be fun; it's gonna take a few days though 'cause I have deadlines soon :S.....but I'm definitely looking forward to it :)
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