Page 54 of Apple Boy

“Where is ‘ee?” The red-bearded man in the middle of the three hollered. No one responded. I gulped. Damn, what the hell had Evan Sewell gotten himself into?

“Gabriel Arden. There ain’t nowhere in this city ye can hide. Get yer skinny Pasturelands arse out here.” Silence fell as the patrons seemed too afraid even to breathe.

“ARDEN. I’ll give ye ‘till the count of ten an’ then I’ll raise this shitehole o’ yours te the ground,” The man threatened.

I turned and looked down the corridor. Evan stepped out of the room he had taken Adam to—and then locked it behind him. Where was Adam? What had his brother done to him? It appeared that my worst secret fear was becoming a reality. Evan Sewell was just as much of a scoundrel as his pa. I fretted as Evan casually strolled down the corridor, his face fixed in a grin and his hands open in welcome.

“Ah, Rogan McBain. Welcome, welcome to you and yours. Well met my friend.” Evan offered genially. “Can I get you all a drink before we discuss business? On the house of course.” He added, and I noted a definite tremble in his voice. This McBain fellow swaggered to the bar counter as Evan placed his palm on the worn timber surface and vaulted over. He was light on his feet and dexterous. Against my better judgment, he impressed me. Evan pulled three exquisite small wooden tumblers from beneath the counter. The wood was turned so thinly that they were near transparent. Then Evan twisted and clutched hold of a bottle of Fire Spirit from a shelf. With the flourishing style of an expert barkeep, he laid the tumblers out on the rich brown timber counter and poured amber liquid into each of them.

“The time for talk is over Arden!” The burly Rogan McBain said, and not a moment after Evan had drawn his hand and the bottle away from the tumblers, the sound of unsheathed metal split the silence. A cruel, curved blade cleaved the middle tumbler in two, the sides of the drinking vessel parting and falling like a sliced apple, the Fire Spirit spilling over the counter and making the timber surface bubble as the varnish was eaten away by the powerful liquor. Evan’s dangerous narrow-eyed glare fixed upon Rogan’s. Rogan grabbed for the throat strap of Evan’s leather apron and dragged him over the counter just as the standin barman Jake, took the initiative and hoisted his rickety three-legged stool into the air and then smashed it over the head of one of Rogan’s henchmen.

I froze in horror as the mighty brawl exploded around me. There were bottles, knives, stools, splintered table legs, and punches flying as the tavern erupted into a mighty fracas. As the broken glass and throwing blades flew past my ears, among it all, I could sense a fear that was exponentially greater than my own. The gemstone was trembling and jumping in my pocket. I pushed my hand inside and clasped it. Adam. I saw him then in my mind’s eye. He was in a storeroom, surrounded by caskets and dusty barrels. He was thumping at a broad oak door and screaming at the top of his lungs. His handsome face twisted in anguish and he was calling for me! A rush of sensation in my blood made freeing Adam my imperative. I had to get to him. I tossed myself bodily to the left as a chair came flying in my direction at the same moment as a bloodied sailor was thrown to slide along the bar counter, pitch off the end and land heavily in a groaning heap.

I crawled to find shelter behind an overturned table where the fool who had tried to pick my pocket earlier was also seeking a place to hide. He glared fearfully at me and then curled himself up into a ball as if expecting me to take this opportunity to exact my revenge, but this sot was the last of my concerns. I crawled over broken glass, spilled hooch mingled with blood, and the odorous forms of sailors who were out of the game until I arrived at the empty corridor. I pushed myself up from the filthy floor and scurried to the door I’d seen Adam enter with his brother. To my frustration, Evan had not left the key in the door.

“Adam!” I thumped on the thick timber door,

“Winter!” I heard Adam’s muffled cry through the large roughly wrought iron keyhole.

“Get me outa here. I swear to the Gods, I’m gonna kick Evan’s arse back te Mallowick, and no mistake,” He fretted. I had no chance of getting the key from Evan, and I did not possess the strength to kick the door down. I sent a terrified glance down the hall and into the tap room, and it confirmed that Evan was still busy in the middle of the mêlée fighting off Rogan Mc Bain and the whole tavern was in complete disarray. I leaned down and looked through the large keyhole, and realizing we had no alternative, I said,

“Adam, I need your help!” Soon, I saw Adam’s curls, and then his pouting mouth spoke at the keyhole.

“What can I do?”

“I can’t get hold of the key. We have to use the Star-fall.” I had not touched Adam while holding the gemstone since that one time in the stagecoach as we trundled into Serein. There was still magic in the bedrock of this city, even though all who lived here were now unaware of it. I had no idea what we would unleash when we touched, but I’d be damned if I left Adam imprisoned.

“Thread a finger through the keyhole and close your eyes,” I instructed.

A long blunt tipped finger pushed through the iron keyhole. I crooked and hooked my own finger around it. A gentle tickling buzz made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, but there was no all-consuming flash of magical awareness—not until I closed my eyes and clasped the Star-fall in my left hand. Then, my world turned on its head.

I opened my eyes and found I was lying on the worn timbers of a galleon—a moment of sickness overcame me. Had I traveled by magic to one of the ships in the harbor? I looked down and saw to my relief my own unruly blond haired-head, and my disheveled fine clothing as I stood at the oak door, a finger hooked onto Adam’s. I realized I’d projected my consciousness onto the ceiling of the hallway to get a clearer view of our situation.

The walls of this reclaimed galleon hull appeared as thin as the finest vellum to my sorcerers eyes, and I could see into each room, and more specifically, the barrel storeroom in which Adam was trapped. There was no other way in or out of the room. I pushed down and back into my body, and then I extended the hand I held the Star-fall in. It passed effortlessly through the thick timber door. At once Adam clasped my hand, his palm pressing against mine with the Star-fall burning between us. We formed a perfect circle. Adam’s essence flowed into me and quenched me. It was as if, at once, everything made sense and we knew what to do. As one we focused upon the impenetrable mass of the thick oak door. We were a pebble dropped in a pool of water, and in response, the magic rippled out from our burning core. With my inner eyes, I saw the door turn to dust.

I opened my eyes to see Adam standing in front of me, a heavy Iron lock dangling from our hooked fingers. His cut emerald eyes shone as if illuminated from within and his broad smile had a peaceful, ethereal quality to it. Connected like this we were both at peace. I wanted to stay this way, to kiss Adam, and push him back against a barrel, but I knew we could not. We unhooked our fingers, and the heavy iron lock fell to the floor with a mighty thud. I unclasped our hands and pushed the Star-Fall safely into my pocket. The door was naught but a pile of dust at our feet. Adam pulled me into a tight embrace.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he said hoarsely to my ears. I lost myself in the warmth of his arms and his familiar scent for a moment until the silence from the tap room registered. Adam let me go, and together we turned and peered down the corridor and then, in unison, we gasped with horror.

CHAPTER THIRTY

CAUSE AND EFFECT

I did not know how we had done what we had done, but I understood that we were solely responsible for the peculiar scene that met us as we stepped into the taproom of The Half-MastTavern.

The only sounds in the room were of our footfalls crunching on the broken glass that shattered to powder under each step. Every single man in the tavern was strangely motionless. Sailors stood quiescent, locked in acts of violence, fists drawn back readying for a punch, knives held aloft about to stab, grimacing ugly maws distorted with the aggression and the cruel pleasure of the fray. One man had been punched in the jaw by stocky Terrian seaman—the heavy blow forcing the man’s mouth to fall agape in pain, and a spurt of blood, spittle, and a gold tooth to sprayed out and remained immobile, seized in time.

Two women attired in unseasonably thin dresses, just like Ivon’s strumpet, sheltered behind the bar, their hands pressed down on their tall dressed wigs, stilled tears forming rivers in the thick makeup upon their faces revealing pockmarked skin beneath the powder and rouge. Other inebriates cowered mid-assault, waiting for a blow to land.

It wasn’t just the immobile men and women who alarmed me. A chair hung in mid-air, as did shards of glass, coins, gaming dice, playing cards, throwing knives, bottles, and amusingly, a flagon of ale which was directed at the head of one of McBain’s henchmen, the frothy golden liquid spilling and paused in motion. It was so peculiar to walk around each scene and see the murderous intent and trajectory of each weapon or blow.

“Shite!” Adam exhaled in a hoarse breath. I had no words that could better his. My mind spun. I did not know how we had done this—and more importantly, I had no idea how we could set it right. We toured the strange spectacle, winding in and out of the pairs of unmoving brawling sailors as if we perused an oddity at a traveling fair.

Adam turned, and his gaze fixedly met mine, his eyes watered and then, unexpectedly, he started to laugh. I scowled at him. I was determined that this was not funny in the slightest, but the light lilting sound of his laughter echoed in the silent tavern, it was infectious, and I could not help but join with him, because in truth this was not only peculiar, it was funny.

Adam staggered ahead through the sea of twisting fighting sailors pointing at the gnarly faces locked in expressions of anger, fierce grimaces, and outraged scowls. He howled, and folded in the middle, guffawing like a child.

“Gods Winter, wha… ha… ha have we done?” He pushed the words out between laughs and near painful sounding breaths, his eyes wet with tears. It was unusual for me to be close to so many common men and not fear for even a hair on my head. I took my time to peruse them and was relieved that whatever we had done stilled scent too, for I was sure not one of these men would smell of flowers!