By the Sword: Rough Draft | Part 17

They followed the woman out of the alley, leaving the silent soldiers to their rest. Taciturn and voiceless, they traversed the empty road, the rolling fog surrounding them. She before them, like a ghost in her dark dress, led round corners and up byways, through shadowed corridors and up to the door of a pub.

She stood before the entrance, waiting, and sighed. Finally, she gave a whispered prompt, “Davy.”

“Oh, right,” he grumbled. Walking up to the door, he pulled it open and, giving an exaggerated bow, said, “Your highness,” though his dropping of the H made it sound more like, “ainess.”

“Better,” she observed with a frown, stepping through the portal.

“Come on,” David bid, motioning with his head for the stranger to go in.

The Nameless Hero followed suit. Springing up the steps, his lithe body possessing all the poetic motions of a cat, and like a cat on the hunt, his soft tread went unheard, the nameless hero walked by David, gave a little nod, and followed the woman through the door.

David took one last gander out at the befogged streets, and seeing no forms through the mist, went in and closed the door. Inside, he found Andrea, her back to him, standing stiffly, her hand on her hip.

“I’m going to kill her,” she growled.

The pub had been overrun, transformed—perverted! Cloistered nuns moved like bees between the tables. The trio had walked into a sort of soup kitchen. Gone were the heavenly figures of young women wearing their loose blouses and carrying drinks in their soft hands; in their place were bowls of cheep gruel and modest virgins with unpainted faces.

“Mary!” she yelled, and one of the nuns’ heads popped up. Hurrying over, this living expression of joy came, almost leaping, toward Andrea. It was like a strange mirror to see those two sisters standing opposite each other, each dressed in black, each being about the same in height, weight, and figure, and yet, with one’s breasts covered and the other’s advertised, with one’s face set like cold stone and the other’s beaming with a nearly blinding happiness, they seemed so different while remaining the same; It was something like two musicians playing the same notes, only one had the idea that the tune was a sort of dirge, the other, a sort of celebration.

Andrea sputtered furiously, “I . . . what? I can’t. I—”

“I can’t believe it either,” Mary laughed. “But we needed a place, and I knew you and Andrew hid—”

“Quiet!” Andrea whispered harshly.

Dropping her voice to a whisper as well, Mary said, “It was Andrew’s idea.”

Growling, Andrea asked, “And where is my husband?”

Here David piped in, speaking less for the consideration of their circle and more for the sake of anyone who might be listening in. His voice came out a little louder than normal, “We all know the captain is dead. We buried him a month ago.”

“Oh, I’ll bury him,” Andrea grumbled.

A call came from one of the tables, “Hello fishy.”

David’s burning eyes locked in on the source of the voice. “You!” he spat. Rising, bringing his bowl with him, the fisherman John came wandering forward. David started at him, raising his fist high.

“No!” the two sisters cried in unison, Andrea grabbing David’s arm and Mary, jumping in front of the bastard and spreading her arms out like her God. John, for his part, slurped up some more soup as he joined the group.

“Hey fishy,” he said again, waving his hand at the stranger. “Fellas don’t believe me I caught anything today.”

“You couldn’t catch flies if you were dead,” David threatened, pulling like a dog on a leash against Andrea’s gentle hand.

“I got him,” Andrea said to her sister. “Stop being so dramatic.”

“It would be hard to catch anything being dead,” mused John. “Which he would have been if I hadn’t caught him. Hanging with you lot he will be.” Turning to Mary, he said, “I don’t mind bedding with thieves and beggars, us of the latter rarely have cause to fear the former, but I’m a little worried about the company your keeping, miss sister Mary.”

“God’s grace is offered to all men, John,” Mary began.

“What about dogs?” John asked, glancing at David.

“Down,” Andrea said as David started toward him again.

“I think it best,” said Mary, “If we adjourn to the other room?”

“Ad-journ,” John repeated, wondering at the word.

“Yes,” Andrea agreed. “I think that’s best.”

Mary smiled again, letting her arms down. “Follow me.”