Page 26 of Tortured

It’s time to start life anew.

I have no idea where to begin, but it wouldn’t be along the docks.

I hear shouts and laughter from the closest pub. It’s already filling up with thirsty sailors. I grin to myself as I stride onto a busy street beyond the docks. I want to work my way inland as much as possible. Learn a bit about the country and maybe find a homestead to purchase. Niawen might be gone from my dreams of the future, but I can still fulfill the part about having a place to call my own. Maybe on a windy bluff somewhere.

Will I ever find a place to remind me of my highland countryside?

The air is muggy between the houses that line the streets. They aren’t too busy for the afternoon either. Perhaps the heat keeps people in the shadow of indoors. Occasionally, I catch children playing. Laundry stretches from house to house, like banners waving overhead as I move underneath.

I reach the market and ask for a quiet tavern with good food. A young woman directs me down a side street. I’m relieved to stop in front of a building that has relatively new paint and a bright sign that says Ridder’s Ale House.

No one is inside when I push the door inward. I step back and look at the sign to be sure they are open. Certain that they are, I shrug my shoulders and go inside.

The interior is cool. The tables are highly polished. All the chairs are down, so they must be expecting patrons.

A waft of something savory hits my nose, so I take a few steps toward a booth on the wall.

“Take a seat wherever you wish,” a woman says.

I jump and whirl around.

A young woman stands at the bar, with a dish towel in her hands. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I was in the back. Wasn’t expecting no one since the lunch rush.”

Her hair is darker than night. Her skin a rich brown I’ve grown used to seeing since hitting the ports. She has a shy air about her, but when she smiles, I know she isn’t really shy at all. She brushes her hair back as she gestures toward a booth.

“Are your afternoons usually quiet?” I slide onto the padded bench, realizing with relief it’s not rocking from ocean waves. I almost sigh as I lean back, but when my blades bite into my shoulders, I straighten.

“You’re a seafarer.” The young woman sits in the booth across from me. “I can tell from your sun-bleached hair and bronzed skin.”

“Is that so?” I grin at her. She’s quite young. Maybe seventeen. Her brown eyes gleam at me as she takes me in.

She nods as she reaches across the table. Her fingers slip along the nape of my neck and thread through my hair. As she tugs, I catch a hint of peppermint on her breath.

“I’d say, from how shaggy your hair is, that you’ve been at sea for three weeks.” She blushes as she removes her hands and drops them to the tabletop.

“And I’d say you’re right.”

“I can help you with that. I’m good with the shears.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

She places her hand over mine. “Let’s get you something to eat first. And then you need a bath.” She stands, and I laugh.

“Are you offering to bathe me?”

“You smell like salt and sweat. And you have soot on your cheek.”

I brush my palm over my right cheek.

“The other one.” She disappears into the back.

I close my eyes, enjoying the sound of silence. Not a single gull calling. Not the constant lap of water against the ship.

Silence.

The young woman returns and sets food and drink in front of me. “Shayla. I’m so embarrassed I didn’t introduce myself before.”

I eye the stew with excitement and then look into her eyes. “Kenrik.”

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