Page 77 of Charmless
“Um… thanks.” I tried to sound grateful, but couldn’t help adding, “I don’t suppose you have something a bit larger I could borrow. Like a sword?”
“That little knife is much better than any sword. It is one of my finest magical creations,” Delphine informed me proudly. “I call it a Fear Blade. The spell will not affect the one who wields it, but I guarantee that anyone you threaten with that knife will cower away from you, begging for mercy.”
I studied the tiny knife with a great deal of skepticism. When I started to unsheathe the blade, Delphine seized my hand to prevent me.
“Stop, you foolish girl! Never draw the blade out when it can be struck by the rays of the sun. Don’t you know what happens to fear in broad daylight? It tends to evaporate.”
Not wanting to offend Delphine, I tucked the sheathed knife into the pocket of Horatio’s cloak, although I had little faith in the blade’s power or Delphine’s claim that fear could not survive in daylight. If that were true, I wouldn’t be experiencing these chills of apprehension at venturing inside the Winking Goblin. Despite my display of bravado, I dreaded entering that den of iniquity alone.
I had never imagined the day might come when I would seek help from Delphine, but the company of a woman known for being a witch could prove a much greater deterrent than her dubious Fear Blade.
Since Delphine appeared to be in such a generous mood, I suggested tentatively, “Since we are now friends, perhaps you would come with me to the Winking Goblin.”
The witch snorted. “Sweetie, we are not that good of friends, yet. If Withypole Fugitate has been drinking too much, he will be far more dangerous than any villain in that tavern. He can play tricks with your mind at the best of times and when he is not fully in control of his own power— well, watch out! I may be a touch mad, but even I am not insane enough to go anywhere near an inebriated fairy. But I wish you the best of luck, Ella Upton.”
Delphine chuckled as she turned to walk away. “Don’t forget to return my blade to me when you are done. That is if you can still remember anything, including your name.”
Fifteen
The memory of Delphine’s laughter did little to bolster my confidence as I approached the Winking Goblin. The tavern was a low-slung building, faced with rough wooden shingles, half of which had fallen off. The sign that creaked above the door depicted an ugly goblin’s head. His eye appeared to be engaged in an evil squint more than a playful wink. Beneath his bewhiskered chin, someone had scratched out the words LAW ABIDERS NOT WELL COME HERE.
Since I was not exactly a ‘law abider’ myself, that warning need not apply to me. I squared my shoulders, trying to convince myself I was as bad and dangerous as anyone in there. After all, I had burgled the king’s treasury and I was armed with a Fear Blade, although I harbored more than a few doubts about that. If Delphine was seeking her revenge, what could be more perfect than tricking me into threatening some ruffian with a weapon that was nothing more than a paring knife? Given her wicked sense of humor, I was sure the witch would find that hilarious.
I glanced around, half expecting to find myself being trailed by a sleek black cat, snickering in anticipation, but I was quite alone. I took a deep breath and stepped closer to the tavern. The windows were too begrimed with years of pipe smoke and dirtfor me to see inside. But the burst of coarse drunken laughter that carried to my ears was far from reassuring.
My pulse skipped a beat as I reached for the door handle. I hesitated, recalling the piece of parchment tucked inside my gown. Struggling to remove that page from inside my bodice under the leering gaze of the Goblin’s patrons was a bad idea. I paused beneath the tavern sign to retrieve the parchment as surreptitiously as I could. I tucked it inside the cloak’s pocket along with the Fear Blade. Pulling the hood up to conceal my face, I hoped that would give me a menacing and mysterious aspect.
I took a deep breath and entered, quietly closing the door behind me. Peeking out from beneath my hood, my eyes struggled to adjust to the dim, smoky interior. The Winking Goblin reeked of stale food, ale, and masculine sweat. Because of the closed windows and low ceiling, the taproom felt overly warm and stuffy. I could already feel beads of perspiration gathering on my brow but that could have been due more to my nervousness than the heat.
The tavern held some half dozen tables crowded with the most disreputable lot of men I could have imagined, swilling tankards of ale, puffing on pipes, playing cards, or dicing. An individual with a bulbous nose was passed out on the floor. At least I hoped he was merely unconscious and not dead. None of his companions appeared concerned. One scrawny fellow leaned back in his chair and used the inert man’s swollen stomach for a footstool.
The Goblin’s proprietor with his long sallow face and greasy hair was as ill-favored as his customers. He worked behind the bar, cleaning tankards by spitting into them and polishing them with a dirty rag. Dismayed to realize I was the only woman in the place, I looked anxiously about for Withypole. I spotted him sitting alone at a small table in the far corner.
Keeping my head down, I headed in his direction, wincing at the crunch of grit beneath my feet. It was a sound I should not have been able to hear with all that cacophony of harsh voices.
But the tavern had gone unnervingly silent. I risked a glance around to discover dozens of bloodshot eyes trained in my direction. Swallowing hard, I suppressed an urge to turn and run, but I kept going. I heard a chair scrape back and my way was suddenly blocked by a burly fellow with a bushy gray beard and an eye patch.
“Afternoon, stranger,” he drawled.
I nodded by way of greeting and tried to sidle past him, but he barred my way with his long thick arm.
“Not too friendly, are you? Here at the Goblin, we don’t much care for the quiet sort who try to hide their faces, do we lads?”
His question was answered with a rumble of agreement, the proprietor chiming in, “We surely don’t, Waldo.”
I shrank back as the man named Waldo attempted to peer beneath my hood.
“For all we know, you could be a Scutcheon spy,” he said.
“I am not.” I tried to make my voice sound as gruff as possible.
“Then why are you hiding your face?”
“Be - because it’s hideous. You would shudder to see?—”
I broke off with a gasp as Waldo wrenched back my hood. My cheeks flamed at the chorus of catcalls and whistles.
“Well, looky here,” Waldo chortled. “It’s a wench and she’s not at all hideous. We don’t customarily get females in here.”
