Page 78 of Charmless
“Not unless they come to sell something,” A leering bald man called out.
“If she’s selling, I’m buying.” Waldo winked at me.
I backed away, my heart hammering. “I am not selling anything. I just came in to have a quiet word with Mr. Fugitate.”
“Fugitate?” Waldo snorted. “That crabbed old man won’t appreciate a pretty girl like you. Why don’t you just come over here and sit on my knee and let me buy you a drink?”
“No, thank you.” My hand trembled as I groped in my pocket for the Fear Blade.
“Aw, now don’t be so standoffish, missy.” Waldo grinned.
As he reached for me, I dodged him, whipping the sheathed blade out of my pocket. “Leave me alone,” I cried.
I tried to sound fierce, but my command was met with a round of coarse laughter and someone shouted, “Careful, Waldo. She’s got herself a right big knife.”
“Oooh, I am so scared.” He smirked at the way my fingers shook as I unsheathed the blade. It looked so ridiculously small, I expected Waldo to dissolve into guffaws. But his jaw dropped, his face draining of color.
He stumbled away from me, holding up his hands in a defensive stance. “N-no. Please.”
I stared dumbfounded at the little knife. I had not expected the Fear Blade to work, at least not in such a spectacular fashion. Waldo was not the only one shaking in his boots. The proprietor had ducked down behind the bar, peeking at me with terrified eyes. The other men leaped up from their seats, clutching at each other and huddling as far away from me as they could get. A few hid under the tables and a faint whiff of urine alerted me that someone had wet his breeches.
Waldo collapsed to his knees, almost sobbing as he begged, “Please, don’t hurt me.”
I squared my shoulders, wielding the Fear Blade with a new confidence. “No one will get hurt as long as you all sit back down and keep to yourselves.” I grimaced as I stepped in something sticky. “Although you could clean up this place. It’s filthy.”
“Yes, ma’am. Right away, miss. Whatever you say, ma’am.”
I was answered by a dozen quivery voices. Waldo’s head bobbed up and down as he scrambled away from me. As I made my way to the back of the tavern, I maintained a stern expression with great difficulty. I wanted to grin with relief as I murmured to myself, “Delphine, I utterly adore you.”
Not only had the witch given me the power to fend off these ruffians, but I also had in my hand a weapon that could compel Withypole to tell me anything I wanted to know. I strode over to the table where Fugitate sat, hunched over a glass that was not much bigger than a thimble.
“Mr. Fugitate?”
He glanced up at me with bleary eyes. I brandished the blade, waiting for him to cower in terror. He merely eyed the knife and gave a contemptuous sniff.
“A Fear Blade. Don’t know how you managed to get your hands on one of those, but you might as well put your little trinket away, girl. Witch’s magic doesn’t work on fairies.”
A fact that Delphine had failed to mention to me, I thought with a disgruntled sigh. So much for my hope of forcing any truth from Withypole. But I recalled what Delphine had told me about a fairy’s inability to cope with strong liquor. Perhaps the drink might loosen Withypole’s tongue. He had already admitted he was a fairy, something he would have never done when completely sober.
Ignoring me looming over him, he refilled his glass from a bottle of some murky liquid labeled Knock You Dead Lightning. Badly as I wanted information from him, I didn’t want him getting so recklessly drunk he endangered himself or anyone else.
“How many thimbles full of that stuff have you already had?”
“Not enough and it’s no concern of yours. This is no place for a girl like you. Get out.”
“I need to talk to you.”
“Don’t feel like talking,” he grumbled. He raised the glass and downed the contents in one big sip.
He glowered at me as I plunked myself in the chair opposite him. I laid the Fear Blade down upon the table. Despite the fact it had no effect upon Withypole, I was too wary of the tavern’s other occupants to put the knife away. A glance over my shoulder revealed that my suggestion that the taproom needed cleaning had been taken as an order.
Two of the ruffians stirred up dust as they wielded brooms while others busied themselves scrubbing down tables and chairs. Lacking any sort of cloth, Waldo was trying to clean the windows by rubbing his broad bottom against the panes.
I turned back to Withypole who was on the verge of pouring himself another drink. I grabbed for the bottle. As we struggled for possession of it, he growled at me. “Let go and leave me in peace. If you have come to pester me about that piece of aura I took from you, I won’t give it back. The shard is much safer with me. It’s for your own protection.”
“Since when have you been worried about protecting me?”
“Since the day your father asked me to—” Withypole choked off the rest of his words.
