A Nameless Witch Part 6

"A what?"

"A gnome."

"A what?"

I stifled a chuckle. Gwurm, very impressively, kept a perfectly straight face.

Newt rolled his eyes. "A gnome wouldn't be worth anything."

"I'm speaking of a very unpleasant gnome. A vicious, terribly irritated gnome. Perhaps with a very pointed pebble in his shoes. Digging right into the soft spot of his heel."

"What are you ..."

"I knew a gnome like that once. Horribly rude little b.u.g.g.e.r. Mean too. Not truly dangerous, but an annoyance nonetheless. An encounter with him on the road to vengeance would have to cut at least ten or twenty miles, I would imagine."

Newt gaped.

Gwurm remained quite sincere-looking.

"Fine, fine," Newt consented. "I guess if the gnome were an especially foul-tempered little b.a.s.t.a.r.d he'd be worth ten or twenty."

"Not thirty?" Gwurm said.

"No. Not thirty. Even the rottenest, most vile, most terribly furious gnome in this world wouldn't be worth more than twenty miles."

"I guess not."

Gwurm hesitated long enough that Newt might think this portion of the conversation ended.

"What about a vast wasteland filled with packs of bloodthirsty mollusks?"

Something in Newt's enchanted mind popped. He lowered his head and wandered away, trying to remember what this had originally been about.

"Big ones!" Gwurm called after the duck. "Carnivorous snails the size of hounds!"

I finally allowed myself a polite chuckle. "Thank you."

His wide mouth turned up in a toothy grin. "You're very welcome."

I would never admit such to Newt, but I felt he was correct. Roads to vengeance are never that short, but my quest for revenge was measured in more than miles. It was also a journey of time, and that journey could be a very long one. Decades or centuries. Possibly even millennia. As I was ageless and very difficult to kill, I could afford patience. I didn't share this observation with Newt because though his enchanted nature granted him a long life, he still suffered the pa.s.sage of time and would eventually die of old age someday. A day that might come long before my chances for revenge. This speculation would only upset him, and Newt was upset enough as it was.

In any case, I was the witch and he, only the familiar. He had no choice.

IT DIDN'T TAKE LONG to adjust to our new way of life. By the Captain's order, I was given a spare tent, torn and shoddily patched. I put it up away from the camp but close enough that I wouldn't be forgotten. It was a witchly tradition to live apart from men and all those other menlike creatures that so enjoy cl.u.s.tering in crushing herds. As the herd instinct in most men is so strong, they cannot help but think one who chooses solitude to be a little off. An image of strangeness is part of the witch's trade. It also made my charade of ugliness easier to maintain, and I didn't trust myself among the camp. The smells and sounds of mortals called to my curse, and I didn't want to eat anyone. Rather, I found myself very much wanting to at times, and having a place to retreat was a wise precaution.

The people were wary of Gwurm at first, but his strength and willingness to work made him a welcome addition. The soldiers were only too happy for his a.s.sistance in constructing the fort. Eventually, the camp's suspicion of the troll ebbed into acceptance and even a cautious affection. The children adored him. He'd spend hours rearranging himself for their amus.e.m.e.nt, juggling his toes, and standing on his head. The mothers would always watch him with a touch of nervousness. As if he might suddenly transform into some terrible fiend and glut himself on their offspring in a moment of hunger.

Newt did not adjust so well. He spent most of his time sulking in my tent. On those few occasions he followed me on my daily rounds, he never spoke a word among the camp. The children, sensing things the way young minds can, avoided him. The mothers were too busy watching Gwurm to pay Newt much mind. I kept a close eye on my familiar though, and there were no incidents of waterfowl blood rages.

Another interesting turn came when my broom took on a life of its own. Magic, especially witch magic, doesn't just come when called and then go away quietly. It is constantly about, curdling milk, stopping clocks, and cracking mirrors on occasion. My broom was always by my side, and it soaked up enough to gain will and animation. There were ways to cleanse this residue, but as long as it behaved itself, I saw no reason. It was nice having someone to do the sweeping.

I quickly settled into a routine. I'd wake late in the afternoon and tour the camp, treating the ailing. Blisters, aching muscles, and minor infections were the bulk of my duties. All were easily treated with herbs and simple magic. Those rare maladies of greater severity weren't much more difficult. After tending to the sick, I'd report to the Captain, detailing the general health of the camp. Then I'd return to my tent and mix medicines. The Captain was so happy with my service that I was offered a new tent within a week. I declined the offer as the tattered one better fit my image.

At nights, I'd sit and watch the camp. I could do so for hours on end. Even after everyone but the night watch had gone to sleep. Though I was born of a mortal woman, I was not mortal. I couldn't be one of them. I didn't want to be one of them. Yet they were fascinating creatures, and I'd often think of what my life might have been like had I not been accursed.

And sometimes, I'd indulge my darker half in flights of fantasy. Daydreams in the early morning hours where I'd slide through the camp and s.n.a.t.c.h away a vulnerable morsel for my dinner. Such thoughts were part of me and to deny them would only grant them greater strength. But my appet.i.te was easy to hold back, like a sweet tooth I never gratified.

And so a few days turned into weeks. Weeks became months. The soldiers finished their fort, and the civilians' tents transformed into more permanent constructions. And the camp became a respectable settlement.

I kept my tent and told myself (and Newt) that we would start back on our road to vengeance soon. But we lingered, living as part, yet apart, from the mortals. And the days came and went.

I KNEW OF SUNRISE the prost.i.tute. Everyone did. She was the most beautiful woman in the settlement, the Captain's favorite wh.o.r.e. She'd been the only one to know I was a witch without being told, and she'd discovered my secret very quickly.

She first visited me soon after my arrival to request treatment for a rash of the Captain's. He didn't want to be seen coming to me himself I mixed together a salve while she waited.

"Why do you hide it?" she'd finally asked on her third visit.

"I beg your pardon."

"Your beauty. Why do you hide it?"

I checked myself, but I looked as lumpy and dirty as I always did.

"You can't really disguise it," Sunrise said. "You can rub that grime on your face and hobble about and bury yourself beneath a mountain of soiled gowns and tattered frocks, but it's still there to see. Not that many would. Most only see what they expect."

"You won't tell, will you?"

"Why would I? I do very well as the prettiest here."

"I'm a witch, not a prost.i.tute."

"And believe me, I'm grateful. I'm not used to compet.i.tion."

I finished mixing the salve and sent her on her way. Newt, who sat sullenly in the corner, spoke.

"You should kill her."

My broom disagreed and stopped sweeping the dirt long enough to twirl, its equivalent to an enthusiastic shake of the head.

"She promised not to tell," I replied.

"You can't trust people. Safer to just kill her. I can make it look like an accident, if that's what you're worried about."

My broom smacked him on the bottom. He snapped at it. They whirled about. Newt muttered curses. The broom shook and hopped.

"Enough of that."

He grumbled. "He started it."

The broom jumped in a minor tantrum. It had decided early into its animation that it was a "she." I grabbed her by her handle and began to sweep. It always calmed her and after a few seconds, she kept at it all by herself.

"You should kill her, mistress."

"Perhaps, but I don't think I will."

Newt went back to the corner to sulk. My broom swept with jaunty joy.

Thus began my friendship with Sunrise the prost.i.tute. She would come by my tent every three days or so. At first, to collect the Captain's salve, then simply to chat. She reminded me of Ghastly Edna in many ways. She was observant, quietly wise, gifted with a view of the world neither sanguine nor cynical but somewhere between. I liked her very much. As did my broom. And Gwurm. And Newt as well, though he would never cease moping long enough to admit it. He even started speaking in front of her, and one crisp evening, he found himself in a familiar argument.

"And how many miles do you reckon an active volcano to be worth?" she posed.

"It's not a technical subject. It's not as if Fate itself is keeping a tally. Not an exact one anyway."

"Of course not. But you must have a general figure in mind."

"That's not my point."

"Seventy miles?"

Newt threw up his wings. "Why do I even bother?"

"Why indeed," I replied, taking a seat on the bench beside Sunrise.

He strolled back into the tent. I handed Sunrise a cup of hot tea brewed especially for her. I didn't drink tea. It disagreed with my digestion.

"You shouldn't tease him like that," I said.

"Why shouldn't I? Gwurm gets to. You get to. Even your broom gets to. It's only fair I take my turn."

"True."

She sipped her tea. "Have you given any thought to your name?"

"Yes. I've decided I don't need one."

We'd had this disagreement several times. My parents had neglected to name their accursed daughter, and to Ghastly Edna, I had always been "dear," or "child," or "girl." The people of Fort Stalwart managed "hag" or "crone." There never was any confusion, and I rather liked not having a proper name. It seemed very witchful.

"Everyone needs a name."

"Not everyone."

"Your duck has a name. Your troll has a name."

"My broom doesn't."

"Yes, she does. Isn't that right, Penelope?" My broom floated over and leaned against Sunrise's shoulder. "I know it isn't a very good name for a witch's broom, but she picked it."

I had no objection to naming my broom as this too seemed very witchful.

Two soldiers approached my tent. I knew from the sheepish glint in the younger one's eyes why they were here. My inner ghoul found little appetizing about the old man, but of the youth it whispered, "Not quite ripe yet, but in another year or two, a savory feast."

The older soldier pushed his charge toward Sunrise. The boy couldn't look her in the eyes. He stared at his boots and stammered.

Sunrise smiled in that patient, knowing way of hers. The way Ghastly Edna would have smiled had she been a prost.i.tute.

The older soldier chuckled. "Vertis was wondering if maybe he might have the pleasure of your company, miss."

"Is that so, Vertis?"

The youth nodded.

"He's been saving for two months, miss. All the other men said he should find a cheaper woman, but he's got his mind set."

"Such a compliment from a fine, strapping lad. I'm flattered."

Sunrise willed a soft blush. She could will herself to glow too in a way that I might duplicate with magic. Only hers was nothing so mundane as magic, but natural talent and practice.

Vertis giggled like a child.

She took his money and told him to meet her in her cabin in ten minutes. The older soldier thanked her, and they left.

Sunrise jangled the coins in her hands.

"What is it like?" I asked, surprising even myself. I'd been pondering the question for some time.

"That all depends. When it's done right, it's difficult to describe. You could always find out for yourself. Any man in that camp would hack off a limb to lay with you if you took off that outfit."

"I can't do that."

"Why not?"

I began, "A good witch ..."

"Not that again. I don't believe it. I would think carnal impulses were allowed under your code."

"I'm afraid of what I might do," I admitted.

"The curse? I suppose that's justified. Although I think you could find a man willing to take the risk for a moment of your pa.s.sion. No, your curse is just a convenient excuse. Because, curse aside, you are very much a normal person. And like most normal people, you want your first time to be something special."

"Was yours?"

She laughed. "Heavens no. Most aren't, but that doesn't mean you should give up on the hope. Who knows? Perhaps one day you'll find the right man. And you'll know him because he'll be the one you'll desire enough to risk devouring. But no need to rush. You're ageless. Take your time.

"In the meanwhile, you're not missing much. It can be a beautiful thing, but usually it's just a few minutes of b.u.mping, grunting, and sweating. Not altogether unpleasant even then, but nothing to fret about."