Gossamyr Part 23

"Sorry. I forget you are touchy."

"And I cannot forget you have a wife."

"Just so. Let's be off, then."

"Ulrich, this is stealing."

"Not if you sprinkle some faery coin in our wake."

She dug for the purse she'd placed in the saddlebag. Crystal coins tinkling on cobbles, Gossamyr tugged Fancy along, into a walk. They would keep to the narrow streets, Ulrich had instructed. Easier to avoid a patrolling guardsman, or a ruckus.

"My wife wanted to come to Paris," Ulrich offered in the quiet of their walk. "I promised her the trip when Rhiana was old enough to manage the travel."

"How young was your daughter when you...disappeared?"

"Two years. That was a little over a week ago. And twenty years ago. She was this high to my knees and used to wobble when she walked."

"Did the other man-the real father-ever visit?"

"He was never found." Gossamyr looked to him for explanation but he merely shrugged. "Lydia is a strong woman. She does what she must to survive."

"Like marry again when her husband goes missing?"

"Indeed. I must concede it was good for them both to have a man in the home. A female needs a man-well, unless she be a faery warrior. I cannot get the enormity of what has occurred into my skull. It yet aches."

"You have had but a week to grieve. Your wife has had twenty years." Gossamyr used the measurement with growing knowledge. She was little older than twenty years. So odd that Ulrich had lost the length of her lifetime, and yet, they were peers.

They walked onward through the dark streets, Fancy's hooves a singular echo in the night. But close, the whisper of liquid called to Gossamyr's senses. "What is that sound?"

"Hmm... The Seine! Filthy and muddied, the river is the lifeline of Paris."

Yes, but where there was water... "Might we step down to the river? I'm in need of a splash. I hadn't chance to quench my thirst in that tavern."

"Sounds perfect." Ulrich skipped ahead and pointed out a stone staircase at river's edge. "Though I wouldn't swim in this brew,"he called as he descended the wide limestone steps. "It's an awful mix. 'Course, I could endure a splash myself."

Gossamyr paused on the top step as she watched Ulrich skip down the wide stone stairs and bend over the brown waters to dip in his hands. Twenty years. Stolen. Unthinkable that any fee could be so cruel to one who had merely stumbled by accident into Faery-even Shinn.

"We are a mischievous lot," she muttered.

Tying Fancy to a post near the stairway, Gossamyr then descended the steps, taking each wide level in a skip.

The saddlebag abandoned behind his feet, Ulrich poured handfuls of water over his face. Kneeling forward, he had to check his balance. He didn't want to take a dip in waters rumored to receive the king's privy, the Greve's victims, and any other waste the city dumped in it. It did not smell bad. But neither did the taste r.i.m.m.i.n.g his tightly closed lips entice.

But bone, it felt refreshing to wash away the day. Too much had happened, and his confession to Gossamyr had only dredged up misery. He regretted his life for the family he had lost. If only there were some way to take back control, to return it to how it should be.

Only a fool entertains foolish thoughts. He must accept- Yeow- The snarling beast that leaped for Ulrich's head had not in mind for mental suffering. Jaws wide and long fangs bared, it spat drool and slimy water as it neared Ulrich's face.

FOURTEEN.

Gossamyr spied the kelpie as its oval nostrils emerged on the calm surface of the river. It approached with stealth; kelpies were not known to attack. It was the werefrog clinging to the kelpie's head that set Gossamyr sprinting down the wide steps to Ulrich.

She reached the soul shepherd as his upper body submerged. Lunging, she managed to grab an ankle. Struggling fiercely, Ulrich fought the werefrog underwater while Gossamyr strained to keep hold of his ankle. If he was pulled completely underwater, the kelpie would swim over him and weight him down, drowning a fine feast for the werefrog.

There was nothing on sh.o.r.e to anchor her foot to. Gossamyr leaned back and managed to pull Ulrich with her. An arm slashed out of the water, spraying the sky and her with water and frog slime. An abbreviated yelp was instantly drowned.

The werefrog sprang up from the surface. Jaws dripping blood, it twisted its fat slug body and dived. In the next moment two arms slapped the surface.

Gossamyr gripped Ulrich's hands. He grasped hold-good, he was still conscious. She tugged and struggled with his weight and the slippery limestone that was more intent on serving as a slide than good purchase.

"Help!" Ulrich clung to the limestone, fighting against the unseen werefrog, which most likely clamped on a leg with fangs as long as a man's finger.

"I've got you!" Gossamyr called. "Do not thrash about!"

"It's chewing off my leg!"

Her grasp slipped from his left wrist. Ulrich slid back, submerging to his chest.

The werefrog sprang into the air.

Using her free hand, Gossamyr grabbed her staff and swung. Bits of violet frog splat the walls of the riverbank and her face and the water surface.

The kelpie's nostrils sank. Ripples undulated away from the river's edge.

Ulrich, gasping and moaning, clung to the limestone.

Gossamyr levered him up and out to lay like a drowned rat upon the stone. She went immediately to his leg. Below the knee, exposed bits of flesh and blood revealed a neat bite, but small, considering the width of the werefrog's jaw.

"I think you'll live," she commented, but went to ripping off the shredded part of his sodden hose to tie about the wound.

"What..."He coughed and choked and spat out drool of vicious brown water. "Hades!"

"A werefrog," Gossamyr answered. "Just rest." She swiped a hand over her forehead, dislodging a chunk of frog. "It is dead."

"Werefr-" And he fainted.

Fine and well- Gossamyr swung, smashing her staff upon the chattering fangs that inched toward the saddlebag. The action sent the leather bag flying against the wall. It opened and out spilled the alicorn.

"No!" Gossamyr lunged for the horn and tipped it back inside the bag with her fingers.

A scan of her surroundings sighted frog bits, but none moving. Tucking the saddlebag to her stomach, she looked over the river's surface. Be the werefrog as irascible as a revenant?

Deep in the lush wilds of the Valois woods, in the exact center of the dense forest, sat a circular wattle-and-daub cottage with a low door to protect the inhabitants from charging marauders. A meadow thick with dandelion kites, the buzz of pollen-laden humble bees and gold coltsfoot blooms flourished twenty strides from the cottage.

In the center of the meadow stood a brilliant white stallion, its moonlit mane carefully twisted into witch braids and its tail protected from ill deeds with the same.

The beast lifted its head, p.r.i.c.king its ears. The very fabric of the universe had suddenly...sighed. And following that sigh fluttered a keening cry only the beast recognized. It snorted in recognition and twisted its head toward the sound. South. Toward the village with so many dwellings and many more people.

No Enchantment there. Save the one fragment of the beast for which it had been longing.

Soft white dandelion kites stirred into a fury as the stallion stepped into a cantor, and then a gallop. It sped toward the cottage where the fee man who had cared for him over the years stood with his arms about his mortal wife, both taking in the warmth from an evening bonfire.

Dominique San Juste startled out of the embrace at the pounding arrival of his equine companion. "What is it, Tor? Did a humble bee sting you on the flank?"

Tor bowed before the man, beckoning he mount his back.

"Looks like he wants to take you for a ride," the female said.

"Very well." Dominique slid onto Tor's back, his long black cape slipping across the stallion's hindquarters. "I-yeow!"

Tor took off. The faery's parting words to his wife were but b.u.mpy gasps.

"I will return to you anon! Easy, Tor. What be the hurry?" And then the sensation of recognition was abruptly cut off. But the unicorn did not cease. He knew the direction he must journey to become whole.

Ulrich claimed an uncle, Armand LaLoux, who lived behind les Augustins in a dark little corner of the right bank that sported a baker's shop and a plume dyer. Monsieur LaLoux would offer bed and some fine cooking, for he worked in the baker's shop stoking the fires, and was always bringing home new creations.

Gossamyr wondered how fine the cooking could be after Ulrich explained that the constant warring between the Burgundians, the Armagnacs and the English kept food scarce and the prices high. To Parisians bread was precious, for the milled flour was imported from outside the city. Often the flour was ransacked before a brave seller could even broach the ma.s.sive gates. Leeks and field roots made up the diet.

Appreciation for having grown up during a peaceful time in Faery grew as they navigated the inner walls of the city. Alms beggars rushed in throngs, grabbing at her tight wool sleeve and tugging her staff. Gossamyr shoved gently at an elder man with a face so black with dirt she first guessed him one of the Moors Veridienne had sketched in the bestiary.

"Keep your head up and walk swiftly," Ulrich muttered. He slid a hand into Gossamyr's free hand and directed her steps. He limped, but had not complained since they'd left the sh.o.r.e of the Seine. Likely putting the incident with the werefrog far from thought.

Overhead, the flutter of the fetch's wings occasionally captured a glint of moonlight. So it had returned. Not soon enough to catch Ulrich's attack; good thing. Shinn would question her inability to protect her travelmate from danger.

"I should give them coin." Gossamyr dodged to avoid stepping on a child, a dirty adult-size shirt hanging from its thin shoulders. "Ulrich, you cannot turn from their need."

"Can you perform a miracle of loaves and fishes with your mutable coin, Faery Not?"

"I don't understand."

"It means, no, you cannot. You have but a few disks of faery coin in your purse. Of course you cannot increase it. Can you?"

She shook her head.

So she pressed ahead, clinging to Ulrich's hand and using Fancy to part the crowd. They were trailed for a few steps, then the crew veered off, likely in search of more giving marks.

"How does your leg fare, Ulrich?"

"Those fangs were like needles, a straight pierce and then out. They did not tear the flesh so much, so I feel little pain."

"Either that or your leg will fall off before we find shelter."

"Be you the bearer of such fine tidings, my lady?"

"Sorry. Methinks it is this gown. It binds and digs into me. I will split the seams anon."

"I shall keep watch for a string of laundry. If you can wait until the morning, the shops will be open. All the braies your coin can purchase."

"Very well."

Gossamyr followed the trail of a fat rat as she strode alongside Ulrich and the mule. The rodent looked overly plump, not sleek and speedy as the meadow rats. Truly, this city of evil corrupted even the vermin.

High above, the shadowed shape of the fetch rea.s.sured. She wished the fetch worked both ways, that she could get images from Shinn. But, alas, she could not connect to the fetch, much as Shinn had attempted to teach her the mind-share required. She mentally sent blessings to her father. Be he lacking in enemy revenants to battle.

Beside her the soul shepherd sucked in a breath. She sensed Ulrich's leg did hurt, no matter his concessions to lacking pain. Interesting to find both a kelpie and werefrog here in the city of no Enchantment. Had they been called up by a magical spell?

Where in this tangle of humanity did the succubus hide? Shinn had not known, beyond that she lived deep in Paris. Gossamyr could guess the Red Lady would place herself at the perimeter of the city, far from the draining influence of the mortal population. But the perimeter seemed to be the most violent, attracting brigands and cruel Armagnacs.

Might there be a central gathering location where the Disenchanted congregated? Fee were attracted to splendor and elegance. They would not be found in filth and dest.i.tution such as Gossamyr had seen upon pa.s.sing through the gates. A palace, surely they would insinuate themselves into the court.

Startled back to the now by a touch to her shoulder, Gossamyr looked in the direction Ulrich pointed. Here the streets were quiet, save one single man fit out in finery and staggering as if soused.

Skipping across the wide gutter gurgling down the center of the street, Gossamyr approached the man who clung to the corner of a building. He moaned and spat blood. A dueling injury?

It wasn't until Gossamyr got right up to the miserable wretch that she saw his stare. Now she a.s.sessed the fine gold st.i.tches darting up and down his slashed doublet of crimson plush. Gold chains swung at his hips, decorating a graceful stretch of limb.

He groped through the air in an attempt to clutch at her. She dodged, yet moved right back into his face to study his eyes. The red did not drip down his cheeks but instead clung to the eyeball as a convex shield. Close then, she thought. Death stood near. Though, why the unfortunate things did not immediately die was unclear to her. Why did the succubus not directly take the essences? Or had this one merely escaped? The one in the village had gotten far away.

Looking about, Gossamyr scanned down a narrow alley that was nothing more than a whisker of s.p.a.ce between towering buildings. Something rustled within.

"Watch him," she hissed at Ulrich, and dashed into the shadows. When the rustling became a scramble she picked up speed and thrust out her staff, catching the man who ran away under the chin and effectively pinning him against the rough stone wall. A black leather hood shadowed half his face and covered his head, save a wisp of unnaturally red hair.

"Who are you?"

Even with the dim light that poured through the end of the alley where Ulrich knelt over the dying man, Gossamyr recognized her captive's face. It could not be!

The entire world slipped from beneath Gossamyr's feet.

FIFTEEN.

To find this one man in such a place? Memory flooded with glimpses of happier times: a sensuous discovery, followed by a heart-wrenching betrayal. Swaying, she fought against a sudden rise of dizziness.

The man she held pinned with her staff kicked out, a bare foot jabbing her in the gut. In his right fist clacked a conglomeration of-Gossamyr slid a look over the gleaming instruments-pins.