Chapter 15: Highs and Lows of Susselfen (part 3)

Bertronius was glad to find that no one else was at the lodging house when he arrived there after his unsuccessful examination of the Sisters of Benevolence. He was discouraged by his failure to find anything worth reporting during his time. Although he was convinced that there the Sisters of Benevolence was a legitimate charity, and that no amount of espionage would reveal otherwise, he could not shake a lingering doubt that McNab would be disappointed in him somehow. Perhaps it was because this was the first real assignment that his mentor had trusted him with and it had yielded no fruit, he reasoned.

Bertronius threw himself down on his bed fully clothed, put his face into his pillow and closed his eyes. With his intellectual gifts and innate interpersonal abilities, he was accustomed to the majority of his endeavors meeting with at least moderate success, which made the few failures he encountered especially bitter. He felt a rising frustration and anger towards the condescending informant, Kennack, as he lay there. After all, he was the one that had taken gold in exchange for what Bertronius was sure he knew was erroneous information about the Sisters of Benevolence. If not for his specious intelligence, Bertronius thought angrily to himself, he could have spent his time on a more productive task.

As he reflected on this prospect, he was struck by a sudden wave of guilt. "Jarthen!" he said aloud in the empty room, sitting up with a start. He had just wasted a whole day listening to some cackling old hens argue about the relative merits of carnations and azaleas for the annual flower sale, when he should have been looking for Larthon Ractor. Here he was wasting his time spying on philanthropic old women and chasing after a group of rebels he had heard about from a drunken and not particularly bright elf.

I've completely lost sight of what I came out here to do, he thought to himself angrily. I can't let this keep happening! Bertronius resolved to resume his search for the treacherous Ractor the very next day, and put the entire business of secret infiltrators and byzantine rebel-orphan conspiracies on the back burner.

*****

When Jarthen and Rethnaki left the pub, it had started raining again. The downpour was of the loud, angry variety, with fat water droplets that stung slightly when they hit one’s face. The air had turned cold, and the combination of the cooler temperatures and wetness was already starting to make Jarthen shiver.

“Naki, where are we going now?” Jarthen asked loudly over the din of the rain.

“I ha’e some business ta attend ta alone, so I’m droppin’ ye off at ta inn. Elcrona’ll get ye warmed up righ’ quick-like,” the elf replied, hearing the boy’s teeth start to chatter.
Jarthen stuck close to Rethnaki’s side, knowing that he would never have been able to find his way back to their lodging-house on his own: Susselfen was a dark city that seem to be composed more of winding alleyways than proper streets and thoroughfares. Rethnaki walked through it absent-mindedly, heading towards the inn with that distracted sort of confidence that betrays one who knows a place inside and out. Jarthen wondered briefly how much time Rethnaki had spent in this strange fog enshrouded city.

The pair rounded a corner and Jarthen recognized the inn’s sign. “We’re here!” the boy said gratefully.

“Aye, lad. Now get yerself inside and dry off before ye take ill. I’ll be back quite late, please let Elcrona know an’ give her a full report o’ our meetin’ wit’ Goldfinch,” Rethnaki yelled through the pounding rain. Jarthen nodded and watched as the elf disappeared into the torrential rain before stepping inside the inn.

Jarthen nodded at the inn keeper, who pursed her lips disapprovingly when she saw the puddles Jarthen left behind as he trudged through the parlor and up the stairs. He knocked on the door to the room and waited for Elcrona to let him in.

She took one look at him and burst into laughter. “Jarthen, lad, ye look like a drowned rat! Come on then, I’ve got a fire goin’ ta warm ye up. Get yerself out o’ those wet clothes and we’ll dry them out firs’, though.” Jarthen nodded and stripped of his soaking wet clothes and wrapped his shivering naked body in a blanket and sat close to the fire.

“So, wha’ happened at ta meetin’ wit’ Goldfinch?” Elcrona asked excitedly. “I hate havin’ room duty – especially when we get no word from camp or have no word ta send back.”

“Uh, well, I think the meeting went alright,” Jarthen said, his teeth just starting to chatter less noticeably. “Mostly he told Naki to lie low and steer clear of the gambling houses. Apparently there’s some new spy who might be on to us and he hangs around those.” Jarthen paused a moment and rearranged the blanket around him before continuing. “Elcrona, can I ask you something?”

“Sure lad, wha’ is it?”

“Well, it’s more than one thing, I guess. How much do you know about this Goldfinch guy? And why do all the code names have to do with birds? And how exactly are we supposed to send word back to camp or to each other? I mean, it’s not as if we can exactly use the post."

Elcrona smiled and shook her head slightly. “Oh lad, I keep forgettin’ how little we tell ye and how short a time ye been wit’ us. My apologies, I’ll try ta keep it in mind in ta future. So, this Goldfinch, as far as I know, he’s technically spyin’ on us fer ta Imperial Army, but he’s actually spyin’ on them fer us. He’s been one o’ our most valuable resources fer ta last twenty-odd years.”

Jarthen’s eyes widened. “He’s a double agent? Whoa, that sounds so dangerous.”

Elcrona nodded gravely. “Aye, lad, ‘tis. His treason would likely be punished by torture and death should ta Queen e’er find out.”

“So why is he doing this?”

“Well, why are ye doin’ this, lad? Same reasons – he fell in wit’ our lot at some point or another and realized tha’ all he’d been fed in ta Imperial Army were lies, and switched sides. Only he did it while he’s still in ta other Army. He’s clever, tha’ Goldfinch, an’ if ta stories are true, crafty as ta Web-Footed Elf said ta reside in this very city. Naki always says ta greatest tragedy about Goldfinch is tha’ ta man has the mind an’ spirit o’ a red elf, but ta body of a human. Thick as thieves, those two are,” Elcrona explained. Jarthen nodded, remembering the obvious affection between the two men he had seen. “Jus’ out o’ curiosity, what’s yer code name, lad?”

Jarthen blushed bright red. “Pigeon.”

Elcorna laughed. “Naki give ye tha’?” Jarthen nodded. “Sounds like his style. Well, in case ye need it, mine’s Peregrine.”

Elcrona stood up and fixed them each a cup of hot tea and then packed a bowl of pipeherb to share. “Here, lad, drink up, it’ll warm ye faster. Now, ye know those clockwork birdies Moshel’s makin’ back at ta camp?” Jarthen nodded and Elcrona paused for a moment to light the pipe, inhaled deeply from it, and passed it to him. “Tha’s wha’ we use fer communication. They can be set ta deliver recorded messages an’ given coordinates ta fly ta. They’re durable an’, when intercepted, just though’ ta be a curio o’ some kind – especially since we try ta send messages in code and in a foreign language ta Imperial Army is not likely ta know well. We use birds as code name because it makes the intercepted messages more innocuous sounding.”

Jarthen took another drag on the pipe and passed it to Elcrona. He noted that over the last few months, he had built up some tolerance to the psychotropic effects of the pipeweed – nothing close to a red elf, but enough so that he was no longer completely inebriated within moments of his first hit. The two sat in silence for a moment, enjoying the pleasant company and the crackling of the fire.

“Jarthen, do ye know how we spread news ta sympathizers in Elothnin, at least?” Elcrona asked.

“Mechanical birds?”

Elcrona smiled and stifled a laugh. “Oh no, lad, there are far too many sympathizers about ta be sendin’ ‘em all birds. No, we use songs. Ever been ta a dancin’ circle? Or listen ta a satyr singin’ ballads?” Jarthen nodded, as such things were common in the Fethil. “Well, most o’ ta songs they sing are in code, used to deliver news about our movements and progress to those whose loyalties lay wit’ us. I’ve got a meetin’ wit’ Johannes the Bard – one o’ ta more famous o’ our satyr friends – tomorra. If ye can convince Naki ta stay here an’ hold down ta fort, ye can come wit’ me.”

“Really?” Jarthen asked hopefully.

“Aye, but don’ get yer hopes up – it’ll take a lot ta keep Naki cooped up in here alone all day. He hates it more than I do, ye know. Say, where is he, anyway?” Elcrona tried to ask nonchalantly.
Jarthen thought for a second, finding it tricky to think back to the conversation in the rain as the effects of the pipeherb took hold. “Oh…he…uh….he said he had business to attend to alone and to tell you he’d be back late.” Elcrona said nothing , her face darkening slightly, and took another puff of the pipe.

*****

As he walked briskly through the downpour, Rethnaki couldn’t help but worry about his friend. Goldfinch was playing a dangerous game, and he was playing it alone. Day in and day out, the spy had to keep his façade up with no one to confide in or to be truly at ease with. Rethnaki shuddered at the thought of such isolation, knowing that he did not have the strength it took to do such a thing.

Rethnaki had taken Goldfinch’s warning to heart about this new red-headed spy. The last thing the rebels needed at this point was a brilliant new spy mucking things up, and Rethnaki knew exactly where to go to get some leads about him, but he also knew he needed to pursue his sources alone and in ways Elcrona would most assuredly disapprove of.

He rounded a corner and jogged across the alleyway to the brothel across the way. He opened the door and stepped into the warm, welcoming atmosphere of the Blushing Loaf. As he tried to peel his soaked coat off, he heard the din of the first floor’s tavern all around him: sloshing ale, waitresses taking orders, and laughter. Behind him, he heard a pair of young men begging Arna Clinders for passage to the prostitutes on the second floor, or failing that, a free pint of ale. Rethnaki smiled as he heard the feisty human woman smack them about the head and shoulders lightly and reply that she’d bring them another muffin, but nothing more.

“Lads, if ye’ll help me out o’ me coat, I’ll buy ye a round,” Rethnaki said, turning to face them.
The taller of the two, a muscular blond lad of about seventeen, jumped up and began pulling on one sleeve. “Deal, thanks mister!” the boy said as he helped Rethnaki out of his coat.
Arna suppressed a smile and looked at Rethnaki in what she hoped was a disapproving way. Rethnaki smiled and reached for her hand, turning it palm up and fished around in his pockets with his free hand. “Before ye can say anyt’in’, Arna, here’s t’ree crowns fer ta lads’ drinks, and six crowns fer bein’ ta most accomodatin’ and delightful hostess in ta Empire.” Arna blushed deeply. “Now, let me walk ye back ta ta bar,” he said, offering her his still damp arm.

“Starling, I haven’ seen yeh in ages! And o’ course, yer as handsome an’ smooth-talkin’ as e’er. You rake! Playin’ me like a fiddle in front o’ those two lads, like to give ‘em ideas. How long has it been?” Arna asked as she stepped behind the bar.

Rethnaki gracefully slid onto a barstool and leaned over the counter. “Six years since last I was in Susselfen by me own account. But, ‘tis like I ne’er left – ye ha’en’ aged a day, lass.”

Arna playfully swatted the red elf. “I’m o’er thirty years old now, Starling. That’s, say, 200 years old fer yer kind. No one calls me lass anymore. What’re yeh here fer, anyway? ‘Tis never jus’ the refreshments nor the company.”

Rethnaki grinned a little sheepishly. “Aye, I ha’e some questions ta ask, an’ I t’ink Madame Ondine is jus’ ta lady ta ask. Is she in?”

Arna gave him another disapproving look. “Yeh know she’s always in durin’ business hours, don’ play daft with me, yeh cocky elflin’. Go on up to the third floor; she’ll be happy enough to see yeh. Now, let me get back to work! I have to give this ale to yer new best friends.”

“Oh, Arna! Don’ know wha’ I’d do wit’out ye!” Rethnaki leaned across the bar and cupped Arna’s round face in hands and kissed her lightly on the mouth, causing the woman to blush deeply and feel slightly light-headed. As Rethnaki bounded up the stairs to see the Madame, he could hear Arna being gently teased by the patrons. Rethnaki knocked lightly on the door at the top of the stairs.

“Come in,” said the Madame from behind the closed door. Rethnaki opened the door, slipped inside, and quietly shut it behind him. Madame Ondine Weatherby - a regal woman of indeterminate age with wavy red hair pinned into a neat bun and willowy arms – was sitting at her desk going over some papers and making notations in neat handwriting along the margins of her ledger. “What is it, Reni? Another customer look at ye funny?” she asked without looking up.



Rethnaki smiled, regarding the half-elvish, half-human woman fondly. “Ye know, if ye’d like ta speak ta Reni instead, I can go an’ find her fer ye,” he offered coyly, leaning against the door frame.

Recognizing his voice, Madame Ondine hopped up from her desk and strode towards Rethnaki, arms outstretched grinning from ear to ear. The two shared a tight, affectionate, embrace, and Madame Ondine took the elf’s face in her hands. “Starling, what’re ye doin’ here? Haven’ seen yer ugly mug in..oh…”

“Six years,” Rethnaki supplied, taking note of the peculiar pale gray color of Madame Ondine’s eyes, which he had always found captivating.

“Been too long,” she said. Rethnaki nodded in agreement. “Now, let’s get ye out o’ those wet clothes afore ye catch yer death,” said the Madame with a glint in her eye.

“Oh, Ondine,” Rethnaki falsely protested, “’twould be no better ta stand about shiverin’ naked, though, would it?”

“Nevermind that, I’ll keep ye warm somehow,” she said, leading him by the hand to her living quarters.

*****

Madame Ondine propped herself up on her elbows, fixing Rethnaki with an unforgiving look with those compelling pale grey eyes. “Starling,” she said with mock impatience.

“Hmm?” Rethnaki replied absentmindedly as he traced curlicues on the milky skin of her throat and bare shoulders.

She swatted his hand away with a small smile. “When’re ye goin’ ta tell me wha’ yer real name is?”

“When I can, love, after ta damn war is o’er,” he replied, burying his face in her sweet-smelling hair and kissing her lightly behind the ear. Underneath the blanket, he wrapped an arm around her waist to draw her nearer to him. Rethnaki basked in the closeness of her: the feeling of her warm skin against his own, the comfortable constancy of her heartbeat thumping against his chest, and the sense of emotional communion and vulnerability such physical proximity brought about. He realized, quite suddenly, how much he had missed this kind of intimacy over the course of the last few months, and also how much he genuinely cared for the Madame with the gray eyes.

“Yer righ’. Yer righ’, but still. ‘Tis a bit unfair tha’ ye know me name an’ all I ha’e ta call ye by and long fer is a code,” she said ruefully. “Now wha’ is it ye really came here fer? Wouldna be like ye ta come ‘round lest ye were doin’ somet’in’ fer ta rebels.”

Rethnaki gave her a surprised, slightly hurt expression. “Ye know I wish t’ings were different, too, Onnie.”

The Madame looked at him skeptically, and then softened when she realized she had inadvertently offended the young elf. “Starling, how long ha’e we been at this?” she asked softly.
“Wha’ do ye mean, darlin’?” Rethnaki asked.

“How long ha’e ye been comin’ ta me brothel an’ askin’ me fer information as yer way o’ gettin’ inta me bed?” she said, smiling.

“Fer ta last fifty-seven years or so,” Rethnaki replied.

Madame Ondine sighed and looked at him kindly. “If I hadn’ minded ta way t’ings are fer half a century, why would I start a-mindin’ now?” Rethnaki smiled sheepishly and blushed slightly. Madame Ondine found it endearing and marveled at how her lover never seemed to grow older, always keeping the sensibilities and passions of a young man even as she felt herself aging. Her elvish heritage did grant her abnormally long life for a human but she could still only hope to live half as long as an elf. At 93, her age was finally beginning to show: there were streaks of gray beginning to appear in her flame red hair and wrinkles starting to form around her eyes and mouth. She was still a beautiful woman, but she was no longer a young one – not like the still-boyish elf lying naked beside her.

“Alrigh’, fine, there is one t’ing. Ha’e ye heard much about t’ree new Imperial spies? They’d be but lads.”

The Madame thought for a moment. “Oh, ye dunna mean ta two gits what are always tryin’ ta get ta me girls, are ye? They keep tellin’ everyone tha’ they’re spies, but none o’ us believed ‘em – I mean, honestly, wha’ kind o’ spy goes ‘round talkin’ ‘bout bein’ a damn spy all ta time?”

“Me contact did say tha’ two o’ ‘em were daft as boxes o’ hair. Is one tall an’ blond an’ ta other short wit’ glasses?” Madame Ondine nodded, with a look of bemusement on her face. “An’ do they e’er come in wit’ a smart, red-haired lad in tow? Might ha’e nicer manners?”

The Madame’s eyes widened. “Yer tellin’ me tha’ ta vassal is an Imperial spy, too?”

“The smart one’s a vassal?” Rethnaki said, the coloring draining from him face. “Goldfinch didn’ mention tha’. I was jus’ goin’ ta capture him, or kill him if he proved ta be any trouble, but I can’ risk tha’ wit’ a vassal. Too high-profile.” Rethnaki slipped out from under the blanket and rifled through his pile of now-dry clothes until he found his pipe and bag of herb. Madame Ondine watched the candlelight dance on the elf’s supple body as he crouched on the floor and packed his pipe. She noted the smoothness of his skin, his long, lean musculature, and counted herself lucky to have caught his attention so long ago and to have held it since. Rethnaki returned to the warmth of the bed and lit the pipe.

The pair passed the pipe back and forth a few times before Madame Ondine broke the silence. “I t’ink I know how ye can get ‘im off yer track, Starling. The lad’s always askin’ ‘bout this Imperial soldier he’s got some quarrel wit’ – name’s Racker or summat like tha’. He’s got gamblin’ debts, so ta boy’s been hangin’ ‘round ta halls a couple o’ alleys o’er. He’s hit a wall wit’ his quarry o’ late, an’ been getting’ quite frustrated by ta looks o’ it. One o’ ta daft ones – Lem, t’ink his name is – keeps askin’ Arna fer chamomile tea to bring back ta ta lad ta help him sleep. Ye know who ye should talk to? Graz Mayhew – I hear ta lad’s been spendin’ a lot more time wit’ him than he has a-spyin’ on yer lot.”

Rethnaki took a long pull on the pipe. “Can Mayhew be bought?” he asked as he exhaled thick plumed of smoke.

The Madame smiled. “Any gambler can be bought, Starling. Ye know tha’.”