Chapter 20
Tavern

edrik was the first to wake and was restless. He hadn’t anywhere to go. He would not go downstairs to where the old lady was until Cade could accompany him. He had doubts she would remember him from the previous night and wanted to avoid either a fainting spell from her or a broom beating for himself. Soon he was stepping carefully over the clutter with the intent to wake Cade. He stood over him and saw with both amusement and alarm that he was gripping a knife in his hand as if it were a stuffed toy.

“Do you always sleep with a weapon in your hand?” Cedrik asked, clearly and distinctly, standing back so the sleeper didn’t wake with a start and stab him.

Cade groaned and tugged the blankets up over his shoulder. “Only when there’s a mage sleeping in the bed next to mine.”

Derek appeared at the doorway. Usually it would take his mother to drag him out of bed by his ankles, but evidently the activities of the previous night had given him a new perspective on the city. Squinting out from under his blankets, Cade said, “You boys up and ready to go, already?”

“We should probably retrieve our things from the inn,” replied Cedrik, sitting down and putting on his boots.

It was a slow and painful process for Cade to get up and moving. For a long moment he sat on the edge of the bed, stooped over. “Give me a minute,” he muttered in a gravelly voice. He glanced over his shoulder at Deacon bunched up among the blankets. “See, he knows it’s not yet time to get up. It looks like death took him instead of sleep—look at him.” He picked up something to toss at Deacon, but Cedrik caught his wrist.

“Better to let him sleep,” Cedrik said.

They made their way downstairs to the small, cluttered kitchen. There they found a hot breakfast waiting for them and ate as only boys know how. The coffee was hot and strong, and a heaped-up dish with sausages, crispy bacon, eggs, and hot fried cakes was far more pleasing than meals such as Cedrik and Derek had previously made acquaintance with. Grateful for the old woman’s hospitality, Cedrik offered his and Derek’s assistance in any way that might prove useful.

“Don’t get all fancy. Just eat,” she said and picking up a broom, set to her house chores and let the boys have their breakfast in peace.

“You worked some magic on her. Normally she would have set to work any man staying in her home,” said Cade, putting another spoonful of eggs onto his plate. “You lads can stay here as long as you need. There’s no rush for you to take off.”

“If it’s not a problem,” said Cedrik, “we could find a place more suitable to us in the city if need be?”

“We don’t mind the company,” said Cade.

“All right, then,” said Cedrik, pleased. He liked it here. No one would describe the cottage as grand, but there was something altogether homely about it.

Cade wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. “There aren’t any rules to abide by here. Only mind you don’t aggravate the old woman. She can kill a man within five yards of her tongue. Understand?”

“Understood,” said Cedrik uneasily, looking over to see if the grandmother was hearing them, but she was wholly engrossed in her housekeeping.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” said Cade, “what are the two of you doing so far from home? You surely didn’t come all this way to enjoy Cheydon’s fine weather, now did you?”

“We came here because Deacon wanted to,” said Derek.

Cade blinked vacantly a moment. “So you mean to say you just follow him around like two little slaves, wherever he goes?”

Cedrik gave a short, uncomfortable laugh. “No. We only recently suffered misfortune in our family,” he explained. “Deacon was most affected by it.”

“Ah, I see,” said Cade. “So you’re keeping an eye on him, making certain he doesn’t lose his mind and start blowing people limb from limb.”

“We just didn’t want him to be alone at such a time,” was Cedrik’s brief reply.

“He’s not like either of you,” said Cade. “You certain he’s your cousin, and someone’s not just having a go at you?” Casually, he resumed breakfasting and without lifting his face asked, “What side is he from?”

“His mother is sister to our father,” replied Cedrik, assuming that was the question asked.

“No, I mean which elven realm, North or South?” Cade looked up from his plate, chewing, and looked from one to the other, waiting for an answer.

“Northern,” answered Cedrik with a bewildered expression. “How did you know?”

Cade shrugged. “He’s got that look. There’s something a little peculiar about him, if you don’t mind my saying so, I mean even for here. We’ve had elves before, dark elves mostly, mind you, but they do come here sometimes. Is he one of them? Half-blood or something?”

“No,” said Cedrik. “He lived in Loriendale, but he’s got no elven blood.”

“He lived in Loriendale?” Cade looked impressed. “What business has he with the elves then?”

“His mother was wedded to one of them,” was Cedrik’s brief answer.

“I have a cousin who’s been to the elves, once or twice,” said Cade. “Not to any such place as Loriendale, but he’s been to Evandale, so he tells me. More likely he had one too many and stumbled into the woods, thinking they were the elves—probably made it with a few trees.”

The brothers said nothing. They thought it best to leave that one alone.

Some hours later Deacon awoke. He was glad to find himself alone. Tossing aside the covers, he struggled from bed, suffering unpleasant aftereffects. His foot hit something, and he looked down to see that his bag had been placed there. Retrieving a few personal items, he crossed over to the washbasin to splash his face with cold water. He shaved and made himself neat, as usual, then made his way downstairs.

He found himself in the company of the old woman jabbing at tangles of cobweb. With all the cleaning she could give the cottage, it would still have been but a place of torment to any woman of refinement. She hadn’t yet noticed Deacon, and as she turned, her elbow knocked the ceramic vase off the table. Instead of shattering on the floor it remained suspended. Startled, she looked up to see him standing at the base of the staircase, his hand outstretched. Without apparent effort he kept the object still until she, not without some unease, plucked it from the air and placed it back to its rightful position.

“You’re down disgracefully late, boy. Your friends have already come and gone again,” she told him.

His countenance remained impassive and unfathomable. Straightening her frock over her thin frame, she regarded him with uncertainty and was notably uncomfortable at being alone with the young mage. She had heard of the things they could do: summon apparitions from the nether realms, induce madness with illusion, even bind one to their will and force them to do their bidding.

Hot and flustered, she brushed a frail hand across her brow. It was not entirely inconceivable that her face might once have been rather attractive, though the persistent scowl made it difficult to ascertain what she would have been like in youth.

“I’m stuck with you, am I?” she asked, resuming her usual gruff indifference. Pushing past him, she said, “Come to the kitchen.” She was a great deal shorter than Deacon but led him into the cluttered little space with all the authority of an overbearing parent. “Sit,” she said and drew out a chair from the breakfast-table. Deacon did as asked. The old woman set a heaped-up plate in front of him. “You’re lucky I kept anything for you. It nearly went to the dogs.”

Tying an apron over her frock, she let him alone and set to preparing the afternoon meal. Into a large iron pot, atop a wood stove, she threw coarse cuts of meat and roughly chopped potatoes. She worked hurriedly and with agitation, as though it was all a bother to her. Often she glanced at Deacon as he struggled through the breakfast she had kept warm for him. He was far more quiet than the others, yet she was strangely more conscious of his presence.

“I need something from the cellar. Shan’t be a moment,” she said briskly, drying her hands on her apron.

“Shall I go with you?” asked Deacon.

“So you can speak, can you?” she said, antagonistically. “I was beginning to think you were one of the gods’ special sort.” The comment drew a slight, bitter smile out of Deacon. “What are you smiling for?” She waved her hand at him. “Eat your damned breakfast.”

“I’m not particularly hungry.”

She leaned against the table, stared critically at his face, and said, somewhat repulsed, “You’re a sickly-looking thing, aren’t you? I’ve seen things lying on their backs under my cupboard look healthier than you.”

Deacon smiled to himself. A shade of contempt darkened his face. His look of illness was a sort of shame to him.

“You’ve been ill, haven’t you?” she asked.

“Yes,” he replied coldly.

She straightened herself. “Well, I don’t suppose you’ll be much use to me, will you? Doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t trust you anyway. There’s a lot of your sort around here. All trouble-makers. Don’t go making trouble for yourself now, you hear?”

Deacon dropped his eyes again; an insolent humour curved his lip, and he knew she had an impulsive urge to box his ears.

“Eat!” she said, muttering to herself as she left him to go down into the cellar. When she returned, Deacon was gone. He had left nothing for her to clean after him, and she was surprised and pleased to discover that he had fixed things about the kitchen that had been long in need of attention and which Cade had promised to get around to and never did.

For the remainder of the day, Deacon occupied his time at the spell book emporium, lost among scrolls and books, which he consumed with an insatiate hunger. Often he was frustrated and found much of it scarcely adequate. Finally he found something that took his particular interest. He purchased the book and returned to the cottage and his cousins.

An abrupt silence greeted his appearance. The boys, lounging rather than sitting, looked up uncomfortably. It was just as though he had walked in on some plot against him. For a moment he remained in the doorway. Changing to a sitting position, Cedrik nodded to the book. “What have you there?”

“Nothing that would interest you,” Deacon answered as he entered the room, failing to acknowledge the other two. “I see we are to stay here?” he remarked, observing that all their belongings had joined Cade’s clutter on the floor.

“You might as well. There’s not much better, and here you can stay without cost.” Cade spoke with his usual cheer.

Tossing the book down onto his designated place of sleep, Deacon barely acknowledged having been spoken to. Heavy with disappointment, he lay down. After a long silence, Cade proposed a drink and dinner at the tavern.

Well-occupied with himself Cade stared into the mirror. With a rough hand he brushed down his hair that would not lie flat, no matter how he pressed it. Cedrik and Derek watched his vain attempts. They were dressed in the newest and finest cuts, all in perfect order, and all becoming. Deacon was half-reclining over on his bed, book in hand. He glanced up occasionally at Cade, who had spent the past half hour going through numerous changes of garments.

“I have to get myself some new clothes,” complained Cade, then turned to Cedrik. “Let me wear one of your shirts.”

“Why?”

“It’ll make me appear as if I have more coins in my pocket,” he said, catching the shirt Cedrik tossed to him. As he slipped it over his head, he caught Deacon’s disparaging look. “What?”

“When a man spends his energies on appearing to have, he’s all the while losing the precious little time he has in which to actually have,” Deacon answered without lifting his eyes from the page.

“Pfft. You, my friend,” said Cade, turning to resume grooming, “are in desperate need of some togetherness with the fairer kind. And good strong ale,” he added, the drink being his remedy for almost every ailment. “Come with us.”

“No,” answered Deacon.

Cade ignored his irritability and took the shirt off. “I don’t like this one,” he said to Cedrik. “What else do you have?”

“Is this really necessary?” said Cedrik, tossing another.

“I’ve got little more than myself to offer,” said Cade. “So at least if I can appear to have a little more, I stand a chance at grabbing a woman’s attention, and perhaps a little more if I can get away with it. A rich man is never unattractive in the eyes of a woman, now is he?” Dressed in Cedrik’s raiment he had the air of a scrounger who had contrived to give himself a respectable look.

“Surely women are not such fools as to prefer the gold over the man,” offered Cedrik mildly.

Cade shrugged. “Who can say? They’re unfathomable creatures when you come to consider their strange impulses and reasonings. They’re all mysteries, and that’s the way I like to keep it. Look too close and you’ll lose an eye.”

“Haven’t you a dozen sisters? Have they not given you some insight into the feminine mind?” said Cedrik.

“Five, and no,” answered Cade, making his voice as dry as possible.

“I thought you said you had a girl already,” Derek gave Cade a sporting jab in the ribs.

Cade lifted an elbow to defend himself. “Do that again and I’ll poke you in the eye. She is my girl. She just doesn’t know it yet.” He shrugged and rolled his shoulders as if uncomfortable in his borrowed clothes. “Right. Now we can go.”

He turned to Cedrik and Derek, draping his arms over their shoulders. “I’m going to introduce you to some real women, my friends, not those showpieces you city lads call women. These ones will put hair on your chest.” He looked over at Deacon. “Come with us. You need to eat, don’t you? And you don’t want to stay here with only yourself and the Crone.”

Deacon closed the book with a lazy movement of his hand.

“I’ll introduce you to some friends of mine. It’ll be a good time, you’ll see,” promised Cade, when Deacon rose to join them. “Only don’t start any trouble with your madman tendencies. And don’t, for the gods’ sake, frighten all the women with that accursed stare of yours.”

Deacon fixed him with a dark look.

“Right,” said Cade briskly. “Let’s go! Wait, you’re bringing that?” He pointed to the book in Deacon’s hand. “You mad tortured bastard.”

* * *

The tavern was rowdy and busy. The innkeeper rushed back and forth filling tankards for many thirsty patrons, while the waiting-maids hurried about, weaving in and around the tables, mopping up spills, refilling empty mugs, and serving dinners.

“It’s loud in here!” shouted Cedrik, hinting that he wished to be somewhere else.

“Bloody unendurable!” Cade said with a laugh, pushing past people. At a noisy table near the fire, they joined a group of Cade’s friends, some of whom Cedrik recognized from previously. Cold drinks were promptly ordered for the new arrivals, and Cedrik and Derek were very soon at their leisure.

Deacon remained quite separate, absorbed in the pages of his book, occasionally shifting his gaze to watch the dancing flames in the fireplace by which he had stationed himself. He was at his ease, yet was a stranger in the room. Preferring to keep a clear mind, he drank very little and kept to himself. He found no satisfactory company in the slow-moving brains of the village lads and took no pleasure in any of the pretty waiting-maids who frequented the table for conversation and sometimes to steal a kiss from their lovers.

A pert little waiting-maid sat on Cade’s lap, putting her arms about his neck. From her forward manner, Derek presumed her to be the object of Cade’s affection, when only moments after she left, another pretty thing took her place, sitting on his lap in the same familiar attitude. Her hair was tied in a ribbon with an annoyingly tight knot. “Take it out,” she said, turning her head from him to see.

Cade, preoccupied in trying to untie the knot for her, wasn’t conscious of Derek laughing at his frustrations. He was starting to perspire from the heat, which made his fingers stick and pull at her hair. Growing impatient, she was trying to tell him how he should do it. That increased his irritation. It wasn’t until he finally threatened to cut it out, reaching for a knife, that she removed herself, shoving his head aside as she passed. When the ribbon situation had been resolved, the girl returned to Cade and commented on his different apparel.

“You like it? I think it looks good,” he said, seeming unware he had lost her attention to Cedrik.

“He thinks this new look is going to somehow win Adriel,” said one of them at the table. The girl looked upon Cade contemptuously.

“Except, isn’t it true that once a man has won a woman, he no longer wants her?” she said. “It’s born into you lot, isn’t it?”

“No man ever has to win you, loved one,” Cade said.

Her eyes narrowing, she flicked the remnants of ale from an almost empty tankard over his face. She gave a little cry of delighted protest as he suddenly reached across and dragged her onto his knee. “You’re only jealous,” he said, playfully struggling to keep her detained in his arms.

When she had finished her happy interaction with Cade, she went boldly over to Cedrik with the hopes of igniting discourse with him, and by her look, a vast deal more. Her face was fair enough for his taste, his blood had beat up the moment she brushed past him, but Cedrik was a little startled that a woman would give herself so freely. It was his belief that any woman worth having would hold herself at a higher price. A man must prove himself worthy if she is to be won.

His polite reserve did little to discourage her. With a nymph-like coyness she took a seat next to him and put her feet up on the table in a relaxed manner, crossing one boot over the other. Cedrik cast down his eyes, assuming a blank look and deliberately avoiding her gaze. He thought a world of trouble looked out from those eyes.

Giving him a sugary smile, she said, “Well?” She had noticed him glance at her uncovered legs.

“Well, what?” asked Cedrik with innocent sincerity.

“Will you offer to buy me a drink?”

Cedrik glanced over to a nearby table, at which he presumed sat a jealous lover, and said, “I think he’ll be buying you a drink.” He motioned with his head over to a man with an angry vein running down his forehead.

“That’s my brother,” she said. “He’s only jealous.”

“Jealous?” repeated Cedrik. “What has he to be jealous of?”

“He doesn’t like me speaking to men.”

“I see he has no quarrel with speaking to women,” Cedrik observed.

She smiled. “So, will you buy me a drink then?

Cedrik shifted uncomfortably in his seat and reached for his drink. “Angry brothers and alcohol never mix well with me.”

“You don’t like me?”

“For certain I do—who could not?”

“You have a woman waiting for you?”

“No.”

“Maybe you would prefer to go someplace else?” She waited for his response with arched brows and parted lips.

“I’m not stopping in Cheydon for many more days,” he explained. He was perspiring. She gave an amused laugh, believing him to be afraid, and with heavy, languid movements took her legs down from the table. She had a very flattering way with men, and it was not long before she had deserted Cedrik in favor of another.

Derek, while busy trying to project calm disinterest, was half in love with every pretty girl in the tavern. One in particular caught his attention. She had her boot planted on the chest of a ruddy-faced patron, pinning him to his chair, while she balanced in one hand a tray of drinks, not caring that her skirt had fallen back to reveal a good deal of lily-white thigh. Grinning like a fool, the man reached out a grubby hand to touch her. With a savage push of her boot she knocked him backwards off the chair. She continued to attend tables without being bothered by the commotion she caused.

She strongly appealed to Derek. He watched her dealings with the men with raised brows. She was unaffected by their crude ways, clipping them sharply into line. Each person in Derek’s party lowered his voice whenever she passed and sat uneasy as if he feared he might be tossed out.

“That little fire-tongue will bleed you, Derek,” said Cade, noting the woman had captured his attention. But the caution did not deter him, nor did watching as she sweetly beckoned a man forward with one finger, then caught him a sharp smack across the mouth. Several unkind remarks were muttered about her at their table.

“What’s her name?” Derek asked, excitedly.

“Who?” asked Jerrett.

“That woman you’ve just been on about.” He motioned to the redhead.

“Lorali,” answered another. “Mind what you say to that one, otherwise there’ll be a whole lot of pitiful sobs …and they won’t be coming from her.”

For Derek, when it came to women there was never a long delay between design and execution. He downed the last of his liquid courage and made his mind up to approach the fiery redhead. He moved forward decidedly, weaving his way through the many spirited figures, determined not to return until the object of his affections was obtained.

“She’s going to bleed that little beggar,” said Cade, leaning back in his chair, laughing, till his eye caught Cedrik’s sharp look. The smile dropped off his face and he adopted a blank expression.

Assuming an entirely different manner with her than he had with the boys, Derek approached the fiery waiting-maid. She kept busy tending to tables and brushed him off as if he was nothing more than an annoying insect. She didn’t seem to care that he had addressed her by name.

“Don’t speak to me,” she said, when he attempted to introduce himself.

“This is my first time here to Cheydon,” he said.

“Hopefully it’ll be your last,” she answered.

Derek stood with a perplexed expression, as though he couldn’t understand what she had just said to him. Being refused was a new and disagreeable experience for him. “That depends on you.” He followed after her.

“That thought was late in coming to you,” she said in her rather sarcastic way, leaning over a table to retrieve a pile of dirty plates. She didn’t bother to look at him.

“Here, let me take that for you,” he said, very gentlemanly.

“No. Get off.” She lifted her elbow to push him aside.

When finally she remained still, standing at the counter, Derek took the opportunity to speak with her, believing the hecticness of her occupation to be the cause of hostility toward him. “I’m from the Imperial city,” he said, hoping to impress her. “My father and brother are both—”

“I’m finished for the evening,” she called out to the innkeeper, tossing her apron behind the counter. As she turned to leave, Derek stood in her way.

“Permit me, at least, to see you home,” he offered in his most winning tones. “You’re likely to meet rude company along the way, dressed as you are.”

The last comment provoked a response he wasn’t expecting nor prepared for. Suddenly and savagely she turned and inflicted a storm of verbal abuse upon him, the insults spilling unchecked, till the poor youth knew not where to look. From a safe distance the others sat back watching the pitiful spectacle, laughing themselves into coughing convulsions. Their merriment was aided by the considerable consumption of ale. Having no other notion of how to react, a curve of amusement came to Derek’s lips.

“Oh, don’t smile.” Cade put his hands over his face as if he couldn’t bear to watch.

Soon they saw a despairing frown cross Derek’s features. Evidently she had said something that was not favorable to his vanity. He stood bewildered, with helpless hands. He had not much experience with these sorts of women and their tempers. To be refused in such a manner was killing. His own inner self, still shaky and adolescent, was easily crushed.

As her finishing note, she poured a full tankard of beer down his front. Then she pressed her lips hard to his and followed the assault with an even harder slap to the cheek. She left him dazed and confused, not knowing whether he wanted to laugh or cry.

From the table Cedrik watched with a creased brow, arms folded over chest. He had half a mind to have a word with her; she had gone out of her way to humiliate Derek. “That was uncalled for,” said Cedrik crossly.

“I doubt he’s so heartbroken he’ll never turn to another,” said Deacon, also watching. His passivity belied his annoyance at the drunken, exaggerated foolery.

Upon the dejected youth’s dismal return, Cade laughed, slapping him on the back. “That went well!”

Derek rubbed the back of his neck as if it ached. “She called me some very harsh names.”

With the remains of his pride, Derek took a place near to his cousin and decided he would stick to ale for the remainder of the evening. Deacon glanced up from over the book. “What are you doing?” he asked, as Derek fell into the seat opposite with unnecessary effort and noise.

“Came to see you,” said Derek. “I’ve given up on women for the night.” He lounged back and rested his boot on the edge of Deacon’s chair. Deacon gave a tight-lipped smile and pushed Derek’s boot off.

“Don’t speak to me,” he said, his eyes returning to the page.

“That’s twice I’ve been told that in one evening,” Derek complained. He chewed on his lip, looking at Deacon.

“What?” Deacon looked up impatiently. He could feel Derek watching him.

“What are you trying to do here?” asked Derek, peering over.

Deacon sighed audibly, irritated by all the noise and movement. “I’m trying to familiarize myself more thoroughly with these words.”

“Words?”

“Words of a particular form,” said Deacon. “Different syllables and sentence structures put your mind into different states, as do hand gestures and verbalizing. These here are the most effective in bringing the consciousness to the desired state.”

“What?”

“The phrases focus the mind more efficiently toward the desired objective, so there is less demand physically.” Derek sat uninformed, chewing his cheek. “It’s about focusing the mind to an extreme point so that you can communicate your will. The more I learn how to do this, the less taxing it is on my body.”

Derek nodded sagely. “In other words, it’s as if trying to give directions to someone who doesn’t know your language. You’ll eventually get them to understand, but it would take less effort if you could speak their language.”

“Something of that nature,” Deacon agreed. “Mages of exceptional skill need neither to verbalize nor use hand gestures to achieve their objective.”

“I thought all this came naturally to you?”

“Anyone with the right application of his mind can control energies.”

“Will you teach me something?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to be the one responsible for unleashing you into the world,” said Deacon in a tone of banter, contrary to the seriousness of his mood.

A young woman with warm chestnut hair and warm brown eyes had observed Deacon. Throughout the evening as she went about serving tables, she stole coy glances in his direction in hopes of attracting his attention. He appeared not to notice, but he knew. She watched as he sat there, intent, his eyes concentrated on the page, his mouth pressed shut as if he were angered. Finally she caught his attention. He glanced straight at her. She felt herself flush under that gaze, brief as it was. She was both fascinated by and afraid of his otherness—that underlying strangeness that set him apart from his companions.

When she finished serving another round to the members of his party, she ventured over to address him personally. “Here,” she said, handing him a drink. “This will help loosen your tongue.” For a brief moment the hands of both remained on the tankard, but she hadn’t the courage to touch his hand. His intense eyes looked up from dark brows. “You haven’t spoken all evening,” she said, timidly.

“I have done,” he replied.

“Not to me,” she said with a shyness she thought became her. As she smiled down on him, Deacon noticed for the first time how attractive her flushed features were. He smiled, then looked down again. His heart was too sore and his mind too heavy to enter into any discourse with her.

Hugging an empty platter to her breast, she did not detain his eyes a moment from the book. Her attention was fixed upon the nape of his neck, where the dark hair ended and the tanned flesh ran smooth. She was keenly interested in him. His manner was quiet and guarded, but it did not require keen eyes to detect the hidden inferno. Standing there above him, she felt awkward. He was not having her. She shifted her weight several times, not knowing what to say. His intense reservedness was like to his pushing her back with a hand.

Lounging in his chair, Derek watched as Deacon actively ignored the beautiful woman. He thought it was strange; more than strange, it was inhuman. “Don’t worry about him,” Derek said, getting her attention. “He doesn’t talk to anyone, not even his own cousin.” He slouched down and pushed Deacon’s boot playfully with his own.

“You’re cousins?” she asked, surprised.

“I could tell you a few stories about this one,” Derek said, glancing at Deacon, who gave no response more than a slight crease in the dark brow. Happy to be close to Deacon without the strain of speaking to him, the woman continued the pleasant exchange with the more approachable one. Not once did Deacon return the glances she was constantly directing towards him as she spoke. The drink had loosened Derek’s tongue and got him to spilling stories.

“Don’t make her suffer through any of your distorted tales,” Deacon said.

“I like them,” she said.

“Perhaps then you should sit. He’ll go on and on, now that you’ve permitted it.”

The young woman almost beamed, happy to have won a word from him. “What is it that you’re reading?” she asked, reaching her hand forward.

“I wouldn’t touch that!” said Derek, as if fearful of what might happen. She held back her hand, rather startled, looking at Derek with frightened eyes, waiting for him to explain.

Deacon looked up. “She can do as she pleases,” he said, the mildness in his voice akin to politeness.

“What will happen if I touch it?” she asked.

“Place your hand there and I’ll show you,” said Deacon, almost affectionately.

She liked his voice, which was deep and handsome, and she liked his heavy-lidded eyes, which were blue and dark, and which looked at her with a strange intensity. She crouched down at his side. She could not resist touching the book and his hand that held it firmly. She felt a low current run from the book through to her, a strange heat striking through her flesh, so that her very blood seemed to run warmer. Almost it was dreadful. Dimly she knew it, even as it sent little thrills of delight through her.

“Isn’t it a strange warmth?” she murmured, shifting to get nearer to him.

“Energy radiance,” he answered.

A warm and secure glow from the fire gently enveloped them like the comfort of a blanket. For a time the noise and irritation was pushed aside, and only the gentle crackling seemed heard. Deacon brushed his thumb lightly against her hand covering his, as though languor bound them and softened them to one another. Talking quietly, she remained at his side. She was kneeling, bending forward to be near him, but he remained passive, giving her the minimum of his attention. Derek had sometime before returned to the table, giving Deacon time alone with the unfortunate young woman. After a time she stopped speaking, finding he did not answer. It seemed he had forgotten her, his eyes fixed downwards, reading.

She contented herself to watch him in silence, with waning interest. In a moment she placed her hand on his thigh, but it won from him not a spark of interest. She removed her hand and sat back, her eyelids sinking a little with annoyance. Deacon could sense her boredom and irritation, yet continued on as if entirely absorbed. In times past he would have had his fair share of interest and perhaps gone away with her for the night, but a change had passed over him. Desire was dead inside him. She was scornful of him and his removed nature and left without a parting word, evidently upset. His gaze lifted and followed her, but he didn’t care that she had left him.

Harassed by the noise, Deacon found it difficult to maintain concentration. Finally he closed the book and set it aside, resting forward with his arms leaning across his knees. He watched the young men at the table trying to impress their jeering friends. Derek was the centre of attention. They had entered into a game with him, their objective to make him drunk. They wagered on who could drink the most without becoming overcome; in this way they succeeded in getting him to drink to excess. Just short of eighteen, he was at the foolish age where incitement was easily achieved.

Although he took pains to appear blind to it all, Deacon sat solemn with a clenched jaw, keeping himself in check. Inside he was burning. The room had grown intolerable.

Derek was handed a small drink that he had never before tasted, a vile drink that made his mouth and stomach feel on fire. He held it hesitantly to his lips. He could almost feel it burning before it even touched them.

“Get it down you quick,” said Cade, slapping him on the back. “Don’t let it touch your tongue,” came the belayed warning as Derek knocked it back. There was a brief moment when his face drained and he looked as if he might be sick, but he came around. He scrunched his face. The drink stung the tongue and warmed the throat, so that he could scarcely breathe for a time. He gagged and spluttered as the hot liquid rampaged down to his stomach that filled with a resonating warmth, which, once settled, was not entirely unpleasant.

“What is that?” asked Derek, impressed, his eyes watering. The stimulating effects had him wanting more. He had another, and another, till the sensations were suddenly no longer agreeable, and he lay back in his chair with a groan. By the end of it he was such a sorry-looking wretch that Cade and the others left him alone, laughing aloud in their rowdy fashions.

Cedrik frowned at his brother’s lack of self-control. The sorry youth clutched his head in both his hands and complained of the pain. Cedrik had no sympathy or patience for him. “You’ve made quite a fool of yourself,” Cedrik said. “I think now we should go.”

He was answered by a pitiful groan.

The women who had been watching Derek fawned over him. His hair was ruffled from their persistent, indulgent attentions. One offered to retrieve for him something to eat, another clutched his head against her, his face and nose crushed up against her breast. She released him abruptly when he announced he was going to be sick.

“Come on. Get up,” said Cedrik, trying to get sense out of his insensible brother. Derek lay half-sprawled over the table, plastered to immobility.

Tormented almost beyond endurance, Deacon became feverishly annoyed. His forbearance reaching its limits. The laughter and chatter at last became so obtrusive he rose in agitation. “Get up, you drunken fool,” he said to Derek, assisting him to his feet roughly by the back of his collar. Derek was about to protest to his rough handler but saw that his blood was up and he was in no mood to be played with. He knew that Deacon would physically drag him out if need be. Several women in their party complained and tried to persuade Deacon to let him stay longer.

“Help us to convince him,” they pleaded with Cedrik, who looked helplessly from one woman to the other.

Deacon turned and left Cedrik to their persuasions. Stepping out into the street he came suddenly upon two girls, who clinging to one another, weak with laughter, stopped as though they had encountered a dark impervious wall. The smiles fell from their lips and quickly they made a wide berth round him. The girls, on their way into the tavern, squeezed passed Cade and the brothers on their way out, Cedrik supporting Derek’s bent-over form.