BLOODFIRE

The port city of Ralaugh was usually busy on a Friday night. Ralaugh was where the King’s main palace was, and where he docked his personal and merchant ships; this meant the security at the Ralaugh docks was tighter than in other ports. Which meant even the lowly cabin boys were allowed to disembark and enjoy themselves a pint and the company a woman. This Friday, however, every inn, tavern, pub, and brothel in Ralaugh was filled to the rafters with captains, crewmen, privateers, and fishers from every end of the seaboard and abroad, all of them awaiting the next day when a fleet of new royal ships were to be christened and readied for their crew. The sailors weren’t there for the pomp and ceremony though, they were there for employment. A position on the King’s fleet meant a better pay and pension. If you were lucky enough to get on the royal privateer ships, you even got a cut of whatever looted items the King himself didn’t want.

In Marco’s Pub, the night had gone rather smoothly. Marco, himself a former sailor, knew how to best deal with tired and drunken seamen who were happy to sit around a table with friends, bragging about conquests real and imagined. Marco was a large burly man of middle age, his size alone was intimidating and he rarely needed assistance in dealing with unruly customers, but Marco did not like physical violence. He thought sports like fisticuffs and grappling were barbaric and he often proclaimed loudly, “If God wanted us to act like animals, He would have made us animals!” when the subject of either sport was brought up. He preferred a more civil sword fight, or even guns, over hand to hand combat. This lead him to take on a bouncer, of sorts, for his pub. He hadn’t intended to, but after seeing how one of his regular customers dealt with drunken sailors who seemed to want nothing more than to prove their brute strength, he decided to keep them on as an employee. Now Marco had to call on his hired hand to deal with a very angry, very drunk, and very large customer so bent on violence that he dented the bar in a few places slamming his cup down.

“IS THERE NO ONE IN THIS WEAK TOWN WHO WILL FIGHT ME?!?” The large man roared, quieting the din that had filled the pub. Several men, not wanting to be jailed that night and miss a chance at a good job on the King’s ships, got up and left, throwing a contrite glance at Marco as they walked out the door.

Marco leaned over the bar towards the man, and said in a calm voice, “Ya mind keepin’ it down, man? This weekend is filled with opportunities fer us all. Don’t get yer’self nabbed by the police for brawlin’ and loose yer chance at a respectable place on the royal fleet.”

Marco’s calm seemed to enrage the man more, “TO HELL WITH THE KING’S FLEET!” The man yelled. “AND TO HELL WITH THE KING!” This prompted even more men to leave. “COWARDS THE LOT OF YA! WALKING OUT WITH YA’ TAIL BETWEEN YA’ LEGS EVEN AS I DAMN YER CROWN! PITIFUL DOGS!”

Marco looked at a dimly lit corner of the pub where a small table was occupied by one person. They stood up, unfolding their long, thin frame from under the table, dropped their cigarette on the floor and extinguished the glowing ember with the back of their heel.

Regulars at Marco’s pub knew this was a bad sign. Marco’s bouncer never put out their cigarette before removing a customer. The bouncer walked towards the bar and sat next to the loud man. Marco walked to the other end of the bar, not wanting to be in the middle of anything.

“You may want to keep it down a bit, mate,” the bouncer said in a low voice, “we’re all here for a good time. Don’t ruin your weekend before it starts.”

The loud man growled and turned towards the person speaking to him. Then he paused. For the first time the entire night, his glowering countenance changed and he let loose a loud and contemptuous laugh. “Are you men so afraid that you seen some scrawny wench over to deal with me?” he said between laughs. The bouncer’s expression didn’t change. “Come closer whore. I’m probably more man than you can handle, but I’ll enjoy seeing you try. I’d love to watch you squirm under me, I’d fill you out quite well.” He growled at the bouncer, his liquor soaked breath burning her nose.

The bouncer sighed, but her expression never changed, “You sound like a braying ass.” She said, “And you smell like one too.”

“Rotten BITCH!” The loud man reached to grab hold of her hair, but her hand shot out and caught his before he could. He moved to grab her neck with the other, and she caught hold of that one also. Slowly, she began turning his arms outward. The sound of cracking and splintering bones soon filled the dead silent pub. Marco cringed at the other end of the bar. When she was done, the mans arms hung limply and blood began to soak his sleeves. He stared at his arms in horror. Too much in shock to speak, his voice squeaked and cracked as he struggled to either say something or scream in agony.

The bouncer got up from her seat, walked towards the door, opened it and looked out. Spotting a guard she called to him, “Hey, Officer! We have someone in here that needs to be taken to the hospital, he’s in need to medical attention.”

Marco walked the still stunned man out the door. The guard recoiled in horror at the site of the man’s disfigured arms. He looked at the bouncer, “What happened to him?”

She shrugged, “Couldn’t tell you.”

The man finally spoke, his voice barely louder than a whisper, “It was her. Sh-She broke my arms.” He shook as he spoke.

The guard looked at the man and then at the woman. She was certainly tall, a few inches taller than the broken man who stood before him, but with her slender build there was no way she was able to over power the huge man and break his arms without getting hurt in the process. He gave her a questioning look. She shrugged again.

“I guess he hit his head too.”

The guard carefully grabbed the man’s upper arm and escorted him down the block to the nearest medical center.

Marco shut the door behind them and returned to his place behind the bar, the bouncer sat down on the other side. From across the room came a loud clapping. Both Marco and the bouncer looked to see what was going on. A thin, blonde haired man stood, swaying to and fro drunkenly attempting to steady himself. A drunk floozy, her top barely doing the job it was made for, stood also, holding on to him as though he were a steady pole.

“Brah-vo! Wonderful! Absolutely wonderful!” He slurred as he spoke, he approached the bar not so much walking as stumbling.When he finally reached the bar, he leaned on it next to the bouncer, the floozy still hanging on, draped like a rag on his shoulders. “Honestly. I have never seen a young woman dispatch of a brute the way you did. What is your name dear?”

The bouncer looked at the drunken man next to her. His eyelids hung lazily over his eyes and his smile was a sloppy one. She looked at the floozy that clung to him for dear life, she was just as drunk as the man, if not more. There was a grin on her face as though she had finally caught “the big one”. She turned back to the bar. “My name is Trea.” She replied flatly.

“TREA! THE HEROINE OF THE NIGHT!” The drunk blonde proclaimed at the top of his lungs.

Trea put a cigarette between her lips, lit it, inhaled, then held it front of her as she exhaled. “Do me a big favor bucko,” she said still staring at the cigarette, “keep it down.”

The drunk blonde straightened himself, barely, puffed out his chest and said, “My name…is…Kalwren Meadowhart,” he wobbled a bit then steadied himself again, “the third. Of the…Ralaugh Meadowharts. But you can call me Kal…Everyone does.” He chuckled a bit, as did the floozy.

Trea sucked deeply on her cigarette, “A Meadowhart, eh?” she said exhaling a cloud of smoke, “You guys are pretty rich. What are you doing in this dive with a cheap whore like that?”

The floozy’s face screwed up in a show of indignation, but before she could form the words Kal laughed loudly and spoke first, “I like this pub, and the expensive whores in my part of town are all daughters of the rich elites that expect you to marry them after a roll in the hay. This one here knows that there’s no way in Hell that’s going to happen.” He laughed again, amused with himself. The floozy frowned again for a moment, but laughed anyways.

Trea rapped on the bar a few times, and a couple minutes later Marco returned with a cup of hot cider.

“Bring me two more.” she said, “Sober these two up a bit.”

Marco looked concerned for a moment. “Are you sure? I mean…”he let the comment drop without finishing the thought.

“Yeah. It’ll do them some good.” She took a drink from her cup, then addressed Kalwren and his partner, “Sit. Having you hover over me like that makes me think you’re looking to fight, and I barely worked up a sweat with that last idiot so I’m still ready to go.”

Kalwren sat and the woman plopped herself on his lap, nearly falling off and hitting her head on the bar once before finally steadying herself.

“Why don’t you sit on your own stool hon?” the bouncer said, more a command than a request.

The woman glared at her, “Why don’t you mind your own damn business?”

For the first time since she sat down, Trea lifted her head and sat up straight. “This bar is my business. Now get on your own God damned stool before I permanently attach you to one.” Her voice was a low, threatening growl. The woman slid off Kalwren’s lap and climbed up on a stool the way most people would climb onto a bull, muttering obscenities the entire time.

Marco arrived a second later with two cups of hot cider. Kalwren and the woman looked at them puzzled. Kalwren was the first to take a sip. That little bit seemed to nearly choke him, “THERE’S NO ALCOHOL IN THIS!” he shouted.

“First, be quiet. Second, you’re right. There is no alcohol in it. Drink. Both of you.” They both slugged back their ciders. Within moments they were both gagging.

“What’s in this?” the woman demanded to know.

“Well, cider obviously. But also ginger, chilies and lobelia.”

“What? What’s all that?”

“The first are to get you to sober up, the last is to get you to vomit.”

“Vomit? Wh-?” before she could complete her question the woman’s face suddenly registered surprise, she hopped of her stool and ran to the bathroom, her hand cupped over her mouth.

“That worked faster than usual.” Trea said, mostly to herself “I’d think someone her size would take at least ten minutes to work.”

Soon after it was Kalwren’s turn to run for the bathroom.

“Was that really necessary?” Marco asked with an impatient look on his face.

Trea cracked a cruel looking, crooked grin, “You know I can’t stand talking to drunks. He wants to get chatty, he can sober up.”

“And th’ girl?”

Trea’s grin spread a bit, “That was just fun.”

Marco sighed, “Honestly Trea…I just don’t know what to do with you sometimes.” He put his hand under her chin and lifted her face towards him. Her eyes were a grey so pale they could almost be mistaken for being clear. If eyes were windows to the soul, Trea’s eyes were more like mirrors. He looked at her violet hair. “And when will you stop wearing these silly wigs, girl? No one could mistake you for being around here. Yer longer than a canna, and your skin,” Trea gave him a hard look, warning him to tread carefully on the subject, “well that gold complexion is a pretty dead give away yer not from these parts.”

Trea pulled away from him, “I just…I don’t know Marco. I-I like my wigs. At least this way when people stare at me, they are staring at something I can change. I’m a little tired of being seen as a freak.”

“Honey,” Marco said, his voice like a father’s, “No one sees you as a freak.” Trea stared at him, one brow lifted, “Ok, maybe some folks see you as a freak, but there are all sorts of men who come in here askin after you. The way they talk, someone would think yer some earth-bound goddess. Yer beautiful, doll. I honestly think it’s time you got out of the bar business. You should have enough saved up by now.”

Just then Kalwren and the woman emerged from their respective bathrooms. They took a moment to regard each other, looking at one another as though for the first time. They both seemed to make up their minds about each other before returning to their stools at the bar.

“Sober?” Trea asked, her voice was flat again.

“Why did you give that to us?” Kalwren demanded.

“You wanted to talk to me, but I can’t stand talking to drunks. Plus you both needed it. You were barely able to sit, none the less stand.”

The woman on the other side of Kalwren hung her head, her dark hair hung over her face, “Thank you.” She said quietly. This startled both Kalwren and Trea. She had been belligerent a moment ago, now her voice was soft and penitent. “My name is Martha. I usually don’t get so drunk and pick up strange men in bars. My fiance died in battle a few weeks ago, and my father was tired of my crying so he gave ten gold to go, well, anywhere but the house. I spent so much of it on drinks that I was already drunk when I met Kal, and we continued drinking together.” She lifted her head and looked at Kalwren, “I’m sorry love, but, normally, I wouldn’t have even considered sleeping with a man like you.” Kalwren’s face looked hurt, Martha just shrugged sadly.

Trea let out a short laugh, “Well now that we’re done with that, what did you want Kalwren?”

“Call me Kal, please. And I wanted to offer you a job.”

“I have a job, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Yes…Well…If you ever wanted a new job, I was offering one to you.”

“Doing what?”

“Um, well, I’m starting my own security and bounty hunting business…And…Well you seem rather apt for it.” Now that he was sober, Kal wasn’t as confident. It didn’t help the woman he had planned to bed that night told him quite plainly that now that she was sober, she had no intentions of sleeping with him. Ever.

“The Meadowharts are moving into security and bounty hunting now?” Trea asked incredulously, “Isn’t that a little low for you guys?”

“Not the Meadowharts,” Kal said, “just me. It’ll be awhile before my father retires and I take over, and, well, I need something to do to occupy my time. Plus he wants me to have experience running my own business before I take over the family one. Security and bounty hunting seemed easy enough, so I decided on that.”

Trea shook her head. “You picked a business because it seemed easy? How much do you actually know about security or even bounty hunting?”

Kal looked confused, “Well…Nothing really. But what is there to know?”

Marco and Trea looked at each other, but Marco spoke first, “She’ll consider your offer, just get on home now. I’m gonna close up anyway. That idiot basically cleared the place out and it’s nearly 1 a.m. anyway.”

Kal and Martha left, behind them went the last five customers.

“Why’d you tell him I’d consider his offer?” Trea asked Marco as they walked towards their rooms above the bar.

“I told you, you need to get out of the bar business.”

Later that night, Trea woke up coughing. She tried to open her eyes but smoke stung them, forcing her to squint and try to see through the tears in her eyes. She wrapped a scarf around her face and crawled towards Marco’s room only to find it empty. She managed to feel her way towards the stairs and backed down them on her hands and knees, trying to stay just below the smoke.

As she got closer to the main room of the bar, the heat intensified and flames grew brighter. She could see the flames crawling up the walls to the ceiling like ivy and consuming most of the bar area. Sweat began to pour down her face and arms as she searched the barroom for Marco. She attempted to call his name, but the smoke choked the words before she could get them out. Over the roar of the fire she heard a weak groan, and rushed towards it in a frantic crawl. She had found Marco lying in one of the booths on the far side of the room, away from the fire. Blood showed the path he used to crawl to the booth. Trea could see he had been stabbed several times and his throat had been cut, not deeply, but enough to cause a great amount of blood loss. She froze for a moment, her whole body grew cold and stiff as she saw him struggling for breath, a small stream of blood making it’s way out of his mouth.

“Trea.” Marco’s voice was a ragged whisper, wet with his own blood, “Trea, the safe. They wanted…but…didn’t get.”

Desperate hope at the sound of Marco’s voice snapped Trea out of her shock. She hoisted him up and dragged him outside the burning building. She screamed for help, her voice high and loud, a child’s shriek. The fire department had arrived just as she had exited the building. They muttered of the hopelessness of saving the building even as they poured water on to the flames. Inside, the sound of shattering bottles could be heard. The rows of alcohol fed the flames, giving them the fuel needed to continue their ravenous feast upon the wood, mortar and pitch that held the structure together.

Medics had arrived, but far too late to save Marco. They focused on Trea, whose tanned complexion had turned ashen. She clutched Marco tightly to herself, shaking and rocking all at once, staring deep into the fire as though the name of her friend’s murderer would reveal itself in the dancing yellow and white. The medics attempted to move Marco from Trea’s hold, but it only made her hold tighter, at one point so hard was her grasp that she cracked one of his bones. Finally, she looked at her friend and found his eyes had rolled heaven-ward. Though a large crowd had gathered after hearing her screams, Trea wasn’t aware of them. All that existed, in that moment, was Marco and the fire. Now, though, there was more than one fire; the first was the fire that was tearing at the place she had called home for over five years, the second was the fire that was beginning to flow through her veins and eat its way into her very soul. And while the fire fighters would eventually extinguish every smoldering ember of what had been Marco’s pub, the fire that raged in Trea could only be put out with the blood and screams of those who had taken away the closest thing she had ever known to a true, loving father.

Some of Marco’s friends allowed Trea to stay with them for a while until she could recover from her shock. A few days later, remembering what Marco had told her about the safe, Trea went back to the place where the burnt out husk that was Marco’s pub stood. She carefully rummaged through the debris, collecting what items she could that were salvageable. She found the trap door that Marco hid the safe and other important things in and pried it open with a bent metal pipe. Marco had been a smart man, and having worked with all sorts of scoundrels and criminals on the seas he knew they’d look for hollow sounds in floors to indicate where trap doors lay, so he backed the door with a thick panel of steel to deaden any hollow sound. From the hole she dragged up Marco’s safe and three small chests and loaded them onto a cart she had borrowed. Her clothes were gone, as were her wigs. For the first time in years, Trea wore her blue-black hair out in the open. It’s weight and length shocked even her at first but soon she had gotten used to seeing it and being seen with it. Not eating had made her face gaunt, not sleeping put dark rings around her eyes. She now struck a haunting figure to all who saw her, if it weren’t for her tan skin she would easily be mistaken as a spectre.

She climbed onto the cart and directed the horse towards the bank where she had kept her savings, at the insistence of Marco who informed her that only a fool kept their money in between the mattresses of their bed. She smiled at the memory of him chiding her for her distrust for banks and other such institutions. At the bank she opened a vault account and put the safe and chests in it. She needed to go through them, but she had no desire to at that time. Her next stop was to a Solicitor who had left a message with one of the friends she stayed with about Marco’s will. Much to everyone’s surprise, Marco had amassed quite a fortune in his years as a sailor and royal privateer, and having no children of his own, Marco willed it all to Trea. It was an aspect of the society that Trea hadn’t quite come to grips with, getting money from the dead, but she accepted it, knowing that Marco would have yelled till he was blue in the face if she had turned it down. She instructed the Solicitor to take what was owed to him for performing his duties and then to transfer what was left to her bank account.

Her last errand for the day took her to a part of Ralaugh she had never before visited. The houses slowly became larger and more opulent as she continued up the winding roads. Stone walls were replaced by tall, iron gates behind which were large, immaculate yards and perfectly tended gardens. She finally came to a gate with the letters “MH” formed from wrought iron. She told the gate guard who she was and that she wanted to speak to Kalwren Meadowhart. He looked at her incredulously, not really believing that Mr. Meadowhart would want to have an audience with a woman who drove a horse cart. That was until she added “The third.” A knowing look crossed his face and he went to talk with another guard further up the drive, who then went into the house, presumably to speak with a butler who was then sent to fetch Kalwren. A few minutes later the guard further up the drive waved and the gate guard opened up the gate and allowed her through.

As she entered the house, she was immediately greeted by Kal and the head butler. The three walked towards a large study, the butler quietly shadowing them in a way that made Trea nervous. As they sat, the butler served them tea then stood off to the side. Trea related what had happened in the hours after Kal and Martha had left the pub. Kal was shocked, but the butler’s face showed the fact that he was horrified by her tale. Trea dropped her eyes, and her voice, and told Kal that she would work for him so long as he provided room and board for her with a monthly pay.

“No, I can’t agree to that.” Kal said.

Trea looked at him, shocked, “What! You said you-.”

Kal laughed, cutting her off, “No, no, what I mean is that I can’t agree to you working for me. I want you to work with me. A partner of sorts.”

Trea was now thoroughly confused, “A-A partner?”

“Yes, equal shares and all that.” He stirred his tea lazily before finally taking a sip. “Naturally I’ll be the main source of funds for the start up costs. You can find the building and what not that you think would be suitable, don’t worry about condition, we can pay for renovations.” He looked over towards his butler and motioned for him to come over, “George get our guest seventy gold from my safe so that she may get appropriate lodgings and a new wardrobe.” Kal thought for a moment, then said, “In fact, make it an even one-forty.” He turned to Trea, “Spend what you need on yourself, use the rest as a down payment on a building.”

“But..I-I…”

“No. No arguments. I insist.”

George returned with a small wallet, Trea opened it with a puzzled look on her face.

“They are notes.” Kal explained, “The Treasury allows certain families to print them so we don’t have to carry actual coin on us. This way we if we get robbed all they’ll get are unsigned paper notes. And should they force us to sign them we can alert the treasury who will alert the merchants, and we change the appearance of the notes immediately afterwards. Quite convenient and very discreet, but I doubt it’d catch on with the general public.”

Trea was still puzzled, “But how do I spend this?”

“The merchant will know what to do, just pick what you need and hand them the notes. They can ring us if they have their doubts.”

“But…”

“Oh! Will you just take it woman. There is no need to explain everything. It works, that’s all you need to know.”

Trea got up to leave, “Thanks.”

“Oh no,” Kal replied, “thank you! I know nothing about security or bounty hunting. Having someone like you, with experience, as my partner will help things run more smoothly.” Kal thought for a moment, “Do you know how to drive an auto?”

“Um, no. Why?”

“Because if you arrive at a store with that horse cart of yours they are going to think you forged them and that would be such a headache.” Kal turned to the butler, “George, get her an auto and a driver.”

Trea stopped him, “No, no need. I have a good riding horse. I’ll be ok.”

Kal rolled his eyes, “Well if I know nothing about you, I know not to argue with you. Let me know once you have everything, I’ll set up all the necessary paperwork to get this little business off the ground.”

George showed Trea out.

Minutes later, a young woman entered the study and stood behind Kal.

“Who was that vagrant you gave our family notes to?” She asked.

“Mercy, if you were trying to surprise me, you failed.” Kal replied flatly.

“Just answer my question. Father wouldn’t like it if he knew you were just handing out notes to whatever whore claims you impregnated her.”

“Oh come now Mercy,” Kal sighed, “did you see her? Of course you did, you were standing there the entire time. There is no way she even looks pregnant. And I was speaking loud enough for you to hear everything. If you didn’t catch it all then maybe we should call the doctor and have him test your hearing.”

Mercy walked around and stood in front of Kalwren. “I don’t know why that foolish old man would trust you with the family business. Look at you, you’re going into a business you know nothing about with some….some…woman who claims to be a bounty hunter. And you’re right, I saw her, and from the looks of her she couldn’t wrangle a cat, none the less some violent criminal.”

Kal sipped his tea. “Looks, Mercy, can be deceiving.”

“I’ll be watching you Kalwren. I will prove that you are an incompetent and that Father should give me the business when he retires.”

“Really? You honestly think Father will bequeath to you, a woman, the family business? It’s true, you probably are better at business than I am, but Father is too traditional to let a woman run the business. He’d rather I ran it into the ground and spent up all the family’s wealth than hand it over to you. You’d do better taking his advice and marrying well. Maybe that Paolo character will let you have your own business. He’s been asking after you, you know.”

Mercy’s face turned red with anger.

“You’re nearly twenty-six Mercy,” Kal continued, “you’re certainly not getting any younger; and there are younger, prettier girls who would be happy to just marry well, live on someone’s vast estate, and be well cared for on their husband’s budget. Do yourself a favor and stop wanting after what you will never get.” With that Kal got up, grabbed his coat and went out the study’s door, leaving Mercy where she stood, shaking. As he entered the hall, he turned to George, “If anyone should call for me, tell them I’m visiting a friend.” Then he left.

From the study came a loud crash and the sound of breaking porceline. Mercy had turned over the small table the tea set had been on, shattering everything. George rolled his eyes and went to fetch a maid to clean it up.

18 Months Later