Blades of Men (on hold - sorry!)

Chapter Eleven: Conrad

I'm sorry. I got lazy.

What can I say? 

SleepyBug

Chapter Eleven: Conrad

   I couldn’t understand the girl. I could feel my knuckles clenching at her mistrust of everything male and moving, like some stoic damsel in distress. It would be easier if she just picked a character and stuck to it, rather than the constant rolling movement of one personality to the next. It was making me seasick, and desperate to punch something. Hard.

   Athalia moved so quietly, yet with such uneasiness that the air seemed to shimmer with the weight of her insane fears. I glanced around me, forcing myself to move my gaze from the sight of her to the interior of the hotel. The word implied something grand and lush with extravagance and splendour, rather than the mediocre, cloying feel of the room in front of me. The dim candles lit the space with a ghostly, flickering air of mystery and malice. I got the vague impression of a bland face behind a desk, a frowning effigy to every stern housekeeper. Then, with the clink of coins in my pocket, the woman seemed to smell money.

   “Welcome, to the Downshire Arms. I trust that you will find your stay here pleasant. How long will you be looking for a room?” she asked steadily, the rush of words coming out in a mechanical monotone. I almost smiled at the contrast between the cold glint in her eye and the blank, bored expression prevailing on her face.

   “Not long,” I said, each syllable dripping with a carefully constructed blandness. “Two rooms, for one night.” The sentence was succinct and sharp, and I purposefully shifted stance, allowing another tempting rattle of change to be emitted from the confines of my pocket. It was like baiting a dog with a bone.

   “We only have one room left, sir,” she replied. Each word was seemingly polite, but underneath the surface, the sounds were tinged with a smug bitterness that delighted in denying a rich man a room. She sneaked a glance sideways, slyly staring at the girl at my side and conjuring up scandals until my own cold glare raised goose bumps on the back of her neck.  

   I turned to Athalia, watched as her complexion drained of all colour and slowly turned an ashen gray, two startlingly pink spots standing out on the bones of her cheeks. I could feel the small pressure of skin stretching over my knuckles once more. Was  really so frightening – such a horrendous prospect – that even the thought of sharing the same room with me made females tremble at the knees and faint?

  “Are you sure there is no other accommodation? My sister and I are very private people – we would prefer to be able to breathe rather than have to sleep on top of one another.” There was hardly another soul loitering in the lobby. They didn’t exactly look overwhelmed by the sheer number, a suspicion confirmed as I looked through a door to a relatively large bar. A single drunk lolled in his seat, gruffly demanding another brandy. Surely a small hotel, in a small town, could find a small room, for a small woman?

   “The stables are the only other place with a roof and a door, and if you are as private as you say, then surely you wouldn’t want to spend the night with a herd of animals?” Her tone was sugary sweet, at odds with her stiff appearance and wrinkled face. A pretty girl wandered into the room, seemingly lost in a dream.

   Her dress was low cut, the lack of material enough to show off the upper half of her creamy breasts, and made of a cheap, shimmering cloth that hoped to imitate the delicacies of silk or satin. It seemed I had just found the main attraction, perhaps even the reason why so many people had decided to stay. In an inn of this size, there was likely to be no more than seven rooms, excluding those of the owner’s family.