The Memory of Darkness (on hold until October)

10 - Malgard and Co.

She tasted of a thunderstorm.

He hadn't known such a thing was possible.

Kissing her made him think of the charge in the air during a storm.

The flavour. The scent.

The strange something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

A hint of smoke and flame.

Such things were in her blood. Only he could sense it.

Only he could appreciate it.

Appreciate her.

Soon it would be better. Soon it would be perfect.

Soon she would be his. He knew she was intrigued.

Her denial was endearing. A maiden's modesty.

No need for modesty, my sweet Princess.

Only the storm in your blood.

XXXXX

Darazin Street was a respectable thoroughfare of merchants and artisan's shops, most with living accommodation on the floors above. Further down the street, wooden shutters were being pulled across the shop windows as they were closed for the night, but the building known as the House of the Three Feathers was already in darkness.

A sign above the door protruded into the street. "Malgard & Co. Jewellery and Clockwork Repair," read Coren, squinting at the words in the fading light.

"That's it," said Father Dominic, nodding. "A veneer of respectability covering... something else."

Coren sighed. "Why do I get the feeling that the "something else" will be more important to me than the "respectability.""

"You'd be correct," said Dominic, a touch of bitterness in his voice. "He had a past, though I'm sure I don't know the half of it. I don't think I want to. Whatever he did, he seems to want to atone for it now."

"I'd have thought a priest would be in favour of atonement," said Coren, puzzled by his companion's sour tone.

"I am," said Dominic, with a non-committal shrug. "Though whether he manages it isn't for me to judge. Now, we'll achieve nothing by standing out here admiring the paintwork."

He pulled on a chain that hung next to the door, and Coren heard the faint tinkle of a bell from somewhere inside the building. After a short while, the door swung open to reveal the blonde-haired girl who had driven the old man's cart out of the inn's courtyard.

"Father Dominic," she said, surprised. Her puzzled gaze fell on Coren.

"Good evening, Gretchen," said the Priest. "Is your Uncle at home?"

The girl continued to stare at Coren. "Are you with the Rangers?" she asked, her voice clipped with mild panic. "Has something happened to Eric?" Her eyes darted between the two men.

Before Coren could reply, Father Dominic shook his head. "No, as far as I know, your brother is perfectly well. This is Captain Coren of the Telvarel Guard."

Gretchen's eyes widened. "Telvarel Guard..." she glanced nervously up and down the street. "I see, well, you'd better come in."

Coren and the Priest followed her down a hallway into the heart of the building, the old man seeming to lean heavier on his crutch than he had before. She opened the door into a comfortable sitting room. "We have guests, Uncle Felix," she said, her voice still a little strained.

Felix slowly rose from his chair as the visitors entered the room. "Father Dominic," he said, pleasantly. "What brings you and your young friend here this evening?"