She stood, her feet apart, hands on her hips, and glared at the owner of the house. She wore what she considered to be her uniform, a dark blue pair of baggy pants, a loose, dark tunic belted at the waist, and her Vizier’s Turban, which took delight in matching its color with her mood. At that moment it was a somber shade of steel blue like a thundercloud. Its diamond eyes flickered with distant lightning.
“Andur,” she spoke sharply to the owner. “I will not tell you again. If you cannot keep the peace in your house, I will close it down.”
Andur, a thin short little man, bowed to her, although his sharp, narrow eyes watched her constantly. “I do apologize, Sheriff. My bouncer quit two days ago, and I have not been able to find another.”
“No more excuses. This is your business. You should be able to handle your own problems. If you need a bouncer, hire one of these louts.” She pointed to the fishermen on the floor. “They seem to have plenty of free time and muscle.”
“I’ll take it!” one of the men said eagerly. “I need another job.”
“No! I’ll take it!” his belligerent opponent insisted. This man had obviously had too much to drink. He pushed himself to his feet and stood swaying in front of Lucy, his expression bellicose.
Lucy curled her lip. If she had a match, she thought, she could set fire to his breath. “Step back,” she said calmly.
Instead he stepped closer and loomed over her like a large wall. She suddenly realized how big and solid this young man was, and how drunk. His eyes were bloodshot and bleary. Spittle dribbled out of the corner of his mouth, and he could barely stand upright. It seemed only his animosity kept him on his feet. “I don’ like you,” he slurred in a loud voice. “You come ’ere and start ord’rin’ people around. You’re a nuisance, a squeakin’ little female with a fancy hat. I could crush you like a bug.” So saying he drew back his fist.
The other fisherman lunged at him, but he was too far away to reach the man in time.
Lucy had only a second or two to react. She raised her hand and murmured her spell, praying to herself that it would work this time. She had practiced it time and again in the privacy of her room until the words and the manipulation of the power were instantaneous, yet in spite of all her practice, she could only make the spell work in about half the attempts. She would not know if it had worked this time until the man’s fist stopped or struck her. Using all of her self-control, she stood still and watched his huge knuckles coming toward her face.
She felt the Vizier’s Turban suddenly quiver, and the glorious flood of magic flowed through her, enhanced by the creature’s innate ability. Half a moment later the man slammed his fist into an invisible wall, mere inches away from her nose. A slow creamy smile spread across Lucy’s face. One never knew when a mage’s shield would come in handy.
The man’s features screwed up into a grimace of surprise and agony. Dumbfounded, he dropped to his knees in front of her, cradling his hand and blubbering. The crowd looked at her in awe.
Lucy felt the Vizier’s Turban snuggle closer around her head. If it had had vocal chords, it would have been purring. Instead, it thought to her, Nice spell. Good magic. May we do it again?
She reached up to tuck a strand of hair back under the turban and gave it an affectionate pat. Thank you, Vizier. We will try again soon. Although these silent conversations with her hat seemed odd, she was beginning to enjoy it.
The first fisherman reached his companion and hauled him to his feet. “I’m really sorry, Sheriff. He gets this way when he’s drunk.”
“If you want the job, get him out of here,” snapped Andur. “Then come back. We’ll talk.”
Lucy quickly dispelled her shield and gestured to the door. “Take him to the jail. Someone can look at his hand, then he can dry out in one of our cells.”
Laughter lightened the tension in the room. She nodded to the owner and strode outside into the early evening. It wasn’t until she had walked several blocks away that she ducked into a shadowy alley, leaned against a wall, and took a deep, cleansing breath. Oh, gods, what if that spell hadn’t worked?
She heard someone walk into the alley behind her and clear his throat. Startled, she pushed away from the wall and turned to face the interloper, her hand reaching for her dagger.
Lysandros touched his fingers to his forehead in a mock salute. His tanned face split in a wide grin, and he said, “Sorry to surprise you. Having a rough day?”
Lucy leaned back against the wall with a little laugh. “You wouldn’t believe. And I thought this job would be easy.”
“There’s nothing easy about this town.” He jerked a thumb toward the street. “Do you have time to take a break? There’s a little place around the corner that sells the best cider and fried pies.”
She nodded, grateful for his invitation. “I’d love some kefre. Surely this place won’t fall down in the next twenty minutes or so.” In the dim light of the alley she thought she saw a strange expression cross his face that looked to her like regret and pain, then it was gone and she wondered if she had seen it at all.
They walked side by side along the sidewalk to the next street over and, as the half-elf had promised, found a small bakery that sold fried pies, kefre, and cups of cooled cider. Taking their treats outside, they sat on a bench beside the shop where they could see the people passing back and forth and enjoying the cooler breeze from the sea.
“So tell me about your day,” Lysandros suggested.
Between bites of her pie, Lucy described her very long and stressful day. “We started this morning making visits to those people I had received complaints about-the widow and her grape-eating goats, the tenants with no rent, the merchants with the overweight scales … the list seemed endless. Then I had to sit on Mayor Efrim’s court and listen to more complaints. Then I had to stop several fist fights, arrest four drunks, and stop a horde of Khurs who thought it would be funny to gallop their horses down a busy street and scare everyone.” She shook her head. “I will never again take the town guards in Solace for granted.”
A faraway look came into his pale eyes. “Solace,” he murmured. “I’ve only been as far as Khuri-Khan. Tell me about Solace, and every place in between.”
So she did. While the night crept over the town and the lights and torches began to glow like stars, she told him about the vallenwoods and the town of Solace that grew up in the branches of the great trees. She described the Academy of Sorcery and its fall-without mentioning her connection to the Majere family-and she talked about Schallsea and Sanction and the long trek across the eastern wastelands. He sat enthralled, asking questions once in a while and gazing at her mobile face.
When she finally wound to a stop and sat quietly beside him, she felt much better. Her body had relaxed, and her mind had had a chance to look elsewhere for a while. She turned to thank him and saw again that strange look of regret.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he muttered, as if to himself.
“Talking and eating pies?” she exclaimed, astonished at his reaction. “It was your idea.”
Her words snapped him out of his reverie, and his charming smile came flashing back. “Not this at all, my Lady Sheriff. This has been a treat and a pleasure. Thank you. Nevertheless”-he bounced to his feet-“duty calls. I received word earlier today that another caravan is headed our way. We must leave to keep watch for it. I came to tell you that patrols have been sent out to seek word of your father, and if I hear anything, I will send word.” He bowed over her hand and strode away, his dark robes billowing in the night wind.