She went to her writing table and sat down. She selected some paper and carefully dipped the quill in ink. Pausing for a moment, she gathered her thoughts.
Three false starts lay torn up on the desk before her note was finally finished. Folding the letter, she placed it into an envelope and sealed it with red wax. Almost as an afterthought, she walked the letter to her dresser and she sprinkled it lightly with myrrh. Then she packed the few things that she had told Tristan she had come for and hid the letter among them.
Her belongings in her arms, Celeste looked around the room for what she feared might be the last time. After blowing out the candle on the desk, she left the room, softly closing the door behind her, and walked down the hall to join her new husband.
CHAPTER LXV
"Alms for the blind," the haggard beggar woman pleaded. "Won't someone please spare a few kisa for a poor blind woman?"
Two coins rattled into her cup. Gleefully, she snatched them out. One went into her mouth and she bit down on it. Then she did the same with the other. She smiled.
Feeling for the pocket of her tattered dress, she carefully deposited the two precious disks. Coins had already been stolen from her cup twice today, and she wasn't about to take any more chances.
She reached out again to find the hand of the one who had just been so kind, but whoever that person had been, he or she was gone. Just the same, the old woman thought she should give thanks.
"Bless you," she said to no one in her soft, cracking voice. She resumed feeling her way down the busy street. She moved hunched over, her gray hair hanging in snarled ropes down either side of her face. Her dress was tatters. Her skin was gray; her eyes were sunken and without life. Every now and again she paused to cough raggedly. Then she once again took up the handles of the small, dilapidated handcart that held her meager possessions, and hobbled on.
The new day had broken clear and bright over Tammerland, and Evenger Street was as busy as it always was this time of the morning. Famous all over Tammerland for its bustling farmers' market, Evenger Street would soon fill with tavern owners, cooks, and wives come to haggle over the best selections. The woman knew the prospects for begging should be fair.
The shops here were all stalls, designed to be easily opened in the morning and then closed up again at night. Animals and birds were often slaughtered out in the open. Buckets of pig blood sat about, their contents to be used in the making of sausage. Piles of animal innards often blocked the way, black with flies as they dried in the sun.
The various chickens for sale were usually still alive, trussed up and flapping about noisily. The more valuable Eutracian pheasants resided anxiously in cages atop the stall counters. Upon their purchase they would be removed from their cages and their necks broken for transport home. Smaller creatures, such as rabbits, squirrels, and squab, usually suffered the same fate.
In the continued absence of the Royal Guard, cheating was prevalent. Wine was frequently watered, cheese was soaked in broth to make it look as if it had aged longer, and the flesh of bad fish was sometimes dipped in pig's blood to make it appear fresher. Although the markets on Evenger Street teemed with selections, true bargains were few and far between.
As she passed by the bakery she could smell the warm bread and hear the baker sliding a loaf from the oven with his long-handled wooden paddle. By law, the prices and weights of the loaves were supposed to be fixed, and each baker was required to stamp his loaves with his own seal. Bread was such an important staple that if a baker was found cheating, the citizens occasionally took matters into their own hands. The baker would then appear in the courtyard pillories, one of his underweight loaves firmly tied around his neck as a warning to his peers.
Guessing that cheating a blind person would prove far too tempting for any of these merchants, the beggar woman moved on, taking her growling stomach with her. Instead of soliciting at these stalls, whose proprietors saw many beggars like her, she decided to try her luck on a side street, where she could knock directly on doors. It would be harder for them to say no if she stood in the doorways of their homes, she reasoned.
Her first two solicitations yielded naught but slammed doors. The people behind the third door had been kinder, but they had been able to spare only a single kisa.
Tapping her way to the next door, she reached up to feel its surface. Eutracian custom said that the name of the family house was to be engraved on the doorpost. She ran her dirty fingers over the words and then knocked upon it.
This door opened and a man peered out. "May I help you?"
Staring at nothing, the woman held out her cup. "Alms for the blind?" she asked.
The man simply stared at her for a moment. "This is not an average dwelling," he finally said. "I understand that you are unable to see our sign, but we are not in the custom of giving our money away. I suggest you try the next door down."
The beggar woman thought for a moment. "Are you the master of the house?" she asked.
"No. Please go away."
She held her cup a bit higher. "If only I could speak to the master of the house," she pressed, "then perhaps he might grant me a few tokens of kindness. It is so little to ask."
The man scowled. "As I just told you, this place is not what you think. We never-"
"What is it, Caleb?" a deeper, more commanding voice interrupted. Another man joined the first in the doorway.
"It is only a beggar," Caleb replied. "I was just about to shoo her away."
The second man looked down at the ragged woman. Her gray skin told him that she was quite ill. A look of sympathy crossed his face.
"Let her in," he said. "I will see to her needs. You need to learn how to be more charitable, Caleb. After all, we have plenty to spare."
"As you wish," Caleb answered.
The older man took the woman by one hand and led her into the house, pulling her cart in after her. He led her to a nearby room and closed the door behind them. The simple chamber held little more than a bed and an adjoining washroom. As the man regarded her, he smiled.
"I knew you would come," he said. "But I didn't know when."
Standing up straight for the first time in hours, Satine stretched her back. After putting down her cup and her walking stick, she smiled at Aeolus.
"Thank you for letting me in. I worried that you might not recognize me."
Coming closer, Aeolus kissed one of her dirty cheeks. He beckoned her to a small table, where they both sat and he poured her a glass of water. She drank greedily. He looked her up and down while she emptied the glass.
"Forgive me, child, but are you ill?" he asked.
Smiling, Satine shook her head. "I'm fine."
"Then why is your skin so gray?" he asked. "And what happened to your hair? If I didn't know it was you, I'd truly think that you were at death's door! How did you manage this?"
"I swallowed one of Reznik's potions. It makes you violently ill for a while but the nausea eventually passes. It leaves your skin gray for a couple of days. As for my hair, I ran ash from a fireplace through it." She smiled again. "It is easily washed out."
Aeolus pointed at her pull-cart. "Are those your things?"
She nodded.
"So you need the Serpent and the Sword as a safe house after all," he said. "You're in trouble, aren't you?"
"Not exactly," she answered. "My situation had become more dangerous, but it's nothing I can't handle." She placed one hand atop Aeolus'. "Provided that you'll let me stay here for a while," she added softly.