The boat rocked, threatening her footing, yet bodies pressed so close that she could not fall if she tried. The salty air stung her nose, made her eyes itch. Sniffles and coughs made her want to cover her baby’s mouth, though she knew it was foolish. Sickness would travel faster than the wind.
Small details stood out with unnatural clarity as her brain struggled to interpret the final moments of her life.
Schlik!
The enormous tentacle that threatened to split their vessel in half suddenly fell. Blue blood sputtered out of the stump, dribbling down onto the ship as the creature retracted it. A roar that vibrated the deck beneath her feet wracked her ears, leaving a high-pitched ring in its place as it faded.
There, at the prow, she saw the one who had saved them: the Hero.
Her eyes flicked open, surveying the room, noting the boisterous laughter and the thud of wooden mugs. The tavern was filled with energy and cheer. The night must still be young.
She lifted her mug, swirling the ale within before taking a long drink. She wore a plain blouse over a knee-length skirt, both of the same tan color. Her hair was white and braided down her back, ending at her waist. A black string neatly tied the braid at the bottom. She had sharp blue eyes that nearly glowed, an equally sharp nose, and pale lips beneath.
“Ho! Now there’s a lass after me own ‘eart!” a man called.
She glanced over, not seeing anyone until she shifted her gaze down. A dwarf with long salt-and-pepper hair and a beard to match stood before her, so deep in his cup that his eyes were closed.
“Pardon?” she replied.
“Bah!” the dwarf exhaled, the reek of his breath sending a nearby bussboy running back to the kitchen. “Don’ play coy wit’ me, lass! I know a drinker when I see one. We’s kindred spirits! Yer throat ain’t move an inch while ya was drinkin’. Why, ya could prolly down th’ whole mug faster’n some a these pups could take a sip!”
“You haven’t met me before, so you probably inferred I’m new to town. Travelers often have reasons for moving, so please, I am a sophisticated lady here. Can’t you tell by looking at me?” she asked with a smile, fluttering her eyelids.
“Ha! I understand ya, ma’am. You’s real proper-like. Yer secret’s safe wi’ me!” the dwarf bellowed, followed by a belch somehow louder than his shout.
He sat down on the chair opposite her, his head barely reaching above the round table before them.
“What might I address ya as, Miss Proper?” he asked, swaying slightly in his seat.
“That’s Miss Liza Proper to you,” she replied, still smiling as she drank.
“Well, Miss Liza Proper, ya made the right call. I don’ know what ya did, but if it was bad, ya gotta run fer the Wraith gets ya,” he said, a hand to the side of his mouth as if telling a secret, despite the spittle flying from the force of his voice.
“Oh? I didn’t take you for the superstitious sort,” Liza responded.
“Ain’t superstition to find all them nobles dyin’ peacefully in their sleep, despite ‘avin’ the best healers and no prior injuries, strange, do it?” he asked.
“I suppose not, though suggesting that they were ‘murdered peacefully’ seems pretty contradictory,” Liza said, swirling her drink.
“Tha’s why it’s gotta be the Wraith! They say it steals into yer home ‘n sucks the soul right outta yer body! Quicker’n lightning and far more deadly!” he declared dramatically, throwing his hands up into the air.
“Goodness me! Is no one safe, then?” Liza asked, her voice low, leaning forward conspiratorially.
“Tha’s why I say it’s good yer turnin’ over a new leaf. They say the Wraith only come for the untouchables. Ya know, the ones doin’ awful things that the law can’t touch,” he whispered suggestively.
“Ah, I see. Well, I wasn’t a noble before, so the law would have no issues reaching me. I suppose I’ve nothing to worry about,” Liza said, exhaling with a hand on her chest.
“Great! Then we can drink without fear!” the dwarf yelled, throwing his arm in the air.
The two thunked mugs together, each downing the whole thing. The dwarf’s raucous laughter filled the room as ale dripped down through his beard.
————————————————————
Splat!
Ale poured from Liza’s mouth, splattering in the boot-stirred mud behind the tavern. She stood at an angle, as if bowing, her arms held at her sides. Her face was relaxed. There was no retching or gagging. Her chest did not heave, nor was she breathing hard. Ale merely flowed out of her mouth as she bent over as if being poured out of a jug.
She straightened, wiping her mouth with a leaf before tossing it on the ground as she turned. She strode into the night, leaving the noisy tavern behind.
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