The witch rubbed her eyes, trying to fight the vestige of sleep, and settled on staring unabashedly at the old Galdor before her to force her mind to wake. His pallid skin, ashen in the decline of his youth, reminded her of wilted flowers. The wrinkle of his skin, the crinkle of a dried-up bloom. His lips were cracked dry from being worked over and over and beyond this, she could smell the sharp scent of herbs and something almost metallic. The man was very sick it seemed. She watched as he wheezed. Not even pride could hide the grimace of pain as he rubbed his hands against, his chest. If the man scribbling furiously away at his paper between bouts of lung wrenching coughing noticed her observing him, he said nothing. His gaze was far to focus on the letter he was writing. The speed and haste, in which he worked only belied the urgency behind it. The reason why she was here, was being re-written.
Suâyina preferred it that way. A wallflower to the rich, unbothersome yet there. It was a peaceful life, to be not noticed; there was no derisive look to be had, no veiled disgust to try to ignore. She idly wondered how long her life would remain this way. Sedated and peaceful, even while things she would not like to mention out loud brewed beneath the surface. The galdor coughed again into a cloth. His hands unsteady from the bouts folded the sheaves with an audible crunch. âTake these to Claude at Beckketâs Law.â Jumping in her seat, Suâyina placed her cup onto the table with a clatter before skidding over to grab the letter. The neatly sealed envelope felt weighty in her hands. Just how much and what, had the man written? The curiosity she felt was only fleeting; she knew better than to ask when it was not her place to. A moment later the cold kiss of coin graced her palm. âIf you come back within the day there will be,â he paused, face flushing a pale pink as another fit arrested his body, âAâŚbonus.â
The courier canted her head to the side, before nodding. The single utterance gave her enough of an idea of how important this letter is and even more so the reply.
âUhn, be back by nighttime then.â The surety of her words reflected the confidence she had in her trade. If there was anything she could trust, it was her abilities. With a dismissive wave. A nearby slave took over as she was ushered out the door, down a corridor with more room than a small family would ever need, and past a discreet servant exit from the side of the home in which she had entered at dawn. Pulling her shawl above her head, Suâyina peered back up at the galdorâs opulence before turning head. She would never deign, to understand why they do what they do and why they live the way they live. There was an audible pop as she opened her umbrella, a rush of noise as the water dripping off the awning splashed against it.
The dwindling drizzle of late loshis rain and the swirls of fog, swallowed the witchâs figure as she slipped back out onto the road and into the throng of moving bodies.
It was not until she turned into a quieter street towards the off-road towards the office, did, she hear it. Footsteps that clumsily echoed her own. The melodic plinking of raindrops against her waxed cotton umbrella had not her only companion on this day. She stumbled as she missed a step. Now just who was this? A raised brow was earned from the woman smoking by a stack of crates. Suâyina scrambled over, a smile on her face. âCuse me, do yâknow where Oak Lane is? Think I took the wrong turn.â Making a show of looking up and down the street, the tsat was quick to spot her unwanted shadow. A shiver went down her spine. Did thinking about danger, summon it to her doors?
He stood out from the crowd, with his fineries and height alone. He was by no means ugly, clean as most galdors are, and by her guess, at least a few years older than her. It was obvious that he did not belong in this area of town. But what screamed âawkwardâ more than that, was the way his eyes would dart around. His acting was as she would love to frankly point out, horrible. He was staring at the notice board that was up. It could have been passible, if the boardâs notice had not been drenched by the seasonâs rain and its content washed away. She bit the inside of her cheek to stifle her giggle. Oh, this was not so bad after all. Maybe, she could make some fun out of this. A puff of smoke caused her to sneeze. âSorry uhm.â The woman shook her head and pointed to her right. âDown atta way.â There was a twinkle of understanding in the older womanâs eye as she waved away her own smoke. âBut ye should know that, eh chick? What ya do now? Pocket his poor wallet?â the woman snickered. âHe ainât that bad lookinâ for em type.â With a wink, Suâyina backed away. âI have no idea what you mean Tilda!â With another wave, she sped down the street, a startled gasp told her just what she needed.
She had to lose her tail, but how?
Hazel eyes caught the sight of blooming weeds. Didnât a friend say she can stop by whenever she wanted a while back?
The Flower Garden was just the place to hide. After all, no other place was safer for her, than the brothel in which she delivered illicit and oftentimes explicit, letters too. She did provide them their entertainment after all.