Dead Stars - Part One (The Emaneska Series) Read Free

them on the bar, and then took his second-best brandy from the shelf on the wall. While he poured with one hand, he smoothed out the creases in his apron with his other.
    ‘Don’t get many women in here then, I take it, barkeep?’ mumbled the mage, the lip of his glass still firmly glued to his smiling lips.
    ‘What?’ Darnums flinched, realising he had been caught staring.
    The mage chuckled hoarsely. ‘I said…’
    Darnums shook his head, popping the cork back into the brandy bottle with a little squeak. ‘I heard what you said, friend, and no, we don’t,’ he replied.
    ‘Figures.’
    Darnums set the brandy back on the shelf and rummaged in a cold chest for some milk. He found an open bottle, sniffed it, and then topped up the brandies with a few glugs of milk.
    ‘No warm milk?’ chuckled the mage. Darnums paused, a hand wrapped around each mug. He flicked the mage a sour glare, but then he paused, and while he glared, Darnums absently pondered whether the mage was one of the fire and flame sort, and whether he should ask, or whether it would be rude. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, there came a rattling sound from the other side of the bar, at the mage’s feet. The mage kicked at something with the toe of his boot and the rattling stopped immediately. He grunted, satisfied.
    ‘Wouldn’t keep them waiting. Their drinks might get even colder,’ the mage snidely advised, smiling at his own joke. Darnums shook his head. Holding the two mugs tightly in each hand, as if the short walk and a tight grip might warm them just a little, he made his way over to the quiet females leaning close to the fire-pot, smiling his very best of smiles. The mother turned at the sound of his footsteps. She saw the drinks in his hand and put a palm to her chest. ‘Oh, bless you, sir, we are in your debt.’ She reached inside her fur coat with one hand. ‘How much do we owe you?’
    Under the pitiful wash of the woman’s gaze, Darnums bent down to place the mugs on an empty little table and smiled even wider. ‘I think, on this one occasion, I can allow some charity. They’re on the house.’
    The woman’s pronounced features melted into such a picture of gratitude that, for a moment, Darnums thought she might shed a tear. She put her hand to her chest again and simply mouthed her thanks. Darnums stood up and nodded courteously, trying not to swell with pride. He strode back to the bar, picked up his cloth and a dirty glass, making it squeak loudly. The mage rolled his eyes at the man. ‘Watch my wine,’ he muttered, putting his hands on the bar.
    Darnums was about to inquire why he would need to do such a thing when the mage grunted and pushed himself off his stool. He rubbed his eyes a little more, cleared his throat, and then walked, a little unsteadily, toward the mother and child. Darnums stopped polishing and watched with concerned eyes.
    Much to the landlord’s horror, and the surprise of both females, the mage didn’t even bother to introduce himself. He simply sat down on the nearest stool and stamped his boots on the floor. The woman and her child looked at their new companion with a mixture of worry and intrigue. There were purple smears of wine on his lips and chin, and he had dirty, grubby hands. He tipped back a wide, cloth hat and leant forward, grinning, taking in the woman’s striking features and long, dark hair. She seemed to favour her right arm. The left lay on her lap as if she had recently injured it. Its fingers were of a hue so pale they bordered on white. ‘If you’d like?’ he offered to the mother, holding out a grimy hand.
    The woman couldn’t help but recoil. She held her mug close to her chest and stared down at the proffered hand. ‘Like to what?’ she asked, in a whisper.
    ‘The drink, lady, give it me.’
    The woman looked to Darnums, who was hovering at the edge of his bar, to the man, and then to the hand. She spied a key-shaped tattoo on his wrist, hiding under a