Morningstar Read Free

daughter of the tavern-keeper, Bellin.
    ‘Which tavern?’
    ‘The Six Owls; it is quite close by. Come, I’ll help you carry her there.’
    ‘Who is the man you are chasing?’
    ‘Jarek Mace.’ He said the name as if it was one I should know, but when I professed ignorance he smiled.
    ‘He is a reaver, a thief, an adulterer, a robber - whatever takes his fancy. There is no crime he would not commit - if the price were worth the risks.’
    ‘But he came to our aid.’
    ‘I doubt that. We had him cornered and he ran. I would guess he jumped from the window to escape us - and landed in the midst of a fight. Lucky for you, eh?’
    ‘Extraordinarily lucky. Perhaps it was fate.’
    ‘If fate is kind to you, bard, you will not meet him again.’
    That was the first time I saw the Morningstar.
*
    The officer of the Watch was a kindly man. I do not recall his name, but I remember how he covered the unconscious girl with his grey cloak before lifting her into his arms. I thought this a gallant act. He was a strong man, and had no need of my assistance as we walked through the alleys, corning at last to a wider street where three inns were situated. The Six Owls was centrally placed, the building - three floors high - stretching across an arched tunnel that led to the stables. Heavy curtains covered the many ground-floor windows, but the sound of raucous singing could be heard from within.
    We took Petra, who was by now recovering, to a door at the rear and entered a wide kitchen. Two middle-aged women ran forward as they saw the girl but the officer comforted them, his voice soothing.
    A serving girl ran to fetch the owner of the tavern, a colossal man named Bellin. Bald as a rock and round as he was tall, his aims were huge, his face moon-shaped and pale.
    ‘What’s this? What’s this?’ he boomed, his small brown eyes glinting with what I took to be ferocity.
    ‘This gentleman rescued the young lady,’ said the officer. ‘She was being attacked by a gang of ruffians. I fear they were intent on rape. But no harm has been done.’
    ‘They didn’t... ?’ began Bellin.
    ‘No,’ the officer answered.
    ‘The gods be praised,’ said the innkeeper, stepping forward and taking his daughter into a suffocating embrace. Her senses had returned and she looked towards me. Easing herself clear of her father’s arms, she curtseyed prettily. She did not seem in the least troubled, and I guessed then that she had recovered far more swiftly than any of the men had guessed. Her eyes were upon me and I thought I saw an invitation there, but I was young then and found it hard to believe that any attractive girl would give me a second glance.
    ‘I thank you, sir, for your kindness and your bravery,’ she said.
    What could I say? I recall mumbling some nonsense and wishing I was gone. The innkeeper moved his great bulk towards me, then stamped me on the shoulder. It was the most painful moment of the night, but I grinned foolishly and basked in their praise.
    ‘Where did this happen?’ asked Bellin.
    Petra took hold of the officer’s arm. ‘Baker’s Alley,’ she said swiftly. I saw the officer’s reaction and knew at once that this was not the place of the incident. But he said nothing, and neither did I.
    It seemed the young lady had been visiting her grandmother, having taken a basket of pies and fruit for the old woman. It was a fine story, but both the officer and I knew she had detoured to meet some young suitor. The officer waited while Petra removed herself to her room to dress, but when she returned his cloak he bowed and left to resume his duties. After he had gone I asked Bellin if he could supply directions back to the inn where I had purchased lodgings. When I named the place he guffawed.
    ‘You cannot stay in such a cockroach-infested hovel,’ he insisted and offered me, free of charge, his best guest-room, slipping two gold coins into my hand as he ushered me through the main drinking hall. I am ashamed to