CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER SEVEN

Gantalla woke surprisingly early in the morning, given how long the day before had been. But with a decent meal and a cup of whisky on board, she’d slept like a log, feeling well rested in the morning.

Nalyx was still asleep, and her first thought was to duck away unnoticed. He’d barely remember going to bed, in all likelihood, and he wasn’t likely to bemoan the loss of a woman he’d only met the night before.

But there were two immediate problems with her plan to slip away, and the first presented itself when she stripped back the blanket and stood up. She was still dressed in her clothes from the night before, and while the skirt was fine, the blouse was going to cause problems. Most of the townsfolk last night had been dressed in far more modest clothes than her provocative outfit, and if she was to head for another city, her current attire was likely to attract some unwanted attention. Not to mention being frightfully cold during long nights on the road.

The second problem, of course, was where to find that elusive pair of new boots, but one thing at a time.

She headed for the bathhouse, wondering where her cloak and shirt had got to. But as luck would have it, she found them easily enough, clean and neatly folded in a pile near a dozen other sets of clothes. Presumably, some of the women had washed them yesterday and set them out to be returned to their owners.

She dressed again in her trousers and shirt, folding the skirt carefully. But she returned the blouse to the racks of clothes hanging in the storage area, sure that she wouldn’t be needing it again.

As she was coming out of the bathhouse, she ran into Fin. “Good morning,” she said, plastering a smile to her face. She was determined not to get delayed again, as she had done yesterday, but there was no harm in being polite.

“Where the heck did you run off to last night?” Fin asked, smiling, but sounding mildly affronted. “Hallix said you just disappeared.”

“Well, actually, I…” She hesitated. Saying that Hallix had been an insufferable oaf was not going to go over well with people who all but worshiped the ground the warriors walked on. “I ended up spending the night with someone else.”

Disapproval gave way to wary optimism. “Oh? Who?”

“Nalyx,” Gantalla said. And then a real smile blossomed on Fin’s face.

“Ooh, good choice. Nice body on that one. Well, personally, I’d have stuck with Hallix, but each to their own. What are you up to this morning?”

“Finding myself a pair of boots.” She’d swapped her ornate slippers for her mud-stained court shoes, but neither were suitable for a long walk. “And then I’m not sure. Wait until Nalyx wakes up, for a start. He went to town on the whisky last night, so it could take a while.”

Fin laughed. “Well, come and find me if you’re at a loose end. I’ll show you around the city some more. And then the festival will kick off again this evening.”

Gantalla smiled, ignoring the fact that everyone seemed to think she’d be hanging around. But with Fin watching her, she couldn’t make her escape just yet, so she headed back in the direction of Nalyx’s room.

Back inside, she looked around. Nalyx was still snoring, so she straightened the room, setting the pillow and blanket back on the bed. Now, where to get a pair of boots? She eyed the pair she’d stripped off Nalyx last night, sitting neatly beside the door. Ignoring the flare of guilt she felt, she held up one boot against her own foot. They were study and well made, ideal for walking – or for fighting hoards of demons – but his pair were miles too big for her own feet. But with two hundred warriors in town and all of their boots undoubtedly getting plenty of wear, there had to be a supply of extras somewhere.

Then her gaze fell on a pile of clothes and bits of metal near the door. She picked up a few pieces and realised this must be Nalyx’s armour. It was filthy, splattered with dirt and blood, and as she examined his breastplate, she realised that the leather straps had been cut.

Hm. There was most definitely a supply of extra straps around, along with other supplies for cleaning and repairing the warriors’ armour. And perhaps a new pair of boots could be found in the same place?

With a plan forming in her mind, she let herself out the door, taking the damaged breastplate with her. Out in the courtyard, she spotted a couple of the warriors, chatting to some of the serving women. Trying to project confidence, she strode in their direction. Repairing Nalyx’s armour should be a perfectly worthwhile activity, in the eyes of the other warriors. Nothing unusual about it at all.

“Good morning,” she greeted them with a smile. “I was wondering if you might know where I could find some new straps for Nalyx’s armour?”

The two young women standing with the warriors tittered at Nalyx’s name. “I was wondering where he disappeared off to,” one of them said. “Lucky you.”

“Armoury’s over at the end of the courtyard,” one of the warriors said, more interested in staring at the young woman’s bosom than in paying attention to Gantalla. “The big wooden shed. Tell the guard what you’re looking for.”

“Thank you,” she said with a smile, then set off in that direction.

The guard let her in easily enough, once she’d explained what she wanted. Inside the long building, there were indeed plenty of supplies; leather straps, buckles, new swords, pieces of armour, along with bottles of oil and polish, and a wide selection of cloths and stiff brushes that were used for cleaning the armour.

And sure enough, along the back wall was a long row of boots, in a whole range of sizes. She chose a pair, holding them up against her own feet to check they should fit, then turned back to the door… and stopped in her tracks. There was a guard right outside who believed she’d come here to get straps for Nalyx’s breastplate. So she could hardly just walk off with a pair of boots and think he wasn’t going to notice.

Okay, think, Gantalla, she told herself. What to do next?

It wasn’t just the straps on the breastplate that needed attention. The metal was also filthy and would need a good polish and oil before it was fit for use again. So she grabbed a wooden crate and shoved the boots into the bottom, then she covered them with tools and oils, setting the new straps and the breastplate on top. Hopefully that would do.

She opened the door again and the guard raised his eyebrows at her collection. “What have you got there?”

“Cleaning supplies,” she said. “Nalyx was injured and he can’t use his hands, so I thought I’d help him clean his armour.”

“Yeah, I heard about that,” the guard said, sounding none too interested. “Poor bastard. Fair enough, then. Off you go.”

Not waiting around in case he changed his mind, Gantalla hurried off, disappearing between the rows of buildings to weave her way back to Nalyx’s room. Back inside, she swiftly changed her shoes for the boots, pleased to find they were a good fit. They were stiff, but they’d loosen up after a day or two. But just as she went to leave again, the pile of armour caught her attention. And she cursed her own sense of integrity as she felt guilt crawl up her spine again. She was no thief, and there was no way Nalyx would be able to clean the armour himself. Perhaps she should actually repair it for him. Not because she cared about the injuries of a human murderer, but because it would be fair payment for the boots.

Fine. It would only take an hour or so. And then she could be on her way. Nalyx was still out cold, and even if he woke, she could just tell him she was going to take a walk around the city when it was time for her to leave.

Out in the courtyard, the sun was up, and she found a comfortable spot by a low stone wall to work. It was a stunning contrast to Chalandros, where sitting in the sun would have caused her skin to blister in a matter of minutes. Here, it was just pleasantly warm, and she reminded herself how lucky she was to have escaped the infernal heat of her homeworld.

She started with the breastplate, removing the old straps and replacing them, then set about scrubbing the dirt off. After that, she moved onto the faulds, which protected Nalyx’s hips and thighs, then the vambraces for his arms and the greaves for his legs.

As the morning wore on, more people started filling the courtyard, and Gantalla saw that her suspicions had been correct; women emerged from the barracks, along with the warriors, and some of the rooms had contained not just one, but several women. And some of them, several men, as well. She chose not to think too deeply about what had been going on behind closed doors. The warriors here were in a class of their own, and it was none of her business what this culture deemed acceptable behaviour for them.

Instead, she focused on scrubbing the armour. It was etched with fine engravings, and it took concentration to scrape the dirt out of every crevice. Once the metal was clean, she polished and oiled it, then set each piece carefully aside, to begin on the next.

A loud shriek got her attention, and she turned to see that a group of women were working at a large fountain at one end of the courtyard. Ostensibly, they were washing some of the warriors’ clothes, but in reality, they seemed to be doing a better job of splashing water everywhere and giggling, rather than actually getting anything clean. The shriek had been caused by one of the warriors tipping a woman back into the fountain, and she spluttered as she pulled herself out. But the dampness of her clothes was now used as an excuse to remove some of them, much to the enjoyment of the men.

Was this honestly what the warriors expected of the women? Gantalla found it odd that sex seemed to be the only important commodity the women traded in. Surely the men would have equally appreciated a set of clothes that were actually clean?

Finishing up with the armour, she headed over to the fountain to wash her hands, keeping to the end of it to avoid the splashing. But a couple of shirts were already hung on a line to dry, and as Gantalla looked them over, she saw that all of them were still stained, and one had obvious dirt still embedded in the sleeves. Good grief, Gantalla had never washed a shirt in her life, but she was sure that even she could do a better job than this.

“Hey, sweetheart!” One of the women called, her arms wrapped around the neck of one of the warriors. “You’re never going to find a husband dressed like that! What are you, a prude?”

Another of the ladies giggled. “Anyone would think you’re one of those dour old women who clean up the dead bodies.”

Pretentious little upstarts. Well, fine. If they wanted to make a competition of it, she was willing to bite. But not in the way they expected. Let’s see what these men thought of a real woman.

She returned to Nalyx’s room to collect the clothes that had been bundled up beneath the pile of armour. She went back to the fountain, finding a plentiful supply of soap, and set about washing them, ignoring the giggling and flirting from the rest of the women. As Fin had rightly pointed out the day before, the older serving women were mostly sensible, getting their jobs done while remaining friendly and welcoming to the warriors, but the younger ones were just silly, and she couldn’t help but pity any warrior who actually chose one of them as his wife.

Doing the laundry was hard work, Nalyx’s clothes filthy with all manner of dirt and dried fluids. Gantalla had been expecting to have to put some effort into it, even as she acknowledged her own lack of experience. But as she worked, she was surprised to find that she was actually enjoying it in a way. It proved that she was capable of more than sitting around in a fancy dress looking pretty – which, in hindsight, was all anyone had seemed to expect of her back in Chalandros. And it also proved that she had something of value to offer this world that didn’t involve a tight lace blouse.

She was just returning to Nalyx’s room with the wet clothes when the door was suddenly flung open and Nalyx burst out. His arm was still in a sling, and his clothes were rumpled and his dark hair was mussed after a long night. His chin looked a fraction darker than it had yesterday, with an extra night’s growth of stubble. He pulled up short as he saw her, and she thought he was going to ask where she’d been. But far from concern at her whereabouts, he had something else on his mind. “Where’s my armour?” he asked, not even bothering to say hello.

“I cleaned it for you,” Gantalla said. “It was filthy. And I washed your clothes as well.”

But rather than looking pleased about the favour, Nalyx’s scowl deepened. “Fucking hell. You do not touch my armour.” He spotted the pile of it, set out neatly beside the nearby wall, and marched over to it, snatching up one of the vambraces in his clumsy hands. “You have no idea what you’re doing, and this armour is…” He stopped, as he looked down at the arm guard. It gleamed in the morning sun, all traces of dirt gone. He turned it over in his hands, then looked back at Gantalla. She stood silently, waiting for him to finish his sentence. He looked down at the armour again, noting the shine of the breastplate and the newly repaired straps.

Given the activities of the rest of the women, it was no wonder he was shocked. Gantalla glanced pointedly over at the fountain, where the cluster of women were still giggling and splashing, most of them now half naked. “I realise I’m probably not showing nearly enough skin to get the job done properly,” she said drily, “but I figured a decent amount of soap might make up the difference.” She held up his shirt and let him have a good look. After long minutes of scrubbing, she’d managed to get the stains out, and it was now once again a light cream colour, rather than the dull brown it had been when she’d started.

“Great gods, you actually…?”

“Actually washed them?” she asked. “Rather than just poncing about in the water like a five year old?”

Nalyx glanced over at the women splashing about in the fountain and chuckled, the tension easing out of his shoulders. “Indeed.” Then he turned his attention back to the armour. “Where did you learn to do this?”

“My father taught me. I had three brothers,” she added, at his sceptical look. “And in our case, we came by our wealth through hard work and diligence, rather than luck or skulduggery. I wanted to learn what my brothers knew. And my father saw no harm in teaching me.”

“He sounds like he was a wise man.”

Gantalla smiled, and they stood there, staring at each other for a moment. But as she looked at him, in daylight now, rather than the dim light of the lanterns last night, more details about his appearance caught her attention.

“Would you like me to help you have a bath?” she asked, the words slipping out before she could think better of the idea. She was supposed to be leaving town and heading for Palashran, not finding new excuses to stay.

“What? Why would…?”

“You have a bit of blood in your hair,” she said, indicating her own hair, at the point where a streak of dull blue stained his scalp. And now that she thought about it, there was more dirt on him, on his neck, and trailing up his arm where he’d pushed the sleeve of his shirt up.

“Ah, fuck,” Nalyx said, noticing the dirt for the first time. “I was in the hospital all day yesterday. The nurses cleaned up the worst of it, but… Yeah, a bath would be great.” Then his eyes narrowed. “Last night…”

“You passed out almost as soon as we made it back to the room,” she said, anticipating his next question. “I slept on the floor.”

“Why? I mean, why didn’t you sleep in the bed?” he asked, when she looked vaguely affronted by his first question.

“It seemed presumptuous.”

He was looking at her strangely “So when you say you want to give me a bath…?”

“I want to help you wash the blood and dirt off.”

“Are you married?” he asked suddenly.

“No.” She offered no further explanation.

After a moment, he shrugged, though he seemed a little baffled by her reply. “Fair enough. But yes, I would definitely appreciate help with a bath. I’m not supposed to get my bandages wet,” he said, holding up his hands.

“Then I’d advise staying away from the fountain,” she said with a wry smile.