Three Questions
Rinka
“You’re a spy,” she said, gasping and covering her mouth with her grey hand. “One of King Derkomai’s spies.”
Rinka had managed to get Drystan to take his trousers off—he changed into his other pair so she could mend them—but she thus far had not managed to get him to admit who he was.
He laughed, a warm laugh that nearly doubled him over. “I’m sorry; I wasn’t expecting that.”
“So you’re saying you’re not a spy, then?”
“No, I’m not a spy.”
Rinka narrowed her eyes at him. “Exactly what a spy would say.”
She lifted her eyes from her needlework back to his face, hoping to find a clue in his expression. His eyes were bright, playful, and entirely too pleased with themselves. There was a dimple in his left cheek from his smile: pleasant, but inconclusive. His lips were soft and had just a touch of red to them—but really, that was a useless observation that gave her no hint as to his character.
“Well, that is a conundrum, isn’t it?” he asked her. “What if you guess what I am, but I can’t tell you, and so I deny it?”
“Then I guess there’s no point in my asking at all, then,” said Rinka with a huff, leaning back into her seat in faux resignation.
“Oh, but I was so enjoying it. Why don’t we make a deal?” Drystan leaned in conspiratorially. There was a pleasant smell to him, a bit like the floral scent of the handkerchief. Perhaps a hint at his true vocation.
“Do you work in a flower shop?” Rinka couldn’t resist asking.
“Hold on,” said Drystan, holding up a hand. “I haven’t even told you the deal yet.”
Rinka had to admit she was enjoying this as well. The man seemed to pose no threat to her, suspicious behavior aside, and she could not resist a good puzzle. “Fine,” she said with as much feigned apathy as she could muster. “Let’s hear it.”
“You can ask me three yes or no questions, and I’ll answer truthfully. After that, you can keep asking, but I make no promises about the integrity of my replies.”
“Do I have to ask the questions now? All at once?”
He considered it. “No,” he said. “You may ask me the questions whenever you like. Just let me know before you ask that you’re using one of your questions.”
Rinka didn’t understand the reason for the gambit, but she did truly want to know who he was, and she couldn’t see the harm in enjoying his company during her long journey. “How long do I have? Are you going to Landsend or one of the stops along the way?”
“Landsend, but then on to Wilderise.”
Rinka could hardly believe her luck—it turned out he was going not only to Wilderise, but he was heading into the Hill Country too. A companion for her entire journey, and plenty of time to figure out who he was.
Unless…was that really the journey he had planned to take? Or did he change his plans once he heard hers?
“I have family there,” he said by way of explanation. Rinka could read no hint of a lie in it, but then she hadn’t picked up on any lies so far at all.
Rinka knew what her mother would say about Rinka making plans and deals with strange men. “Foolish, reckless, irresponsible. Dimwitted fool!” (Yes, “fool” would be in there twice. For emphasis.)
But meeting someone who not only wasn’t afraid of her but actually seemed to enjoy her company had been such a pleasant surprise, she didn’t care.
“You know what they say about journeys,” said Rinka. “‘Every journey begins with—’”
“A single step,” said Drystan.
“What? No,” said Rinka. “‘Every journey begins with three whiskies.’”
Drystan laughed. “Another one of your father’s sayings?”
“Well, yes,” said Rinka. “Maybe it’s an orc thing.”
The rail-wheeler’s dining cart did not have any whiskies, but it did have a cheap bottle of Loegrian white, which they shared with a small tin of crackers, a bunch of grapes, and a pleasantly sharp cheese. She spent the afternoon asking him a number of questions: where he had grown up (outside of Arcas Dyrne), how many siblings he had (one, a sister), what his favorite dessert was (a pie made with limes and a creamy frosting that sounded heavenly), what his greatest fear was (heights, the first answer Rinka doubted). By the time the rail-wheeler pulled into Landsend late that night, she had mended his trousers and learned much of Drystan, most of which she liked and hoped was true. But she still hadn’t worked out what to ask him as her first question that would receive a guaranteed true response.
“Still not ready to take a guess? Even to narrow things down a bit?” he asked her as he followed her to retrieve her trunk.
“I’ve been thinking of it all day, but I don’t want to waste it. Let me sleep on it. Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?”
He raised his eyebrows and glanced at her with a look that made her blush.
“Oh!” said Rinka, as she realized the implication. “I meant—”
“I do. Have somewhere to stay,” he stammered, recovering. “But I’ll see you on the ferry in the morning?” He picked up her trunk and helped her carry it from the rail-wheeler to a high-wheel carrier taxi just outside the station.
“First thing,” she said. “You better be there. I fully intend to use each of my questions.” She greeted the driver and gave him the name of her inn (she was grateful to Alison once again for her detailed instructions), and then she turned to bid Drystan farewell. She looked at her hands awkwardly, somehow not quite able to meet his eye despite the day spent learning about him. “Well, good night,” she said.
She climbed into the little carriage at the back behind the pedal-cycle before he could respond, her heart racing. Drystan backed out of the way as the high-wheel carrier driver began to pull out into the road.
“I’m going to figure it out!” she called after him, unable to resist seeing his face one more time that night.
“I hope you do,” he yelled back. He smiled and waved slowly, and the gesture was so familiar that for a moment Rinka could see him, the real him, standing somewhere grand. But as the taxi turned the corner down the steep slope of Landsend’s high street, he vanished from view, and as quickly as it had come, the image was gone.
Drystan had been honest about at least one thing: there was only one ferry a day from the bustling seaside town of Landsend to Sudport, the southernmost tip of Wilderise, and he was on it. The journey across the narrow Sallin Sea would take all of the day, and the carriage Alison’s beau had hired would take most of the next day to reach its final destination of Herot’s Hollow, the tiny town tucked in the mountains that Rinka would be making her home.
She could not wait, but not just because she’d be seeing Alison again at her destination. A certain mysterious someone had made the journey to get there far more enticing than she’d originally expected.
Rinka carried her great green trunk across the gangway, stopping to help an elderly Halfling gentleman with his cart full of luggage before it crushed him under its weight. Having recently experienced the perils of poor luggage cart handling, she was eager to spare him the experience.
“Oh, thank you, my dear,” he said to her. “I would have been squashed.”
“It’s no trouble at all, sir,” she replied. He gave her a smile with several missing teeth. It was one of the brightest smiles Rinka had ever seen.
From the deck of the ship, Rinka reasoned she could understand why. No one could be unhappy in such a place with such a view.
The sky was clear and blue, completely free of clouds. The morning sun cast long shadows on the bleached plaster of the buildings of Landsend, which were arranged in neat rows like the layers of an elaborate, though somewhat wonky, wedding cake. The small town was alive at the early hour: pedal-cyclists travelling up and down the hills and narrow lanes, families dragging great big umbrellas to a sunny strip of beach where turquoise waves lapped onto the shore.
The air was filled with anticipation, not just for the day that had just begun, but for the season itself, the start of the endless summer days and balmy nights that seemed to both last a lifetime and be over in an instant.
Rinka spotted Drystan on the upper deck, leaning over the railing and gazing out at the sea beyond. He had changed into another shirt to go with his mended trousers, a tan tunic that laced at the collar. It stretched tightly across his broad chest, almost comically too small for him.
Not that Rinka was complaining.
She joined him at the railing just as the ferry got underway, the gentle lurch of the ship into motion causing her to stumble a step back.
He reached out for her, helping her steady herself once more. Gods, his skin was soft.
“Sorry,” she said, trying not to overreact to how nice it felt when he held her with his strong arms. “Believe it or not, I’m not usually this clumsy.”
“Really? That’s a pity. I was rather enjoying coming to your rescue.” Drystan brushed his freshly washed hair behind his ear, which came to a slight point and gave little indication to his heritage. She did like the way he looked with his hair tucked back, but honestly, she was getting nowhere with thoughts like that.
“I’ve figured out my first question,” she said.
“I can’t wait to hear it.”
She could see that was true, and so she drew it out a bit, teasing. “You promise you’ll tell the truth?”
“I promise.” He tapped his fingers on the railing, waiting.
“Alright, if you promise. Here it goes.” His anxious smile was darling. She almost regretted actually asking the question—she could have sat in this moment of anticipation for a while. “Are you someone well known?”
Drystan hesitated, looking around for a moment as if deciding how to answer. “Yes, and no.”
Rinka was displeased with the quality of his response, to say the least. “‘Yes, and no?’ Is that it? That’s hardly an answer. Do you care to elaborate further?”
Drystan chuckled at her indignation. “I didn’t say I would elaborate, but I’ll admit the answer is unsatisfying.” He waited a moment, perhaps seeing if he would get a rise out of her. She did not take the bait, and so he continued. “Yes, I was once. No, I wouldn’t say I am now. Or perhaps I am well known now but seldom discussed. Does that satisfy you?”
“Not even a little,” said Rinka.
What could that possibly mean? Someone once well-known but now rarely thought of. A child star, perhaps? He had said he wasn’t in picture shows, although he hadn’t answered that question under the conditions of their deal, so perhaps it was a lie. But there were also child stars on the stage, although Rinka could rarely afford tickets to the theatre. If he had been a star of the stage rather than the screen, she would never guess who he was.
But even that theory didn’t really work. How would a little-known child star manage to get away with boarding a rail-wheeler without a ticket?
Rather than plying him with further questions for him to dodge expertly and weave around, Rinka resolved to try a different tactic during their time at sea: revealing information about herself in hopes that he would slip up and reveal something about himself in response.
She told him many things as they walked the decks of the ferry together: of growing up in Arcas Dyrne, of the family she loved but also couldn’t wait to leave, of Alison and the flat they had shared together, of Alison’s inheritance and her unexpected attachment to the place and the people, and of the things she would miss in the city.
“Oh, and the plumbing,” she said as the light began to turn to gold. They were sitting together on a bench on the lower deck, now more than halfway to their destination. “Aren’t humans so clever? They say the dwarves are the great inventors, the great industrialists, but it was a human that invented the toilet, and what an invention it was! Oh, but of course you know, since you’re human yourself.”
Drystan’s dark eyes flashed with recognition. Rinka had made a number of similar bids for information throughout the day, but this one did not have an easy escape.
“I’m not human,” he said simply.
“I knew it!” It was only confirmation of something she was already quite certain of, but it felt like a small victory nonetheless.
Rinka looked out onto the open water, searching for her next question, but she was surprised to see there was something out there. “That’s funny,” she said. “It looks like another ship is approaching.”
“What?” said Drystan, on his feet. “Where?”
Rinka pointed. Although she did not yet know what Drystan was, she doubted his eyes were as sensitive to motion as hers. “It’s just there, just near the horizon,” she said. “But it seems to be coming quickly. Or maybe not, I don’t have much experience with sea travel.”
“It’s coming quickly alright,” he replied, squinting off into the distance. His face had lost any trace of joy from the day they had just shared. His body tensed, giving Rinka the distinct impression of a snake preparing to strike.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” she asked. Her voice was small. Frightened.
“Pirates,” he said.
And from seemingly nowhere at all, he drew a sword.