CHAPTER SEVEN #3
Which is fast slipping into day. And the day will bring something I don’t want to imagine, because my use of the word “our” was not out of politeness. I can’t return to Mary now that I’m ruined, though I will have to speak with her—if she’ll agree to speak to someone like me.
My head sinks into my hands as the realization truly hits me. I’m what I always was: a loose woman, a whore; only now, everyone in Society knows it.
Alad’s large hand comes to rest upon my head, offering sympathy.
When I look up at him, he cocks his head in question.
At least he appears human. Maybe I can work with that.
Somehow. For despite my ruin, I feel obligated to take care of a visitor from the past who knows nothing of our ways and can’t speak the language.
I may not have volunteered for the position, but I’ve got it all the same.
“I don’t suppose your pouches are filled with coin enough to buy us a residence somewhere? Or that you would consent to remain indoors, without servants, for the rest of your days unless you continue to appear human?”
A severe look hardens the cut angles and planes of his face, but his eyes hold a golden pool of sympathy.
When the food arrives, two kidney pies, we begin to eat, but after the first forkful, I find I can’t swallow without effort. My appetite has fled despite my hunger, which is ridiculous since this may well be the last meal I shall ever eat.
No. Not the last. It will be fine. Whoring isn’t so bad. It will stave off death for a few months, anyway, before hard living makes me unpalatable.
Alad fills his belly with alacrity, emptying his plate before raising his hand for another.
To no one’s surprise, the barkeep returns with a rasher of sausages, bread, and cheese.
Alad wastes no time downing the food and most of the bottle of wine, which also seems to take him by surprise.
But when he notes I’m not eating, he gently pushes my plate closer to me.
“Ku. I?i?ūman ?u?i.”
“Thank you, but I find myself without appetite. Here. Why don’t you finish this?” I push the plate back at him. Having been jailed in stone for so long, he must require sustenance. Plus, he’s so large.
He hesitates only a moment before making short work of the pie.
When he finishes, sopping up every crumb with his crust of bread before eating that as well, he sits back.
Unsolicited, the barkeep brings him a pitcher of ale.
What my monster thinks of it doesn’t require translation.
His nose wrinkles along with his brows, but he continues to drink and stare at the people in the tavern.
He appears to be listening, though he can’t possibly comprehend what they say.
Suddenly, his gaze rotates back to me. “Dubsar.” He mimes reading a book by flattening one palm and tracing his finger right to left and up and down over the pretend page. Or tablet. The Sumerians used clay tablets. “I. Dubsar.”
“You wish to read a book?”
His brow furrows before he nods. “I read book.”
“To learn the words of my language?”
“To learn the words. No.” On the last word, he crosses his arms in front of his chest.
“Oh, do you mean ‘yes?’ As in, ‘yes, I wish to read the words to learn them?’”
“Yes.” He looks as satisfied as if he’s resolved all the problems of time and space. More words follow in his language, but his gestures are clear. He wishes me to go find him a book.
Fine. Who am I to argue? Not to mention, I could do with some privacy. “Please, stay here. I come back.” Now he has me speaking like an infant.
“I stay here.”
Every misgiving I’ve ever felt is nothing to what I feel leaving him on his own.
However, after a quick conversation with the barkeep, who, it turns out, owns the tavern, I am led upstairs to a private room.
After using the water closet and splashing water over my hands in the attached bathing facility, I return to the bedroom to check for insects and vermin.
Happily, even the bedding appears to be clean.
Also happily, the barkeep returns with an armful of books.
“Here’s everything what’s left, missus. Don’t know how current they be.
Was thinkin’ on sellin’ ‘em, but me mother has a care for words.” He shrugs, his action saying there’s no accounting for the foibles of women.
Among the haul are a bible, a book on native plants, a manual on farming, a gothic novel popular when I was ten, a dictionary so fat I have difficulty with the weight, and several penny dreadfuls.
There’s a wealth of words, much more than I expected to garner when I asked the innkeeper for some reading material.
After a quick finger brush of my hair and a reattachment of the pins holding back the mass in a simple knot, I return to the room below, only to find Alad seated at a large round table in the center of the room.
Six others sit around him, and the rest of the men in the room— there are only men except for a blowsy woman sunk in the corner—gather around in rows two deep.
My monster holds cards, and before him, a pile of chips indicates he must have had another gold coin to wager, also now wasted.
“Alad, what on earth are you doing?” I rush over to him, the gentleman parting the way for me.
“Ooh, now you’re in trouble, lad. From the look of her, your missus is not going to be well pleased you’re wagering and gaming,” someone offers.
Alad responds in a slurry of sounds before he turns my way and greets me with a large smile. More words. From the joyful expression he wears, I can only hope he’s winning at a game he’s never played, one in which he can’t possibly understand the rules.
The ensuing laughter causes my face to heat, but I’m not deterred. “Alad. Gentlemen. My… husband… doesn’t know the rules of the game. He’s foreign, you see. Surely, you wouldn’t in good conscience seek to make a mark of him?”
“Make a mark of him? Why, he’s cleaned us out two hands running,” a brown-haired man gripes.
“A natural,” someone else opines.
Alad folds his cards face down upon the table and grabs for my hand. He brings the back to his lips. The feel of his kiss sends shivers up my spine. “I am a natural.”
“You are a fool.” But the fact he has repeated the words in a grammatically correct fashion gives me pause. “You can’t possibly understand what’s being said.”
A twinkle mars the deceptive placidity of his golden eyes. “I am learning.”
Oh, yes. Yes, he is. Everything in me trembles under his lips as he brushes another kiss across my knuckles. The warm, contented look in his eyes warms me. Yes, he’s learning, and I’m learning, too.
He’s learning what it takes to seduce me, and I’m learning I’m in more danger than I ever suspected.
But is it truly danger if I’m already ruined?