A Place to Sleep

Love is a sad thing. Don’t believe me? We’ve all experienced it: the fear and self-loathing and depression that comes from being slighted, rejected, ignored. It happens in steady relationships when your advances are rebuffed, it happens in budding relationships when the feeling of love is unequal, and it happens at the end of relationships when love breaks.

-Excerpt from “Agnares at Deocides”

I pushed my mug to the center of the table, as I leaned back in my chair. The crowd thinned as night took hold, leaving me mostly alone in the common room. Flames licked at a stack of logs in the hearth, crackling and jumping.

“I wonder if she is finished yet,” I muttered. With a sigh, I pushed myself to unsteady feet. “Guess I won’t know unless I ask.

I stumbled my way upstairs, my head buzzing with the alcohol. My thoughts felt like honey, sweet and thick, as they returned to Elma. Why was I getting involved with her? It was clear she was nothing but trouble, one way or another.

I hesitated in front of my room, then shook my head to clear it and rapped on the door once. “Are you finished bathing?”

A soft thump sounded against the door, then the lock turned and Elma cracked the door. “I’m finished,” Elma said. “But I don’t have anything to wear right now.”

“Right, I didn’t consider that. There’s a bag under the bed with some clothes inside, you can wear whatever you’d like from that for now,” I said, then leaned against the wall by the door. “Just let me know when you’re covered up.”

“Thanks,” she said, closing the door. I heard the lock engage again, and I sighed. She doesn’t trust me, huh? Can’t say I blame her though.

I heard her drag the bag from underneath the bed and start rifling through it. For the first time, I realized how thin the walls were and how well sound carried in the cramped living quarters. Glad I haven’t brought a girl back to my room before now.

A few minutes later, Elma opened the door again, this time letting it swing wide. A strange sense of disconnection washed over me, seeing a woman I had only just met welcoming me into my own room.

She had chosen a blue tunic—a nice piece I had picked up in the city of Relara. It hung loosely past her knees, and she had fastened around her waist with a leather belt. With her hair cleaned and braided, she looked like a different person altogether.

“What are you staring at?” She asked, a mild snap to her words.

“Sorry,” I said, stepping inside.

“Pardon my sloppiness, your pants don’t fit me,” she said. “Anyway, thanks. I wasn’t sure I could afford the launderer.”

I set my lute down by the bed, then collapsed face first onto the mattress, arms spread wide. “I’m so damn tired,” I complained.

“Sorry for taking your room for so long,” Elma said.

“Don’t worry about it,” I rolled onto my back and looked up at her. She fidgeted, rolling a strand of hair between her thumb and forefinger. “Now then. I won’t ask why a noblewoman is wandering town disguised as a maid, but you should consider returning home. You aren’t made to wander the streets.”

She hesitated, then sighed and dropped into a curtsy. “Elma, pleased to make your acquaintance. You caught me red-handed. How did you know?”

“I didn’t until just now,” I said, and sat up.

“You tricked me,” she gasped, eyes going wide.

“Don’t get your skirts in a bunch, I don’t intend to tell anyone or make you do anything. I am curious though, why are you here?”

“None of your business. I’m leaving,” she huffed, spinning to walk away.

“You can leave, but you best return my clothing to me first,” I said with a mischievous smirk.

She stopped walking, back still turned to me, and clenched her fists. After a moment, she took a deep breath and I could see her shoulders visibly relax. “Fine, if you want to know so badly I’ll tell you. My father intends to marry me off to a horrible man, so I fled.”

I let a sigh out, then pulled out my coin purse. Most of my money was stashed away in a false bottom of my lute case, but I pulled out what money I had available. It amounted to one silver and two coppers, roughly enough for a hot meal and a change of clothes, though it would be tight. “Take this,” I said. “Go get yourself something to eat, and then buy a change of clothes tomorrow.”

She turned, a frown plastered across her face. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you helping me?” She asked.

“Does it matter?” I returned the question and shrugged. Then a thought struck me, and I returned the coins to my purse. “Do you have a place to sleep?”

She glanced to the side, crossed her arms, and let out a long sigh. “I see. I was right before, you just want to get me in your bed.”

“Oh shut up and answer the question,” I barked back. “You’ve got some attitude for an otherwise helpless little lamb. You’ve been sleeping on the streets, I bet. And judging by the bags under your eyes, not very well. Just go home, you’re going to end up dead at this rate.”

Her face was red, but I couldn’t tell if it was from anger or embarrassment. She nodded but didn’t speak. Tears welled up in her eyes, and I realized she wasn’t angry—she was scared to spend the night in some back alley, but she stubbornly refused to return home. That meant that whatever awaited her at home was worse than death in her eyes. I let silence stretch between us for several moments, then growled in frustration, and laid back down.

“I can’t afford two rooms, and I’m not about to give up my bed,” I said. “But there are some blankets in that bag that I use while I’m on the road, and the corner by the hearth is warm.”

Her eyes watered up and she hastily rubbed them with the heel of her palm, nodding. “Thank you.”

I shrugged. “Don’t mention it. And don’t steal anything. If you touch my lute I’ll kill you.” I didn’t mean that, of course. If she stole my lute I’d track her down, but I wouldn’t hurt her. However, I’ve found it is best to put the fear of god in people before they mess with you.