The Moon Jar

02 | CHAPTER

DETLEF HATED THE IDEA of asking for Lord Eyre's assistance for the second time in the same week, but he wouldn't let his pride outweigh the pleas of somebody who needed help. Although he had a disdain for royals, he knew that Lord Eyre was a headache at worst—not the evil he knew back in his homeland.

Myra and Detlef found themselves the patrons of a local tavern while awaiting the presence of Lord Eyre. Detlef's qualms were not necessarily with this kingdom, but being in a palace still turned his stomach sour. He much more appreciated the locals and their foibles over the pretentious and perfumed Lords and Ladies. Myra certainly seemed to be more comfortable as well, taking in every detail around her as if she were just a babe.

The alehouse was clean and peaceful with scattered guests and mostly empty seats. The windows were so compact that only an inconsequential amount of light was able to find its way inside, making the lit lamps hanging from the walls necessary at all times. Also plastered about the panels were countless banners that donned the insignia of the kingdoms and countries from around the world.

Myra greedily sucked down her ale, a froth was left thick around her mouth. She licked and smacked her lips before pointing to another banner, "Oh, do tell me the name of that kingdom! The one with the plum badger!"

"I don't think I know that one," Detlef eyed the door for the Lord, but to no avail. Myra's questions were endearing at first, but now he was feeling a bit short. They sat at a small table away from the bar to avoid any questioning eyes that might have come from Myra's odd behavior.

A stout lady made her way to the pair, her dark hair was pulled back from her face; which had an inviting smile on it. She refilled their mugs while Myra stared wide-eyed at the woman's bust. Her bosom was squished so high against her décolleté that the tops wobbled when she walked. Detlef felt his ears turn hot as he eyed Myra incredulously. He quickly and politely thanked and dismissed the barmaid. The woman gave a half curtsy and began to walk away before Myra blurted, "Ma'am!"

Detlef's cheeks threatened to turn pink as he tried to stop Myra, but she would not be silenced.

"Yes, dearie?" The barmaid turned and smiled at Myra. Myra grabbed the top of her own dress, pulling it down slightly.

"Please tell me what you think of—" Detlef lunged forward, grabbing Myra's hand and stopping her.

"That's all ma'am, we're just fine!" He waived the woman off hurriedly. The woman shot a quick look to the pair before giving a slight nod and hurrying back to the bar.

"What in the hell are you doing?" Detlef released his grip on Myra's hand.

"What? I just wanted to ask if she knew what this curse mark was," Myra replied, her eyebrows knitted.

"Well, that's even worse than what I thought you were doing!" He rubbed his forehead and sighed, "You can't just go about tellin' regular folk that you're cursed, you're gonna get yourself kicked out of every where you go. People don't want no trouble."

"Wouldn't it be wise for them to know they may, in fact, be in trouble? We don't even know where I came from. A warning might be nice. Besides, you knew I was cursed and you're sticking around."

"Little lady, I am not a regular folk. I am a veteran adventurer who has seen many corners of Erus and her seas," Detlef huffed.

"And I am his trusted companion!" Lord Eyre touted, clamping a hand down heartily on Detlef's shoulder. Detlef grunted, damning the tavern's redolence for masking the Lord's bouquet of aroma.

Myra clapped her hands together, smiling wide, "So, you decided to help us after all, my Lord!"

"Of course, but please, call me Eyre. I have never been one to turn down a chance to solve a mystery—or embark on an adventure!" The man placed a small stack of books on the table before taking his seat.

"You have never embarked on an adventure," Detlef stretched the words, shooting Eyre a hot glare.

"Not yet, dear Detlef, because you refuse to take me," Eyre gave an ornery smile to the pair before shuffling through his books, "And, I dare say, if resilience won't work on you then maybe pestilence will."

    Detlef gave a loud scoff, "Please tell me what the difference is?"

    Eyre forced a smile through his closed lips at the brute before moving his attention to Myra, "My dear, may I take a look at that mark? I'm hoping to find the symbol in one of these books on curses and enchantments."

    Myra obliged, remembering what Detlef said about keeping the curse mark in secrecy, she leaned in close to Eyre; exposing her shoulder. He studied the mark for a moment before nodding.

    "Thank you, ma'am. My dear Detlef says you can't remember a thing, not even your name, so he's given you the name of a dead pet," Eyre shook his head solemnly.

    "I quite like the name Myra. It's grown on me," She readjusted the neck of her dress.

    "You've had it for less than a day," Detlef grunted.

    "And still it grows!" Myra threw her hands in the air for emphasis before turning to Eyre, "Tell me how someone like you got tangled up with an old grouchy man like him?"

    "I've been trying to get tangled up with my dear Detlef here," Eyre chuckled while he flipped through the pages of one of the books, "We actually met here in this tavern while I was on message duty for my family. I was utterly enthralled by a tale our friend here was telling that night. It seemed he had a bit too much ale and was feeling chatty. I yearned so very much to go on my own adventure. No matter how many times I've tried, he always refuses my company for any mission. As fate would tell, I am only a Lord by title."

    "—And by nature and stature," Detlef laughed, downing the rest of his drink.

    "That we shall see. Ah, here we are," Eyre stopped flipping through the pages and spread the book wide, setting his index finger on the page, "Part Three: Curse Marks."

    Myra eyed the pages, "Well, I can still read."

    "Fantastic," Eyre replied as he slowly turned the pages so the trio could study each one, scanning for Myra's curse mark. He turned one page, then another, then another.

    "Where is it, boy?" Detlef grinned, "Can't find it in your fancy books?"

    "It's just where I chose to start, my dear Detlef,"

    "Or maybe it's because you're too afraid of foot work?"

    "On the contrary, I've been begging for foot work," Eyre didn't remove his eyes from the book, finally turning to the last page before shutting it.

    Myra sank in her chair, "So, now what?"

    Detlef gave a cocky smirk, "We must go to the guilds and question other adventurers. Some information isn't written by the scribes. Thank you for your troubles, my Lord, but that is all we will be needing from you."

    Eyre pursed his lips before Myra interjected, "I want the royal to accompany us."

    "What?" The pair of men asked simultaneously, "Absolutely not," the brute finished.

    "Why not? I want him to come. He seems smart and he smells nice! Perhaps he'll share his perfume with me, I don't have any." Myra crossed her arms, refusing to budge from her position.

    Eyre eyed Detlef hopefully. Detlef knew how afraid the young woman must be with no memory, even if she didn't show it, and if Eyre tagging along eased her fear some—then so be it. The brute could already feel the headache coming on before letting out a loud sigh of defeat, "Fine."

    Eyre and Myra smiled wide at each other, all of the sudden becoming giddy like children. Detlef immediately regretted his decision, calling the barmaid back over so he could order more ale. He was going to need it.

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