I See Faeries

~chapter six~

Man-Horse Tells a Tale

~

We decided to stay at Amity Lodge, a massive building made of thick pine logs and warm red brick. The interior decor reflected its forest surroundings, with chandeliers of polished deer antlers and an excess of natural-looking wooden furniture. Much to my surprise, I loved it.

"Have you been here before?" I asked Dean, as we carried our things upstairs. I didn't have much to carry; just the clothes I'd purchased at the market. Hopefully Roman would still have the knapsack with my things in it when he and Sheba found me again. I couldn't bear to think of losing my book.

"Once or twice." Dean fumbled in his pockets for the room key. "Lovely place, isn't it?"

He finally got the door open, and I suppressed a gasp. "It's beautiful," I murmured, stepping inside. The room was large and well-lit, with two tall windows and a smaller replica of the deer-antler chandeliers from downstairs. A tall, glossy wardrobe stood against one wall, practically begging me to put my new clothes inside. The floor was covered in a thick mosaic of fur carpets, and a beautiful writing desk chiseled from a single massive tree sat beneath one of the windows, looking out over the town. Light from the other window illuminated the biggest piece of furniture in the room; the bed. It was nearly the size of my enormous bed at home, and boasted an excess of pillows to rival my own, and a gorgeous white fur throw laid over the dark brown coverlet.

"Only one bed?" I asked, looking around as if the other one might be hiding.

Dean shrugged, and dropped his dusty saddlebags on the floor. "Most places only provide one bed. You have to bring your own if you want two." He looked at me quizzically, playing dumb. "Why, is there a problem?"

I decided to ignore him, and tried to remember if there had been two beds at the Goosefeather. Had Roman, Sheba, and I all slept peacefully in the same bed? It seemed impossible. But then again, we were all quite exhausted.

"The bathhouse will only be open for another hour," Dean said, interrupting my thoughts. "They have towels there, but you should probably bring your own soap." He made a disgusted face. "All those wrinkly old men and women, washing their armpits and nether regions . . ."

"Unfortunately, I don't have any soap," I sighed.

Dean's eyebrows shot up and nearly disappeared in his hair. "Cassaundra Heathway doesn't have soap?" He asked in disbelief. "My, my - things really have changed." He rummaged in his saddlebags for a moment, before producing a slightly grimy paper package. He tossed it to me. "Luckily for you, I happen to have some."

I peeled away the paper, and scrutinized the soap. It was an off-white color, with a rough surface and lots of little chunks of things inside. It looked homemade. I opened my mouth to ask why he was washing with this garbage, but the look in his eyes stopped me. I closed my mouth.

"Meet you downstairs," he said shortly, and vanished down the hall.

I scooped up the soap and clothes, and hurried downstairs. I had to ask for directions to the bathhouses, and then spent a while trying to distinguish which was the men's and which was the woman's. I saw a man leave the one on the left, so I went into the one on the right. It was mostly empty; the last person inside was an elderly woman, who was just leaving.

Peace and quiet, I thought, as I settled into the heated water. The bathhouses were circular stone buildings built over two warm, shallow pools. Below the bathhouses would be underground rooms where village boys kept hot fires going in the early morning and late evening, to heat the water. It was scented with lavender petals and braziers of incense, and I grew so relaxed as I washed that I nearly fell asleep.