The Faintest Ink (Watty Winner 2015)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

John wasn't a big fan of pissing in the woods. For one it was dark, which tended to up the odds of getting wet feet. And then there was the question of vulnerability. There was something about having your trouser buttons undone that made every small movement between the trees seem like a stranger intent on murder most foul.

He finished his business as quickly as he could, and buttoned himself back up.

He didn't mind being on the road so much, not any more. It had been hard in the beginning, when he had first arrived in Serrador. His clothes had been all wrong. Those fancy new boots he'd been so proud of when he'd swaggered out of the shop wearing them, were leaking water within a day and lost a sole before the month was out. But he'd learnt, and adapted. He never thought he'd be wandering the moors wearing moleskin trousers and a cloak, but then catching fairies for trade hadn't been something he'd expected out of his career path either.

He stomped his feet and curled his shoulders round so that the cloak fell back into place. While the night air had cooled, there was no hint of a chill in the air, but John had learnt that cloaks were best kept on at night. It was no use getting sick while out on the road. You might as well dig your own grave while you still had the energy to hold a spade. He sniffed and gave the woods a cursory once over. There were no tell-tale glowing orbs bobbing between the trees. He'd find no fairies that night.

Right then. He turned and trudged back the way he had come, stomping around so that the birds in the trees fled ahead of him. He'd set up camp fifty yards or so from the woods, preferring to sleep out in the open when the skies were clear. The creaking of the trees at night was something he preferred not to let hound his dreams at night, and there was something about lying under a blanket of bright stars which made him feel as if his endless travelling was heading in some sort of direction.

He bent a few times, picking up twigs and broken sticks, tucking them under his arm as he went. Not nearly as many as he would need to keep the fire going all night, but enough to keep him company until sleep took hold. Soon the woods thinned out, until there was little left but a holly bush and yards of brambles.

There was his fire glowing ahead of him, a comforting sight if ever there was one. After spending the best part of an hour getting it going, heading into the woods to take care of business (both financial and functional) was always a bit of a worry. Too many times he'd returned to see his efforts lost in ashes and he'd have to spend the rest of the night shivering in the cold. At least he usually had a few fairy lights to chase away the worst of the darkness, but he'd sold his last ones and by the looks of it, fairies were few and far between this side of the moor.

As he'd walked south, desolate landscapes had transformed into fields and meadows. Whereas a few day's back he'd kept the company of windswept ponies who clung to the barren land with their short legs, now there were sheep and goats. He'd stumbled into a field of cabbages the day before, and managed to stuff four into his bag and three down his shirt before a farmhand raised the alarm. He'd eaten the first one raw, which hadn't been much fun, but tonight he was going to have the second with spit-roast rabbit and the wild-garlic he'd found in the woods. He was rather looking forward to it.

But as the shadows of the trees retreated behind him, he realised that something was wrong. The fire was burning cheerfully enough, but the flames were low and lazy - not bothering to jump and reach for the meat hanging above just out of their reach. As he drew closer, he saw the reason. There was no meat. Not even a rabbit's foot. His shoulders slumped. It served him right, making off to the forest to score a few coins' worth of fairies, and leaving his dinner unattended. Some hungry beast had made off with it. Except they hadn't.

Slumped in front of the fire, curled up like a puppy, was a woman.

He stood, watching her, unsure how to proceed.

He'd shared his camp-fire often enough with fellow travellers. but usually they had the politeness to ask first. They didn't tend to eat an entire rabbit of his either.

And this was no starving peasant, he though, eyeing her with a tradesman's gaze. Her dress, though in need of a good wash, was made of a smooth dark wool which must be worth a gold coin or three. The face too, had been finely drawn. The delicate features were unmarred by the sun, and even the lack of a comb could not conceal the rich curls that had clearly been used to a daily routine of silken oils. This was not a creature who had worked in the fields this summer or any other.

Whoever this was, she was worth a fair bit of money, and given the state of her currently, was a person that someone was no doubt willing to pay a good deal of money to get her back.

He looked around, scanning the horizon for any irate husbands. Nothing.

Well, he'd be damned if he got into any aristocratic mess for the sake of a runaway. Rich girls were bad enough. The beautiful ones were even worse. Not that he knew much about them, but he could guess well enough.

With the toe of his boot, he gave her a light prod in the back.

The woman parted her lips and let out a small sound, before wriggling back to sleep.

John counted to ten before trying again. A little harder this time.

A hand emerged and applied itself to the sleeper's nose, rubbing it with the back of her fingers like a cat grooming itself, before disappearing again.

John looked at the stars for a moment. Thanks to his visitor, it looked like cold cabbage again for dinner. He was in no mood to be kind. He threw his haul of kinglind to the ground, hoping the sound might wake her. No such luck. Psyching himself up, he grabbed the girl by the neck of her gown, and pulled her up into a sitting position. She made an unconscious flail towards him. He shook her. "Come on, miss. Time to wake up." After some brief consideration, he gave her a light slap across the cheek. Her face scrunched up unattractively, and her eyes fluttered open. She squinted at him, and then, she screamed.

John swore under his breath and reached out to cover her mouth with his hand, hoping to still the excruciating sound. He soon sprang back as she bit him.

"For god's sake," he hissed, nursing his hand. She crawled back, her eyes huge and dark in the firelight.

He waggled his arm, trying to shake the pain off. That girl had bloody sharp teeth.

Angling the injured hand towards the fire he could see a neat line of tooth marks across the ball of his thumb. From behind him he could hear the girl whispering something. Fear and anger combined to make her sound like a trapped animal, the words tumbling out without meaning. He ignored her.

"You and me both," he said. From under his cloak he brought out a small flask, and removing the stopper with his own teeth, he poured the contents over the wound. It stung like hell, but that was better than catching any diseases rich girl over there might have. Who knows what she might have picked up while coddled in a stinking castle. That done, he blew on the wound to cool it. It didn't help much.

"Right then," he said, finally able to cope with the next problem on his list. He turned around, ready to find out how big a pile of shit he'd be in if he let the girl sleep in his camp for the night. He stopped, frowning. She was gone. "Ah," he said to the world at large. "Fine then."

Throwing down his bag he settled himself down by the fire and prodded it with one of his discarded sticks. It was for the best. She'd clearly been a bit barmy. And a thief. He wasn't going to forget that rabbit in a hurry.

Pulling one of the cabbages free, he tore it in half and lay it down next to the flames. If he had any luck, it would crisp up nicely. Bit of wild garlic between the leaves and it wouldn't be so bad. Things were looking up. But that didn't stop his gaze travelling towards the woods every few minutes. He'd met enough witches over the past few years to know what a curse sounded like, and he really hadn't liked the sound of his visitor.