The Bloodbaths | Page 6

work for the printer, and thus more
initial expenditures on stock. Crixus knew from his discussions with
Kharrina that her father had misgivings about the changes to his town.
He waited until he was within hailing distance. "Good evening, Master
Dramonicai," he called. Alman glanced up, finished with his tarps, and
wiped his hands on his apron. Whether it cleaned his hands or dirtied
them more was, by the day's end, debatable. He shook Crixus' hand
with a firm grip.
"Artesi Oraan," he said. "My daughter is storing ink. I trust you're here
to see her." He turned to fetch the girl.
"I'll have printing for you soon, ser, but today you are correct," Crixus
said to the man's retreating back. His prepared small talk would have to
be used tomorrow.
Kharrina skipped out of the back room, all smiles. Her father watched
as she threw her arms around Crixus' neck for a chaste embrace. Crixus
grinned, risking a nuzzle against her cheek, but he kept one eye on
Alman. The man's expression remained neutral, controlled.
"By Lestii, what a welcome," he said. Kharrina kissed his cheek. Her
auburn hair trickled beneath an ink-stained rag tied around her head.
Kharrina shared a slender frame and square jaw with her father, but her
mother's fine features softened the effect to an exquisite balance. Even
after a dirty day's work, her natural beauty shined through the ink and
grease.
"That's not just for you, goose! It's closing time. Father," she said,
turning, "the ink is packed up. Unless you want me to help with the
sweeping..." She let her voice trail off, giving her father no leeway.
The old man allowed a smile to creep through. "After the mess you
made, I should think I'd be better off sweeping alone." She stuck her

tongue out. "Go, young lady. Your friend is only in town for a few
more days."
"Thank you, ser," Crixus said. "I'll take your daughter to the baths and
clean her up."
"A wise choice," The man said without expression. "Off you go."
"To the baths!" Kharrina exclaimed, taking Crixus by the arm and
dragging him down the street. He managed to wave goodbye to Alman,
who returned the wave coolly.
"I appear to have sprung a prisoner from jail," he said when the printing
house was out of sight.
"You have," she groaned. "'Sunlight is the printer's light,' Father says.
Up with the sun, close with the sun."
"'If it was fun, you wouldn't get paid for it,' is what my father would
say, after turning his son into a bent-backed cripple with a day of
hauling terracotta." Crixus aped a hunchback, making her titter. "The
worst thing about my trade is that no matter how much arcane
knowledge you master, you always have to carry something heavy."
Crixus bought apples at a nearby booth. They crunched the sweet fruit,
savoring the tooth-cleansing quality with anticipation. It was a game
for them, one with a delightful denouement: they tossed the apple cores
into the gutter, nestled against the corner of a building, and kissed. He
had been looking forward to that kiss all day, and judging from
Kharrina's passion, so had she. She pressed against him on tip-toe and
opened her apple-sweetened mouth to him. He felt her heartbeat against
his chest, her small breasts through her smock, her strong arms
gripping his neck.
This is Restia, he thought. My new home.
She broke the kiss and gasped for air. "What was that about the baths?"

"Well, I thought we could celebrate today with a trip to the baths, then
a stout meal, then..." He grinned at her. She grinned back. Kharrina was
not shy.
"What are we celebrating?" She started them down the cobblestone
street again.
"Nothing, actually." He chuckled. "Stada brought in a water shaman to
interfere with our scouting. The Water Guild has little power here, it
appears. I lost that battle."
"Oh dear." She squeezed his hand. "But isn't a blessing from the spirits
important?"
"I suppose, though I've never seen evidence one way or another that it
makes a sprig of difference." Crixus frowned, remembering the
quivering dowsing rod.
He guided her around a puddle of sewage. An overhaul of the
wastewater management would be on his list of proposals for the city
elders before Restia became the reeking sewer that Greater Rond was.
"But I suspect the water spirits are happiest in actual water, not rock as
dry as a grandmother's nether regions."
She punched him on the arm. "Crixus!"
Crixus snickered. "I'm teasing. But I stood over a perfectly good spring,
on the other side of the hill, while the old fool poured sestrices into that
swindler's purse. Next time I look for water, I'm