The Severis Tales 5: Eggs

The Severis Tales

5: Eggs

©2019.10 Patrick Rivers

Maven Kalflar arrived at the east end of Barlett in the early afternoon of the fourteenth of Jalis, 1104. It was a warm winter day, a day that was god-sent compared to the harsh winter storms that plagued all of Caldore during Erandor and the turn of the new year. The sky was overcast, and the weather was warm. The horse and the cart she drove from Camden, the large county in South Caldore and lowest area of the country, was reasonably behaved given the conditions.

Maven is a bipedal dragon, or biped. Bipedal dragons are the closest in relation to their ancestral dragon counterparts; however, they are mammal-like in their body functions as well as in their physical features. Ninety percent or more of their genetic makeup is reptilian. In Maven’s case, she has all the features you would find on a typical fantasy dragon: almond-shaped eyes, which are blue; horns on her head, which are curved up with a slight backward bend; scale-like skin across her body, which is blue and soft; a wiggly tail; and, of course, a set of fully-functioning wings for flight. Of her mammal side, Maven has long, thick, black hair. She likes to keep it tucked in a cloche-like hat and wear elvish-styled dresses, complete with hooks and cut-outs to fit her wings and tail.

Maven is a successful woman down in Camden County, in the city of Richmond, to be precise. Growing up in the northeast county of Rale, she had done what many in the poor and impoverished and run-down towns did to survive: turn to crime and other unorthodox means just to stay alive. She held onto a dream that she could escape that life with her best friend, Milakkalos “Mila” Daruginna, and become someone important.

Many years later, it happened: Maven is the proud owner of Kalflar Farms, a company she founded on her love of preserved foods. She has ventured up north to begin an expansion of her company in the hopes of finding a buyer for her foodstuffs; and correspondence between another figure has led her to come to Barlett.

Maven and Mila had not seen each other in twenty years. When Mila had the opportunity to leave, Maven supported her. Mila joined a caravan traveling toward the western prairie counties, stopping in Marius County along the way. Maven herself continued to travel around, when, several years later, she would be given an opportunity to travel south for an apprenticeship, an option she took with great pride. That was ten years ago. Five years later, she became the proprietor of her own company, selling preserved foodstuffs enjoyed by many pub patrons and shop customers throughout South Caldore.

#

Maven rolled up her horse and buggy to a building with a large triangular roof on the eastern edge of town. It was the sort of building you would find in the outlying rural areas, or, in the middle of nowhere. It looked a little run-down and in need of repair. It would be like any other building if it were not for the large blue sign above the front door that had a large white question mark painted in the middle of it. Below the question mark was a sign that read “Information Centre.” It is one of the typical Caldore Government-instituted buildings to service tourists and travelers who are looking for information about the town they have come to.

The bell rang at the top of the door as Maven walked in.

“Good morning,” said the clerk sitting behind the desk. “Welcome to Barlett! How can I help you today?”

Maven waddled up to the small desk. She noticed the neatly folded brochures, other pamphlets on a nearby counter, then the large map of Barlett on the wall. “I just came in from a long ride from Camden,” she said, keeping her gaze on the map. “Could you please tell me where the Barlett Inn is?”

The clerk moved out from her desk, and using her finger, drew imaginary lines along the map showing her the route from the Information Centre, “Turn onto Main Road here, and here, and then here. Barlett Inn is the premier lodging for many travelers, with excellent food and bedding,” she said in her forced courteous and professional tone.

“Great,” said Maven, nodding appreciatively. However excellent that was, she was not going to sell product to just one place. She has been in contact with that one shopkeeper, and she was keen to meet the person, but she is looking for more interested parties. Business was purely on her mind–so, she followed up with, “Is there any other places for food and drink?”

“There is indeed,” said the clerk. “The east end has many shops, most notably on Ash Street is Severis General Goods,” The clerk showed Maven on the map how to get to it. She continued on, saying, “Further down the road on the same street is Mila’s pub, an establishment that serves various drink and food, and-“

“Stop right there,” said Maven, suddenly giddy. “Did you say Mila?”

The clerk nodded. “Mila Daruginna runs it. Coffee, ale, great pub grub. Fine lady, if you ask me,” she said.

Maven’s eyes grew large. After twenty years? Oh my god, I might wet myself, she thought. I…I don’t know what to say!

The clerk nudged her seemingly petrified body. “Hey, are you alright?” she asked.

“Yes, I’m fine–and yes, she is a great lady, indeed!” said Maven. She took a copy of the map from the display and raced out the door, yelling “Thanks a bunch!” on her way out.

The clerk waved to Maven as the door closed. “Anytime.”

It was clear the Information Centre does not get many visitors, and Maven’s brief appearance gave the clerk a small amount of joy. It was over all too soon, however, and the sombre mood returned to her. The clerk lumbered back into her chair at the desk, put her feet up, and continued reading her newspaper she had just finished reading a moment ago.

#

Maven’s heart pumped all day. She was fluttering with anxiety since hearing Mila’s name at the Information Centre. Her tail wagged uncontrollably, and her wings fluttered on their own. The bellboy at the Barlett Inn asked her multiple times if everything was alright. The receptionist did the same on her way out into town. It was such an unexpected turn of events for her: a reunion of long, lost friends. This trip was supposed to be all business, but she had friendship competing for first place in her mind.

Instead of taking her stabled horse, Maven took a horse taxi to the east end straight to Mila’s pub. She became annoyed at the taxi driver when he too asked if anything was wrong. She simply paid him, with a fifty-cent tip, gave him a courteous thanks, and departed the carriage.

Before she knew it, she was on the raised porch and facing the large oak door. She stared at it for several seconds; and as she put her hand on the handle, began to have reservations. Come on, Maven–you can do this, she thought nervously. Twenty years is a long time, and she had no idea how Mila would react. Bravely, she entered the pub.

It was astonishingly busy. The smell of alcohol and coffee wafted through the decorated interiors and painted posts. Booths and tables lined the sides of the windows. Various tables and stools were scattered across the large floor, host to many patrons, tall and short, elf and bipedal, young and old. This was her friend’s business. It made her smile. It made her feel warm inside. It was that type of warmness you feel when you know that everything had turned out alright.

The bar spanned a large section of the back wall, with the till near the right wall. Ahead of her, the bar turned a corner and continued down, where a hallway with toilets and other facilities continued on. Redge, Mila’s cook and trusted person to run the pub on her absence, stood with his back away from Maven. As she approached, Redge disappeared, and Mila suddenly showed up in his place. She was drying pint glasses and putting them on a large tray on the back counter. Maven stopped, breathed in, approached the bar, sat down on the stool right behind Mila, and waited.

Mila heard someone’s throat clear. She turned around, and she was about to tell them to go down to the till to order, when her eyes locked onto Maven’s heartfelt blue almond-shaped eyes.

“Hello, Mila,” said Maven, croaking with emotion.

Mila gasped with shock. She dropped the pint glass from her hand, which shattered into a thousand pieces on the wooden floor. Her light grey face turned white with disbelief, and her eyes welled up with tears. “Oh my god,” she cried. “It’s really you. It’s really you!” She dropped her towel onto the counter, and ran down the length of the bar, nearly pushing her waiter, Tom, over the countertop. She flipped up the counter door and rushed out down the other end. “Maven Kalflar!” she sang, hugging her best friend as tight as she could.

“Milakkalos Daruginna,” replied Maven, welling up herself. “I’m so glad! I just am so glad!”

“What are you doing here? What the hell have you been doing these past twenty years?” asked Mila.

“It’s a long story,” said Maven, sitting down on the stool. “I’m the owner of a preserved food company coming to expand up north. I have a contact in Barlett I came to see. I was not expecting to hear your name; so, I came here,” She looked around at Mila’s own accomplishments. “So, I see you’ve done yourself good as well. Very good!”

“Ten years running,” said Mila. Instead of running around again, she slid over the top of the bar, carefully avoiding the shards of glass on the floor. “I finally found a thing I’m good at. I’ve become a good person,” she said while sweeping up the glass on the floor and disposing it into a garbage bin.

The two talked for what seemed like ages, picking up from where they left off two decades ago. They exchanged exciting stories of random encounters: Mila told Maven about some of Caldore’s famous people visiting the pub, and the ones she threw out, while Maven talked about leaving Rale and her apprenticeship in Camden.

At some point in the evening, Xiveer Severis and Franklin “Jok” Ferguson–Xiveer’s best friend and next-door farmer–came into the pub for a drink. They sat down at their usual spot at the corner of the bar straight ahead of the door, while talking about their own home in Providence Bay.

Since Franklin returned a few days ago from his winter holiday, Xiveer tried to tell him about mucking up his shed. He wanted to apologize to him, but he couldn’t say it. That, or he could not find the words to describe the horrific scene that unfolded when those winter geese bit into his nether regions. As he sat down on the stool, he ended the topic with “At least Larry had a blast. Gave him some insight.”

Mila came up them. “Oh god, it’s the clown and the klutz,” she said sarcastically, scowling at them with her hands on her hips. “I suppose you want something to drink, eh?”

“No, we just wanted to sit at the bar and watch everyone else’s life unfold,” said Xiveer, believing himself to be witty.

Then, Xiveer heard a voice he had not heard in ages–eight years to be precise. It was a voice that not only startled him, but also reminded him of an ordeal most unsettling.

Maven cocked her head forward past the post to see, and her jaw dropped. “This cannot be true! The gods cannot be serious!” she said with elation.

Xiveer blinked. “Maven? Is that you?” he said.

“For heaven’s sake–you two know each other?” said Mila, completely taken back by it. Maven had not mentioned him specifically in the entire time they talked.

“She came to my rescue eight years ago. I never thought I’d actually see you again. This is a real turn-up for the books, ain’t it?” said Xiveer.

Franklin looked at him quizzically. “You never mentioned this before. Come on–let it out,” he said.

Xiveer began by scratching the hair behind his horns, then told the story. Eight years ago, he was traveling to Tonton County to pick up some items that, for some reason, could not be delivered to the shop. The weather turned nasty, and he was forced to stop in Rale County, a place he knew, as a former traveling merchant, was dangerous. Since Mila left Rale, many improvements have been made to the quality of life there, but crime was still a problem. Unfortunate for Xiveer, he encountered Jergen Pret, who was known as a ganger. In the northeast, a ganger is a slang term for a bully-like person who tries to shake money or food out of victims, or “clients,” if you will. They are like a loan shark of sorts, resorting to bullying tactics to get what they want.

He was minding his own business, drinking at a corner table, when Jergen Pret came in through the door. He went up to the bar and pestered patrons that owed him whatever money they had, which was very little in those days. They were half-dragons, and Jergen himself was no fan of bipeds or hybrids. After a few racial slurs and threats, Xiveer had enough. In all the stupid things he has done in his life, picking a fight with a ganger had to be among the dumbest. He was about to have a painful death.

But then, an angel with actual wings arrived. Sitting in the opposite corner of the room was the young, impressionable Maven Kalflar, who felt compelled to come back to visit her family during her apprenticeship. She intervened; and that day, both Jergen and Xiveer learned the deceiving strength a bipedal dragon carries. She flattened Jergen like a pancake. Before he and his “colleagues” could react, Xiveer and Maven bolted out the pub, and rode dangerously through the stormy weather into Tonton County, into safety. They parted, never knowing each other’s surnames, and that was the last time they saw each other, until today.

“That’s quite a story,” said Franklin, sipping his beer. “Does Leena know about this?”

“No!” shouted Xiveer suddenly.

“But, why?” asked Franklin.

Xiveer couldn’t think of a reason. In fact, he made up an alternate telling of the events. He was too frightened of Leena’s reaction if she had known the truth. He spun a tale in place of the real one, and that was that.

“Leena? Who is Leena?” asked Maven.

“Leena my wife, Leena Severis,” said Xiveer.

Maven stroked her chin. “So, you’re Xiveer Severis, then? You are Xiveer Severis of Severis General Goods?” she asked.

Xiveer nodded. “Yup.”

She looked at him right in the eyes. “You owe a damn pint!”

“Fair enough,” said Xiveer, laughing. “What will it be, my lady?”

Maven looked over at the end of the bar, checking each label on the beer taps. “Nor’easter Drake,” said Maven.

Franklin raised an eyebrow. “That stuff ain’t for the faint of heart. A surprising choice,” he said.

“I’m more surprised that you two aren’t married,” said Maven, pointing at Xiveer and Mila, respectively.

Franklin just had to turn his head to avoid laughing directly into Xiveer’s face.

Xiveer himself simply shrugged, nodding with agreement.

“You must be joked!” Mila said in surprise. “I wouldn’t marry him within a month of weekends!”

While she went off to pour what would be Maven’s third pint, another patron entered the pub. He was a big, burly man, with a furry white coat with patches along the arms. He is a sailor on a ship that is in overlay at the west end docks for a few days while a storm passes over Lake Winlan, the large body of water that cuts deep into Caldore, serving many ports of call along the mainland as well as the maritime provinces. His hair was off-white and ragged with a matching weather-beaten face, a face has seen the face of battle in an arena of sea and ice, and storm.

The man, innocently enough, went and ordered a pint at the till, retreating to a quiet corner of the pub, and drank in silence. About half an hour or so later, he got up, and made his way to the door, catching a glimpse in his eye of two familiar figures sitting at the bar. Suddenly, his heart raced, and he began to sweat. What are they doing here? Are they after me, after all these years?

The man was Jergen Pret, and he immediately recognized them both. He had tried to escape the life in Rale County, but his unruly infamy that he became known for followed him throughout the years, trapping him forever in an endless depression that made him prone to drink. The sight of both Xiveer and Maven triggered in him a relapse, of which he had not had in many years, and it sent him into a sharp downward spiral. He bolted out the door and ran aimlessly down Ash Street to somewhere unknown.

Meanwhile, Maven told Xiveer about her mission in Barlett. His interest piqued almost immediately. She refused to tell them what was on offer, but she was looking for a common place to debate with her prospective buyers and award the magic contract that would secure her first northern distribution. Mila suggested the pub would be a great place–partly, because Maven is a friend, and would say no otherwise; but mainly, because, like Xiveer, she wanted to know more about Maven’s mystery preserved food.

But it was getting dark. The reunion was over, and Maven had to leave. “Well, I can’t tell you how pleased I am to see you both. I must be going, but I will be back tomorrow at four o’clock in the afternoon,” she said. Maven tipped her hat to them and turned to leave.

“Maven,” said Mila with a flat smile on her face.

She turned around. “Yes?”

“It’s good to see you again.”

Maven smiled and turned around. Before leaving, she did a wiggle of her tail, and she flicked her wings out. Free of her nerves, she left the pub on a high note.

The friendly physical gesture turned Mila’s face from light grey to tomato red. Clearly, she was either embarrassed, or she was blushing from some sort of attraction. Mila knew full well it was embarrassment.

Xiveer laughed. “Now that was interesting. You two get up to something back in the day?” he asked coyly.

Mila threw a peanut at him. “Oh, shut up,” she shouted, going back to her bar tending duties.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” said Franklin, putting his cap back on. “Leena’s gonna flip if we aren’t at dinner in time,”

Mila glanced at them as they passed through the door. What a pair, those two, she thought, disappearing into the back.

#

---

Xiveer arrived at Mila’s pub the next day and waited for all the parties to arrive for four o’clock. He had told Leena about Maven’s proposals during dinner, and now, she is joining him too. They waited, becoming increasingly impatient. As the seconds ticked by on the old grandfather clock against the wall by the bar, it was clear that no other parties would be coming.

This, however, did not dissuade Maven from her task. She had record books, papers with homework on all the businesses she encountered, including Mila’s, and a mysterious long pine box with the goods inside. She set up at a large round table in the middle of the pub, a location where everyone would see them; a location that surely would interest patrons in the pub after she pries open the lid of her mysterious wooden box for all to see.

Mila was behind the bar talking to Redge the cook, once again drying off pint glasses with a clean towel. She noted to him how preoccupied Maven seemed with her work. She seemed faint at the notion that, even though twenty years had passed, Maven would still be more of a friend now they have found each other.

“Well, it is twenty years. People do change,” said Redge.

“I know that, but it just seems so distant compared to yesterday. That is, the sudden shock and all the talking. Now, it’s just down to mostly business,” said Mila, pouting.

Then, the door opened. A rather portly man in a tweed cap, tweed blazer, tweed pants, a brown vest, white shirt, and brown tie came into pub. Said person was wearing a large green coat over top the items. The mysterious man seemed shifty. He kept looking to the left and the right and keeping his head down from view of the faces of the others.

Mila’s interest piqued. “Oh, here we go. This must be Maven’s contact,” she said.

It was only when the man removed his green coat, placing it on the moose antler coat rack to the side of the entrance did Mila’s jaw drop at the reveal. It was astonishing. She never thought she would live to see the day when Brackneed Vendyor–the Severises arrogant and selfish archrival and owner of the posh west end general store, Brackneed’s–walks into her establishment. It was such a shock; she dropped the pint glass from her hand. “What the f…?” she croaked.

Redge, rather thoughtfully, anticipated it, and caught the pint glass before it hit the floor.

Xiveer was talking to Leena when he caught glimpse of Brackneed. His eyes went wide open, and he gasped, shouting, “What the hell?”

Leena looked to her side as Brackneed joined them at the table. She sighed with disgust. “Of course, it would be you,” she said ungraciously.

“Good afternoon,” said Brackneed in a low voice. It was a voice of extreme shyness. He fidgeted about like an absent-minded child.

“No, seriously–what the hell?” said Xiveer again. He started laughing, commenting on Brackneed’s choice of outerwear. He had never seen him before in anything other than his trademark black cape, black suit, and black top hat. This really was something else. Xiveer tugged at Brackneed’s tweed blazer. “When did you have anything like this in your wardrobe?” he said, chuckling.

“I have other clothes as well, you know?” said Brackneed, pulling himself away from Xiveer’s fingers. “You just never see me in them.”

Mila ran up to Brackneed. “Well, well. Finally accepted us losers in the east end?” she said, laughing. “I’m going to buy you a pint. On the house,” She turned to Maven. “How the hell did you get him in here?” she asked.

Maven lifted her hat ever so slightly. “I have that effect,” she simply said.

“Right,” Mila said slowly. She looked at her friend as if she understood, but at the same time, did not. “I’ll be right back,” she then said, fetching Brackneed’s beer.

“Now that everyone is here…” said Maven, rubbing her soft hands together. She pried open the lid of the mysterious box; and as everyone gasped with awe and anticipation, she lifted the object out of the box.

“Oh,” said Brackneed, slightly defeated by the sight.

“They’re eggs,” said Leena. “Just a jar of pickled eggs.”

“Yes, they are,” said Maven. She pried down the wire cages from both sides of the jar, releasing the large seal in the lid. “I present to you, open to contract, Kalflar Farms Pickled Eggs,” she said with a smile, lifting the lid from the jar.

The smell of the brine escaped the confines of the heavy glass jar, floating its way into the noses of those around the table. The smell of each herb and spice packed into the flavourful yet salty brine mixed with the air of the pub, creating a bouquet of preserved beauty that put a sudden hungry smile across all their faces. Pub patrons around the table glanced over with interest. These weren’t just the smell of normal pickled eggs. These were the smell of Kalflar Farms pickled eggs, and they were special.

They all sniffed the jar. From Redge’s view behind the bar, it looked as if they were taking turns sniffing fumes. They were so into the smell of the brine and the eggs, they almost forgot that they were making a deal to sell the food in the first place. Was it really that interesting? Surely, he thought, surely, they’re just eggs!

Brackneed’s opinion was soon changed. He sat up on the stool, staring into the light brown ale-like brine. It was a secret mixture of garlic and thyme, dill weed and other herbs he could not visually identify. “They say the smell is what makes food taste great,” he said, rubbing his hands. “Give me an egg. I want to try an egg.”

“Us as well,” Leena said.

Then, Mila sat down on a stool with Brackneed’s pint. “Come on, dish ’em up,” she said. Mila knew that whatever Maven was selling, it was bound to be good; and as she serves basic pub food to go with alcohol, these magical pickled eggs indeed would be the smash hit to make her business very popular.

Maven obliged. With each dip of the tongs, she passed one egg to Mila, one to Brackneed, and one each to both Leena and Xiveer. She even provided her own miniature forks and knives. She sat up on the stool, her tail wagging with excitement.

Brackneed went first. Gingerly, he cut a small coin slice from the egg. The yolk was a darker shade of brown than most pickled eggs he had come across. This did not put him off.

He placed the coin slice into his mouth. The sourness and flavour of the ingredients hit his nasal passages and went straight to the top of his head. His eyes smiled independently of one another, and his pointed ears twitched together. It was the best pickled egg he has ever had. His smile was so smug, and so large, his ears lifted themselves up in perfect culinary gratitude.

“So?” asked Maven.

In a rare display of selfishness, Brackneed nodded with haste. “I want these eggs!” he shouted.

Leena and Xiveer went next. They too had similar experiences. Leena peered at Brackneed like a younger sister plotting revenge on her older brother. As always with Leena, if she wants something, she will try and get it. Pickled eggs go well with the working class, and as Severis General Goods is right there in the east end, they would be the talk of the town. Not to mention, she would get one over on Brackneed, and she would relish in the thought of him being left out on such a simple staple snack.

Mila ate her egg whole, knowing full well it was the ultimate prize. So happy and elated in her mood, she blurted out, in quite an unintentional romantic tone, “I want your eggs!”

Xiveer laughed. “I knew it!” he said. Once again, he was pelted with a peanut. It bounced off his head and onto the floor.

However, Maven suddenly felt awkward. She had not thought about Mila being a potential buyer of her food. She viewed her simply in terms of friendship. Now, she felt the beginnings of an internal tug of war between business and friendship, and it made her very uncomfortable. She simply nodded with a faint smile. “Well, I’m glad you all agree,” she said as she adjusted herself on the stool. “Well, this is interesting. You seem to all have some sort of common connection here. I can only provide for one party, however.”

“Tough decision, eh?” said Xiveer, blotting his lips with a napkin. “What do you usually do in these circumstances?”

“I try to be friendly and social with those I sell contracts to,” said Maven. “I know it sounds like I’m being picky, but it is an opportunity for everyone.”

Brackneed felt awkward about the whole thing. Socializing was not his thing when securing contracts; but he wanted those eggs so badly, he let his guard down. It dawned on him that Maven had done this before. She somehow managed to soften him up so much, she drew him into Mila’s pub for the first time since she opened. He may have fallen for her. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as they talked about everything with that little secret unhelpfully dancing around in his head.

#

They talked for what seemed like an hour. Leena and Xiveer offered their own merchant guild experience and shared stories of traveling across Caldore. Brackneed, knowing only the end of his till, had very little to share, but he did put on a brave face talking about Vasira, his late wife. The long hour of business soon was a thing of the past. The very idea of pickled eggs and food were replaced with ale and laughter.

Then, the pub door burst open.

Now, the entire pub was too busy to see who it was. Certainly, Maven and Xiveer were too busy to see that the blustery Jergen Pret–who has brined himself in alcohol–had come waltzing in. He looked a mess. He looked like someone who had been drinking all day. He looked like someone who did not care what anyone said whatsoever. He looked as if he was looking for a fight.

The group continued, unaware of the intoxicated Jergen who was approaching fast. As Brackneed was talking, his tweed flat cap suddenly vanished off his head, revealing is short and receding black hair. “Hey!” he shouted. “Some pillock just took my hat!”

Mila looked up and around. Brackneed’s cap floated inconspicuously toward the till, going left and right, falling and rising back up. She saw the back of Jergen and his large, white coat; but as she did not know Jergen, she did not see fit to not warn them. Mila made a special sign to Redge at the till, who took over from Tom for this very special customer.

Without missing a beat, Redge leaned into the face of the sailor. “You’re drunk,” he muttered to him, adding, “It looks like you’ve already had enough. Turn around, and walk out of here,”

Jergen grumbled. He tried to argue with Redge using incoherent, drunken reasoning, but Redge was not forthcoming with beer. He said something that sounded like an “F,” followed by “You.” He then stumbled back toward Maven and the others.

“Good god,” said Leena, her heart racing.

Maven looked at Xiveer. He stared at Jergen with wide, fearful eyes; his beer dribbling out of his mouth, his face too frozen to swallow. She looked behind her, and locked eyes with Jergen for the first time in eight years. “Oh, hell,” she blurted.

“Well, isn’t it the muffin man and the blue frog with claws,” said Jergen in slurred speech. “You stalking me all th-th-these years?”

Maven winced at him. “Give him his hat back, and move on,” she simply said, drinking her pint.

Then, Jergen put his hand firmly on her shoulder. It was cold and strong; certainly not a friendly gesture. “No, you scaled deformity, you two are going to get a beating from me!”

“That’s assault,” said Maven quietly.

Then, he said it. He said something so putrid and racist toward Maven specifically, it made Brackneed snort. “Well that was a terrible thing to say!” he shouted angrily.

Then, like lighting, there was a blur beside him. A cloud of blue scales skin and clothing right before his eyes. It took him a few seconds to process the actual movement.

Normally, when people engage in fist fights, they tend to swing their fist into the target’s face, the force pushing them in the direction their fist flies. But this is Maven Kalflar. She grew up in the rough parts of Rale, and she learned a thing or two from a master of martial arts living in the county at the time. It was the same skills she used to save Xiveer from Jergen all those years ago. It was those skills she put into use today, landing a punch into Jergen’s face in such a way and position, she knocked him out cold, skillfully taking a mouthful of her Nor’easter Drake ale when throwing the punch.

Jergen instantly collapsed onto the floor, folding onto the ground like one of Maven’s three-panel brochures. Even more amazing for Brackneed was his flat cap, which stayed in the air, taking its time to float down. He picked it up off the floor, dusted it off, and put it back on his head.

“Um, what do we do now?” asked Leena, worried.

Mila got up with her pint, and splashed it clean across Jergen’s face. “Wake up, you drunk!” she shouted. Patrons around them cleared out of the way, watching them from a distance.

Jergen suddenly woke up, making more incoherent noises with his mouth. He had asked what had happened. Maybe it was the direction or amount of force Maven hit him with, but he had no clue where he was, or what he was doing.

Mila responded angrily with “You were getting out of my bar.”

“I was?” Jergen said with a drunken stutter.

“Yeah, you were going back to your ship, at the docks,” added Brackneed.

Jergen struggled to get up. “Oh, hell! I got to go! Sorry, all!” he said. Before he could leave, Xiveer grabbed a pickled egg from Maven’s jar, and shoved it whole into Jergen’s boozy mouth. “Mm-hmm!” he groaned as he bolted out of the pub, pleased with the taste.

They got up from the table to watch him leave. Jergen bounced left and right, walking aimlessly down the long Ash Street road. Eventually, he was stopped by a policeman and was subsequently detained.

“That was incredible!” said Xiveer. “You’re such a fantastic lady!”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone fall down so comically,” added Brackneed.

“Those fighting skills never let you down, did they?” said Mila.

Maven, however, was upset. Although she had good reason to react to assault, she prided herself on keeping calm and composed since those days she wanted to leave behind. It felt like a setback. It felt like an action she knew she would soon regret. Maven walked back into the pub and sat at her seat.

“You alright?” Xiveer asked Maven, sitting back down.

“Yeah, I will be,” replied Maven, drinking the last of her pint. “That was just way too bizarre. I wonder if it was just a massive coincidence that he would be here at the same time as you and I.”

“I’m sure it was,” said Xiveer. “I would not worry about it. He’s in enough trouble as it is.”

“You don’t understand,” said Maven. “It’s the principal of the matter, the professionalism. These aren’t the old days anymore. It feels like I went backward in time.”

“You did the right thing,” Brackneed said. “He put his hand on you and said something terrible. You look like a strong woman, so act like one!”

“Was your dead wife as tolerant of your language as I am?” said Maven with narrow, dagger-like eyes.

“She was,” said Brackneed, adjusting his cap and jacket.

Maven shrugged. “Well, either way, I guess it had to be done,” She packed up all her items, but left the jar. “Take the rest of the eggs home. I want to know what others think! Shall we meet, eh, about four o’clock in the afternoon? I will do a little more deliberating, followed by some private time, then I will announce the winner of the contract.”

Brackneed nodded. “I agree to that. I shall be here!” he said joyously. He bid everyone a warm farewell, which was unusual for him. He grabbed his coat off the antler coat rack and waltzed out the door.

“You really have buttered him up,” said Xiveer, chuckling.

“You know, I want to come back with you,” Leena said to her husband. She was, in fact, growing suspicious about the unusual friendliness between Maven and him, and she wanted to observe them some more. She had not known about Maven until yesterday, and they were a little too friendly. On top of that, she still wanted those eggs.

“What about the shop and the delivery to Mrs. Aptow?” Xiveer said.

“Let’s think about that over dinner,” said Leena.

Xiveer, not wanting to upset Leena, especially when she makes up her mind in such an ambiguous way, simply nodded, replying with: “Sounds good to me.”

Maven tightened her hat onto her head. “In that case, I shall see you all tomorrow.” In contrast to her departure from yesterday, there was no waggle of the tail or a flick of the wings. She simply nodded and left.

“Is she going to be alright?” Leena asked Mila.

“I’m sure she will be,” said Mila. “At least, I hope she will be. I know we’ve been through some rough times in the past, but she’s a different person now. I’m not sure I recognize the old Maven Kalflar anymore. She seems so…so…”

“Mature?”

Mila groaned under her breath. She frowned. “I suppose that would be best word to use. Anyways, I have to get on here. We can talk more tomorrow.”

“Sure thing,” said Leena, waving politely. “See you.”

As they left, Redge approached her from behind. “Are you alright?” he asked.

Mila flattened her lips. “I don’t know. She seemed a bit distracted before, and she seems distraught over what just happened. Normally, she wouldn’t think twice about that sort of thing. I wonder if it’s my fault.”

Redge flipped his towel over his shoulder. “Well, it might be your fault if we aren’t ready for the late evening rush.”

Mila looked idly on the clock. It was half past seven. “Oh, right!” she said, jumping up. “Let’s go!”

#

---

The Severises had a late evening supper. Leftover chicken and fresh root vegetables from the cellar was the only item on the menu. The combination was not a favourite dish of Larry’s, as he has a general disdain for things like turnips and parsnips. They put a bad taste in his mouth. The mashed potatoes, however, made up for that unnecessary, culinary evil.

The four of them spent most of dinner talking rather than eating. Well, three of them–Michale, Larry’s torturous younger brother, did not say much at all. He was just in one of those moods. They talked about Tarla Wilfellow, Larry’s friend at college. Much to Larry’s embarrassment, his parents suggested he spend more time with her. Larry is fond of Tarla as a friend, but he still needs his own personal space. A few months into college, he still cannot take the first step in any conversation.

Before the simple and light desert, Xiveer presented the sample of Maven’s pickled eggs. He placed one on every plate. “Alright, sons–it’s time to blow your minds,” he said with great admiration. He cut up a slice for Michale. “You go first,” he said to him, nodding.

Michale’s eight-year-old eyes gazed sheepishly at the egg slice. He looked up to his father for answers, only to be met with a nod of encouragement. He took the fork in his hand, stabbed the slice of egg, and put it into his mouth. It made him angry. Like a boy possessed, he made growling, nightmarish sounds as he shook his head wildly, as if to exorcise the demonic egg from his taste buds. “Gross! Eww! No good!” he shouted. He pushed the plate forward, crossed his arms, and frowned.

Xiveer frowned as well. “I guess we all can’t be winners,” he said to himself. He then looked at Larry. “Alright, son. You try.”

Larry sniffed the egg. Unlike Michale, he found the smell to be very palatable. He sliced a good chunk off the egg, and he placed it into his snout-like mouth. He slowly chewed the slice, swallowed, then sat back with his eyes closed.

Leena looked under the table. His tail wagged slightly, like a dog happy to see its owner. She knew it, and Xiveer knew it.

Larry nodded. “Good,” he simply said.

“Aww, yes!” Xiveer said, punching the air with his fist. “We shall try for the eggs! Huh?”

What transpired next was something completely out of the ordinary. Larry seemed transfixed on his plate–more specifically, the brine floating in little puddles. The taste of the pickled egg was so good, he began licking his lips. Soon, he was licking them a lot. As if out of bizarre instinct, he picked the plate up and licked it dry. There was not a drop of brine or egg in sight. Like a cat licking an olive, he just could not stop.

Leena and Xiveer stared in silence and in shock. They were too fixated on what was happening to do anything. As Larry put the plate down, and as he wiped his mouth clean with a napkin, and he sighed with happiness. It took him a moment to realize his parents were staring back. “What?” he said to them.

“Um…nothing, dear,” said Leena. She stomped on Xiveer’s foot to break him out of his trance. “Oh, yes! We were wondering who mind the shop and do the delivery to Mrs. Aptow’s farm tomorrow while your father and I negotiate the contract for these eggs,” she said, changing the topic quickly.

“They are pretty good,” said Larry. “I’d buy a jar.”

“Yes, apparently you would,” said Xiveer. He then had a light bulb moment. Not that the light bulbs in Barlett were bright to begin with–the light bulb as a light source was an invention still in its infancy, as mainstream electricity has yet to be invented. He looked at his son, and he smiled. “Larrynton Arendor Severis, I have a job for you.”

Larry’s amber-coloured almond-shaped eyes flattened into hyphens. “Oh, joy,” he said, pouting. He knew what was coming.

#

The seventeenth of Jalis began like every other day. The unusual warm wind continued from yesterday, partially melting the snow on the ground and revealing the ice below. There was still over a month to go until spring, yet the year 1104 seems to be pushing for an early one.

Larry, miserable and in contempt with his parents, peddled slowly down the back streets with Mrs. Aptow’s grocery order. Unable to “drive cart”–that is, to safely drive a horse and buggy through the streets of Barlett and the Caldore highways, he must make do with what he can use. Surely, he could fly, but it would be easier said than done–with a heavy grocery order, he most certainly would meet a drastic end.

To save time, Reena MacTavish–the Severis’ other sole employee–sent him off at two in the afternoon, and forty-five minutes later, he arrived in a cantankerous mood. He bashed unapologetically on the large farmhouse door, and he snorted with impatience.

Mrs. Aptow opened it. “Oh, it’s Mr. Severis’ son, Larry!” she said, rather pleased.

Larry frowned. “I have your groceries,” he said bitterly. He was cold, he fell on the ice more than once, and he dare not melt the ice with his breath like he did at Erandor. No, he learned his lesson this time. Larry picked up a crate in whole from the back of the wagon he and Reena fixed to the rear forks of the bicycle. “Where would you like these?” he asked.

Mrs. Aptow smiled. “Come on into the kitchen,” she said.

Larry placed the crate onto the large kitchen counter inside her home. They exchanged invoices and money, and he was about to leave, when Mrs. Aptow pleasantly asked, “Would you like some tea?”

Larry’s stomach gurgled with anxiety, but he was cold and hungry. So, they drank the tea and ate the biscuits. The hot lemon-infused liquid warmed Larry’s hands and head, and his mood improved. He felt a little happier than when he left, but still quite aggravated from being plucked out of his precious free time to run errands for his parents while they negotiate for food.

During this period of semi-tranquility and small talk, Mrs. Aptow asked of Larry, “Why did you come here on a bicycle?”

“It was the only thing available to me,” said Larry, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m not licensed to drive cart. I’m not sure I want to, really.”

The farmer woman looked up at the ceiling and brushed back her salt and pepper hair. “You go to college for some science stuff, right?”

“Yes,” said Larry, irritated at the question. It seems whenever he is asked that, he feels like saying “the stars” is a cheesy answer. So, he said it.

“Well, what would happen if you were to leave home?” she asked.

“Leave home?” said Larry, feeling suddenly anxious again. A squint of her olive-green eyes made him realize what she was truly asking about. Larry sat back, distraught. “I never thought about that,” he said. All he wanted to do was to be proficient at what he was good at: reading, maths, and, yes, studying the night sky and learning what it is all made of. It never occurred to him at any time that, in order to be successful, he may have to move from Barlett to somewhere else. It took Leena an incredible amount of will to convince him to attend college in the first place, and this would be a reality he would have to face.

“Do you even have a job?” Mrs. Aptow asked him suddenly.

Larry’s thought bubble burst. “No, not really,” he said. “Studies take a lot of my time nowadays.”

“We don’t all get to have free time like we used to,” she said, sipping her tea. “Are your parents proud of you?”

He was going to answer, but he hesitated. His mind flashed back to yesterday evening, when, like a wild animal, Larry licked brine off a plate like a cow slurping on a salt lick. Either way, he nodded. It wasn’t a confident nod, but it was one that represented some success in their endless efforts to see their son be well off.

“I see,” said Mrs. Aptow. “You’re eighteen now, right? You’re more than old enough to drive cart. You should surprise your parents and get your license. Besides, it would come in handy in any event, you know?”

“How do you mean?” asked Larry.

“Well, for starters, you wouldn’t look like a plonker riding a bicycle down dirt farm roads in mid-Jalis,” she replied. “Where is your mother, anyway? I was expecting her to deliver my order.”

Larry rolled his eyes. “She and father are at Mila’s, negotiating a contract to sell picked eggs from one of Mila’s old friends,” he said.

“That’s determination,” she said, laughing.

Larry shyly shrugged his shoulders. He finished his tea and stood up. “I better go. Reena’s probably wondering where I am. She gets tense when things don’t go as planned,” he said. “Thank you for the tea.”

“My pleasure,” said Mrs. Aptow. “You know, I think you’ll do fine. You should really consider it–getting out of that scaly shell of yours. It will help your prospects in the future. It certainly did for me.”

Larry furrowed his lips. “I will have to think about it. Goodbye, Mrs. Aptow,” he said, waving as he left.

She watched him leave on his bicycle. What a guy, she thought to herself as he turned right on the farm road, disappearing into the horizon as he rode carefully back into town.

#

Four o’clock came and went quickly for Maven. Brackneed, Mila, Leena and Xiveer all argued on who would be the best selection to sell her eggs. It is worth noting that Maven’s products aren’t limited to just pickled eggs. She sells many items that are pickled, including many vegetables and meats. The possibility of variety is a luring one, and all it did was enforce their own positions around the table.

Maven brought another sample jar with her. This time, returning pub patrons were more than curious. Tom and Redge had a media field day. They tried their best to answer questions they had no idea how to answer. They knew the vinegar-like smell just like everyone else.

An hour later, Maven moved to a table off on the side to complete her decision. She asked that she be left alone, but would gladly answer questions if they did not, in turn, influence her decision, or tip the contract to their favour.

While everyone was busy arguing among themselves, Leena slipped away and sat at the stool across from Maven. “Hi,” she simply said.

Maven looked coyly over her reading glasses. “Yes, Mrs. Severis?” she asked.

“I do have a question, one you can only answer to me and only me,” said Leena.

“Yes?” Maven said, sipping her glass of ale.

“Did you have sex my husband?”

Maven nearly spat out her ale in surprise. It made her cough. “What? What makes think that?” she asked sternly.

“The way he talks about you, how friendly he is with you. It’s like, I don’t know, you two are too cozy with each other,” said Leena. “Why don’t I know about you? Why is he keeping you a secret?”

“Oh, my. He really didn’t tell you, did he?” said Maven, taking her glasses off.

Leena gasped. “So, there is something going on, isn’t there?” she said.

Maven recalled what Xiveer said a few days ago about not telling his wife about the incident. She could not understand why he would not. It soon became clear how it looked between them, and not one person batted an eye and thought to themselves, “This may be wrong.”

Maven leaned into the table. “No! I’m serious! There’s nothing funny going on!” she whispered. Then, she leaned back. “Did he not tell you what happened eight years ago?”

“He told me he stopped in Rale due to bad weather, but the weather cleared, and he left,” said Leena. “What really happened?”

Maven prefaced the story with the words “First of all, your husband is a moron,” Leena agreed with this statement. She was quite relieved that it was Maven who saved Xiveer from an early death, and that he had not cheated on her. As well, she now understood Xiveer’s reaction upon seeing Jergen. She finally understood that they were just good friends; and although their introduction was not more than a brief encounter, it was clear they were just friends.

Leena nearly cried. “I’m so sorry!” she said, putting her head in her hands.

“It’s alright, Mrs. Severis,” said Maven, flicking through a page in her record book. “If I may ask, how long have you two been married at that time?”

“Twelve years,” Leena replied, twirling her blonde hair.

“That’s a long time,” said Maven. “I’ve only been married once. Your husband may act like an idiot, but he doesn’t seem the type to be tired. I think he didn’t want you to think that, after twelve years, he was tired of you. He’s a good man.”

“He is indeed,” Leena said. She looked over at Mila, arguing as usual with Xiveer. She threw a peanut at him. “You know, I’ve a knack for seeing things in people. I look at you and Mila, and I can’t help thinking you’re so distraught over her. She’s my best friend, too. Were you two really…”

Maven laughed. “Goodness, no! We were very close, but not intimate close,” Maven put her pen down and frowned. “I am torn between friendship and business. It just doesn’t feel right with her here.”

“It never does,” said Leena, getting off her stool. “I await your decision. Thank you for putting my mind at ease.” She felt foolish for misunderstanding Maven. She left to join the others, mainly to stop Xiveer from becoming aggressive toward Brackneed.

A few minutes later, Maven rejoined the others at the table.

“Based on the past two days, and with all the information I could get on your establishments, I have come up with a decision,” she announced. She waved the golden envelope in front of their faces, drawing out the suspense to the point of annoyance. They were all giddy and they just wanted it to be over.

She stuffed the envelope into Mila’s mouth.

“Milakkalos Daruginna, I hereby grant you on this day, Thulis, the seventeenth of Jalis, 1104, the first contract for north Caldore to sell Kalflar Farms Pickled Eggs,” she announced happily. “Congratulations.”

The others looked on with their jaws on the table.

“Mm-mm!” said Mila, chewing the paper in her mouth.

“The pub seems to be the perfect balance between your two shops, who seem to always be at each others’ throats,” explained Maven.

“But,” Brackneed tried to protest.

Maven held her hand up. “I know competition is healthy, but you two play pranks on each other in order to offset each other’s margins. That’s not healthy. That’s childish,” She squinted at Xiveer as if he was directly to blame.

Leena slapped him upside the head. Maven pointed with her head toward Brackneed. Leena slapped him as well.

“Ow! That hurt!” Brackneed yelled. “What was that for, Severis?”

“That’s for both of you for being idiots!” Leena said. “Ah, well. At the very least, I have a better excuse to back come here.”

Then, the door to the pub opened again. Just like before, a man in a white coat came in. It was the same white coat that Jergen wore. He went up to Redge at the till and asked for the proprietor, then joined Mila at the table. “May I talk to you for a second?” he said.

“What about? We’re a little busy here,” said Mila, stretching her mouth to remove the taste of paper from her lips.

“There was an incident here with one of my men. I’m the captain of the freight ship he works on. I would like to know what happened,” he said.

Maven’s heart raced like a hummingbird. She knew the knock-out punch would come back to haunt her, but she played it smooth. “He grabbed me, said some racist stuff, and I retaliated,” she said casually. “Anything else I can help you with?”

“Um…” said the captain.

“No, actually, just no,” Maven suddenly said, turning around. “I’m not going to let it go. You know he was a ganger in the northeast, right? He assaulted some poorer people, and I had to intervene. You know he was a bad man, right?”

“Yes, I do,” shouted the captain. “I also know he has three children and a wife who don’t have much to go on, and this job was the most important thing that ever happened to him. He’s currently sitting in a jail cell, smelling–no, covered in booze–and what smells of eggs. I can’t pay his bail right away, and I need him on that ship tomorrow!”

“You know he assaulted her, right?” Brackneed suddenly said. It amazed everyone, and he amazed himself, when he got up off the bar stool and squared right up to him. “I don’t know where you come from, but over here, that is grounds for jail time. That isn’t our problem. You are supposed to keep him under control, and watch his damn mouth so he doesn’t say the wrong things, you know?”

“And what exactly did he say?”

Maven said it for Brackneed. He could not, and would not, say it himself.

“I see,” said the captain, sniffing the air.

“You wouldn’t know this, but my late wife was a bipedal; and whatever arrogance and self-centredness these people know I am capable of, I do not condone such racist comments. Is there anything else you do not understand?”

They all looked at Brackneed. They never seen him so defiant and serious before. It amazed them.

The captain put his hands up. “Alright, sir! I’m not looking for an argument. I’m just trying to settle the facts, that’s all,” he said, backing away. Brackneed snorted, and he retreated to his barstool. “All I want to know is why he relapsed…” He paused mid-sentence, sniffing the air again. “What is that smell?” he asked.

Maven glanced at the jar. “Pickled eggs,” she said.

The captain looked at the jar. “Maven Kalflar’s eggs?”

She nodded.

“Can I have one?” he asked courteously. Maven obliged, much to Brackneed’s chagrin. He ate the egg whole and smiled. “Very good indeed,” he said, licking the salty brine off his lips.

Then, Maven had a brain wave. She felt responsible for ruining Jergen’s last chance, as well as putting his own deliveries at risk. “Now we’ve settled that, I have a question. You’re a freighter delivering goods right?” she asked suddenly.

“Uh-huh,” said the captain. “We’re part of the Merchant’s Guild.”

“I am in need of an efficient way of transporting cargo up to Barlett, possibly other locations in the future. I was wondering if you were interested in taking on extra business.”

The captain scratched the back of his head. “It’s not entirely up to me, ma’am–I can definitely put in a request, though, and if it all goes through, we can talk then.”

Leena raised her hand. “We used to be road merchants for the Guild,” she said. Xiveer anticipated her question, and he nodded to her. “We can be references, if you like.”

Brackneed felt agitated by the whole experience. “What are you all doing?” he asked quietly.

“Mr. Vendyor, please,” Maven said, holding her hand up at him. “I know what it looks like, but I assure you this is the right thing to do,” She reached into her bag and pulled out a business card. She handed it freely over to the captain. “I’ll be back in Richmond in about a week from tomorrow.”

The captain nodded appreciatively. “Very well, Mrs. Kalflar. I look forward to meeting you again. Thank you for talking to me about Mr. Pret,” he said, bowing and leaving.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Brackneed asked Maven.

“Forgiveness for such things does pay off, Mr. Vendyor,” said Maven. “It isn’t his fault for what happened. It’s mine.”

Brackneed did not understand the meaning behind that statement, but even he knew the incident yesterday haunted her. “You’re a good lass,” he said, nodding appreciatively. “A very professional woman indeed.”

Maven smiled shyly while looking at the table. “That means a lot, Mr. Vendyor. I thank you for your gentlemanly remark.”

Brackneed nodded then stood up. “Well, I must be off. If I leave Barnaby and Veera alone for too long, they’ll tear the place apart,” he gingerly shook Maven’s hand. “I look forward to meeting you again, if we do.” He put on his coat, adjusted his flat cap once more, and walked out.

“We better get going and rescue Reena before she goes off her Highland rocking chair,” said Leena. Xiveer nodded hastily. She reached over and gave Maven a hearty, friendly handshake. “It was a pleasure meeting you.” They said their goodbyes to Maven, and they too left, leaving her and Mila at the table.

“I must be off myself,” said Maven. “I leave early afternoon tomorrow, but I have some things to do first. You will see me off, right?”

“Of course,” Mila said, holding her close in a warm, friendly embrace. “I’m glad you came.”

Maven left, and Mila was about to tend to her bar, but something struck a thought into her mind. It was an unsettling thought, a thought that someone would have when they become unusually concerned about someone’s well-being. She knew Maven was troubled about more things than just Jergen Pret.

She wanted to find out; so, she put on her coat and went outside. Walking toward the empty storage area to the right, she spotted Maven standing against the wall, looking tranquil but obviously lost in thought. “Hey,” she said softly.

Maven looked up. “Hey,” she replied with a frown.

“Are you okay?” said Mila.

“No, not really,” said Maven. “I came here to do a business deal. I did not know you would be here. I was afraid you would want in after seeing what I had for offer. Instead of treating you like an actual friend, I shrugged you off, and I feel bad for that.”

“I’m not offended,” said Mila, walking up to her. “In fact, I couldn’t be more proud of you. You grew up. You came here on a mission, and you put your needs before mine. If you had given it to me because I’m your friend, I would have been disappointed.”

“That still doesn’t make me feel better,” Maven said, looking away. “I pride myself on being professional and calm. Like you said, I am no longer the angry youngster. After hearing about Jergen today, I cannot help but feel I ruined his life, the one he tried to rebuild.”

Mila looked up. “Well, he did deserve it.”

Said Maven sadly, “Did he? The word relapse, for instance–it made me think. The very sight of me and Xiveer made him revert to his old self. I could have handled it better. I could have handled the situation better eight years ago.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Xiveer may be a middle-aged child, but he has you to thank for him being here today,” said Mila.

Maven squinted. “Leena thought I was having sex with him behind her back.”

Mila laughed. “You seem to have a positive effect on people. You certainly made Brackneed behave in a way I’ve never seen before. I think you remind him of his late wife–compassionate, friendly, and understanding. I think if he wasn’t so devoted to his dead wife, you two would make an interesting couple.”

“Well, too late for that. Besides, I’m devoted to my husband,” said Maven. She reflected on how Mila described her, and then she knew what she had to do. “Are you free for the morning and afternoon? We need to spend some proper catch-up time. Even Xiveer. I have something I want to do tomorrow, bright and early, and I would like him there with me,” she said.

“Of course,” Mila said. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

#

---

The cold weather returned on Fridas, the eighteenth of Jalis. The sky became overcast, and it snowed. Business was otherwise usual, as if the warm weather was an event no one noticed.

At Barlett’s detention centre, Jergen sat on a bench in a shared cell. He stared at the floor, pondering his future, his family, and what he would say to them now that he’s blown his last chance at doing good. The odour of alcohol and eggs was replaced by the bodily odour of someone who had not bathed in days.

The warden came down the hall and opened the cell. “Mr. Jergen Pret–your bail has been paid. You are free to go. Please step out of the cell,” he called out.

Who would want to bail me out? Jergen thought to himself. He lumbered into the hallway while the other prisoners looked on with jealousy.

The warden slammed the cell door shut. “Follow me to the reception area, please,” he said, leading Jergen out from the cell block.

The reception area was quiet, but Jergen kept his head down in shame. He did not want anyone to see his face as he passed by them.

As they turned the corner, he stood face-to-face with Maven and Xiveer. He squawked like an animal. “No! No way! Let me back in jail!” he said, attempting to run away.

“Sir, she paid your bail,” said the warden, trying to keep Jergen in check.

Jergen stopped and turned around. His matted grey hair flew about, sticking to his sweaty forehead. “Why? Why would you do this?” he asked them.

“Thank you, officer. I think we will be fine from here,” said Xiveer.

The warden let Jergen go. He tipped his hat toward them. “Very well. If he gives you any trouble, just holler,” he said, walking away.

Maven walked slowly toward Jergen, who flinched with every step. “Tell me about your wife and children,” she said. “Tell me why you relapsed when you saw us.”

Jergen kept his voice low. In a shameful tone, he told them his story: Since the pub fight eight years ago, the “infamy,” if you will, followed him wherever he went. He too was trying to survive in Rale. He too wanted to escape the life that encapsulated all of them. After several years of failing to find work, or failing to hold a job because of his history, he found someone who believed he wanted to change. They married and had three kids, but they were still poor. Finally, he found work on a merchant ship a few years ago, and he was given that chance to strive.

Things were working well for him, until a few days ago, when he stopped in for a pint at Mila’s. He thought they were following him, to remind him of those days, to make sure he could never be something else, and to remind others of how relishes in bullying others for food and money. His relapse, as it were, put him into a drunken state. It made him do things he was most definitely not proud of, things that were indeed hurtful to both Maven and Brackneed. He failed his family, he failed his captain, and, most importantly, he failed himself.

Maven closed her eyes. She tilted her head down to the floor. Her worst nightmare came true. She wept at the very thought. However, she was not going to lose her emotions or face toward them. “I heard from your captain. You did put your hand on me, and you said bad things to me; but I understand now. I, too, failed myself. I too did something completely wrong and unbecoming of me. Jergen Pret, I forgive you.”

Jergen broke down and cried. Maven had never seen a grown, bulky man cry before. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” he wept, squeezing Maven with an over-friendly bear hug that made her eyes pop out of their sockets. “I’m sorry for yesterday. I promise to make good. I do! I promise!”

“We settled things with your captain, and he is willing to take you back on board. He’s waiting for you. You should be going,” said Xiveer.

Jergen shook his hand wildly, thanked him, and left in search of the west end docks. A new lease on life, a renewed chance. He did not want to let him them down.

Xiveer stood next to her. “Well?”

“Well, what?” she asked back.

“Was it a good idea, or not?” asked Xiveer.

“I believe it was, and it will turn out to be the correct one in the long run,” said Maven. “I feel much better now. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

#

And so, the three of them spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon in each others’ company. Xiveer was on his best behaviour, and Mila found him quite tolerable. Maven was shown the more interesting places in Barlett, places that aren’t on the official tourist maps, places of nature and beauty that do not receive many visitors. She was surprised just how much of the north has to offer, whether it be in the form of business contracts or beauty.

However, the early afternoon came, and it would be time to say goodbye to Maven. She promised she would try to pass through Barlett when she had the chance; but they now have each other’s addresses, so, at least, they could keep in touch through the mail.

With the contract signed, her bags packed, and her cart stocked up for the long journey back to Richmond, they went to the Information Centre, the place where it all began. Maven managed to dodge rivalries and keep friendships, and she came full circle with her mission completed.

As she disappeared into the white horizon, the snowfall began to thicken. Perhaps it was pure coincidence that brought them all together again. Life is funny like that. You don’t see anyone for ages, when suddenly, they’re all together at once.

One thing was for certain, however. At Mila’s insistence, Xiveer would have to explain to Leena about Maven. Although she did put Leena’s feelings of disdain to eternal rest and reassured her it was nothing other than honest friendship, Leena wanted to know from Xiveer’s own mouth. Xiveer, however, is unaware that Leena already knows, and she would have a little fun making him sweat. It would also be punishment for making her believe he was being unfaithful. She enjoys the revenge she gets on her husband when he does something to make her annoyed enough to torture him, and this instance is a textbook case for her.

Xiveer soon found himself in the front of his own shop, alone, and feeling afraid. He had never felt afraid of his wife before. Not even in the worst of times. He knew she would not let it go. With the shop completely empty on that snowy afternoon, Xiveer sighed heavily, and walked inside to face his wife.

~ END ~