Harmless
By Eddie of the Writing Group
The sex doesn't start until 1/3 of the way through.
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Close eyes.
Voices from the bottom of the stairs. Conversations, an argument about a disobedient son.
[Mare and Ronny, who lived three houses down the street from her, and that kid was truly a stinker.]
Skritch of a mouse in the wall. Male voice making rhythmic grunts from the door on her left.
Was someone being pleasured? It wasn't the person she had come looking for--wrong room. Too bad.
Sour smell of mouse dung, and dust, woodsmoke, straw from the mattresses. Beer smell drifted up the stairs along with Ronny's suppressed shouts.
It smelled and sounded like an inn as supper turned into drinking. A normal spring evening.
Behind her eyelids, the usual phantom lights seen in total darkness, indistinct and impossible to focus on. Wall against her back as she flattened herself against it. Floor beneath her feet, solid wooden planks felt through comfortable, soft slippers.
Soft and quiet--for this evening, being silent was important. Nothing alarming that she could detect.
Her heart pounding hard, sweat on her palms. Deep breaths, forced calm.
Comforting weight of the oak stick in her hand, with its brass knob at either end--she could feel the balance as she rotated it slightly by her side. Unfamiliar but equally comforting coldness of the silver chain wrapped three times around her throat, under her shirt's collar.
No sign that anyone had noticed her slipping up the stair.
Open eyes.
Hallway, no lamps. Light from the stair behind her, enough to see her way, her closed eyes had adjusted to the dark.
Guests would have carried a candle stub, but she wasn't a guest. She was an intruder.
The darkness of the hallway concealed her as she pulled her headscarf with its black-and-white stripes off her hair.
Hair falling down behind her, mouse-brown and tied carefully with black ribbons into a single club.
She wrapped the cloth around her face, covering everything below her eyes, with the black inner side now facing out. That should make it hard for the person she was hunting to recognize or describe her. Loose, dark-brown clothing would help. Attack in dimness in dark clothes with her face covered, strike a few blows, and off into the night. With her breasts bound and the loose shirt, and her unusual height, he might not even realize he had been beaten by a woman.
The wizard was in the biggest room in the inn, at the end of the hallway. A very large room for one person, but then magic could be very profitable. She took a deep, silent, steadying breath, and noiselessly walked the length of the hall. As she moved farther from the stair, the darkness deepened. By the time she reached the door, she was feeling her way with her feet. There was a two-fingers gap between the door and floor, and light spilled onto the floor through it. Apparently, the wizard was burning several candles. She could just smell a fire on the other side. Ghosting up, she gently pressed her ear against the door.
Crackling of a fire in a hearth--you could tell a hearth fire from a stove if you really listened. Quiet breathing? Maybe she was hearing it, or maybe it was just her imagination and hope? No! Even, slow breathing.
Could she be lucky enough to catch him sleeping?
Rustling ... not the sound of cloth rustling, but close. Parchment! He must be reading a scroll.
[If he's concentrating enough, I can do this. One strike and I can have him helpless, and his spells shouldn't be able to affect me with the protection.]
Bend down quietly and peer under the door.
Human figure wearing a loose white shirt, trousers belted with what looked like a linen rope, sitting in a chair near the fire, and indeed reading a scroll that rested on a small table. Turned mostly away from her, so no clear look at the face. About her height, brownish straight hair cut neatly just below the ears, what looked like riding boots. No obvious magic jewelry anywhere, or any jewelry at all, or even any possessions visible from where she was peeking, aside from the scroll.
As she watched, the wizard sighed and rose. The wizard neatly tied the partly-read scroll with an oddly shiny ribbon. [Is that gold leaf?] The scroll went into a sack, which went into a saddlebag. Snuffing the two visible candles revealed another one to the left, out of her sight, by its glow. Off with the shirt and then trousers, drape both over the chair's back, revealing drawers. He was of slim build, no beard, the pale skin of someone who spent a lot of time indoors. Peering under a door in dim light, she couldn't be sure of more than that.
He moved out of her sight, and after a few breaths the last candle was snuffed. The half-moon was at the wrong angle to shine directly in the room's windows, but enough light came in to allow a shred of vision.
Her back aching, she stood.
In the now total darkness of the windowless, unlit hall, she heard cloth rustling, oddly alert to it because she had been thinking of the sound of rolling a scroll.
Pulling the blanket over himself. [Wait, wait, do not ruin this by being impatient.] Listening, waiting, counting 50 breaths after the wizard's breathing was slow and regular. Stretching her arms and legs, silently, took another 5. [Time to do this or run away, and give back all the nice money.]
Pull the key out of her pouch. [Nice of Kimma to get so drunk there was no way she'd notice me taking this. I even had time to oil the lock before the wizard came back from whatever he was doing, and Kimma won't be awake before noon. Plenty of time to put it back.] Silently unlocking the door took only a moment. [This has to be fast. In the door, clout him a couple times before he can wake up, hurt him enough to satisfy Ramek, then out again and into the alleys before anyone else even finishes waking up.]
Deep breath. Out slowly. Deep breath-turn-the-handle-hit-the-door-with-her-shoulder and in, already darting toward where she knew the bed was.
Flare of light! Brighter than day, dazzling her to blindness!
[Hit him! Stop him from doing more magic!]
Her sense of the room tells her he is four paces from where she stands.
Stride two paces, raising her stick.
Squinting, blurry shadow of a human form sitting in bed.
Swing the brass head of her weapon full strength as she runs, sideways at the soft spot right under the wizard's breastbone.
Yank! Shockingly sudden, the stick stops motionless in its swing, still behind her! Feet slip away as her right arm stops her upper body, clinging to the stick, while her legs run out from under her. Falling down on her tailbone, sickening lightning bolt of pain. Instinctively look behind at the club. Eyes stinging, wizard's belt wrapped around the end of the stick, stretched across the room to tie it to the table's leg.
