Vellum and Green Vitriol
Copyright © 2007, S. Y. Affolee
The Third Conjuration
Seal XXVII
Despite the mostly full inn, the dining hall was mostly empty. One couple sat at a table at the far corner of the room having dinner. The hall itself was cavernous, the ceilings soaring up into thick exposed oak beams, decorated only with an electrical chandelier made of black metal and glass. Paper screens, painted in bright, stylistic art deco designs, lined the walls. The tables themselves were already prepared, covered in dark red linen tablecloths, polished silver, and thick glass wine goblets, the edges glinting in the light.
A large hearth sat at one side of the room. The opposite side had windows looking out over where the manor perched. In the twilight, one could still make out some landmarks outside--the town of Newcomb, the train station, and the field with the standing stones--the Bidracon Stones.
I was to meet Rhys at the dining hall for supper, but I had arrived early. I made my way to the far side of the hall where a bar was located. I took one of the stools and surveyed the rest of the room on my seat.
"Good evening, miss. May I help you with anything?" The bartender had been polishing some wine glasses, but he had put down his towel to come over to where I sat. He was thirty or thereabouts, I guessed. Neatly trimmed brown hair with chestnut highlights and inquisitive blue eyes. He had a strong, cleft chin--shaved. No pencil-thin moustache, thank goodness. Maybe that horrible fashion trend had not yet reached the countryside. He wore a white dress shirt which stretched over broad shoulders. Again I guessed: perhaps a farm boy trying to make ends meet during the cold months by working at the inn.
"Thank you for the offer, but not at the moment. I'm waiting for someone."
"Perhaps I can get you a drink while you wait."
"Hm. Water will be fine."
He smiled. "Coming right up, miss."
I turned back to look at the hall. The other couple at dinner seemed intent on their own conversation. From the window, the last bit of light faded, leaving the land bathed in purple-black clouds. I glanced at my watch. It was six in the evening. Generally at this time, everyone would be having dinner. Where was everyone?
"Here you go, miss."
"Thanks." I took a sip as the bartender went back to polishing the glasses. "I have a question, if you don't mind me asking. I thought this was the dining hall."
"It is. You must be surprised by our, uh, lack of patrons."
"Yes, I did notice that."
He shrugged. "In my opinion, we have quite a fine cook. And most of the time, when we do have a full house, we do fill out the hall. But our recent visitors prefer the pubs in town."
I frowned, trying to remember what the desk clerk had called them. "The Order of the Silver Moon? Those magick, with a "k", practitioners?"
"That's right. I take it you're not with them. And you didn't come to Newcomb to see their All Hallow's Eve celebrations."
"No. My friend and I were on our way to Haven to meet with someone. Unfortunately, the Hinterland Express broke down. We did ask a cab driver if he could take us to Haven, but he claims that his automobile will not make it up the mountain."
"Oh, really?" The bartender paused in his cleaning. "That's odd. Are you and your friend in a hurry to reach Haven?"
"You could say that. I would definitely not want to wait around for next week's train if I can help it."
The bartender seemed thoughtful. "My brother is heading to Haven tomorrow morning. I'm sure he has enough room for you and your friend to tag along. He'd be happy to take you if you could pitch in some money for the petrol."
"I'm not in the habit of taking rides from strangers."
"Don't worry. Just tell him Finn MacDougal sent you his way. My brother's name is Patrick. He's a local artisan. He makes ceramics and drives down to Haven every two weeks or so to sell his work to an art dealer in Haven. I'd have to warn you though, he gets going at about the crack of dawn."
When this sort of opportunity comes ones way, seizing it would be the appropriate thing to do. But I still felt hesitant. "I don't know. Let me think about this and talk this over with my friend."
"Well, you'll have until tomorrow. Patrick will come by the inn tomorrow morning at six to take the post down to the town so you can catch him then."
I nodded. "It does sound like a good chance for transportation. Thank you for offering your brother's services. I'll have to talk with my friend first."
"Of course." Finn's gaze flickered towards the door. "Oh, there's the head priestess of the Order of the Silver Moon now. She's probably heading out to Newcomb proper for dinner."
I followed his gaze. Past the dining hall doors which led into the inn lobby, several women dressed in formal gowns were milling around on the floor. However, it was two central figures which caught my eye. One was a tall shapely woman wrapped in a gauzy silver--her features perfect and porcelain. On top of her head was a matching silver turban and curling, golden locks cascaded down her back. She seemed to be in deep, animated conversation with the man beside her. Rhys.
My fingers clenched around my water glass.
"Lucky man," the bartender remarked. "I asked the head priestess if she would have lunch with me on the day that she had arrived. She brushed me off, saying that she was saving herself."
Rhys and the group of women moved off. What did I expect? Of course he would seize any opportunity immediately as soon as it presented itself. I turned back to my water. "Perhaps she's picky."
"Yes, apparently Mistress Arial Goldenhair is picky."
"Is that her name? It sounds fake."
"It's her priestess name," Finn said patiently as if I was a particularly dumb child. "Of course she would not use her real name. The Order of the Silver Moon claims that real names have power and that one should not misuse them."
"Right." I took a sip of the water and wished for something stronger. "I don't suppose you have any whisky, do you?"
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