Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn
From: aaron@space.ualberta.ca (Aaron Humphrey)
Subject: [R] Mistletoe[Rameshan]: Longing
Message-ID: <1992Aug10.002934.20005@kakwa.ucs.ualberta.ca>
Date: Mon, 10 Aug 1992 00:29:34 GMT

Mistletoe was still dressed demurely in her loose robe and veil when she
snuck out of her room at midnight.  Dressed properly, there were reasonable
excuses she could concoct if she were discovered.  Besides, this way the only
thing that was strange about her were her eyes, and even they weren't that
strange in the city of Pashar, where foreigners and foreign slaves abounded.
Her silver hair would have given her away much more surely.

She made her way across the deserted plaza, keeping to the shadows as much as
possible, something any sensible woman abroad at night would do, even when
in the theoretically-safe confines of a merchant as powerful as Juhlavi
bes-Pelmaj.  Then she knocked on a particular door in the men's quarters.  If
she was caught doing that, she would be publicly flogged.  Answer your door,
Ornigan, she thought in agitation, her sensitive elven hearing thinking that it
detected footsteps coming from every doorway in the plaza.

Finally the door swung open slightly, and Mistletoe slid inside.  The room was
unlit, and she could smell a recently snuffed candle.  She closed and latched
the door behind her by touch--she'd done this more than once in the past few
weeks.  She could see Ornigan's form as an outline of warmth.  She could see
fine, but she knew he was feeling uncomfortable in the darkness.  It was a
question of lighting a candle or opening a window to the moonlight.  "Light a
candle, Ornigan," she whispered.

There was a murmur and a flash as he complied.  She wished he'd learn to use
matches instead of magic, but it was useless to overcome the habits of a
lifetime.  She was temporarily blinded as her vision switched over, and then
she could see Ornigan--scrawny, looking older than he was, and somehow
ridiculous in his Rameshander garb.  His face was clean-shaven, but that was
only a reminder of his slave status.  "Any news?" she asked.

He shook his head.  "Nobody I've talked to has any idea what happened to Maleiu
after they sent him north.  He was put into the hands of non-Rameshanders, and
that was enough.  Everybody's much more worried about what happened to the
Broadmarch still, and can't spare the time to worry about one missing slave."

Mistletoe chewed her lip.  "You remember how much Maleiu was sold for, though?
Anybody who was willing to spend that much on a slave wouldn't just let him
disappear like that.  His master was probably killed on the Broadmarch, and
nobody else cares about Maleiu at all.  Except for us, of course."

Ornigan shrugged.  "All we can do, then, is try to escape and head north for
Generica, like we planned, if we were separated."

"And how do you propose to escape?  Juhlavi has legal title to us.  Even
Generica would hand us back to him if we took asylum there, rather than risk
an incident.  And if we kill Juhlavi, to solve that problem, then we'd be
hunted as renegade master-killing slaves.  If Juhlavi dies of natural causes,
and we slip away in the confusion, then we're fairly safe.  But by far the
best course from here is to hope that Bronwen can persuade Juhlavi to let us
go."

"And how much did Juhlavi pay for Bronwen?" Ornigan said, mimicking her
argument.  "He's not going to just let her go.  It would take a lot of
persuasion on her part to get us our freedoms.  To get hers would be well-nigh
impossible."

Mistletoe wagged her finger at Ornigan.  "Now, mister mage, don't think that
us women don't have a few tricks in store, that your men's magic won't even
try to duplicate."

Ornigan sniffed.  "Your so-called witchcraft.  What good is that going to do
us?"

"Watch and learn, Ornigan.  Watch and learn."  She giggled and fingered the
pouch of herbs hidden under her robe.

"Quiet!" Ornigan hissed.  That giggle had been a bit loud, Mistletoe realized,
and was just the kind of sound that would carry through walls and to the
courtyard outside.  And she could hear footsteps coming toward the door.  She
scrabbled in her pouch, identifying by touch the necessary ingredients, and
grinding them into a fine powder with her fingers.  When the door opened, she
threw the powder into the face of the man standing outside and watched as he
crumpled.  She blew a kiss to Ornigan--shameful, toying with men's affections,
but that was part of witchcraft, wasn't it--and stepped over the guard,
stopping only to steal a few hairs from his scalp before she scampered back to
her room.

The guard awoke a few minutes later with a concerned Ornigan looking over him.
"Are you alright?" Ornigan said in Rameshander.  "You opened the door, and then
you just collapsed.  Are you ill?"

The guard shook his head.  He could have sworn he heard girlish laughter from
this room--and then, looking at Ornigan, he reconsidered.  Why would a girl go
after this scrawny foreigner, when there was much better to be had in the
guards' quarters?  "I might be a bit dizzy...perhaps I'll go see the surgeon in
the morning."  He picked himself up off the floor and went back to his rounds.

--
---Alfvaen(a.k.a. Aaron V. Humphrey, Page of Newts)
Canadian Network For Space Research, Edmonton, Alberta, Canada
"The palm trees all look a little bit like Tina Turner looks from behind."
Current Album--Christine Lavin:Good Thing He Can't Read My Mind
Current Read--K.W. Jeter:Infernal Devices