They ascended the stairs to Mirlín's and Fyen's room where the woman kept her dress and bodice.
“I'll go and get something from my room while you get changed. I'll knock on the door and you open when you're ready, ok?" Reynaer suggested.
Mirlín nodded and went inside. She pulled the white dress out of her saddlebag and took a deep breath. At least this time I don't have to wear it while someone's sweating on top of me. She felt a tinge of guilt having lied to Fyen back in the tavern about her humiliating experience. Well, I didn't really lie. Just left some irrelevant facts unsaid. That it happened in a profession of which I would have her remain ignorant. Women can be just as cruel as men, sometimes, well, often even worse. But who knows how far Fyen's going to go, how tough a woman she'll become... after all, she got her ass kicked by a mercenary, I got my ass kicked by a whore. That’s pretty pathetic. For a fleeting moment a small voice inside her reminded her that perhaps the pub wasn’t the best place for Fyen, that it probably wasn’t what her mother would have wanted her daughter to do but Mirlín shoved the thought away. After all, Fyen wasn’t Mirlín’s daughter. Her responsibility was to try to teach the girl how to get by while on the road and tonight Fyen had learned plenty of valuable lessons. And Desiderius was there keeping an eye on her.
Reluctantly Mirlín took off her wolf hide, brigandine, loose linen pants, and tunic and slipped into the dress. Even though she had worn it many times before, she was always astonished at how naked it made her feel. Also, it was cold in the room and the thought of strolling outside in the biting autumn wind felt less than inviting. Full aware there was no other option, she took her bodice and started tying the laces. Then she heard a knock on the door.
“It's me, can I come in?" Reynaer's voice sounded from the hallway.
“The door's open," Mirlín replied. The man stepped in holding what looked like a cross between a leather club and a limp penis.
“Look what I got," he said excitedly.
Mirlín stared at the thing, the corner of her mouth twitching. "Is that going to be a part of my outfit or something?"
Reynaer looked puzzled. "No, this is a new kind of a club, you know, for knocking out your punters."
Mirlín laughed. "It's, uh, very manly!" Suddenly Reynaer appeared slightly less enthusiastic about his new weapon. “Hey, would you lend a hand with this stupid bodice?" Mirlín asked, frustrated. "I can never get it quite tight enough on my own."
Reynaer hung the club on his belt and walked over to the woman. "Sure, just tell me how tight you want it." He stood behind her, moved her hair aside, but then halted for a moment before he started pulling the laces. Damn, she gasped, apparently he's done this before. Then, for some reason, she wondered whether any of those women had been in love with him. But honestly, has anyone ever stuck with a wanderer? No, that’s why they are called wanderers, Mirlín!
“That's quite tight enough, thanks," she croaked.
Reynaer tied the knots and looked at her. "You comfortable enough not to pass out?" he asked.
“Yeah, I'll be fine," the woman replied and pulled the white, lacy front of her dress up since the corset had brought her cleavage dangerously low. "Ready to go?" she asked after a short struggle.
The man nodded and opened the door. "After you."
As they stepped outside, Mirlín suggested that they should walk separately so as not to give away their plan to anybody. They walked on the opposite sides of the thoroughfare, looking for a tavern where Mirlín could find a suitable victim. The first one in sight was slightly shabby but already full of customers.
The woman noticed that this town was a lot dirtier than the villages before. The prevailing smell was a mixture of manure, rotting food, smoke, and stale urine. Then she saw a young family standing in front of a ramshackle building. A tired-looking woman was holding a baby in her arms and there was a small child at her feet, gripping the hem of her dress.
A drunken man, apparently her husband, was yelling at the woman. "Why don't you keep your fucking mouth shut?"
Mirlín noticed that the woman was hiding her tears by expressing anger. "We haven't any money and yet you're always drunk!" she screamed.
"You think I don't know that, bitch? We have nothing! The only thing I can do is get drunk and try to forget this fucking mess!" the husband shouted.
Both children were crying. Mirlín averted her eyes, shuddering. This is reality, a world of shit. She motioned to Reynaer that she would scope the shabby tavern.
The tall man crossed the thoroughfare and walked by her. "I'll wait behind that corner," he whispered and disappeared into the shadows.
Mirlín stepped inside the building and gazed around. Plenty of scumbags here, just waiting to get mugged. It's a dog-eat-dog world, she thought to herself, hoping they would not rob a family man, blowing his only cash for a brief oblivion.
Reynaer scanned the dark alley and found the perfect spot. There was a niche on the tavern's wall to which he slipped and waited. He hoped Mirlín would find some sucker soon enough and without too much trouble. Thinking of his past experiences, he knew people could be very cruel to whores looking for work and it was always painful to watch a person being humiliated when they were already pretty much clinging to the lowest tier of society.
Reynaer wished he could just see into people's souls so he could pick out the scum and rob just those who, in his view, deserved it. Funny, a mugger with a conscience. Not a good combination, his teacher had told him that when he had been a boy. The alternatives were ditching the conscience and giving up sin. He had experienced both extremes and had found only dead-ends. Still he felt like a bit of a loser standing there, in a dark alley, waiting to strike down some poor sod for chump change.
His thoughts drifted back to Mirlín who was doing the pulling in the tavern. Finding out about her whoring had forced him to think about his relationship with whores in general. I've fucked maybe, what, a hundred women? Probably more, about half of them whores. It's business but Mirlín... damn that woman! And damn Fyen while you're at it! Those two've somehow pierced right through my defenses and... no, my guard was down and they, or actually fate, probably, to be precise, struck at the moment I was the most vulnerable to all of this shit. He recalled their talks at the tavern and Mirlín's story about getting beaten by another woman. She left something out of that one but, then again, no wonder she's secretive, the kind of life she's lead. Kinda requires it if you don't want to take unnecessary hits.
He had roamed the lands for years, fought in armies, in taverns, robbed, stolen, drunk more ale than he cared to remember, felled women, sometimes more than one at the same time, and somehow, throughout all of the things he had done and seen, he had stayed hard, kept his distance. He was basically invulnerable even though he bled when stabbed and his bones broke when struck hard enough. He tried counting the number of the faces he had literally stomped on but couldn't remember all of them. It had been a full life and there was little he wanted to do that he hadn't done. If only I could find some decent absinthe and two tribal queens, royalty would do as well in a pinch, one white, one black, and I could fulfill my final dream.
But those two! They messed it all up! Should just ditch the lot and take off into the night. Wouldn't be the first time. I'm pretty sure they wouldn't miss me much, probably would be better off without me anyway. Especially Fyen, how she's changed! When I first saw her she was still just an innocent kid even though the loss of her mother had scarred her but now... now she's on her way, heading right were I've spent most of my life and... that's a dark path to travel. In that kind of a life men suffer being beaten, women suffer being fucked... and sometimes women are beaten afterwards... and sometimes men are fucked afterwards... Suddenly he didn't feel like pursuing the idea any further.
However, there was no denying that for some reason he actually cared about the two girls. Sometimes he just wanted to shake them both violently and scream at them, wake them up, and get them to marry decent men like Desiderius, settle down, have a couple of kids, and live the sheltered life of people who amounted to little more than sheep.
That's never going to happen. Mirlín is too strong for that. She will always have her own way, no matter who tries to protect her. I fear it's a fact that her path is a painful one, filled with sadness and misery. And Fyen... she's just too damn stubborn and too damn reckless for her own good! Not only that, but she's a trouble magnet if there ever was one! Being attractive and inexperienced is not a good combination either. But seems like now that she's gotten a taster of the darker pleasures, there's no holding her back. Probably the only person who could rein her in is Mirlín but... I can't see her doing that. So I got to keep an eye on the kid while we travel together. Hm, maybe this is what it's like to have a little sister? Fyen's a feisty lass and even though her strength lies in a different place than Mirlín's, it's still there, that fire that drives both of them despite the wounds they get on the way.
He nearly ruined everything by almost sighing when he heard Mirlín walk into the alley, talking, or more like crooning to someone. Reynaer got ready and waited. Mirlín walked past him first and close behind her came a punter. He was a stout man of maybe forty. Damn, seems relatively sober. Oh well...
Reynaer struck the man right on the jaw with the flexible club. There was a sickly crack as the man's jawbone broke and he fell down on the ground.
"Damn, this thing really doesn't need much behind it to put them down," Reynaer wondered aloud but just as he had finished his sentence, the man on the ground moaned quietly and got on all fours.
Then he started crawling away, whimpering and cursing at the same time. Reynaer rushed next to him and kept beating him with the club but the punter wouldn't go down as most of the hits landed across the back of his shoulders. They moved in a circle around the alley for a while until Reynaer jumped before the man and kicked him in the head as hard as he could. There was another odd 'pop' and the man finally slumped down, unmoving. Reynaer looked down at the limp figure and darkness flitted past his gaze. The victim's feet weren't twitching, his chest wasn't rising. As he became sure of the situation, Reynaer reminded himself of why the man had come to the alley in the first place and, without another thought, bent down and searched for the punter's purse. Pocketing it, the tall man turned to Mirlín, who was looking at him with her eyebrows raised.
"That weapon of yours is just as useless as a limp prick." However, as she said it, there was little humor in her voice. In fact, the sound of her voice sliced through darkness about as cold and lifeless as a sword's blade.
Reynaer looked at the small club a little sadly and shrugged. "Maybe I hit him wrong... Anyway, you had any trouble pulling?"
She shook her head. "I tried to get a smaller man but this bastard walked right into my lap, or boobs actually, offering his money for ‘womanly favors', as he so eloquently put it. I almost wish I didn't make such a convincing whore."
Reynaer chuckled and shook his head. "I suspect you'll eventually lose your edge if things keep going this well." He counted the coins. "This guy had thirty seven silvers here!"
Mirlín shrugged. "Hm, I bet I could do better."
Reynaer looked at her. "You want to go another round? The size of the bloke doesn't make a difference."
"Yeah, I wouldn't mind. I kinda enjoy getting even with these assholes."
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