Ordinarily, Eli’s vague and unhelpful answer to her question would have inspired a snappish response. But Mara didn’t have any snappish energy–she didn’t have any energy–so she just said, “Okay,” as if that was enough. Because it was. She trusted him to ensure they didn’t sleep on the streets. Did anything else really matter?
Abruptly, Eli turned right and climbed the creaking front steps of a three-story building with Lorraine’s Sleepery in swooping script beside the door.
“Sleepery?” she muttered.
“Lorraine is…” he paused, hand on the doorknob, “...eccentric. You’ll like her.”
Without giving her a chance for further questions, he twisted the knob and pushed the door open, leading the way into what appeared to be a barroom. Tables were scattered across the open room with chairs stacked atop them. Against the left wall stood a long bar, bottles and glasses on shelves behind it, and to the right a low stage home to a single upright piano.
Mara hugged Nick a little tighter to her despite her aching arms, traipsing along in Eli’s wake as he strode over to the bar.
The red-headed woman behind the bar, reaching for a bottle on a high shelf, addressed them without turning. “Barroom doesn’t open for an hour.”
“Lori,” Eli said, and the woman dropped back onto her heels and whirled around, braids trailing as she spun. When she caught sight of her visitor, her cheerful, professional smile split into a devastated, wobbly-lipped grimace.
“Eli?” she breathed, tears leapt to her shocked blue eyes. For a heartbeat, she seemed to hover on a precipice, her hands coming up to her own cheeks as if to soothe herself. Then she broke free of her rictus and hurried to the end of the bar, then back along the near side before throwing herself into Eli’s arms like a long lost lover.
Maybe she was. The hug certainly went on for an improper length of time. “Gods,” she gasped into the collar of his shirt, one hand cradling the back of his head. “We thought you were dead, sweetheart. We heard about–”
“This is Mara,” Eli said, pulling away from the hug in such a hurry it would have been rude, were it not so obviously a calculated effort to stop her from saying something she shouldn’t. He gestured to Mara with a pained expression on his face. “Davy’s wife. And Nick. His son. I’m taking them to meet him. To meet Davy.”
For a moment, confusion twisted Lori’s pretty features. But Eli looked pointedly at Nick, and her expression smoothed out.
“Of course,” she said, her smile tight and sympathetic. “I take it you’re looking for rooms?”
“If you have anything available.”
At that, her smile loosened up, lost some of its desperate relief, and she lifted a hand to pat him on the cheek. “I’d kick out the Mayor for you, Eli. You know that.”
His own smile was a touch pained. “You don’t have to kick anyone out.”
“I would. But I don’t, you’re right. I had a no-show party of five yesterday. Terrible for business, but good for you!” She turned as she spoke, looping back around the bar and unearthing a massive, leather-bound book from beneath it. She dropped it on the bartop with a thud and flipped it open to a page marked with a short pencil. “Two rooms?”
“Adjoining, if possible. Otherwise just one.”
“I’ve got two on the third floor, adjoining. How many nights?”
Eli glanced at Mara and she shook her head. “Three?” he suggested, as much to her as to Lori.
Relief had her sagging. She’d feared this would be a one-night stop before they plunged back into the forbidding Ashfall wilderness.
“No problem.” Lori licked the tip of her pencil and scratched something into the book before slamming it shut and shoving it back beneath the bar. Then she crouched, disappearing from view, and reappeared with two keys, each bound to a wooden disc with red twine. “Rooms 31 and 32, top of the stairs to the left,” she said, handing them over.
“How much?” Eli asked as he accepted them.
“For you? It’s on–”
“Lori. Your going rate.”
She scowled and propped her fists on her hips. “Three copper a night.”
“Lori.”
“Four.”
“The truth, or I’ll take it up with Becca.” Lori lowered her face and mumbled something to the bartop. “Say again?”
“Ten,” she said sharply, glaring at him, and Mara felt an unexpected kinship with the pretty innkeeper. “But if you leave a tip I’ll hunt you down.”
“You’re welcome to try.” He plucked the keys from her hands and headed toward the staircase. “Mara?”
“It was nice to meet you,” Mara said, hurrying to catch up with him.
“Oh, we’ll chat soon,” Lori called after her.
Eli stopped at the first landing, offering Mara the keys. “Trade?”
Breathless, she passed Nick off and accepted the keys, and they trudged up the remaining three flights of stairs. Strange, how those least few steps between her and a private room and a proper bed felt like more work than all the hills of Ashfall.
The stairs ended in the center of a hallway, and they turned left. Rooms 31 and 32 were the last two.
“You can take 31,” Eli said, holding out his hand for the key, and she handed him the one marked ‘32.’ “Go ahead and get settled. We should be safe enough here, but keep the outer door locked. I’ll see about having water sent up for the bath. Cinder hasn’t quite caught up to Order plumbing standards.”
“Of course.”
“And I’m just through the adjoining door, so if you need anything–”
Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
“I’ll call.”
With a curt nod, he handed Nick back over to her and they parted ways. Mara let herself into the room and closed the door, letting her squirming son down as she locked it.
Cinder accommodation, not unlike Cinder itself, was remarkably unremarkable. The room, though small, was well-furnished with a bed that made her almost dizzy with yearning, a deep armchair, a sturdy chest of drawers, and a small hearth–unlit but welcoming nonetheless. A full-length mirror stood on a stand in the corner by the door, and Mara made a point not to look in it as she crossed the room and dropped her pack on the far side of the bed.
“Well, Nicky, what do you think?” she asked as her son scrambled up onto the armchair, lounged there for three seconds, and slid back off.
“Home!” he declared, running to the screen by the window that she assumed separated the bathing area. She followed him, and sure enough a copper tub sat against the wall, along with a chamberpot, a basin, and a low table scattered with various hygiene items–soap, a toothbrush, a tiny sample bottle of perfume. She uncapped the bottle and took a whiff. Cedar. Smoke.
She capped the bottle and tossed it onto the low table, tugging Nick away from the basin before he toppled it. That offense, of course, initiated a ten minute meltdown, which only ended when a knock on the door adjoining the rooms distracted him from the injustice. Sliding off Mara’s lap, Nick ran to the door and fumbled with the knob.
She helped him, which she suspected would have retriggered the meltdown had the door not swung open to reveal Eli.
“Lili!” Nick hollered, hurling himself into the man’s arms as if they hadn’t seen each other in weeks, as was his custom every time Eli wandered out of sight for longer than two minutes.
“Hey, buddy.” He stooped to pick Nick up, eyeing the tears and snot on his face, then looked to Mara, whose own face was warm and no doubt taut with lines of strain. “Little meltdown?”
“Mm. Little. Yes,” she said, leaning her shoulder against the doorway. She wondered if she looked as rough as he did, in the context of civilized quarters. She hadn’t noticed, when they were out in the woods and everything was dirt and greenery. But here, with plaster walls as a backdrop, she could make out the tracks sweat had cut through the grime on his face and neck, the bags beneath his eyes, the wrinkles in his clothing. His hair, cropped Order-close at the start of their journey, had grown shaggy, his facial hair full and disreputable. No wonder they’d been able to walk the streets of Cinder unmolested. He certainly looked the part of an outlaw. No doubt, so did she.
“Water’s on its way up,” he said, interrupting her catalog. “If you want to get Nick cleaned up first, I can watch him while you take your turn.”
“What about you?”
The question cast a brief shadow of confusion over his face.
“Won’t the water be cold?” she clarified.
“They’ll bring up more between each bath so we can drain and refill. I mentioned it’s been a while.”
Mara let out a breath, relieved. “Then the plan sounds good to me.”
No sooner had she said it than a knock sounded at the door, initiating a parade of girls and boys in matching blue uniforms, toting buckets of water. They slipped in and out of the open room, filling up the tub to partway, the last few walking more carefully and wearing thick oven mits, their burden steaming heavily.
When the parade had ended and the tub was full, Eli handed Nick back to her without prompting. “The tub drains to the outside gutter, so just pull the stopper when you’re done. And knock on my door when you’re ready for them to bring your water up.”
Mara had never had her bathwater brought to her before. As a girl and a young woman, raised on the poorer end of solvent, she’d fetched her own bathwater, and that of her parents. As Davy’s wife, she’d lived in order homes and stayed in Order inns, where water was delivered via taps. She struggled briefly with feelings of guilt before dismissing them.
The fact of the matter was that she needed a bath. She deserved a bath, after the last two weeks. And she knew without asking that Eli would make sure Lori and her employees were well compensated for their trouble.
Conscience lightened, she set about the monumental task of wrestling her squirming son out of his clothes and into the warm water. True to form, he struggled as if she was trying to drown him, right up until he was in the bath. Then he splashed happily as she scrubbed, rinsed, scrubbed, rinsed, rescrubbed and rerinsed the dirt from his hair and body. And then he struggled as if she was trying to drown him once more when it was time to get out.
“A little consistency would be appreciated,” she muttered as she hauled him bodily out of the tub and stood him on a folded towel beside it.
“No!” he declared, reaching for the lip of the tub as if poised to throw himself back into the dirty water.
“Yes.” She snatched another folded towel from the low table and wrapped it around his shoulders. “Come on, now.”
Swaddled and thus mollified, he let her pick him up and carry him out of the bathing area to stand beside the hearth, which had been lit sometime during the water-carrying shuffle. Nick stood in petulant silence as she dried his hair, and when he grew bored and darted away, she gave up with a sigh and let him careen about the room stark naked.
Leaving her son to his air-drying antics, she went to the bath area, pulled the plug as Eli had instructed, and did her best to clean up the spatter around the tub. Then she went to the door adjoining the room and knocked.
Eli answered a few seconds later, a bemused smile on his face.
“Sounds like things are going well.”
Screeching, Nick shot past both their legs and into his room, and she gasped and went to chase him, only for him to dart back. With a heavy sigh, she rested her forehead against the doorjamb. “Yes. Things are fabulous.”
“Want a hand?”
She dipped her chin a weary nod, stepping back to allow him into the room. “I’ll wrangle the beast if you dig out his clothes,” she said, nodding toward her pack. “There should be a clean set, in the green drawstring bag.”
Leaving him to the excavation, she chased Nick down, captured him, and finished drying his hair. Eli joined her by the fire, clothing in hand, and together they wrestled the squirming child into fresh clothing.
“Imagine being so ticked off about being clean,” Eli remarked, sitting back on his heels when they finally finished and Nick tore away. “Is he always like this indoors?”
Mara slumped onto her bottom, the heat of the fire warming her back, and watched Nick scramble up onto the bed, crawl like an animal across it, and then slide off the far side. “Yes,” she admitted. “I don’t know what it is about four walls.”
“Gods,” he breathed. “How did you get anything done?”
Mara laughed, nonsensical tears blurring her vision. “I didn’t.”
He frowned. “What about your work?”
“I’ve spent a total of five hours in my workspace since he started crawling. Wrangling Nick is a full-time job.”
If Eli had more to say on that subject, he didn’t get the chance because Nick came flying in from the left, tackling him with such force he had to brace himself to keep from falling.
“Alright, Nicky,” he said, slinging her son under his arm and pushing to his feet. “Let’s go destroy my room and let your mom have a bath.” At the door, he turned back. “If it’s okay, I’ll take him downstairs to let them know you’re ready for your water. But we’ll be here in the room while you wash up.”
She dipped her chin. “Thank you.”
He closed the door behind him, and she slumped there on the floor, a bit dizzy. A bit nauseous. Part of her wanted to leave this place and return to the woods, where there was always noise of some kind, and the threat of danger. Between these four whitewashed walls, with even the sounds of the city street muffled by plaster and insulation and distance, there was nothing to keep the heavy sadness inside her. It expanded, billowing outward, until the whole room stank of neglect–musty and faded.
Before she could sink fully into her dusty, foggy feelings, a knock at the door heralded the arrival of Lorraine’s servants with the water. When they finished, Mara was alone with a steaming hot tub of water, no child to mind, no mysterious guide to tiptoe around, no Davy to desperately hold.
She stripped to nothing, leaving her clothes in a dirty pile atop Nick’s, and used a rag to wipe the worst of the dust from her body before slipping into the water.
Deep, dark, delicious Depths.
She slid down until the water lapped at her chin, the heat suffusing her body in layers. Skin, then fat, then muscle, then bone. Pleasure coiled up her spine and turned her brain to warm, contented mush.
Maybe–maybe–she would be okay.