8.
When I'm in the shower
I'm afraid to wash my hair
'Cause I might open my eyes
And find someone standing there
People say I'm crazy
Just a little touched
But maybe showers remind me
Of Psycho too much
That's why
I always feel like
Somebody's watching me
And I have no privacy
Whooa, oh-oh
I always feel like
Somebody's watching me
Who's playin' tricks on me
- Rockwell, "Somebody's Watching Me"
As soon as we were back in Hilltop and Master Drogan's mule was unloaded, I staggered down to the tavern.
"Whiskey," was all I said to Lodar. I slid onto a barstool and let my head drop onto my folded arms.
Glasses clinked. "What's wrong, lass?"
I shook my head mutely, not even bothering to lift it. "Whiskey," I repeated, my voice muffled by my forearms.
I heard Lodar sigh. More glasses clinked. "You have done a fine job these past tendays, you know. This bottle is just about empty," he remarked. He raised his voice. "Aurys, lad!" he called to his son. "Fetch me another bottle of whiskey from the cellar! The ten-year Luskan!" Lodar paused. I felt his eyes on me. "On second thought, make that twenty!"
I heard Aurys go down into the cellar, his footsteps almost masked by the creak of the door on its old, tortured hinges.
Another door creaked. The smell of baking pies wafted across the tavern. "Lodar, dear," a feminine voice called sweetly. "When you're done there, can you help me lift this barrel?"
The clinking stopped. "Y-yes. Of course, Mara," the bartender said, his voice taking on an odd, strangled note. It was as if he couldn't decide whether to be curt or courteous, and he ended up dangling in some strange place halfway between the two. "I will be right there."
"Truly? Oh, you are the dearest man alive." Mara's voice was warm, and just a little teasing. "I will be waiting, then."
The door closed. I lifted my head slightly, looking upward.
Lodar's face was red. In spite of my mood, I smiled. "You don't have to discourage her, you know," I suggested mildly.
He blinked. His face turned redder. "I do not know what you mean," he said quellingly. He turned and set a glass down on the shelf behind the bar with a little more force than was strictly necessary. "Besides – I have Aurys to think about."
"I'm sure he won't mind," I said calmly. I folded my arms more comfortably on the bar and rested my chin on them, watching the way Lodar's shoulders were trying to bunch around his ears. He was a nice-looking man – blonde hair, craggily handsome face, clear blue eyes. Sure, he was going on middle age, and he had the kind of build that had once been burly and muscular but was starting to head south towards his gut with age, but he still wasn't bad to look at. Nice, too, in a rough-around-the-edges kind of way. I could understand what Mara saw in him. "How long has it been?" I asked quietly.
His motions stopped. "Twelve years," he said eventually.
"Hmm." I rested my cheek on my forearm, thoughtful. "How old is Aurys?"
"Fifteen."
I nodded against my arm. "I was six when my mother died," I remarked wistfully. "I'd have been happy for my dad if he'd found someone like Mara, after mom was gone." Granted, he'd found someone like Lois, instead – the witchiest witch who ever did witch. But Lodar didn't need to know that. "I wouldn't have wanted him to be lonely for the rest of his life. Not for my sake."
Lodar paused. He looked over his shoulder. "What…how did your mother…" he started to ask.
I wondered if anyone in this world knew what leukemia meant. "Cancer," I said finally, and hoped that was explanation enough.
Lodar blinked. "Oh," he said. "I'm sorry, lass..."
I shrugged, avoiding Lodar's eyes. "I was six," I said quietly. Tears prickled my eyes at the thought of my father, who was now in a far lonelier place than he had been after we lost mom. I blinked the tears away. "Why don't you just relax and talk to her, see how things go?" I suggested, switching the subject to something a little safer. I smiled. "You know she'll be all for it. She's practically sending up signal flares."
Lodar became studiously absorbed in drying off an already squeaking glass. "Perhaps. But you ought to mind your own business, lass," he said gruffly.
"Hey, what makes my bartender happy is my business, right?"
The bartender in question snorted a laugh. "Does your Master let you get away with sassing him like this?' he asked drily.
"Nope. That's why I have to save it all up for you."
His barrel chest shook with silent laughter. "Sass," he said again, shaking his head.
"You'd better believe it."
Aurys's footsteps stomped back up the stairs. "Da?" he asked, his voice confused. "Was this here when we put that bottle down?"
A bottle plonked down onto the bar, right outside of my peripheral vision. "Well, this is strange, and make no mistake," Lodar said. He looked surprised. "Where did that come from?"
Confused, I turned my head. My eyes fell on the bottle.
Then I felt the blood drain from my face.
There was an amulet hanging around the neck of the whiskey bottle. It was made of a dark grey metal, and it had a pointing hand on the front, with pale swirls of wind all around it.
The holy symbol dangled quietly from the dusty bottle. It looked awfully smug, for an inanimate object.
I gritted my teeth. "Son of a bitch," I seethed.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I climbed back up the hill to Master Drogan's house.
I marched up the stairs to my room, slamming the door behind me.
Then I opened the trunk at the foot of my bed, shoved my clothes aside, and threw the holy symbol to the very bottom of the trunk.
Then I piled my clothes on top of it and shut the trunk firmly. "There," I said darkly. "Maybe now you'll be happy and just stay out of my hair."
I hadn't drunk any of the whiskey. I was pretty sure the shock of having that damned thing turn up again had put me off whiskey for life.
I heard a knock on the door. "Yeah?" I called.
"'Tis me," Drogan's voice replied.
"Thank you, Captain Obvious," I muttered. I wrenched the door open. "I know, I know," I said glumly. "The barn. I'll be right down."
"Aye? Excellent, then. I was just about to say that I'd meet ye there," the old dwarf said. He nodded past me. "Bring that staff o' yers with ye," he added.
I watched him go, confused.
Then I gritted my teeth, grabbed Silent Partner, and headed for the barn. Orders were orders, and if I wanted to have a chance at getting out of here, I was just going to have to put up with them – even if they did make me want to scream and hit something. But, hey, I'd swallowed my pride and done things I didn't like before, hadn't I? My entire career had been one long struggle against telling my boss where to shove his orders. If I could do that, I could do this, too.
When I arrived at the barn, Drogan was waiting patiently, his hands folded on the knob of his cane.
I looked around. There was a conspicuous lack of manure. "What's going on?" I asked suspiciously.
The dwarf gestured at me to stand in the middle of the barn. "Yer stance isn't too bad, but as soon as ye start movin', yer footwork turns into a disaster," he said critically, looking me up and down. "We'll work on that first of all."
I blinked at him stupidly. "What are you talking about?" I asked.
He gave me an amused look. "Ye did want to learn how to fight, didn't ye?"
I stared at him for a long while. The comprehension trickled into my brain slowly, like melting ice.
Then it hit me all at once.
Slowly, I pulled a length of cloth out of my hip pocket and tied my hair back.
Then I planted my feet, shifted my grip on Silent Partner, and grinned tightly. "Tell me more about my footwork," I said.
