~ Chapter 3
I woke to the sun shining in my eyes. I was amazed to find myself on a comfortable bed in a small room. Beside my bed was my travelling bag. Across from the door were a small washbasin and a pitcher of water. I left my bed and noticed that I was still wearing yesterday's dress, torn and dirty. A flood of memories rushed to my brain. Excited, I knew that at least Roznin had fulfilled part of his promise-he had found me a place for the night.
Roznin-where was he? If this was the Dancing Dove, this should be his home, too. I went to the washbasin and peeled off my old dress. Standing in my underwear, I rinsed myself with the biting cold water. Teeth chattering, I grabbed a gown from my bag. It was like all my others-brown and torn. Loudly I cursed my luck and promised myself I would give up the cumbersome dresses once and for all.
As luck would have it, someone had placed a clean shirt and breeches on a stool at the foot of my bed. The shirt was a gorgeous blue, and picked out the color in my eyes. I put them on and slipped on my boots. Then, I combed out my wet black hair and clipped it back into a ponytail. I stuck my head out of the window and breathed in the early summer's air. The sky was dotted with dollops of clouds. The window on the second floor faced onto the main road. I recognized the red cobblestones and even the baker's shop where I was nearly tricked.
Food. The rush of hunger suddenly overtook my brain so that I could not think of anything else. I had not eaten for a day, and now I was ravenous.
I glanced at the door. What would I find when I opened it? Who would be down there? Commoners? Nobles? Rogues? They would wonder what I was doing there... And would I see Roznin?
Psyche, get a grip! I told myself. I tugged at my shirt and turned the brass knob open. Immediately in front of me was a dim hallway with many doors. A wooden staircase went down at the end of the hall. Timidly, I made my way down the stairs, led by my hunger.
The main room was a large dining and leisure hall, with tables and chairs in the center, and sofas at the back of the room. A doorway led into a room which I assumed was the kitchen. All was empty and silent, save for a feast on one of the tables. Covered by a gauzy film, there was a plate of old cheese, bread, and cold meats. A pitcher of cold cider stood next to it. I dug into the platter of food with no second thoughts.
After I finished gorging myself in the plain yet delicious food and drink, I carried the plate and the pitcher into the kitchen to wash. It was a medium sized room with a door leading out back. The sink at the far end was filled to the brim with dirty pots, pans, and plates. Leftovers and trash lay on the counters. Does no one clean up around this place? I thought with faint disgust. Well, there was only one thing I could do. Rolling up the sleeves of my new shirt, I began to sift through the mountain of dining ware.
It took me a while to clean the whole mess. After about one hour was I finally finished. The kitchen shone. I glanced around it once, examining my work. Satisfied, I left the inn by the kitchen door. I was immediately met with a dirt path surrounded by a vegetable garden. Delightedly I smelled the fresh herbs. I would have to help care for them one day, I thought.
The garden soon gave to a large grassy field. On the edge of the field stood a ramshackle building, presumably the stables. Other incongruous shacks lay around, looking purposeless. I spotted one to the side, surrounded by gravel, not grass. Curious, I jogged over to the little stone hut.
It did not have a door. I walked in freely, taking in the sights. From floor to ceiling of the room stood rich oak shelves, full of every weapon imaginable. I recognized different maces, swords, and even wooden clubs. They were all created down to the finest detail and quality. On a wall hung plain metal and wooden shields. I had never seen that many weapons in my life. But then, I had led a very sheltered life.
A doorway stood to my right. Going inside, I found that it was the workshop. Crouched on a stool by the single window was Roznin, focusing intently on something. The look of concentration on his face was so unexpected I stifled a laugh. Still, he did not notice my entrance. Quietly, I walked over to him to look at his work. He was stitching pieces of fine leather together. His curly brown hair was frosted with dust, and the sight of his callused hands deftly wielding a needle was an amazing sight.
"What's that?" I asked. He jumped up in surprise and let go of the leather. I glanced at it and knew instantly that it was the sheath for a knife.
"Hullo! I didn't think you would find me. That?" He glanced at the floor, embarrassed. "It's a sheath I'm making for you to match your dagger. ...It was supposed to be a surprise."
"My dagger?"
"And I'm mighty proud of it, too," Roznin said. He walked over to the cupboard and drew out something shiny. This he handed to me. It was a small dagger with a double-edged blade. I pressed a finger against it and drew droplets of blood. I whistled, obviously impressed. The dagger hilt was soft black leather. Studded into the hilt was a good-sized sapphire of the deepest blue. The pommel was rounded and molded perfectly into my palm. I felt like I had owned it for years, yet I had never held a weapon in my life.
"This is beautiful! How did you learn to make this? It's perfect. Thank you, Roznin."
"Well, when I told you at the market I sold weaponry, I wasn't lying." He smiled. "It's perfect, you say? Don't be so sure. Wait 'till you survive your first lesson from me," he said with a grin. He paused, then asked awkwardly, "What exactly is your name? I've never had a chance to ask..."
"Psyche. Psyche Damryne. And did you mention lessons? This is turning out better than I thought!" I beamed and hugged Roznin, dagger and all.
"Hey there!" he warned and dodged swiftly. "That thing is sharp. The last thing I want is for you to start stabbin' folks before you know how," he joked.
I jerked back, appalled at his comment. "Is that really what the Rogue life is like? Slitting throats and talking about it afterwards like it's no big deal? I thought the Rogue life would be of freedom and action, not this..."
"Action, oh there's plenty of that!" he said bitterly. He sighed, "But the rest you've got wrong, Psyche. The life of a Rogue is hard. You have to kill, steal, and spy on command, or be killed. The first time you steal, or slay, your conscience almost kills you with guilt. You knew what was right, what was wrong. But soon you'll have to do it again, and again, and again. We never get used to it, but we've learnt not to let our feelings interfere with our work. There's no time to think about the person we've just hurt. Our Duty overrides all else. Such is the way of the Rogue."
After his monologue, we were both silent for a long time. After I thought about what Roznin said, I thought about the life I left behind at the Mage School.
Stubbornly I said, "I am desperate enough for the life of a Rogue. You've probably figured that I was a runaway..." I told him my story of how and why I came to Corus, and about my Ma and Pa's death. Roznin was quiet for a while. Then he asked, "How did your parents die?"
I could feel the tears burning already. "Nobody knows...I don't want to talk about it."
He looked thoughtful. "Maybe you should find out."
Again, we were both still, lost in our thoughts. Then it was my turn to ask about him. "And you, Roznin?" I asked quietly, "why did you become a thief?"
His brown eyes sparkled. "...So I can teach the art of knife-throwing to a fourteen-year-old kid like you!" He playfully patted my head and picked the sheath up from the floor, which he handed to me. "Seriously, Psyche. The Rogues are one of the best bunch people you'll ever meet. The things we've all been through brings us together. We're like a family. You'll see!" He headed for the door and motioned me to follow him. "Come, we've things to do!"
I carefully sheathed my dagger and attached it to my belt. Together, Roznin and I left the weapons room.
I woke to the sun shining in my eyes. I was amazed to find myself on a comfortable bed in a small room. Beside my bed was my travelling bag. Across from the door were a small washbasin and a pitcher of water. I left my bed and noticed that I was still wearing yesterday's dress, torn and dirty. A flood of memories rushed to my brain. Excited, I knew that at least Roznin had fulfilled part of his promise-he had found me a place for the night.
Roznin-where was he? If this was the Dancing Dove, this should be his home, too. I went to the washbasin and peeled off my old dress. Standing in my underwear, I rinsed myself with the biting cold water. Teeth chattering, I grabbed a gown from my bag. It was like all my others-brown and torn. Loudly I cursed my luck and promised myself I would give up the cumbersome dresses once and for all.
As luck would have it, someone had placed a clean shirt and breeches on a stool at the foot of my bed. The shirt was a gorgeous blue, and picked out the color in my eyes. I put them on and slipped on my boots. Then, I combed out my wet black hair and clipped it back into a ponytail. I stuck my head out of the window and breathed in the early summer's air. The sky was dotted with dollops of clouds. The window on the second floor faced onto the main road. I recognized the red cobblestones and even the baker's shop where I was nearly tricked.
Food. The rush of hunger suddenly overtook my brain so that I could not think of anything else. I had not eaten for a day, and now I was ravenous.
I glanced at the door. What would I find when I opened it? Who would be down there? Commoners? Nobles? Rogues? They would wonder what I was doing there... And would I see Roznin?
Psyche, get a grip! I told myself. I tugged at my shirt and turned the brass knob open. Immediately in front of me was a dim hallway with many doors. A wooden staircase went down at the end of the hall. Timidly, I made my way down the stairs, led by my hunger.
The main room was a large dining and leisure hall, with tables and chairs in the center, and sofas at the back of the room. A doorway led into a room which I assumed was the kitchen. All was empty and silent, save for a feast on one of the tables. Covered by a gauzy film, there was a plate of old cheese, bread, and cold meats. A pitcher of cold cider stood next to it. I dug into the platter of food with no second thoughts.
After I finished gorging myself in the plain yet delicious food and drink, I carried the plate and the pitcher into the kitchen to wash. It was a medium sized room with a door leading out back. The sink at the far end was filled to the brim with dirty pots, pans, and plates. Leftovers and trash lay on the counters. Does no one clean up around this place? I thought with faint disgust. Well, there was only one thing I could do. Rolling up the sleeves of my new shirt, I began to sift through the mountain of dining ware.
It took me a while to clean the whole mess. After about one hour was I finally finished. The kitchen shone. I glanced around it once, examining my work. Satisfied, I left the inn by the kitchen door. I was immediately met with a dirt path surrounded by a vegetable garden. Delightedly I smelled the fresh herbs. I would have to help care for them one day, I thought.
The garden soon gave to a large grassy field. On the edge of the field stood a ramshackle building, presumably the stables. Other incongruous shacks lay around, looking purposeless. I spotted one to the side, surrounded by gravel, not grass. Curious, I jogged over to the little stone hut.
It did not have a door. I walked in freely, taking in the sights. From floor to ceiling of the room stood rich oak shelves, full of every weapon imaginable. I recognized different maces, swords, and even wooden clubs. They were all created down to the finest detail and quality. On a wall hung plain metal and wooden shields. I had never seen that many weapons in my life. But then, I had led a very sheltered life.
A doorway stood to my right. Going inside, I found that it was the workshop. Crouched on a stool by the single window was Roznin, focusing intently on something. The look of concentration on his face was so unexpected I stifled a laugh. Still, he did not notice my entrance. Quietly, I walked over to him to look at his work. He was stitching pieces of fine leather together. His curly brown hair was frosted with dust, and the sight of his callused hands deftly wielding a needle was an amazing sight.
"What's that?" I asked. He jumped up in surprise and let go of the leather. I glanced at it and knew instantly that it was the sheath for a knife.
"Hullo! I didn't think you would find me. That?" He glanced at the floor, embarrassed. "It's a sheath I'm making for you to match your dagger. ...It was supposed to be a surprise."
"My dagger?"
"And I'm mighty proud of it, too," Roznin said. He walked over to the cupboard and drew out something shiny. This he handed to me. It was a small dagger with a double-edged blade. I pressed a finger against it and drew droplets of blood. I whistled, obviously impressed. The dagger hilt was soft black leather. Studded into the hilt was a good-sized sapphire of the deepest blue. The pommel was rounded and molded perfectly into my palm. I felt like I had owned it for years, yet I had never held a weapon in my life.
"This is beautiful! How did you learn to make this? It's perfect. Thank you, Roznin."
"Well, when I told you at the market I sold weaponry, I wasn't lying." He smiled. "It's perfect, you say? Don't be so sure. Wait 'till you survive your first lesson from me," he said with a grin. He paused, then asked awkwardly, "What exactly is your name? I've never had a chance to ask..."
"Psyche. Psyche Damryne. And did you mention lessons? This is turning out better than I thought!" I beamed and hugged Roznin, dagger and all.
"Hey there!" he warned and dodged swiftly. "That thing is sharp. The last thing I want is for you to start stabbin' folks before you know how," he joked.
I jerked back, appalled at his comment. "Is that really what the Rogue life is like? Slitting throats and talking about it afterwards like it's no big deal? I thought the Rogue life would be of freedom and action, not this..."
"Action, oh there's plenty of that!" he said bitterly. He sighed, "But the rest you've got wrong, Psyche. The life of a Rogue is hard. You have to kill, steal, and spy on command, or be killed. The first time you steal, or slay, your conscience almost kills you with guilt. You knew what was right, what was wrong. But soon you'll have to do it again, and again, and again. We never get used to it, but we've learnt not to let our feelings interfere with our work. There's no time to think about the person we've just hurt. Our Duty overrides all else. Such is the way of the Rogue."
After his monologue, we were both silent for a long time. After I thought about what Roznin said, I thought about the life I left behind at the Mage School.
Stubbornly I said, "I am desperate enough for the life of a Rogue. You've probably figured that I was a runaway..." I told him my story of how and why I came to Corus, and about my Ma and Pa's death. Roznin was quiet for a while. Then he asked, "How did your parents die?"
I could feel the tears burning already. "Nobody knows...I don't want to talk about it."
He looked thoughtful. "Maybe you should find out."
Again, we were both still, lost in our thoughts. Then it was my turn to ask about him. "And you, Roznin?" I asked quietly, "why did you become a thief?"
His brown eyes sparkled. "...So I can teach the art of knife-throwing to a fourteen-year-old kid like you!" He playfully patted my head and picked the sheath up from the floor, which he handed to me. "Seriously, Psyche. The Rogues are one of the best bunch people you'll ever meet. The things we've all been through brings us together. We're like a family. You'll see!" He headed for the door and motioned me to follow him. "Come, we've things to do!"
I carefully sheathed my dagger and attached it to my belt. Together, Roznin and I left the weapons room.