22 To Forget:
No one tried to talk to Don as he entered the tavern. Mealtime was over; the only scents that permeated the area were loqua, cider and coffee. Don reflected that perhaps he should try his luck with coffee instead of moonberry tea.
Brabham took Izmael by the shoulder and led his friend to the door. At the entrance of the pub, the short builder halted and brought his fingers to his lips. Brabham shook his head as Izmael let loose a shrill whistle. The rest of the tavern's inhabitants knew better than to argue. Everyone left their seats and followed the older men out of the place.
Don snorted. Was he supposed to be treated as an outcast? The only two that remained in the tavern were Kirala, who appeared to be oblivious to Brabham and Izmael's command and Urala, whose dark gaze penetrated the former sailor.
"Could I get a drink?" Don asked as he sat at the bar.
"You drink too much," Kirala said. She hovered over her younger sister.
"Yeah, that moonberry tea goes right through you," Don retorted.
The clink of china being set on the bar top was the only sound as Urala served Don his tea. Her expression had an unwavering certainty that Don found disconcerting. It was her eyes, he decided, those pools of shadow that seemed to be sucking him in and dissecting his motives.
"You trust him with the fine porcelain, sister?" Kirala asked.
"He hasn't broken it yet," Urala said quietly.
"I don't need any fancy porcelain." Don shrugged. "If it makes your sister nervous, I won't drink out of them."
"Please, drink it," Urala urged. Her face was placid, but her eyes raged.
Don swallowed a hard lump in his throat and took a sip. I was still moonberry tea. It still tasted atrocious.
"Thanks," Don muttered.
"You seem upset, Urala," Kirala noted.
"That's because I am," Urala replied.
"Would you like to discuss it?" Kirala asked. She made a crude gesture to Don. "Away from prying ears?"
"Yes I would," Urala said. "Please excuse us, Kirala."
Don gagged on his tea. A red flush passed over Kirala's cheeks. She glared indignantly at the tea sipping sailor, but pride swallowed any splutters before they crossed her lips.
"You wish to speak with him?" Kirala tried to sound as if she had suspected it all along.
"We have much to discuss," Urala replied. Her tightlipped mouth formed a narrow line on her face.
"Do you think it wise to be left alone with him?" Kirala asked. "You're a sweet, innocent young girl."
"I'm still here," Don announced.
The sisters ignored him.
"I will be fine," Urala insisted.
"You truly believe that?" Kirala pressed.
"I do," Urala replied.
"If that's what you believe," Kirala said grudgingly.
The older sister walked slowly towards the door. She paused at the door and when Urala didn't call her back, she turned around.
"If you need me for anything," Kirala offered. "I'll be in my shop, sharpening my tools."
With a curt nod of her head, Kirala exited the tavern. That left Don staring at the dark tea in his dainty cup, Urala's eyes tearing holes into his head.
"You didn't think I was capable of killing a man? Is that what it is?" Don asked finally.
"No," Urala replied. "The ability to kill is inherent in human nature. It's what every individual chooses to do with those desires that should be the focus."
"And you're disgusted by what I chose to do," Don ventured.
"No," Urala said. "Look at me."
Don forced his eyes away from his tea and hesitantly met her gaze. Her eyes burned into his.
"What is this?" Urala asked quietly. From her apron, she pulled out a folded up piece of paper.
"Where did you get that?" Don demanded.
"Brabham," Urala answered. "He found it on the ground outside."
"I never meant for you to see that," Don mumbled. His eyes fell back to his tea.
"Look at me," Urala commanded. "If you never meant for me to see it, then why did you write it?"
Don complied and looked back up. How her face remained so smooth, yet was capable of radiating such fury was beyond him.
"You heard Captain Vyse," Don sighed. "The punishment for murder is usually execution. I thought I was going to die."
"Why would that make you write this?" she asked softly. "If you were going to die, why would you want for me to disgrace you?"
"I just wanted you to be happy," Don mumbled.
"And so you wrote that I should forget you," Urala said. "So that when your body turned to dust you would completely vanish from this world."
"It wasn't about me," Don insisted.
"It must be," Urala continued. "Even if I chose to forget about you, does that mean that I would be able to forget what loneliness feels like? Or emptiness?"
"I thought it was what would be best for you," Don argued.
"My sister seems to share those sentiments," Urala noted. "That I forget you. But shouldn't I be the one who decides what's best for me?"
"And what do you think is best for you?" Don asked. He sipped at his tea. It was cold.
"To be able to live my life as I choose," she said.
"Sounds like a good plan," Don replied. "Maybe I'll do that. I should get used to spending more time around the island now that I'm officially washed up."
"That may not be such a bad thing." Urala smiled. "You'll be around the tavern more."
"Is that an invitation?" Don asked.
Urala blushed scarlet and turned to the filthy dishes behind the bar. Don watched her as she worked, silent save for the clatter of silverware.
"I don't come to this bar for the moonberry tea," Don said.
Urala froze.
"The tea is horrible," Don continued. "I don't know why, but I like to be around you. You make me feel at peace."
She blinked. The girl looked dazed as she faced him.
"Urala?" Don asked.
She placed a small hand over his callused one and offered a slow smile.
"You're supposed to drink moonberry tea with milk and honey," Urala said. "That's why it tastes so bad."