Faithful Pebble

Part Sixty-One

He froze, the hero, the drunk, the man that most of the villagers both reviled and respected. An olive green eye swiveled to the right. It glared, like the dragon, at the woman darkening the doorway behind him. Again, he sneered. "I'm doing nothing," he said pulling back his hand, snapping the case shut. "I'm only paying my respects."

"Your respects?" The woman laughed stumbling into the small little room. She always laughed. The man rolled his eyes and stepped away from the case, from the jewel, from the dragon's silent stare. He purposely eased towards the exit. "Why would you do that?" she said. "Everyone in the world knows that you hate that man, the butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker. Actually, his wife told me she's figured out your little secret."

The Madame smiled softly, purposely blocking his way. She knew the game and so did he. The budding hero frowned, the Madame did not. "She thinks, meaning to say, she suspects, quite accurately really, that you maybe just a tinsy, winsy bit jeal—"

"Do you want something?" the hero asked firmly. He didn't raise his voice, though he did narrow his eyes. Hers looked towards the dragon before sauntering back to his. She arched her back a little… well, maybe a lot. The hero's sneer inched higher.

"You know," she said. "You have no reason to compete with that man. Everybody knows that you are already a hero. In fact, without a doubt, you are MY hero."

"My lady." The hero's voice curled, his smile, just barely teetering on this side of handsome, slithered on purposely hiding his disgust. He eyed her curls, her aging, sagging arms, the budding protrusion of her stomach that grew wider each coming year. Behind a mask deftly crafted, he eyed her. He despised her. He appeased her. "For what, my lady, do you call to me?"

The woman smiled knowing he hated it, knowing he needed and was forced to eat it raw and revolting. "I get distracted so easily," she purred. "No wonder I tend to lose him."

The man stared at her.

The woman waited. "Do you know where my son is?"

- Calla