Agent of the Dragon

All thoughts of magecraft and disguise disappeared from Mieryth’s mind a few blocks from The Dancing Maid. More precisely, she ran into a situation that forced her to bury Rhysa so deeply Mieryth was no longer merely a disguise.

Mieryth had stopped in a shop selling cosmetics. Though she didn’t need rouge or eyeliner, she had noticed the women she’d taken to be upper level servants wore some kind of removable beauty mark. She decided to purchase a couple in order to reinforce the idea she was someone a powerful lord or lady could trust. She was just leaving the store when she heard a cry of pain over the low hum of the ambient crowd.

She looked to where the cry came from, and saw a young man on hands and knees, head hanging. He shook his head as if to clear it, then climbed to his feet. The man standing over him had his back to her, and had the build and physique of a guard, though he wore no uniform. From the way the young man moved, it was obvious the larger man had hit him; he turned his head wildly, searching for someone who would help him.

For a split second, Mieryth disappeared and Rhysa recognized Mischa’s burn-scarred face. In that split second, Rhysa knew she would have to abandon. If she helped him, she would establish a link in everyone’s mind that could end with her death and his, should anyone choose to investigate it at a later time. With that knowledge crushing her heart, Rhysa hid behind Mieryth.

Unfortunately, Mischa was desperate, and desperate men sometimes see what no one else can. He saw her and hope flared. “Rhysa!” Relief flooded his voice.

Hating herself for what she was about to do, Mieryth put on a confused look and glanced over her shoulder. A few others around her also glance back as if expecting to see someone pushing forward. When she looked back at Mischa, she saw a brief flash of confusion followed by the dark cloud of known betrayal. The hand holding her heart squeezed, and she wavered on the edge--then she saw who had hit Mischa.

Following Mischa’s gaze, the guard had turned to see if he had to beat someone else down. It was the guard who had raped Rhysa during the riot. The part of Mieryth that was Rhysa froze, then buried herself so deep, Mieryth forgot she was Rhysa.

Mieryth felt herself quiver slightly as the large man met her eyes. They locked gazes for several long moments before the guard continued searching the crowd for whoever the young man had called to. Then the jingle of fast-approaching guards became audible.

She let the shifting crowd push her to the outer edge. Once clear she made her way to The Dancing Maid. She was disappointed with this morning’s shopping; she’d only made a single purchase. Surely, the removable beautymark would help her find employment in her new home. She’d have to check with Sam about proprieties. Mieryth frowned slightly; she hoped she hadn’t made a mistake. The woman who sold her the beautymarks had assured Mieryth they were very fashionable, and the cost had been high enough that only those trusted enough to land a high paying position could afford them.

When she reached The Dancing Maid, the midday meal period was just winding down. The common room was less than half full, and the servers were talking and laughing with each other and the remaining patrons. Sam moved among the tables to share a few words with each person. Mieryth found herself impressed once again at the competence with which Sam ran her establishment. It was no wonder Sam had been successful.

Mieryth made her way to the stairs leading up to the rooms. She’d just reached the first step when she heard her name called. She turned to see who was calling her. Sam was looking at her with a large smile on her face. As soon as Sam saw she was looking, she waved, inviting Mieryth to join her.

Sam’s expression hinted at good news. Mieryth made her way to where Sam stood next to a seated elderly woman. The woman was thin, almost skeletal, but something about her hinted at strength and energy. Her mostly grey hair showed dark streaks of faded chestnut.

Sam turned to the old woman. “This is Mieryth, the young woman I told you about. Mieryth, this is Armina. She is castellan for Lord Bandar, and she may be able to help you.”

Armina gave Mieryth an appraising look, sharp eyes disconcerting. “She might do, Sam.” Then she addressed Mieryth. “Have you eaten your midday meal, yet, child?” Her voice, though slightly dusty, was strong with none of the creaking Mieryth expected.

“No, ma’am.”

Armina looked up at Sam. “Please bring her a plate of the fresh roast.” She looked back at Mieryth. “Do you drink wine, child?”

“Sometimes, ma’am, though I usually prefer small ale with my midday meals.”

Armina nodded to Sam. “And a mug of small ale.”

Sam beamed and bustled off to fill the order. Armina continued to examine Mieryth. “Have a seat, child. Sam tells me you’re recently widowed.”

Mieryth felt herself sadden slightly before pushing beyond. “Yes, ma’am, I am.”

“Hmm. No children?”

“No. We wanted some, but before he got a job as a gardener, my husband was a caravan guard. It’s dangerous work, and he refused to put me in the position of caring for children alone.” Mieryth sighed. “Ironically, he died of a snake bite as he was clearing ground for a new garden.”

Armina nodded her sympathy. “I’ve buried two husbands, myself. The first from injury, the second from illness. You’re young. You’ll find someone else.”

“Perhaps. But not for some time yet. I loved Garan very much. It will be a while before I can love someone like that again.”

Mieryth was relieved when Sam returned with Mieryth’s midday meal. Obviously sensitive to a new widow’s grief, Armina said nothing until Sam had left them alone again. When Armina spoke again, she quizzed Mieryth on her duties as a body servant, and seemed pleased with the answers Mieryth provided.

Mieryth found herself liking this woman. She wanted Armina to like her in return. Most of the questions Armina asked, Mieryth answered easily. There were a couple of points, though, when Armina asked about her former mistress. Much as Mieryth wanted to answer, she didn’t think it was appropriate to reveal confidences. When she reluctantly refused to answer, she worried Armina would become angry and decide Mieryth wouldn’t fit the position. She was surprised, then, at the approving smile spreading across Armina’s face.

Armina responded to Mieryth’s surprised expression. “I wanted to see how discrete you could be. Often a woman in your position will tell secrets if not doing so would result in not being hired.”

Mieryth worked her mind around that, then nodded her understanding. “Trust is hard enough to earn the first time, even without demonstrating your untrustworthiness beforehand.” Mieryth shrugged. “Besides. Reputations are important among household staff, once ruined it can take years to repair--assuming it’s possible to repair at all.”

Armina smiled warmly. “Very good, child. I think you will do very well.” Relief glowed through Mieryth, and she waited for Armina to continue. “Let me tell you about the position I’m trying to fill. My Lord’s son is getting married next week. Part of the wedding gift is a new household. Young Lord Bandar is being given a small manor outside the city. It is my task to gather and train a staff for the manor. His bride is in need of a body servant. From what I’ve heard, you will fill that position nicely.” She held up a hand to forestall Mieryth’s incipient outburst. “I never accept an immediate response. I’ll return tomorrow for your answer. If you think you’ll like it, we can discuss payment and benefits, tomorrow.” She stood. “It has been a pleasure talking with you, Mieryth.”

Mieryth watched the old woman leave the inn. Who would have thought she’d have found employment so quickly? Body servant was a much sought after prize among household staff. While it did not have actual authority, the way a castellan did, a body servant had enough prestige that the effect was much the same.

In many ways, a body servant was in a position of higher trust than even a castellan. A Lord or Lady’s relationship with their castellan was based on business. They might be friends, but it was a castellan’s job to run the household as a business. A body servant, on the other hand, saw his or her Lord or Lady at their worst. A good body servant was as much confidante as maid and dresser. While a castellan might know everything that went on in the house, a body servant knew what was in the mind and heart of the Lord or Lady.

“I never thought my inquiries would land you something like that.” Mieryth looked up to see Sam standing next to her. “I’ve heard good things about that family. They may be only minor nobility, but their household has the reputation of being nearly as skilled and content as the royal household.”

“I wouldn’t be working at the main house. The younger Bandar is getting married. His bride doesn’t have a body servant. Armina seems to think I might fit the position.”

“Still. You’ll be working for the Bandars. And Armina will doubtless supervise you until she finds and trains a castellan for the new household. She’s a good person, though I don’t often get the pleasure of entertaining her here.” Sam patted Mieryth’s shoulder and turned to leave.

“Sam. Do you have a private bathing chamber? I’m a little overwhelmed and I don’t want to fend off the gossip-mongers.”

Sam smiled her understanding. “I can have a tub brought to your room, and water provided. Let me know when you want it.”

“Thank you.” Mieryth considered her potential employment. Room and board would likely be provided, either directly or through extra money disbursement. She probably wouldn’t need to buy uniforms either, those would be provided. Other clothes, however, wouldn’t.

Her husband used to say, “One of the first things merchants do when they reach a place they’ll stay for a while is buy clothes. I guess they think dressing locally will smooth their negotiations.” At the time, she’d scoffed at the notion. Now, she began to see why they might think that. Wasn’t that why she’d bought the beautymarks? She checked her scrip to see how much coin she had left. A brief glance showed she had enough to buy at least two new outfits, especially since she wouldn’t need to worry about stretching her coin.

By the time Mieryth returned to her room, she was exhausted--pleased, but exhausted. Her purse was nearly empty, but she’d already paid for this night and next, as well as the four meals that went with the room. She laid out her purchases on the bed, wanting to see her new outfits again.

One outfit was nice, but simple, meant for casual wear. The blouse was a pale rose creation of simple linen, high-necked, and resilient enough to withstand an entire evening of dancing. To go with the blouse, a pair of pants cut and tailored to look like a skirt except when sitting astride a horse. It was made of sturdy wool and dyed a deep blue. The whole ensemble looked demure, though her figure was well displayed.

The other outfit was formal. The centerpiece was a dress of fine linen. It was a slightly darker rose than the blouse, with delicate swirls of embroidery on sleeves and bodice. To go on her legs, she had stockings of finely woven cotton. It was a pity she didn’t have enough money to buy a pair of shoes for each outfit. She’d made do with a pair a bit too formal for the casual wear, but not quite formal enough to truly go with the dress.

Mieryth hung her new outfits in the wardrobe and checked her appearance in the mirror. Her hair showed evidence of the day’s sweat, and she decided the next thing she needed was that bath Sam had offered.

Sam was busy with new customers when Mieryth reached the common room. Staying a respectable distance to avoid overhearing the conversation, Mieryth caught Sam’s eye and signaled for Sam to join her when Sam finished. Sam nodded her understanding, and Mieryth sat at a small table meant for two people. It was unoccupied and placed to prevent someone at another table overhearing what was said. Mieryth wondered what conversations might have been held at this table, and suppressed a giggle.

It wasn’t long before Sam joined her at the table, she’d brought a couple of mugs of small ale with her. Mieryth accepted the mug Sam offered. She took a long gulp. Sam chuckled. “I saw you come in with your packages. You looked like you could use something wet.”

“I did. Thank you.”

“So, tell me what you bought.”

Mieryth told her about her afternoon of shopping. With relish, she described the garrulous seamstress who sold her the casual outfit. She had Sam holding her side with her descriptions and imitations of the stuck-up prig of a woman who sold her the formal dress. Sam commiserated with her about the shoe situation.

“I’d like to wear the casual outfit tonight,” said Mieryth, “But I’m afraid I worked up quite a sweat out there. Could I take advantage of your offer of a private bath?”

“Of course, my dear. I’ll send a couple of the staff up right away.”

The bathtub arrived, carried by two stout women. They put the copper-lined wood tub in the middle of the floor. One left, the other turned to Mieryth, her voice surprisingly delicate for her bulk. “The water will take a little while to heat. We’ll bring up the cold now, and the hot when it’s ready. How hot will you want it?

Mieryth pursed her lips. “I think three buckets should be fine.”

The woman nodded and left without another word. Both women returned carrying buckets filled with water. One by one, they poured the buckets into the tub. The women left and returned shortly with the buckets full once more. This time, they set two of the emptied buckets by the tub. Once again, the woman with the delicate voice stopped before leaving.

“It will only take a little longer for the water to heat up sufficiently. Feel free to use the washroom if you want to empty the tub some. You can also find towels there.”

“Thank you.”

The woman left Mieryth alone with a tub halfway filled with cold water. Mieryth sighed, kicked her shoes off, and decided to get the towels from the washroom before the hot water came. On the way back, Mieryth met the two stout women outside her door. She opened the door and led them into the room.

The buckets they carried were covered and appeared thicker than the others. Instead of pouring them into the tub, the women set the buckets down and left. Mieryth hefted one of the buckets and set its cover aside. Steam rose from the bucket’s contents; she poured the hot water into the tub. A drop from the insulated bucket fell on one bare foot, and was hot enough to redden her skin. She put one hand in the tub--a single bucket was enough to heat the water to a comfortable temperature.

She undressed quickly, pausing only slightly at the odd straps around her thigh holding a dagger to the back of each leg. It had confused her a bit to find them when she was being fitted, but they had a comfortable feel to them, so she let them be. Now she took them off, and placed them away from any danger of being splashed.

She grabbed the small cake of soap one of the ladies had placed on the room’s table, and was about to step into the tub before she remembered to grab the scrub cloth. The tub, while large enough for her to sit in and soak, was not large enough to support splashing, and a scrub cloth would keep the splashing to a minimum.

Mieryth stepped into the tub, and lowered herself until she was immersed in water. Once seated, she began to wash, paying scrupulous attention to every part of her body; she was proud of her body and took care of it. She was well muscled, though the muscles didn’t normally show; nevertheless, she took pleasure in the feel of skin sliding over muscle.

By the time she finished, the water temperature was cooling. She took one of the empty buckets and dipped a bucketful of water from the tub. Then she removed the lid from another of the hot water buckets. Steam rose in an inviting, ephemeral pillar. Carefully, she poured the hot water into her bath. When the bucket was empty, she used her hand to stir the water, evening the temperature. Then she lay back and let her head rest on the back of the tub, letting her mind go blank. The water felt good as it partially supported her.

Moving slowly, as if in a dream, Mieryth brought two fingers to her lips, and spat on them. Again moving slowly, she used the spittle to draw an odd design on the wooden edge of the tub.

As soon as the design was finished, she felt something shift in her mind--and Rhysa found herself sitting in a tub, reliving the afternoon from the point when she’d submerged behind the Mieryth cover personality.

Rhysa’s heart ached for what she’d done to Mischa. While not the best of friends, they had been comrades in Amelia’s house. She let a couple of tears fall for Mischa and the death of a tiny piece of her soul. Rationally, it had been the right thing to do; she couldn’t afford to have anyone connect Mieryth with someone from House Kasteryn. The guard might not have recognized her in her disguise, but she wouldn’t have been able to suppress her body language. The guard would have noticed that for sure.

Rhysa was surprised how well the Mieryth personality had worked. She hadn’t been at all sure the cover persona would trigger on command, nor that the reset ritual would work. This cover persona and reset ritual were apparently standard operating procedure for deep cover agents.

Rhysa let her mind drift as she finished her bath. She had employment in a position of trust, but would she be able to find anything concerning The Primacy? She could only wait and see with whom she was dealing. The outfits should be good enough until she got livery. She smiled a little. It was probably a good thing Mieryth had been in control for the interview, Rhysa doubted much got past the castellan.

Rhysa stood, sighed, and stepped out of the tub. Her assignment would truly start tomorrow.

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