Basia's tale

This was his kind of place of worship. Fira’s temple was never empty in the evenings and everyone was welcome. Peter was sitting by the counter with a quill in his hand, trying to find inspiration. Then he saw a drunkard priest, a dashing hero-type and his simpleton sidekick next to what appeared to be a tone deaf bard. Peter grinned. All that was missing was the spiffy heroine in trousers. C’s Monthly would have jests in the next issue.
Basia stared at the young man who was resting his head on his hand and wrote something down, eyes never leaving the paper. It couldn’t be. He was supposed to be one of the Riders now, and she had been sure his price had been high enough to get him to classier places. However the ash blonde strands of hair that fell on his eyes and the nonchalant expression he sported was so familiar. Arien ordered them a round of whisky. She downed it at once and enjoyed the burning sensation in her throat.

“I must say, Arien, you managed to surprise me. I didn’t think you’d be one to worship a female god.” She then said, voice raw from alcohol.
Arien turned his head in the direction of the dancing priestesses.
“Ah.” Basia wondered if she would turn heads in the scanty dresses of the dancers. The leering men didn’t seem to notice the priestesses weren’t really that beautiful; most could have been anybody from the streets and some were even unattractive. From the face, that is. Their bodies writhing under the moonlight that was cast from the window on the roof were as enchanting as magic to her. Basia didn’t object when the bartender placed another drink on the table.

“I can’t believe I’m getting married by the name Bootwax.”
“It sounded useful at the moment.”
“If I get to pick a name, it should be something that describes me. Something poetic.”
She looked a bit tired, dark circles under her eyes and all.
“I promise to call you Shadow next time.”
Basia’s face lit up with a grateful smile. Arien was glad he had given her a proper name earlier; otherwise she would have really chosen something that ridiculous.


Peter had a feeling someone was watching him. He raised his gaze from the jests to meet a familiar pair of grey eyes.
“Basia, you look exquisite. Got a make-over at Madame Stryder’s?” The hair was improvement, actually. Her drab brown locks were gone and the new cut flaunted her delicate ears.
The slap stung a bit.
“How dare you!”
“I’m a reporter now.” Someone tapped his shoulder.
“Remember me lad? Name is Arien.” And Peter remembered.
“Now I do. How is the henchman thing working for you? I see you found a new vicious bitch to serve.”

“Well.”
“Well.”
“There is a funky smell.” Silas pointed out and decided they would have bacon for breakfast. The eggs had obviously been a little old.
“Indeed.” Nikolaus closed the notebook when it started to write about old farts.

Basia felt strange. This was the first time anyone ever defended her against Peter, or any bully. Arien looked tall and masculine and she was pretty sure Peter had flinched a little. The hollowness inside her was filled with warmth for a while, and she felt no longing to magic.
“I’m a new man now. That’s why you don’t get sliced for your treason.” Arien seemed to be in a good humor. There had been times when Basia had hoped for some tall, dark and handsome mystery man, but this was better. It was like having a real friend.
“No worries, friend. Your secret is safe with me. Besides, I got a mistress too - a little older but quite magnificent if I may say so. And by magnificent I don’t mean fat. If I’d have to describe her size, I’d say buxom. Then again, I’m not saying there’s anything bad in being a little boyish. That whole altar boy thing can be quite alluring too. But I’m not saying you are into altar boys.” Peter shut his mouth. The stammering had been a little amusing but Basia didn’t feel like laughing at him.
“I always thought you were taller.” Basia said what came to her mind without really thinking about it. They were standing quite close to each other and she didn’t have to look up to him. Peter looked at her, trying to figure out if she was mocking him. He didn’t have a witty comeback. Arien cleared his throat.
“Come now, the priest is waiting.” Basia remembered her impending wedding and allowed Arien to guide her back to their seats.
“Catch with you later then. “ Peter shouted after them, and started writing again.

“Oh my, in all my years I have never been in such a situation – well, not that I know of. So this… female predicament, it’s permanent?” The priest’s bald head was shining and he was holding on to his goblet as it was his only link to sanity.
“I’m no doctor, sir. But as a man I have never seen proven otherwise.” Basia gasped and wished she hadn’t heard that. Thinking about Arien with another woman felt degrading. Ever since they got to know each other she had had a feeling there was something special between them. She turned face from Arien’s worried stare and tried to concentrate on the music. There was a rhythm beckoning her, and she felt like joining the priestesses.
“Please, do call me father.”
“Eh, it’s a little too early for that.”

Ordys had no intention of hunting the lad down. He merrily spent his time in whorehouses and taverns, thanks to Noira’s gifts. Occasionally he won in gambling. Good thing the lad had that little lady who knew them hexes. The Riders weren’t expecting results anytime soon, and Ordys was having the time of his life.