Written for SFX’s Pulp Idol in 2007. Didn’t get anywhere, but I wasn’t really expecting it to do anything. More a case of the right idea at the right time. There’s a more SF version kicking around as well, but I don’t write enough fantasy, and I like the way this originally came out.
The tavern was crowded, and Aureleus had to fight his way to the bar. It was a Thorsday night, after all, and it was unseemly not to be seen to be out and around.
He shrugged comically at Carella, who somehow, magically, had found a table by the window. She had one booted foot on a spare stool. She smiled back, and waved him on.
“Wine,” she mouthed. He liked the way she pouted that word.
(wine) Aethaeria grumbled. (ale’s not good enough for her. she demands wine.)
(shhh) Aureleus said. (she can have what she wants. Don’t mess this up.)
(meeemeeemeee. madame wants wine.)
(aethaeria…)
(fine. lovely. the most expensive wines known to humankind. whatever it takes. i’m with you.)
Auraeleus felt his heart sink. The things he would give for an unaccompanied night out, for eight hours alone in his head…
“My master?”
The barkeep. In his half-here, half-down-Carella’s-top state, Auraleus had magicked his way to the front of the scrum at the bar. He felt, and ignored, the heat directed at the back of his neck from the punters he had slid past to get to this belly-to-the-beertap position.
“Ale,” he said, too loudly. “A flagon. And wine for my mistress.”
The blush flooded up his neck before he could stop it. He could feel his ears heating. Wine for my mistress? Where in the Seven Hells had that come from? He felt Aethaeria sniggering, safe at the back of his head.
(don’t forget the sweetmeats, cuffley), she sneered. (wine can be rich on a delicate stomach.)
Aureleus gritted his teeth, took the tankard and flagon from the barkeep, and drifted back to the table Carella was guarding. As he arrived, she was gesturing wildly at a knot of dwarves who didn’t see the problem in sharing.
“Mating ritual”, Auraeleus gritted to the head dwarf, who took the hint with an admirable lack of theatrics. He ushered his party away with a set of winks and gestures that were surprisingly subtle for his kind. Auraeleus hoped that Carella had not heard the muted “waheys” they had stifled as they left.
(nice) said Aethaeria. (very nice.)
(silence or strangling) said Auraeleus. He could feel everything clenching. He hadn’t complimented Carella on her fine bodice yet, and he was already in a knot.
“That’s a nice bodice,” he choked, slamming the glass of cheap wine down in front of her. He’d gone for urbane, and ended up with slapstick.
“Thanks.” Carella smiled. “I wore it for you.”
The sun came out with that smile, which was a trick for eight o’clock on a bleak February evening. Auraeleus basked in her warm gaze, and took the opportunity to gulp half his ale.
“Thirsty?” Carella grinned. It was like spring, like the best parts of being embalmed in gold. Aureleus resisted the temptation to bolt the rest of the flagon.
“Yes,” he blurted. “No. I mean, I don’t drink like this all the time…”
“Just when you’re with me?”
“No. Well yes. Well…”
(keep going, sir bard. this is the most romantic thing i’ve heard all day.)
“It’s alright, Aureleus. You’re nervous. I understand that. I’m nervous too. We’ve been skirting around this meeting for months. It’s only natural for us both to be a bit, well…”
(pathetically mawkish)
“Apprehensive.” Aureleus delivered this through gritted teeth. It was hard enough keeping track of the evening without the heckling.
“Apprehensive. Exactly. Uncertain. You know how it is. I’d honestly come to the conclusion that you didn’t like me at all. The way you’d talk to me one day, ignore me the next. When you planned this evening, I was genuinely surprised. And, I have to say, pleased.”
Carella reached across the table, and took Aureleus’ hand. She was soft, and very warm. Joy swelled through him, firing images through his mind. Sun through the corn at harvest-time. The brightness of the reflections of the rippling water of Lake Kalma on a spring afternoon. Aureleus swooned at the beauty of it all.
(you’re looking at her tits.)
(what?)
(inside, you’re a poet. at this table, you’re drooling down the front of her bodice. she’s starting to look at you like you’re a pervert.)
Aureleus jolted, spattering ale across the table. Carella yelped, yanking back her hand.
“Sorry,” he stuttered. He leapt to his feet, mopping at the spills with the front of his shirt. Without thinking, he grabbed Carella’s hand and dried it. He ignored Aethaeria’s whoop of laughter. All his attention was on Carella, and the way her expression softened as he touched her. Suddenly, the voice in his head seemed a long way off.
“I was just having my evening flinch. I try not to have people get in the way. As you can see, it’s usually messy.”
Carella stared at him for a moment, and something broke loose in Aureleus’ chest, hitting every rib on the way down to his stomach. Aethaeria was silent, but he could feel her cringing.
And then Carella laughed. Nothing cruel, nothing harsh. A genuine, full-throated joyous laugh. Tears flooded down her face.
(you’re in there) Aethaeria breathed. (despite all your idiocy, I do believe you’ve cracked it, you bumpkin. you’ve got her laughing at your jokes. it’s all bedwards from here.)
Carella, snorting like a hog, wiping the tears from her eyes with a roughly swiped sleeve, grabbed Aureleus by the hand again.
“Trust me,” she wheezed. “I’ve seen messier. I’m just grateful for the gentlemanly way you dealt with it. Normally, I’d be sticky by now.”
Aureleus grinned. He pointed his best angle at her, three-quarters to the left. Finally, even he could see the way the night was going.
“That can still be arranged,” he cautioned.
Carella’s eyes flamed. She squeezed. Hard.
“I hoped you’d say that, Aureleus.”
(binnnnngooooo.)
Aureleus tried to damp the clangour in his head. The operation was at its most delicate phase.
“So. I think we can do better than this place. How do you feel about finding somewhere else for a nightcap?”
Carella moved in, her lips grazing Aureleus’ ear.
“My parents are at the Hog Fair on Ptermegant Island. They won’t be back till Sabbatday. My house is empty.”
Aethaeria roared in astonishment. It’s not a sound that could be stifled in parentheses.
“Why, that would be delightful,” Aethereus choked. “If it’s not a problem. Chaperone-wise, I mean.”
“Pish,” said Carella. “He’s over there.”
She gestured to the hulking troll slumped over a table by the privies. The dwarves she had been dealing with earlier were giving the huge, sleeping form exploratory prods with their hatchets.
“A sip of silica,” she confessed. “Gets them every time.”
The troll was sawing logs. The troll was drilling for oil. He was elsewhere. Out of the picture. Gone.
“I’ve always been a fan of silica,” Aureleus said carefully. The troll was a mountain range at rest. He’d seen them in motion. It was not an experience he wished to recall, especially if the mountain range in question was heading his way with intent to crush.
“Trust me,” Carella said. “He’s geologic till morning. Then he’s fired. Either way, you and me have time to get…”
She leaned over, and breathed five words into Aureleus’ ear.”
Aureleus considered that matter for a couple of seconds.
“Whenever you’re ready,” he said, reaching for his jerkin.
“Hold that thought,” Carella said. “I just need to fluff myself. One minute. If you can wait?”
“Don’t be too long,” Aureleus grated. Aethaeria was quiet. Not needed.
“That,” Carella breathed, “is not something I expect to ask of you.”
Aureleus sent whispered offerings to every god he could think of as Carella moved sinuously to the washrooms.
(so?) he said. (and?)
Aethaeria had to think for a moment. She wanted to make sure she had the phrase she sought exactly correct.
(if that was me,) she considered, (i would already have my lap in your face. that was masterful. i am humbled.)
(well then) Aureleus said. (as long as we’re agreed.)
In the washroom, Carella primped her perfect hair, tweaked her perfect lips. She was an angel, a vision. Utterly flawless. She could have anyone, be anything.
(well?)
She tried to keep the pleading out of her voice.
Caraelio came up to the surface, bringing his disdain with him.
(to be frank? you can do better.)
(than what? He’s sweet. He’s funny. He’s built like a drag-plough, Caraelio!)
(I don’t know, my sweet. I’m just not seeing it.)
(Seeing what? It’d be fun.)
(there’s no such thing as fun. I thought we’d agreed on that. Fleeting physical fulfillment means nothing against your final goal.)
(remind me what that is again) Carella said. She looked in the mirror. She was all tension. Her shoulders were up by her ears.
She felt Caraelio smile, that awful feline grin that he used when he knew he was winning an argument.
(why, your eternal happiness of course. What greater objective can there be, Carella? What else could I possibly want for you?)
(but he’s so nice) Carella bleated, the conviction slipping from her even as she said it. She’d had this argument so many times before, over so many men, some of them much finer catches than Aureleus. And every one had ended the same way.
She sighed. The sound was heart-breaking.
(alright, Caraelio. I trust you.) She began to look around for the back exit that was inevitably a part of washroom design these days. (he’ll blame me for this, you know.)
(i’m sure he’ll understand) Caraelio said, already sinking back to quiescence. (i’m sure he’s done exactly the same in his time.)
And so the scene was played, in taverns and ale-houses, in quiet spots and secret meeting places, as lovers met, and plied their troth, and withdrew at the very moment that they should have come together. The voices in their heads, the whisper of conscience made real to safeguard them against heartbreak, would never concede that this boy, this girl was the one.
The companions that had been fashioned to guide us through life, to ensure that we would be happy, that we would never be alone, could not be persuaded that there was not someone better around the next corner. That all that was needed was a little more patience, a little more time.
By the time we realized that they could not bear the thought that they could be supplanted in love, and made certain that that could never be, it was too late.
The birth rate had already dropped beyond rescue.
(she’s not coming back, is she?)
(no, sweet, I don’t think she is. womanhood can be so fickle.) Aethaeria oozed sorrow and sympathy.
(bitch.)
(no, Aureleus, that’s not helping. it’s painful, I appreciate that. but name-callers never prosper.)
(it’s not fair. i really thought we had something.)
(appearances can be deceptive.)
Aureleus grunted, and emptied his tankard. He stood up unsteadily, and set off to the bar.
(and getting drunk won’t help matters.)
(i’ll be the judge of that. anyway, look over there.)
In the corner of the bar, a fine-featured dark-eyed girl was watching Aureleus. He smiled at her. She smiled back.
(you know, Aethaeria, I feel like breaking someone’s heart tonight.)
(if that is your will), Aethaeria said.
