Part 3

 “He’s out there again, Zaira.”

“Stop it, Stacia,” the red-haired dancer said, though she blushed. “I don’t care if he’s here or not.”

“Then why are you blushing?” Stacia asked, grinning at Zaira.

“I am not!” Zaira quickly covered her cheeks and backed away.

“You are,” Stacia teased mercilessly. “You like him, don’t you? I think he likes you, too. This is the third time this week he’s been here.”

“I do not like him,” Zaira said as she hung her cloak on a peg on the wall. “He’s a pig and rude and loud and obnoxious. And most of all, he’s a man.” She looked in a mirror and primped her hair a little, making sure the wild curls were artfully disarranged. She noticed the blush on her cheeks and glared at herself.

“If that’s so, why are you primping?”

“I am not primping!” Zaira turned transferred her glare on the only person she could call her friend. “I’m simply trying to look my best when I dance.”

“Yeah, right.” Stacia stood there grinning with her hands on her hips. “Since when do you care about looking your best for the scum out there?”

“I…Oh, just stop it, you.” Zaira turned back to the mirror then immediately turned away again as she realized she would only be primping.

“Finally found someone to melt that icy heart of yours, Zaira?”

“Bite your tongue,” Zaira snapped at her. “I hardly know him. He just comes in here because it’s close to the Red Dragon, that’s all.”

Stacia’s eyebrows threatened to fly right off her face so high did she lift them. “The Red Dragon? Is he staying there? Why didn’t you say so?”

“Why should I? So he’s staying at the same inn where I am. It doesn’t mean anything and you know it.” She crossed her arms in front of herself and fidgeted nervously. The band that provided the music for her dancing was late and she was starting to get nervous. The owner didn’t like it when his entertainment didn’t start on time. Neither did the crowd; she could hear them growing noisier and more boisterous and willed her stomach to stop churning. She was nervous at the best of times, having to perform in front of men, but when Derry came and started getting overbearing—

Almost as if her thought had conjured him, the short, balding man came hurrying up. “What are you doing back here, Zaira? I’m not paying you to stand around back here; I’m paying you to dance! Now get out there!” He grabbed her shoulder and pushed her towards the curtained entrance.

“But I can’t dance without music!” she protested, pulling out of his sweaty grasp and trying not to show the revulsion that gripped her.

“I don’t care! Get out there and do…something!”

“Now wait a minute, Derry! You can’t—“ Stacia tried to interrupt.

He rounded on her. “And I’m not paying you to stand around offering advice where none is needed! Now you get out there and serve the customers!”

Stacia stood her ground. “I’m on break.”

“Break?” he sputtered. “I don’t pay you to take breaks! I pay you—“

“I know, I know. You pay me to serve your customers. You don’t have to repeat yourself!” She grabbed up her tray and with a shrug and a sigh in Zaira’s direction, she went out to tend to her customers. Derry turned his glare on Zaira and she prudently slipped through the curtain behind Stacia instead of trying to argue with her irate employer.

And instead found herself facing the crowded tavern. She nearly panicked at the sight of the leering men as they started cheering for her. She had absolutely no idea what to do and stood there staring around her helplessly—until her eyes fell upon a pair of steel blue eyes that were watching her intently. As suddenly as her panic had gripped her, it melted away. Clearing her throat, she smiled, stepped forward and held up her hands palms together in front of her as she struck a pose and waited. When she had the entire room’s attention, she started to clap. She could do without music as long as she had a beat.

After a few moments of clapping out a beat, the men got the idea and picked it up, clapping in time with her and she started to dance. She slithered through the crowd, agilely avoiding those that tried to reach for her, dancing lightly away before they got too close to touch her. She kept her smile firmly fixed in place and tried not to think about them; instead just concentrating on the joy she felt when she was dancing. It was the only time she felt free; the only time she could shut out the miserable circumstances of her life.

To her surprise she found that the crowd loved providing the beat for her to dance; it meant they were able to interact with her more and it gave her a measure of control over them she hadn’t experienced before. They would vary the beat to try and throw her off and she would just slip into another dance step. They couldn’t trip her up because she was used to much more complicated rhythms. It soon became a sort of game between them, a game she found herself winning.

When her time was up, she twirled to a stop and took an extravagant bow before retreating through the curtain. She collapsed against the wall, gasping and dripping with perspiration and breathing hard with suppressed excitement. She grinned at her friend as she came up to her to hand her a cup of water.

“I told you you liked him,” Stacia said with a wink.

After gulping down her water, Zaira stared at her. “What are you talking about?”

“The guy with the red hair. You like him.”

“I told you before, Stacia—“

“Yeah, and I watched you stick close to his table all night, you shameless tart.”

“I did not!”

“Did so. You were really putting on a show for him.” She winked at Zaira. “He seemed to enjoy it, too.” She refilled Zaira’s water cup, which Zaira raised to her lips to cover the flush she felt reddening her cheeks. “Tell me, does he have a name?”

Zaira nodded. “It’s Gaavan.”

“Unusual name.”

“Is it?” Zaira said as nonchalantly as she could. Stacia smirked, but let the subject drop as she handed Zaira a platter. “Go eat your dinner, girl, then get home and get some sleep.” As she turned away, she winked. “And don’t let Gaavan keep you too up late.”

“Stacia!” the dancing girl exclaimed, flushing bright red. “He—I—we—“

The serving girl turned back with renewed interest. “Oh, so it’s ‘we,’ is it?”

Outraged, Zaira glared at her friend. “There is no ‘we!’ There never will be!” With that, she turned and stalked through the curtain into the tavern proper. She glanced around and found it nearly empty. There were a few late customers, but most of the crowd had left already—including her tall, red-haired neighbor. Biting down bitter disappointment, she found a table, sat and ate her dinner in silence. It took her only a few minutes to devour the meager meal, after which she collected her things, pulled on her caftan, and headed out of the tavern.

As she stepped into the night gloom, she heard a step beside her. Whipping around with her heart in her throat and her hand going for the dagger in her belt, she found herself face to face with Gaavan.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, her heart beating wildly against her ribs. “You scared me to death!”

“Sorry,” he said, though he didn’t look sorry at all. “I was just…around and thought I’d wait for you.” He shrugged his great shoulders as if it were something he did every night. “You can put that away,” he added, nodding to the dagger she held in her hand. He noticed that she was holding it the way he had told her to.

She slowly resheathed the dagger and slipped it into her belt as she relaxed. “Thanks,” she said awkwardly before starting across the street. He feel into step next to her, but not close enough to appear threatening. Just close enough to make it apparent that they were together. They walked in silence across the dusty street, around the inn and to their rooms. As Gaav watched her unlock her door, she turned and looked at him shyly. “Thank you…Again.”

He shrugged it off again. “No problem.” He opened his own door and stepped in. “Night,” he said before closing it behind him.

“Good night,” she said before closing her own door.

* * *

“Hey, how about more beer?” Gaav held up his tankard as the dark haired girl passed by.

“How about holding yer water?” she retorted back at him irritably. “I’m busy! Besides, we’re closed!” She hoisted the overloaded tray of dishes and deftly threaded her way through the benches towards the kitchen.

“I’m a paying customer!” he shouted at her as she disappeared through the door into the kitchen. She returned a moment later carrying a stoneware pitcher.

“Yeah, well, I don’t get paid enough to give you preferential treatment,” she snapped as she sloshed the yeasty beer into his tankard.

“Sucks to be you,” he replied.

“You’d damn well better leave me a decent tip or I’ll start watering it,” she said with an evil glare at him.

He gave her an equally evil glare. “You’ll be lucky to get a tip at all, with that attitude.”

Suddenly she started to cackle at him. “This attitude? You haven’t begun to see attitude!” Suddenly she stuck a finger under his nose and waggled it. “Better watch out or I’ll tell Zaira that you said she looked fat.”

He stared at her as if daring her to do so. “Like I care?”

She smirked. “Deny it all you want; I know why you’re in here every night.” And with that, she flounced away, taking the beer pitcher with her.

Gaav growled over his tankard at her rapidly disappearing back, wondering why he even gave a damn what she told the red-haired dancer. But he did, like it or not. “Feh,” he muttered, slamming the tankard down. He should just head on over to the inn right now without waiting for the woman. He moved to grab up his sword, determined to do this, only to pull his hand away as Zaira came through the door from the kitchen, carrying her meager dinner with her.

She appeared startled to see him, because although he had waited for her outside for the last several nights, tonight was the first night he had waited inside the tavern for her. He watched her hesitantly move towards a table near the door, then grow bolder and come over to his table. “What are you doing here?” she asked as she set her plate and mug down before settling herself on the bench.

“It’s raining outside. I didn’t like the thought of getting soaked waiting for you,” he muttered, looking at the girl’s meal: A thin slice of bread, and even thinner slice of meat and a boiled potato. “Is that all you eat?”

She nodded, tearing the bread into small pieces and delicately putting one in her mouth.

“I thought you said you got enough to eat here,” he said harshly.

Zaira glowered at him. “It’s enough. And it’s every night. Which is more than I got before.”

“That’s not enough food to keep a cat alive,” he said.

“Well, it’s what Derry gives me as part of my wages. I can’t exactly complain getting one meal a day paid for.”

“Of course you can.” Gaav looked up and spotted Stacia wiping down a table across the room. “Hey, girl! Bring me some more food!”

“I told you, we’re closed,” she said without looking up, swiping at the grimy tables with her equally grimy rag.

Without a word, Gaav pushed the bench back and quickly crossed the room to loom over the serving girl. “Look, you, I want you to bring me some meat and bread. Now.” He pulled a handful of coins out of his pocket and slapped them on the table. “Do it, and I’ll give you even more.”

Where she had been undaunted by his size or apparent anger, she was impressed by the number of the coins. “Hey, for that price, I’ll bring you whatever you want.” She scooped the coins into her apron and hurried off to the kitchen.”

The tall man returned to the table to find Zaira nearly finished with her meal. He laid a hand on her shoulder when she was about to stand. “Sit,” he commanded her, taking his own seat across from her.

“Why?” she said. “It’s late. We should be getting—“ She was interrupted by Stacia’s arrival with a good-sized hunk of meat and half a loaf of bread. “What—?”

“Here,” the serving girl said, sliding the plate in front of Gaav. “My money?” she said, holding out her hand.

Gaav dumped more coins into it as he slid the plate in front of Zaira. “Eat,” he said.

Stacia looked from the plate to a shocked Zaira then to the tall red-haired man. Smiling, she put the coins back on the table. “Why didn’t you say it was for her?” She winked at Zaira as she went back to the kitchen.

Zaira was still too shocked to say anything. She merely looked at the food then stared at Gaav open-mouthed. “Why?”

“Because…” he said, fishing for an answer that sounded satisfactory. “You need it to dance,” he answered gruffly to cover the fact that he thought she wasn’t getting enough to eat.

“I…I don’t know what to say,” she said quietly.

“I didn’t ask you to say anything,” he snapped, pushing back the bench and grabbing up his sword. “Eat it and I’ll be waiting outside for you.” He slung his sword over his shoulder and hurried through the swinging door. As he glanced backwards before the door swung shut, he could see her green eyes staring at him in open disbelief.

He shook his head as he leaned against the wall, rubbing his neck as he tried to figure out exactly why he’d done that. It had just…felt right. At least it made him feel…What? Good? As he examined his feelings, he did indeed feel something to that effect inside. Sighing, he turned his collar up against the damp and stared out into the drizzle that made the street a muddy mire.

The door next to him swung open and he looked around, expecting to see Zaira. Instead, he found himself face-to-face with the mouthy serving wench. She stopped beside him and waited for the door to close. “You hurt her and I’ll kill you,” she said flatly and without preamble.

His mouth twisted up in a smirk. “I doubt you could do that.”

She rounded on him, her eyes deadly serious. “I mean it. I’ll stick a knife in your ribs or slip poison in your beer.” Looking into those eyes, he knew she meant what she said.

“I give you my word,” he said, holding up a hand to ward off that evil glare.

“Good.” And without another word, she pulled her scarf over her head and headed out into the street. Before she got very far, he pushed away from the wall and hurried after her.

“Wait!” He caught up with her and held out a few coins. “See to it that she gets as much to eat as she wants every night and I’ll guarantee you this much every night.”

Stacia stared up at him then grinned. “You really have a thing for her, don’t you?” She held out her hand.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, surprising even himself. “Maybe. I just don’t like to see her being treated this way. It reminds me…to much of what I’ve had to go through.” He dropped the coins into her hand.

They disappeared quickly into her cloak. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it. You just take care of her, understand?” She waited for his nod then turned and made her way down the lane towards her home.

The former Dark Lord watched her disappear into the murk then turned back to wait for the red-haired dancer that consumed more and more of his thoughts as each day passed.

Slayers copyright 1991-2000 by Hajime Kanzaka/Rui Araizumi/Kadokawa Shoten/TV TOKYO/SOFTX/Marubeni.
The other characters copyright Wendy W Lee.