Part 6

The sun was barely up by the time Zaira opened her door and nearly tripped over the basket sitting on the floor outside. She managed to catch the basket she was carrying and keep its contents from spilling out. She looked down at the basket on the floor and smiled ruefully before toeing it into her room. Carefully locking her door, she slipped the key into her pocket then paused, letting her gaze rest upon the door across the way. She wanted to go up to it and knock on it, but something kept her from doing so. She was still too confused about what had happened, and needed to talk to someone. Someone other than Gaavan.

Hefting her basket, Zaira carefully slipped down the back stairs and into the pre-dawn coolness, drawing her hood up over her hair. She made a quick pass through the market, buying freshly baked bread and fresh fruit for the morning meal. Then she picked her way over to a merchant who was just setting up his stall and laying out his wares for the day.

“Well met, Faruk,” she said to the portly, bearded man wearing a red fez.

Faruk the merchant turned and caught sight of her and grinned a toothy grin. His teeth flashed in the depths of his beard as he gave her his attention. “Zaira! It is a pleasure to see you, as always. What do you have for me today?”

Zaira set the basket on the counter of his stall and pulled several rolls of cloth out of her basket and unrolled them for him to inspect them. “This.” There were several blouses and scarves, all decorated with exquisite, intricate stitching.

The merchant examined them closely, rubbing his beard to hide his greedy grin. “Very nice,” he said after a moment, twitching the different pieces back and forth. “I’ll sell them for you and I’ll only take…oh…fifty percent.”

“Fifteen, Faruk,” Zaira said, trying to bite back her anger. The fact that she had to bring her work to this oily merchant outraged her, but she knew from experience that no one would buy her wares if she tried to sell them herself. They went through this every time she brought something to him, too. It was a mere formality, however; Faruk always got the amount his wanted—they both knew it. He was the only one who would do business with her.

“But the fees, Zaira!” he said, holding out his hands. “I have so many! To set up my stall, to display my wares! And the tax! I must make enough to make it worth my while!”

“Twenty.”

“Zaira, Zaira…”

Gritting her teeth, she said, “Forty. No more, Faruk.”

He beamed at her. “Forty it is, then. These will bring a handsome price,” he said, taking the blouses and hanging them up to display. “Come see me at sundown and I’ll give you what money you’ve made.”

Nodding, she picked up her basket and headed out of the market. Taking a lane two streets over from the one where the Red Dragon Inn was, she walked down it until she came to a rooming house. She went around the back and peeked in to make sure nobody was around, then hurried quickly to the second floor and knocked on the last door.

“Come on in—damn it, Remy, shut up!”

Zaira opened the door and was greeted by a loud, feline howl. A large, furry shape rushed by the door, startling her and making her jump backwards. The shape disappeared under the mound of bed covers on the pallet.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into him this morning,” Stacia said, standing and glaring at her cat’s hiding place. “He’s been a noisy brat all morning. Started while it was still dark. Rotten cat!” She swooped and caught up a battered sock that had been stuffed with some aromatic herb that had stained it green. Tossing this at the mound, she turned to Zaira. “Did you get breakfast?”

The red-haired girl held up the basket. “Of course,” she said with a grin as she watched the sock disappear under the coverings. “Just like every morning.”

“Good! Let’s eat! I’m starved.” Stacia rubbed her hands together eagerly.

Smiling, the dancing girl took the basket to the little table set under the large window. The sun was well up by now and the large awning blocked most of the heat while letting in the light. Stacia brought a pot of tea and two cups to the table, and poured for them both while Zaira divided the bread and fruit between them. She sat down, picked up a piece of bread, and bit into it as she gave her friend a keen look.

“So, did you ask him?” Immediately, Zaira felt her face go red. Stacia noticed and pointed at her. “You did!” She leaned forward and peered intently at the red-haired girl. “So, what happened?”

“I…we had supper together,” Zaira said, suddenly reluctant to say any more.

“That’s all?”

“Well…no.” Picking at her bread, she kept her eyes cast downward.

“What?”

“I…Well…” she hedged.

“Did he hurt you?” Stacia asked suddenly. “Tell me, Zaira.”

“No!” she said quickly. “No. He didn’t hurt me.”

“Then what did he do? He must have done something.”

Zaira swallowed and decided to take the plunge. “He kissed me.”

The dark-haired girl stared at her, bread poised halfway to her open mouth. “He what?”

“Stacia,” Zaira whined, knowing exactly what was coming next.

And she couldn’t have called it better. Her friend threw her head back and cackled gleefully. Zaira glared balefully at her friend as she laughed so hard tears leaked from between her lashes and rolled down her cheeks.

“Are you quite finished?” she demanded coldly when the other woman finally had to stop to catch her breath.

“I’m sorry, Zaira, but you should have seen your face. The look on it was priceless. You would think he tried to bite you instead of kissing you.” She wiped her eyes with a napkin and went into another fit of giggles.

“It’s not funny!” Zaira snapped, pouting at Stacia’s treatment.

“Yes, it is. Don’t you see?”

“No, I don’t see,” She looked at her half-eaten piece of bread and suddenly wasn’t hungry any more. “It…It didn’t go well.”

That sobered her friend. “You didn’t hurt him, did you? Bite his tongue off? Kick him in the groin?”

“No!” Zaira played with the napkin in her lap. “Worse.”

“What could be worse than kicking him in the groin?”

“I ran away.”

“You ran away? Why?”

Zaira folded her hands in her lap and looked down. She had never told Stacia about her mother’s death; last night was the first she’d spoken of the incident. “I…I got scared and panicked.”

“But why, Zaira? Why won’t you let him like you?”

“I want to, I just…I don’t know how. I’m frightened by what I feel, by what I know he wants.” She reached for her cup but immediately hid her hand in her lap when she saw how it shook.

Stacia took her hand and held it tightly. “I understand It’s all new to you, having someone who actually likes you for who you are and not for what you are. But I’m sure if you give him a chance—“

“It’s not just that,” Zaira interrupted softly, knowing she was going to have to relive the horror of that night again. She drew a ragged breath and told the story of her mother’s death.

The dark-haired girl listened in growing horror. When the Zaira had finished, she leaned forward and took her friend in her arms and held her tightly. “Zaira, I’m so sorry! I didn’t know. How horrible.”

Zaira leaned in and let the other girl hold her. “When…When he kissed me, all those memories came back. Of the man that killed my mother, then attacked me. It was like it was happening all over again…”

Sitting back, her Stacia looked at her closely. “Zaira, don’t be silly. That wasn’t Gaavan. When he kissed you and panicked, did he try to force himself on you?” Her eyes became deadly serious. “Because if he did, castration would be too good for him.”

Laughing in spite of herself, Zaira shook her head, no. “No, he didn’t. He let me go and didn’t chase after me. I…I haven’t seen him since last night after it happened.”

“That’s a good sign. See?” Stacia smiled, sat back and pushed the hair out of Zaira’s face. “Why don’t you talk to him tonight. Explain what happened and see what he has to say?”

“What if he…what if he’s angry with me, Stacia?” Zaira asked, voicing her fear.

“He might be, but he might not be, either. And if he is, talking might help sort things out.” She tilted her head to the side and looked at her friend curiously. “Tell me something, what do you want to do? About the situation?”

“I…I really don’t know…”

Leaning forward, Stacia tried a different tactic, “What did you feel when he kissed you?”

Zaira blushed furiously. “Stacia!”

“No, tell me. It might help you figure out what to do.” She grinned. “Is he a good kisser?”

“I…How am I supposed to know?” she demanded indignantly.

“By how you felt while he was kissing you, that’s how!”

Staring at her friend, she felt her cheeks go even redder. “I…”

“He got you excited, didn’t he? You liked it. I can tell.” Stacia grinned and pinched her cheeks.

“Stop!” Zaira pulled away and covered her cheeks.

“You did, didn’t you?”

“Okay, maybe just a little…Oh, all right. You win. Yes, I did like it—until…”

Stacia’s smile turned soft and gentle. “It’s okay to let yourself like it, dear. It’s natural. You just haven’t had the opportunity to find that out yet because no one has wanted to make you feel that way. They’ve just wanted to use you. But I have a feeling about Gaavan, you know? I think he’s interested in you—Zaira—and not the Pari half-breed. If he weren’t, why would he have stuck around all these months? Everyone can see it. Derry was grumbling about it the other night, in fact.”

Shock made Zaira’s eyes go wide. “Why? I mean, why was he grumbling?”

“Because he’s afraid that Gaavan will scare his customers away.” Stacia grinned and winked. “People are noticing that he’s there every night, waits for you and walks you back to the inn. Without even realizing it, you’ve acquired a protector.”

“I…Oh, come on,” Zaira said, though she didn’t sound as convinced as she would have liked. Her thoughts were confused, but this time in a much more pleasant manner.

“No, you come on,” Stacia said, reaching for another piece of bread and some fruit. “Why do you think he’s been coming to Derry’s every night for last two months? It isn’t because of the food or the company. He seems pretty much a loner; there’s no one at Derry’s that he cares to associate with. Not that I’m surprised considering the class of people that Derry’s attracts.”

“Oh, I’m not sure about that,” Zaira said, finishing her breakfast. She brushed the crumbs off her lap, wiped her fingers and picked up her basket. She lifted the bundle of cloth off the top and shook it out, finding and inspecting the seam that had split. “He’s definitely a bastard.” She produced a needle and thread, knotted the thread and started mending the rip.

“Honey, all men are bastards. Some bigger bastards than others.” She also finished her breakfast and was about to take up her own work when she spotted something in Zaira’s basket. “What’s that?”

“What?” Zaira looked at her friend then followed her gaze to the basket. “What?”

“That.” The dark-haired girl reached over and tugged out a piece of olive green cloth, revealing a very large shirt. “I’ve seen that shirt before.” She grinned and winked at Zaira.

“I don’t…” the dancing girl said. “Where?”

“I can’t believe you, Zaira! This is Gaavan’s shirt! Look!” She pulled it out of the basket and held it out for her to see. “Good grief! Look at the size of this thing!” Standing up, she held it up to her shoulders to demonstrate: The shoulders were nearly twice as wide as Stacia’s and it hung to her knees. “The man is huge.” Which made her grin again. “You know what they say about tall men, don’t you?” The leer she gave Zaira was positively indecent.

“Stacia!” the other girl exclaimed, blushing to the roots of her hair.

“What?” Stacia said with an innocent look. “I didn’t say anything; you’re the one that thought it. Which just goes to show exactly where your mind is at the moment.” She smirked at her friend and looked at the shirt again, turning it around and examining the fabric. “He has nice taste, though. Nice work here; the fabric is high quality and the stitching is first rate. Almost as good as my stuff.” Tossing it back into Zaira’s basket, she sat and pulled her own basket out from under the table. “If that’s one of his shirts, imagine that coat of his. I’d hate to have to make something like that!”

Zaira set down the shirt she was holding and picked up the green one to examine it. A button had come loose and a side seam had started to split. As she ran her hands over the fine fabric, an idea started forming in her brain.

“Stacia, do you still have that black silk you got a while ago?”

“You mean the stuff that jerk-face stiffed me for? Yeah. Why?” The other girl looked up from her stitching. “What are you thinking, Zaira…?” she asked suspiciously.

“I…Just an idea. Something to say…thank you for everything he’s done.”

“Girl, you’ve got it bad. You want me to make something for that giant? It would take forever!”

“Oh, come on. You make dresses that take more material than a robe would every day.”

“But not a robe for a man that size!” She paused and gave Zaira a piercing look. “Wait a minute. A robe?” Grinning, she leaned forward. “Hoping to get a glimpse of him in his altogether, love?”

“Would you stop that?” Zaira said. “I just…want to make something nice for him. That’s all.”

“Sure. You do want to see him in his altogether. And I don’t blame you.” She winked at Zaira and grinned. “Sure, I’ll help you. We’ll have to get measurements, though.”

“Oh…” Zaira’s face fell. “I sort of wanted it to be a surprise…”

“No problem. We’ll just nab his coat. I can take measurements from that.”

“But how?”

“He’s got to take it off sometime,” Stacia said. “Maybe we can get him to take it off tonight at Derry’s.”

“How?” Zaira repeated.

Grinning, Stacia nodded in Zaira’s direction. “You just convince him it’s a little too hot to be wearing it, that’s how.”

The red-haired girl stared at her friend for a moment before the significance of that statement sunk in. “I can’t do that!”

“Yes you can. You do it every night; you just don’t know it. It’s about time you realized how much affect you have on the male member of the species, Zaira dear. And took advantage of it.”

“I…I don’t know if I can do that.”

“It’s easy. Just start small. And if you want me to make Gaavan a bathrobe, start with convincing him to take his coat off.” She bit off the end of her thread and grinned at her blushing and extremely embarrassed friend.

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