The Merchant and the Rogue by Sarah M. Eden

by Mr. King

Installment Vin which terrifying Secrets are revealed about the grave Danger facing the Village!

Bob Kent stood in the doorway, looking over the destruction. “She stood firm?”

Royston nodded.

“Is it time to try again?” Bob asked.

“I believe it might be.” He looked to Tallulah. “Are you injured?”

“No, but I’ll likely be a bit bruised.” She watched them both, clearly confused and curious.

“We’ll see to this.” Bob motioned to the mess. “Best consult with ol’ Kirby. This may be our best chance.”

“Kirby Padmore?” Tallulah asked Royston.

“He knows more of this than any of us, and you need to understand it better as well.”

Royston offered her his hand, unsure if she would accept, but there was not even a moment of hesitation on her part. She set her hand in his and walked with him through the broken glass and scattered confections and splintered wood—all that remained of her once-impressive shop.

Just outside, a crowd had gathered, looking at the blown-in window and debris with a heaviness that spoke of familiarity. Whether Tallulah realized it or not, this had happened before.

He walked with her, their fingers entwined. She was quiet, not surprising considering the harrowing experience she’d passed through.

“Are you certain you are not injured? There was a fearful amount of glass strewn about.”

She nodded. “I was not hurt, but I am worried all the same.”

He met her heavy gaze. “This village harbors a terrible secret, Tallulah. Kirby can explain it all far better than I can.”

They stepped into the pub. Royston glanced around, wanting to make certain the squire was not present, but only Kirby was there. Someone must have whispered to the proprietor the details of all that had happened at the sweets shop because he didn’t appear the least surprised at their arrival.

“Revealed himself, did he?” Kirby asked.

“Aye,” Royston answered, “though how much, I’m not certain.”

Kirby motioned them to a small table tucked up near the low-burning fire. Royston saw Tallulah seated, then sat himself.

“I’d already sorted out that Mr. Carman is some sort of creature.” Tallulah jumped straight into the matter at hand. “When you said a few days ago that he’d been squire here for as long as you could remember, I knew there had to be something otherworldly about him. And, blessed saints, the smell of him.” She grimaced. “He can toss noises around, make a body hear things that aren’t there. All that confirmed my suspicions. But after what he did in my shop today . . .” She wrapped her arms around herself as a shudder shook her frame. “He is something other than a man,” she whispered. “I’ll not be convinced otherwise.”

“Because of the damage he did?” Royston pressed. It was crucial they know precisely what the squire had revealed of himself to her.

“Yes, but more than that.” Her gaze darted from Kirby to Royston and back. “His eyes glowed. I realize that sounds ridiculous, but they did. They glowed red.”

Royston looked to Kirby. “She saw his eyes glow.”

“So did you,” Kirby reminded him.

“We tried then,” Royston said. “We must try again now.”

“Begging your pardon,” Tallulah said with a bit of dryness in her voice, “but I’d like to be part of this conversation, especially considering it’s meant to be about me.”

He couldn’t help a laugh no matter the heaviness of their topic. “A thousand apologies, my dear.” Royston then dipped his head to Kirby. “If you’d be so good as to explain to our fair companion.”

“Even in a time such as this, you flirt,” she said to Royston with a smile.

“Is that a complaint?”

Her eyes twinkled as she shook her head. “Not in the least.”

Oh, he did like her. Royston set his hand atop hers, and she threaded their fingers together once more. As her fingers bent around his, small scratches pulled, tiny bubbles of blood emerging from some. He hoped she had no further injuries.

Calm as could be, Tallulah turned to Kirby. “Tell me what we are facing.”

“My father first told me when I was very young about the creature. He has lived in these parts for an age, though we do not believe he originated here. Many a tale has been told of cruel tricks and dastardly doings perpetrated by him. He fools people into doing embarrassing or dangerous things. He destroys crops, buildings, belongings. As near as I’ve been able to tell, he began his reign as our local squire on a lark and discovered he liked it—liked the ability to do mischief and to cause terror.”

“And does he play such dastardly tricks on his exalted visitors as well?” Tallulah asked.

Royston breathed a small sigh of relief. That Tallulah had not dismissed the otherworldly explanation out of hand was a good sign.

“We aren’t certain what becomes of his visitors. It is whispered about that he can change people into other forms, at least temporarily. There is some worry that he might . . . eat people.”

“Then why order baked confections to impress them if he means only to do them harm and—” The question halted and understanding dawned in her expression. “In order to inflict his mischief upon me.”

Kirby nodded. “And he doesn’t take well to being irritated or ruffled. His tricks are to be endured without complaint else his ire be earned.”

“The citizens hereabout, I’ve discovered,” Royston said, “do not see his glowing red eyes, even when he is using his ability to blow open doors or break windows or such things. Only you and I have ever seen that.”

“And we both come from somewhere other than this village,” Tallulah said.

“That, we believe, is a clue to his origins,” Kirby said. “He has remained here so long because he can do so in disguise. Only the arrival of outsiders threatens to reveal his true shape and form.”

“It was not merely his eyes that changed,” Tallulah said. “In his most angry moment, I felt certain his nose and face elongated, pulling out almost into a triangular snout, almost like a—”

“A rat?” Royston finished the thought in unison with her.

Her wide eyes turned on him, and she nodded.

“When angry, he also has a tail,” Royston said. “It is hidden beneath his cloak and, I suspect, cannot be seen by any of the villagers.”

“Rat features,” she repeated in a contemplative whisper. “Does he ever not wear his red cap and cloak?”

“Never,” Kirby said.

“He has rat-like features, plays dastardly tricks, smells of something rotten, produces unnerving noises, and, I suspect, no one has ever seen him eat.”

Royston looked to Kirby, unsure of the answer.

“He’s thrown back many a pint in here,” Kirby said, “but never have I seen him eat so much as a crust of bread.”

Tallulah tapped her free hand on the table. “He’s a fear dearg, I’d bet m’ life on it.”

“A far darrig?” Royston repeated the words phonetically, not being at all certain what they meant

“’Tis a lone Fae, a solitary creature, and not one at all inclined toward friendliness. These monsters are known to play horrid, often cruel, tricks on humans. They look like humans except for their rat-like fur, face, and tail. And they always wear red: sometimes limiting themselves to a cloak and cap, sometimes wearing red from top to tail, as it were. In Irish, feardearg translates to the Crimson Man, named so on account of the color they always wear.”

“Any idea why it is that we, who are from here, cannot see the squire in his true monstrous form?” Kirby asked.

“The Fae are connected to their homes in strong and often mystifying ways,” Tallulah said. “It could be that tucking himself in this foreign-to-him corner of the world protects him, hides him.”

“Could be, could be.” Kirby leaned back in his chair, stroking his chin as he pondered. “Royston could see him because he is not from here. And you could as well because your origins lie away from this village.”

“Not only away from Chippingwich,” Royston said, “but your origins reach back to the country of the fear dearg. I’d wager you can see him better than any of us. And perhaps that is why you can smell things we can’t and hear things we don’t. He cannot hide as entirely from you.”

“Have you any idea why he doesn’t eat?” Kirby asked.

“The fear dearg do eat,” Tallulah said.

“Do I dare ask what?” Royston had a suspicion it wasn’t anything pleasant.

“They eat carrion, carcasses.”

“Human?” Kirby asked, his voice small and cracked.

She nodded. “And animal.”

A heavy silence filled with uncertainty and worry settled over the all-but-empty pub.

“As far as we have been able to discover,” Kirby said, “he cannot be killed. Many have tried, and all have failed.”

“He can be,” she said, “but only with the right weapon.”

“And what weapon would that be?” Kirby sighed, his voice weighed down by years of defeats and frustrations. “We’ve tried everything we know.”

“They can be defeated only with a blade of iron,” she said. “Iron is dangerous to most Fae,” she said. “’Tis the reason we hang iron horseshoes above a door; not for general luck but to protect ourselves from the Fae.”

“Have you tried iron?” Royston asked Kirby.

“I can’t say that we have. It isn’t a common metal for weapons any longer.”

“Can one be obtained?” Tallulah asked.

“I will see to it, but we must be careful about the arranging of it. Should our efforts be discovered . . .”

“I have a shipment of cloth arriving in a few days,” Royston said. “We can secret the weapon in that. My disguise will go far to preventing the squire from growing suspicious.”

“Your disguise?” Tallulah asked.

“We did not know how to defeat him. And, had he known how well I can see his true form, he’d have killed me, I’m certain.”

“What disguise did you assume?” she pressed.

“That of an unreliable, selfish, flirtatious—”

“Rogue,” she finished in a tone of realization. “You make yourself seem too frivolous to appear to the squire to be a threat.”

“Facing him would require selflessness, and he is certain I have none.” A sudden, horrifying thought occurred to him. “Did you let on that you could see what he truly looked like?”

“Not intentionally,” she said. “I spent most of that encounter attempting to hide from flying glass.”

“You and I alone can see him for what he truly is, though only entirely when he is at his most dangerous. It is for us, then, to face him and free this village of his reign of cruelty and terror. But that is a task fraught with danger. I do not for a moment believe anyone in Chippingwich would hold you to that knowing you did not arrive here with this end in mind.”

“Courage that exists only when one has a choice is not courage at all. True bravery lies in facing those dangers one did not expect and is not required to face simply because it is the right thing to do.”

“Then we’ll face him?”

She nodded. “Together.”