The Merchant and the Rogue by Sarah M. Eden

by Mr. King

Installment VIIin which Fear becomes Hope and Worry turns to Jubilation!

The creature had disappeared. Vanished. Royston had swung his iron axe, and he knew he had hit his mark. But the moment the cries of agony from the otherworldly monster pierced the air, the beast dissolved into millions of granules of glowing red light before dissipating entirely. Nothing remained. There was no blood, no body, no remnants of a creature that had, for nearly one hundred years, ruled viciously in this area.

In but a moment, he turned to Tallulah. Where was she? Had she emerged unscathed? With the boldness and bravery that would have inspired the poets of old, she had attacked the monster without the needed weaponry, making certain the squire did not fully realize what Royston was preparing to do. They had worked together, taking on a desperate task. But she, far more than he, had been willing to embrace true danger.

“Tallulah?” The shop was not entirely dark, but there was a heaviness in the air that made everything confused and difficult to navigate. He suspected it was the aftereffects of the death of the monster. The feeling would, no doubt, dissipate soon enough. In the meantime, he needed to know she was well and hale.

“Royston?” She spoke from so nearby he was shocked that he couldn’t actually see her. He reached out a hand. His fingers brushed what he was certain were her fingers. “There you are.”

“Is he gone?” she asked, slipping her fingers through his.

“He’s gone, evaporated into tiny particles of glowing red.”

“Do you see his bag?” she asked.

“I cannot see a thing.”

“Search about for it. The bag contains magic of its own and must be burned.”

He dropped down, feeling about on the floor, searching in the darkness. The space was growing less befuddling, but he still felt upended.

“Wait, I found it,” she said. “Let’s go outside. The lingering magic will make this task impossible in here.”

He fumbled, tripped a bit, but made his way outside. She stepped out of the building just as he did, her arms burdened with an enormous burlap bag easily big enough for a person to fit inside.

All around the market cross, villagers spilled from buildings, eyes wide with worry and questions. Kirby stepped from the pub, his bushy white brows pulled with concern.

Royston turned to face them all and, in a ringing voice, declared, “The monster has been defeated. We are free!”

Shouts of jubilation rang out around them, the perfect juxtaposition to the horrible shrieks of an evil monster who had met his demise moments earlier.

“There remains yet one more thing to be done,” Tallulah said. “We must destroy this bag, burn it to ashes.” She dropped the bag on the ground in front of her. It made an enormous lump of rough fabric. “It is the last lingering remnants of his magic. It must not be permitted to remain.”

The villagers needed no encouragement. Torches were lit in the various fires of the establishments all about, from the pub to the mercantile, from the milliner to the butcher. Royston himself slipped into the haberdashery and to the small fire at the back of the shop, and lit a torch of his own.

One by one, those who had been tortured and held hostage by the creature who would have used this bag to steal away every one of them if given a chance, lit it on fire. Again and again, they touched torches to the fabric and added to the growing flame that was consuming it.

The fire spat out flames of purest, deepest red. No smoke emerged. No sparks flew. There was nothing about this fire that was natural. But it was undeniably cleansing.

Royston stood beside Tallulah as the villagers sang and cheered and danced. Their joy changed the glow of the flame from crimson red to a soft pink. Rather than being attacked by the dark magic of the one-time squire, they were being lit by the soft glow of his final demise.

“They are free,” Tallulah said. “They are safe.”

“Chippingwich has waited a long time for you, Tallulah O’Doyle. Only with your knowledge and bravery were we at last able to defeat him.”

“Your role in this was not insignificant,” Tallulah said. “I believe the key was not me, but us.”

“Us.” He liked the sound of that. “We did show ourselves to be a remarkably good team.”

She slipped her arm through his and rested her head against him. “Yes, we did.”

“It may take time for your shop to open again,” he said. “If we were to combine efforts, you could resume your business while waiting on the repairs.”

She met his eye, clearly curious. “What are you proposing?”

“That we open the first Haberdashery and Confectionery Shop. We will begin a new trend, I’m certain of it. And being the fine team that we are, we will make an inarguable success of it.”

A hint of a smile played over her features. “Is that the only thing you are proposing?”

He leaned in and, adopting the roguish tone he had long ago perfected, he said, “That is not remotely the only thing.”

“I should very much like to hear your schemes.” She didn’t seem to harbor any lingering doubts about his character. She’d seen past the rogue he’d pretended to be to the person lurking beneath. And she seemed to like who she saw.

“Well, let me tell you the first and the last item on my list.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. “The first part of my proposal is that you join me at the pub for dinner, and I will hold your hand and look lovingly into your eyes the way a man does when courting a woman.”

“I like the beginning of this list,” she said.

“Then you’re going to love where the list ends.” He slipped his arm free of hers and wrapped it instead around her waist.

“And where does it end?” she asked.

He rested his forehead against hers. “It doesn’t. There’s no end. This, Tallulah O’Doyle, is meant to last forever.”