The Half-Class by Kayvion Lewis

Chapter Six

So many patrons filled the bar, you could hardly make it two steps without brushing against someone. Yet despite the shoulder-to-shoulder patrons at the bar, Auntie Jen abandoned me less than an hour after we opened, leaving me alone at the mercy of our increasingly intoxicated patrons.

For an additional hour, until Julian arrived, I did my best to keep up with the demand and politely decline offers from the new officers to head into the private rooms with them. My apron was not doing its job very well tonight. I slighted most requests by pointing the customers in the direction of Kat, Christa, or any other of the girls I could find. But, when the night’s business really picked up, and all of the girls were occupied, the pestering propositions started to really pile on.

I wasn’t the only one caught in the assault. In my glances out over the floor, between pouring ales, rushing to the kitchen to retrieve plates of Albo’s less-than-stellar shepherd's pie, and trying to explain to our new patrons that I was not a working girl, I noted several similar scenes across the barn. It seemed like every female visitor, particularly the few half-classes and dark-classes, were being just as hounded as I was. What should I have expected? I’m sure in Ryland, that was all half-class girls did. Then again, we weren’t that far from the same here.

“Well, aren’t you stunning?”

My eyes flew up from the beer I was pouring. A long-haired blonde fellow, maybe no older than I, leaned over the bar. He grinned as his deep blue eyes ran over me.

I forced a smile. “Can I get you something?”

“How about a thank you?”

I jammed the spout back into the beer barrel. The glass mug clanged against the polished wood counter as I set it down slid it down to its patron. “Thank you. Anything else?”

He smirked. “How about you?”

“Sorry, not on the menu. But any one of our lovely ladies should be back down any minute now. They can help you with whatever you want.” I strode down to the other end of the bar, where I was happy to find an empty mug and a spill needing my attention. Drawing a rag from my apron, I started wiping.

A hand pressed down over mine. This bastard had followed me.

“I didn’t ask for them,” he said. “I asked for you.”

I yanked my hand back. “I’m not for sale. Find someone else.”

His eyes burned into me. I matched his glare as I reached to retrieve my rag. He reached for my hand as I did so, but I quickly jerked it back. I knew he’d try such a thing, and seeing him stumble into the counter as he missed me was oh, so satisfying.

A pair of dark-class men sitting at the stool next to our encounter snickered. My pursuer’s pale face flushed a furious red. He was angrier than I expected.

The man lunged over the counter. He grabbed the collar of my dress and jerked me forward. I didn’t even have time to scream.

“You’re all for sale,” he spewed, his face a breath from mine.

Instinct kicked in. I butted my head into his pointed nose and shoved his shoulders as hard as I could. To my surprise, he flew back from the counter like a cart had just hit him. I gaped for a second at my own strength but then noted that one of the dark-class men had risen from his stool. He yanked the bastard back, beer glasses shattering to the floor, and the stool smacked against the stone wall.

My assailant tripped back, ramming into Big John. As he hit him, Big John’s oversized mug splashed, spilling its contents all over the man. Beer doused his hair and soaked his shirt.

More than a few of the patrons in the area burst into laughter. The dark-class man who’d helped pulled the man off me crossed his arms proudly, stepping protectively in front of me.

“Thank you,” I said, watching my attacker shake his head like a dog, tiny droplets of beer splattered every which way.

With a sheen of liquid still coating him, he straightened up and grimaced at the dark-class man next to me and the friend laughing next to him. He clenched his fists and tightened his jaw.

I twisted my fingers into my skirt. We hadn’t had a fight in a while, but we sure as hell didn’t need one now. Fights meant officers getting summoned—officers who weren’t here to for fun. And Auntie never appreciated that.

An icicle shot through my heart, and my eyes ran over the assailant again. He wasn’t a soldier, was he? His attire—faded brown pants and a dull grey shirt—wasn’t like the underlayers of the soldiers, even without their gold-trimmed coats. I breathed a small sigh of relief. It was foolish of me to taunt him. If he had been a soldier, I likely would have had to deal with his friends coming for revenge later on. These dark-class men may have been kind enough to help me this time, but when faced with a group of men in uniform with authority to harm, I doubt they’d assist me again.

The man looked like he was about to pounce on the dark-class man guarding me, but as soon as he moved an inch forward, the other dark-class man at my rescuer’s side rose too. Then the man next to him and a light-class man at the seat to my other side.

My assailant scanned over all four of his opponents, then took a step back. He looked like he wanted to rip someone apart. If there was only one of them, I’m sure he would have reminded them who was superior. But that wasn’t the case. He grimaced at me one more time, then disappeared into the depths of the barn.

The tension dropped from my newfound rescuers, and a strange feeling of warmth settled over me. Even in the midst of all these Ryland soldiers, it was nice to know that there were still a few truly kind souls around.

“On the house tonight.” I gave them all my most grateful smile. They all hummed their thanks, and I handed the bar off to Julian, who just then waltzed behind the counter. Perfect timing, as I’d had my fill of bartending for the night.

I slipped out into the little hallway behind the bar, feeling a little safer now that I was out of the crowd. Was every night with these new Ryland officers going to be like this? I breezed by the kitchen, having absolutely no intention to stop, but Auntie Jen’s voice beckoned me in.

I halted in the doorway.

Auntie slid a ceramic dish topped with whipped potatoes into the oven. She leaned into the counter and heaved a breath, rubbing her neck. A light red stain blotted her apron, matching the half-cut tomato on the cutting board. Only one of a mess of vegetables and stacked bowls cluttering the counters.

“I’m guessing Albo didn’t show up tonight,” I said, strolling in.

Auntie slammed the oven shut. “Oh, he’s here. Somewhere.”

I knew where he was. I’d have to tousle him for inadvertently causing my abandonment at the bar. Whenever I got done in the kitchen, by the looks of it. I had a feeling I’d be stuck with chef’s duty until he returned now.

“You want me to get started on these dishes?” I stopped at the half-full sink, already resigning to my task.

“Hell no,” Auntie snapped. I jerked my hands back from the water. “Albo’s gonna do them when he gets back. I don’t pay him not to do his job.”

Except for when she did…

If not putting me back to work, what did she want? It wasn’t like Auntie to crave small talk during the night. Not when there were a hundred other things she could be doing.

Auntie pushed a few strands of stray gold and silver hair back over her head. “I was talking to a man from the North part of the city earlier.”

“Oh, dear god.” I started out of the room, but Auntie, faster than she let on, followed.

“Very nice fellow. Light-class—a scholar. I think he said. Not even married yet.” She trailed right behind me as I paced down the hall.

No, no, no.

Auntie grabbed my arm. “He’s looking for a mistress. And not just here at the barn, full time, with the apartment, allowance—all the bells and whistles. Told me he’s seen you at the bar a few times and thinks you’re real pretty. It might not be a perfect match, but I think you should talk to him. He seemed like a real nice gent.”

“If only I were looking for one.” I pulled my arm from her grasp.

“Evie—”

“No!” I shouted, quickening my pace.

Her heavy footsteps followed behind me. I couldn’t get to the door fast enough. Hastily, I squeezed my fingers into the little crevice where we kept the key and bounced back up.

Auntie was right upon me. She grabbed the door handle, forcing the door shut.

“Let go, Auntie.”

“This is a good opportunity. It would be foolish not to consider it, at the very least.”

“I just considered it. The answer is no.”

“I’m trying to help you!” She glanced down the hall. A string of patrons filed out of the cellar, but none of them cared to look our way. She may not have caught their attention, but her voice rang loud in my ears. I crossed my arms and looked down at the scratched wooden planks beneath us.

Her voice softened. “You can’t work in a store or a house or anything like that. No one’s gonna hire you. And if they do, they’re not gonna pay you well. I’m sorry, but this is it. It’s the barn or a comfortable mistress’s life, like what that man is offering you. I hate it for you. I do. But love you as I do, I’m not gonna take care of you forever. I wouldn’t do it for Kat, and I won’t do it for you.”

I bit my lip and kept my eyes on the floor. No, those weren’t all the options. I had at least one more.

Auntie sighed. She pressed her soft lips to my forehead. “Just think about it. Please?”

I forced myself to nod, if for no other reason than to make her go away.

It worked. She freed the door handle from her grasp.

I couldn’t unlock the door and fly inside fast enough. With my back pressed to the wood, I listened to her pace back into the world that didn’t seem to bother her, Kat, or any of her many half-class girls. Why was this hurting me so much? Why couldn’t I be content with my lot like the rest of them? Sammy. Christa. Kat. They were at peace with this life. Why couldn’t I be?

Maybe I placed too much value on myself. I wasn’t any different than those girls. The only thing I had that they didn’t was Luke.

Luke.

He’d marry me if I asked him to. In a heartbeat. I’d have to change classes—go from artificial light to artificial dark. That wouldn’t be too difficult. We might have some trouble getting a license since the marriage authorities loved to find any reason to keep a half-class from marrying anyone, but there was a good chance. They were a lot stricter about preventing half-classes from marrying into the light-class than they were with the dark. That almost never happened, but there was a fair chance they’d let me marry Luke, a dark-class man.

I didn’t love Luke. Not in the way that someone should when they consider marriage. But he loved me, and I did care about him. That was enough to make me love him eventually. And in the meantime, I’d pretend.

The interaction with the man from the bar replayed in my mind. If it was either Luke or that forever…

Pushing back from the door, I ripped my apron off. Dammit, I didn’t want to think about this right now. My birthday was three months away. That was plenty of time to work things out.

I threw the apron onto the sofa and darted up the stairs. All I wanted to do was fall into one of my volumes of Taliver. His fictional problems, although deadly and fantastical, were so much more straightforward than mine. Stopping on the landing, I cracked open the hidden door and slipped into my reading ledge. I should have been alone, as I wanted to be, but as soon as the scent of smoke hit me, I knew I was not. Albo’s eyes shifted to me as he lit a brand-new cigar in the flame of his candle.

Great. He’s going to be here a while.

“Having a tough night ?” I asked. Three ashen cigar butts rested near the ledge.

He took a drag of his fresh cigar. “Not as tough as you.” He looked out over the floor below, towards the bar. A long trail of smoke slithered out of his mouth.

I knelt and grabbed my current book from the top of my stack that leaned against the wall. “You saw that?”

“You can see everything from up here.” He took another drag. “Sorry. I would have helped if I were nearer.”

“You might have been if you were actually in the kitchen.”

He cricked his neck, eliciting a disgusting crack. “Well, we can’t change the past.”

I clenched my teeth. Albo’s abhorrence of work was usually amusing, but tonight it was aggravating. Why did he get a free ride, but I didn’t?

“Why the hell doesn’t my Aunt fire you?” I gripped my book tight enough to snap the cover.

Albo glanced back at me, then back over the floor. “She couldn’t if she wanted to.”

“Why not? She’s willing to put me and Kat out if we don’t work. Why do you get to slide by on her generosity alone?”

“Because I do.”

“Because why?”

“She owes me this,” he snapped. “And a lot more. More than she owes you and more than she owes Kat, which I’ll remind you is very little.”

What was that supposed to mean?

“She’s our aunt. We’re family.”

Albo chuckled. “Trust me, family doesn’t mean anything to that woman.” He dropped his cigar into the pile and fished for another in his pocket.

Some part of me wanted to rebut, but remembering Auntie Jen’s attempt to push me into a life as a mistress just minutes ago, I found that I couldn’t defend her right now.

“Enjoy your cigar.” I gripped the book in my hand, then pulled the landing door back open. Albo lifted his hand in a half-hearted acknowledgement, and I left him alone.

For someone who’d been here for years, I knew almost nothing about his life away from the barn. Let alone how he’d somehow managed to steal away all the leniency in Auntie Jen’s heart.

Since I couldn’t have my little landing, I guess I’d have to read in our room, though the aesthetic wasn’t nearly the same. There was something about reading on my precarious ledge that made Taliver’s life-threatening adventures seem all the more real. But I’d take what I could get tonight.

As I climbed the steps to our bedroom door, a groan sounded behind it. I froze. Somebody was in there, the sound faint but audible. Another voice. A strained moan. Kat’s moan.

I took a step down. Was she with a customer in there? No, she never took customers into our room. Not in the bed I had to share with her.

I listened further. The sounds were unmistakable. The heavy breathing, the creak of the wooden bed. The slap of flesh.

A mix of fury and naive embarrassment washed over me. I trotted back down the stairs. With all the action tonight, she probably ran out of private room. Still, she could have asked me, or at least told me before dragging patrons up to our bedroom. Perhaps it wasn’t her fault. Maybe Auntie Jen told her to go up there. After all, there seemed to be no lines between personal lives and business with her tonight.

I made it back into the living room and, with nowhere else to go, fell into one of our tattered sofas. If ever there were a time to escape, it was now. Trying to block out the goings-on upstairs, I cracked open my book and unfolded the page corner.

Taliver, take me somewhere else.

I made it through an entire chapter before Kat and her john came pounding down the steps. I ducked down into the cushions, my book pressed to my lap.

She returned less than two pages later with another fellow. The bedroom door clapped shut, and I flipped the page.

Kat’s current patron was a lot more enthusiastic than her last. His moans echoed all the way down in the sitting room, Kat’s joining in, apparently compelled to match him.

I tried to focus on the story, but I couldn’t make it through a sentence without a scream piercing through my focus. Couldn’t I just have one place, no, one moment tonight that I wanted?

I growled in frustration and sat up.

Our apartment door was wide open, and standing not too far inside our living room, was a stranger. A light shade of pink fell over his quite fair skin as his gaze shifted from the stairs to me. His eyes, a vivid, glowing green, widened as they fell on me.

I jumped up from the sofa. “What are you doing in here? This isn’t a customer room. Get out.”

His eyes went wide, and he nodded quickly, sending shudders through his thick black hair. “Sorry, I didn’t—” A particularly loud moan from Kat echoed from above. My cheeks caught fire.

The intruder looked just as uncomfortable as I was. “I was just looking for some cards,” he insisted. “A lady told me I could find some in the storeroom.”

“At the end of the next hall, not this one. How did you even get in here?”

He looked back to the door for a moment. “It was unlocked.”

Of course, it was.

“I’m sorry to interrupt. I’ll leave now.” He turned back to the door just as another deafening groan rippled down to us.

“Wait.” I strode toward the door, no longer wanting to be there myself. “I’ll get you some cards.” I pushed my stranger out of our apartment and made sure to lock the door behind us. Entering the hallway was like a breath of fresh air. Silent air.

I started for the storeroom, and my stranger followed.

“You know, you could’ve told me that I had stumbled into a…um…working room. I would have left,” my stranger said, walking in pace at my side. Despite the quiver in his voice, the tension in his shoulders was gone. He, too, seemed more comfortable now that we were out of that scenario.

“Oh, I’m sure you would have, but I wasn’t lying. That’s not a working room. We’ve just been full lately.”

“Since the Rylanders came to town?”

We turned into the next corridor, a smaller one with only one door at the end. In hindsight, it did look an awful lot like the door leading into our apartment.

“There’s more of them than we were expecting, but it’s good for business. Or should I say more of you?” I gave him a once-over. He wasn’t wearing an officer’s uniform, but his clothes were of a darker hue than was popular in Bexbury and spun from a tightly woven cotton—nicer fabric than was typical for patrons of the bar. From a distance, I wouldn’t have noticed the straighter stitching at the hem of his cuffs or lack of loose threads. Like costuming from a play, it blended in from a distance but was just outside of normality when up close.

“I’m not an officer,” he said as I swung open the door to the cozy storeroom. “But I am from Ryland. I’m just traveling with the rest.” I stepped into the narrow closet. My eyes scanned over the shelves, packed with dirty linens, mismatched shoes left behind by patrons, baskets, lanterns, and other miscellaneous things. There had to be an extra deck somewhere in here.

Moonlight dripped in from the small window above but didn’t do much to illuminate the shelves, making my task even more difficult.

“You might be out of luck.” I crouched down to examine the lower shelves.

“Check the top,” he said as if I didn’t know where to look in my own storeroom. I glared up at him. He shrugged. “Just a suggestion.”

Slightly irritated with him—probably not his fault—I ripped a little stool out from the corner and placed it before the shelf just under the window. The shelves were tall, and I couldn’t reach the top one without it. Only then did I realize I was still holding my volume of Taliver.

“Hold this.” I pushed the book into his chest and stepped up onto the stool. It barely added any height, but I was now tall enough to run my hands over the shelf above.

“The Tales of Taliver?”

His eyes flew up from my book and met mine in a flicker of disbelief.

“Volume Twenty,” I said. “You don’t read them, do you?”

“They’re the only thing I read! I don’t know anybody in Aurell who does.”

“Neither do I. Well, I mean, I don’t know anybody here who reads them. Most of the people I know think it’s silly to spend so much time in a far-flung fantasy.”

“My father feels the exact same way. He tried to ban me from the library once after I spent two days reading and rereading volume fifteen. I could barely pull myself away to eat; I was so enthralled.”

“How couldn’t you be? Volume fifteen is the one where the Sky Witch is introduced. I adore her.”

I nearly fell off my stool in excitement. I’d never had someone to talk about my favorite book series with before. And I could tell, neither had this stranger. “The Sky Witch? She’s awful.” My new friend shook his head. “I stopped feeling anything for her after volume thirty.”

“Well, obviously, I haven’t made it that far yet.” I glanced back down to the volume in his hands—volume twenty.

He quickly realized his mistake. “Sorry. Pretend I didn’t say anything.”

“What volume are you on?”

“Right now?” He dissolved into thought. “Fifty-two. I finished it last week.”

“Fifty-two! You’re almost halfway through the series!”

He sighed. “Don’t remind me. I rue the day when I run out of Taliver volumes to read.”

“Oh, what will be worth living for then?”

The moonlight fell over his face, and his emerald eyes sparkled. “Hopefully, I’ll find something new.”

A flush of warmth rose on my cheeks.

My stranger and I gushed over Taliver for what felt like a very long while—mostly about Volume Twenty, right up to the chapter I had stopped at. It turned out that this volume was one of his favorites. I shared my suspicions about how it would end, and whether I thought Taliver would prevail in his current quest. My new friend looked as if he was trying desperately not to confirm nor deny whether my theories had any merit to them. Though, the glimmers in his eyes when I mentioned certain events and characters answered for me. I could have stayed there for hours, balancing awkwardly on my stool, talking about all the things that had meant nothing to everyone else.

“Just wait until you get to volume Twenty-Two.” My new friend tapped the well-worn cover of my book. “It’s going to make the trek to the oasis look like child’s play—"

“Cass!” a male voice shouted.

My new friend spun around. A new gent with smooth brown skin and short dreaded hair jogged up to us. His attire was similar to Cass’s—crisp cut hems, a little too nice for the barn. But unlike Cass’s cream and soft brown colors, his ensemble was all grey and black hues, from his coat to his polished boots. He raised his eyebrows. “The cards?”

“Right.” My friend ran a hand through his thick hair and turned back to me.

I returned my hands to the top shelf, skimming over dust and dirt. Just when I was ready to retract them from the icky surface, a crease grazed the tips of my fingers. I reached further back, balancing on my tiptoes to do it, and grabbed the box. Success. The unopened set of cards dragged a heap of dust off the shelf as I drew them out.

“Here you go.” I handed him the box and stepped down from the stool. After talking with the stranger at the elevated height for so long, it felt odd to be shorter than him again.

“Thank you,” he said.

I blew the dust off my fingers. Cass’s companion glanced curiously between the two of us.

“This is yours.” He offered my book back to me.

“Are we going to play now?” His companion asked, trying to pull his friend’s attention back to him. “Jasper’s getting pretty antsy down there. And he’s already in a bad mood.”

“Yes, of course,” my stranger answered. He rubbed the back of his neck. His gaze remained with me. “Um, you don’t happen to play cards, do you?”

I beamed. The night had started off rough, but perhaps it was looking up. At the very least, I found something I wanted to do. “Am I being invited to play with you?”

“Well, they’re your cards, so I think you’d have to invite me to play.”

I bit my lip, smiling. “Let’s go then.”

It took only a minute to race back to the apartment, pull by tips from my apron, and toss my Taliver volume onto the sofa. I didn’t slow down until I was back at the cellar doors, where my new friend and his companion were waiting for me. “I hope you’re not too attached to those coins,” my new friend said, glancing at the jingling bag at my side.

“On the contrary, I think they’re in need of some friends.”

His companion threw his head back and chuckled before bounding down into the cellar.

“Cass, was it?” I asked. The wood steps creaked beneath my boots.

“Um, yes. And that was Donnie. I can’t believe I haven’t asked your name yet.”

“It’s Evie. Short for Evelyn. But who goes by full names in a place like this?”

He chuckled. “What about outside of here?”

My joy faded a touch as we hit the bottom of the stairs. As if I had an outside life. “Still Evie.”

“Good. I like Evie.”

The cellar was buzzing—just as packed as the floors above. It was a miracle we hadn’t run out of cards sooner. Each table was packed, and nearly every foot of the floor was jammed with a table. Still, a few games had managed to start in circles on the floor. Men tripping over their own feet and women trying to keep their skirts from getting caught between chairs and tables shoved through the floor, carrying around the scent of yeasty beer and howls of laughter with them.

“This way.” Cass took my hand.

We weaved through tables, twisting between the backs of chairs and patrons. A tall man slammed his table as I passed, making me jump. I squeezed Cass’s hand a little harder as we kept moving, the noise of the room seeming to follow us.

At a small table in the back corner of the cellar, Donnie sat laughing with a blonde gent whose back was to us.

“There they are.” Donnie gestured to us.

“Your friends?” I asked Cass.

“Yep.” He clasped a hand on the blonde man’s shoulder, and I noticed the heavy splotches of dark ale stretching across his shoulders.

I tensed as Cass’s second friend turned around. A familiar man with long blonde hair, deep blue eyes, and a shirt stained with beer.

My smile curled into a grimace as my eyes met his, and his expression mirrored mine.

It looked like it was going to be a very interesting game, indeed.