Your general tenets lead me to help those in need, but this particular one is in a particular need, and I am seeing Your hand in this coming to me. Isn’t it? Yes— I thought so. ‘Let’s make Martin confront his past, probably for the sake of building character or some such thing?’ I know, I know, I shouldn’t be glib at You. But You knew what I was when you chose me, Martin shrugged.

Looming beside him, wrapped in the largest piece of cloth Brother Martin’s meager funds could buy in place of a cloak or tunic, walked the huge tiefling, Alec. Those wide golden eyes stared around them so much that it slowed their pace. Martin didn’t mind. Alec had been underground for years, and freedom to see stars and lights and people again would probably feel overwhelming at first.

This was part of why Brother Martin had chosen to depart from the Watch House in the night hours. Bright daylight had hurt Alec’s eyes earlier, and at night fewer people were out and about. Those who were on the streets at night generally had some business they were intent on, and unlikely to stare too much at the great bulk of the tiefling.

Brother Martin was tall for a man, but Alec was slightly taller, and maybe twice again Martin’s weight. Hopefully there’d be enough food in Martin’s little larder to keep him fed, but if not, they could go to the shore or the markets to get more to eat.

Another thing to consider was bed space. Alec might barely fit on the bed Brother Martin kept and did not often use himself. Many nights he had a patient resting in that bed, and took his own rest on a thick reed mat by the fireplace. He could do that again.

Alec stared wide eyed at everything, the cobbles, the laundry hanging on lines that crisscrossed the alleyways, the geraniums in windowsill pots giving out soft fragrances, the forms of people in busier, better lit streets where lamps gave the night a soft glow.

“So many things,” said Alec. “So many people, and smells. It forgot how much there is in a city.”

“You lived in one before?” Brother Martin glanced up at him.

“Yes. When it was just the Boy. It was assistant to a merchant, and it used to take notes to other merchants, and they would give it an apple or a bun. But it does not remember much of that time. It must have been- There have been years, since then. It was small, then.”

“Did you learn letters, or a trade?”

“The Wife taught it to make bread, to help her at the bread making. It remembered, even in the brickyard, it remembered how and made the bread. That made the other workers not hate it, as much. They liked good bread.”

Brother Martin wanted to encourage Alec. “Do you like baking bread?”

“Like…? It is glad, to have fresh bread to eat, and the making…” He made motions in the air with heavily clawed hands, wide and strong. “It is… calming, to do the making. Kneading.”

“That’s what I think, too. We can make bread together, Alec.”

They were moving through a shabbier older part of the city, where there was more disrepair and the plaster of buildings was often crumbling or cracked by the sea damp, and the salt smell of the harbor wafted up the alleys. Lanterns were few in this district.

At length they came to where two streets and an alley met. The lettering in faded paint upon the walls at a tall man’s height read ANCHOR ST and TANNER’S ALLEY. The junction made a little open space with a covered city water well, and above that shone a lantern.

One tile-roofed building had a door set into its corner on its ground floor, overhung above by the other two stories. This gave the little corner some meager shelter. The windows were covered in slanted shutters that probably let in light but kept out alley cats and seagulls, or prying eyes. By the door frame someone had painted a numeral for 5 on the whitewashed plaster. In fresher, white paint on the wood of the door there shone a pair of white hands, wrists joined with a scribble of red.

“Here we are. My current home,” said Brother Martin, opening the marked door and stepping inside. “Please, come in.” He held the door open for Alec.

Alec ducked to get his head under the lintel, and went in, noticing how thick the walls were by the depth of the doorway. Inside was whitewashed more cleanly than the outer walls, and the lamps Brother Martin lit reflected and glowed in the small space.

Altogether it was hardly any bigger than Alec’s former cell; one chamber, floored in plain clay tiles. Almost opposite the doorway stood a broad brick hearth, with iron cooking gear in its ashes, and a half barrel of dried driftwood sticks nearby. To the right, a sort of hanging curtain made of patched sailcloth pieces divided off a space with a long cot bed. To the left, there stood a scarred but sturdy table, wooden seats made of barrels, and shelves full of bottles, boxes and little bags. From the ceiling hung bunches of herbs, a braid of small onions, and a few dried stock cod.

“It’s nothing elegant, but it suits me just fine,” Brother Martin was saying. “I hope you’ll be comfortable. I can’t always have the fire up as much as I’d like, but a hot brick at the foot of one’s bed does wonders for sleep. Tomorrow we can go collecting more wood for the fire. I daresay you could carry a good armload.” He shook out the blankets on the bed, checking them to be sure they were clean.

Alec turned where he stood, as if noting every detail. “It… is a good place. Not big- but good.” Scents of the leaves and flowers hanging so close to his head tugged at bits of memory he couldn’t place but they were happier memories, he nearly knew. Maybe he would dream of them, as he slept.

“Glad you like it.” Brother Martin raked at the ashes of his hearth fire, unearthing a brick which he wrapped in sacking, then carried to the foot of the long cot bed. “You can sleep here. It will fit even a tall fellow like you.” He tucked the brick into the linens at one end of the bed.

“But- surely it is your bed, Sir? Brother.”

Brother Martin shrugged. “I often let my guests use it. I’m often more comfortable on a rush mat by the fire, to tell you the truth. The bed is soft.”

From a barrel he drew out water for them both to drink, and the stew they’d had at the Watch House had made an excellent supper, so neither of them was yet hungry.

“Ordinarily I’d offer to make tea,” said Martin, “But you look as tired as I feel, and you have had a rough time of it. Go ahead and go to sleep, Alec. Get your rest. We can talk more in the morning.”

Having it pointed out made it hard to hide- Alec was exhausted, and as he settled himself with a creak into the bed, he found it was indeed soft, a rush and sea-grass mattress, luxury beyond any straw pile he’d slept on in years. The brick at the foot of the bed radiated a warmth that spread up from his toes and filled Alec’s whole body, soothing his tensions and worries away. As he fell asleep, he thought maybe he dreamed hearing the waves on the nearby shore.

to be continued

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