A Lost Serpent

How often had I stared at this desert wondering whether the end of it existed? I wondered this, but I know the answer. I’ve lost track of the days once again watching those horizons shifting to unrecognizable views, the edges molding into the skies, like dusted hands reaching desperately towards the incoming twilight. The chill of the upcoming twilight was clinging to my clothes now as the darkness drew closer to greet me where I sat on the dunes. I turned to look behind me, the footsteps and evidence that I had wandered the desert all but gone now as the wind continued to shift that strange sea. It was probably enough to frighten another, the idea of being lost in the desert that is, with no trace of yourself–  yet this was familiar territory for me. I knew these sands. 

Pressing a hand to my right side over my aching wound, I rose up to my feet once more. The air tasted of salt which told me I was drawing closer to my objective, even if the trajectory had been all but a smooth transition for me. The soles of my boots sank into the sands with each step and I could feel the leather still burning from earlier steps taken. It was an unavoidable discomfort, however. I knew I needed to reach the shores if I intended to get this wound cleaned properly. 

“Northeast,” I murmured softly to myself, taking out my compass and holding it steady as I analyzed my path ahead. My hood was tossed back from my head with a powerful gust of wind  determined to irritate me. I frowned at no one in particular as my white strands came loose, flinching as I took a heavier step than intended which sent that sharp pain along my side again. I cursed quietly, of course. I was never great with pain but life had taught me that one must learn to endure it beyond our own comforts. I breathed in heavily and moved on from this. I had to. I dared not to wonder what would happen to me out here if I lingered for too long. 

A step and then another, and then another. I simply chose to focus on that for now, placing one foot before the other and before I knew it, two hours had passed. I climbed up the side of a particularly large dune, the effort nearly taking what little wind I had left in me. Upon reaching the top, I could see further out the desert at last. On the horizon was a familiar sight I admit I was relieved to see. I could hear her crashing against the shores, the moon that was now rising to fill the skies making the waves dance and crash in shimmering white foam. 

Unclasping my spyglass from my belt, I searched the darkened areas for a sign of lights. The town I knew was a few miles away now, the yellow glow of lanterns indistinguishable in this shroud of darkness. It was enough to bring a much needed smile to my lips, the relief of simply seeing those lights immediately reminding me of my thirst as well. 

“Well… home sweet home. Almost.”

Readjusting my hood, I made my way down the sloping dune towards the town with renewed spirit. It was not long before those lanterns greeted me along with the guards of the town. They were both far shorter than myself and had to hold up the oil lamp, bringing my face in full illumination for them to analyze. They inquired about my business here, a question I answered with a folded parchment I offered them, the black seal on it still keeping it shut. They seemed to recognize who the letter was addressed for, just as I had hoped, because their suspicions of me died almost immediately. 

“Can’t say we see too many couriers running through the dunes at these hours. That tells me your correspondence is either urgent or you just got lost for a while.” His fat little green fingers gave me back the letter and he waved me away. “Go on, he should be in the tavern at this hour,” he said dismissively, returning to his idle argument with the other guard. I wasted no time and nodded in silent thanks, the subject of airship engines reaching my ears as I passed both of them making me smirk slightly. What a thing to argue over, I thought idly. 

I did well to keep my wound hidden from sight. The last thing I needed was to be questioned about it, especially by goblins. They were rather jumpy when it came to physical violence, never hesitating to reach for the first gun in sight in defense should they feel a threat approaching. Before the scent of blood could reach them, I wandered into the town. The ground felt better against my aching feet now that it was hardened soil instead of the soft sands. My calm steps took me further within, the alleyways filled with moving shadows of the unknown, sounds heard every other moment of crates and goods being scattered about. Despite the lack of denizens out on the open streets at this evening hour, the buildings were bursting with voices and life. The air was cool against my skin, but I could feel the cold perspiration clinging to my temple and neck as another chill raked my light-footed frame. 

As I came face to face with the tavern, I fought the distinct urge to look over my shoulder. There was only one way to rid oneself of a lingering shadow, and that was to bring it into the light. The doors of the tavern swung open as I stepped through and the warm heat of the establishment hit my dulled senses all at once– fresh bread, warm broth, frothing ale and of course, the all too familiar scent of cigars. I breathed it all in like the finest of elixirs before making my way straight to the bar where I placed some coin on the counter for an evening lodge and ordered myself a meal along with a jug of wine, leaving my water-pouch as a silent request to have it refilled.

Numerous tables sported patrons, most of them rowdy workers unwinding from a day of hard labor while others had warmer intentions for their evening. I walked past a table filled with endless giggling from the lasses that kept the men company, hands wandering shamelessly to grope a breast or two as they all shared bottomless grog. The desert had given me ample silence for days, so the noise all around was a welcomed difference. As I often did, I chose a dull table in the far corner of the room, taking a seat calmly so none would know of the wound I still kept a pressed hand over. A combined mess of candle wax and crumbs littered the surface of my table, but I hardly cared. Much of it probably wouldn’t brush off anyway. Taking a hold of the bandage knotted around my waist, I tightened the knot with a quiet grunt of pain. The cloth was wet to the touch, something I knew was no good, but the tending of the wound would have to wait until I retired to a more private setting. Instead, I kept myself distracted from it by watching others before me, relaxing back in my wooden chair. 

The stuffiness of the room became more apparent as the minutes passed in my waiting. Even the lingering scent of piss caught my nostrils as I watched one of the barmaids tossing some hay over yet another spill on the ground to mask the pungent odor. Two men were loudly discussing the cost of grain imports this season while others spoke of the war in drier tones that left no room for argument that things were not getting better anywhere. I listened absently as I often did in such places, telling myself to remain alert for anything, yet feeling the effect of my long travels beginning to settle in. My legs ached greatly and I suddenly became aware of the amount of sand within my clothes, no doubt a sensation my perspiring skin had much to blame for. Although my cloak remained around me, I brushed back my hood to allow my head some air. I could feel much of my hair was matted to my neck and forehead and I raked my free hand through my messy strands, sighing gently at the comfort the simple gesture brought me. 

Soon enough one of the barmaids I had paid brought me my jug of wine along with a tin glass, doing her best to wipe down the crumbs from the table though it made no difference whatsoever. She left me to my solitude with the promise of the broth I ordered following shortly, leaving some bread on a plate for me to pick on while I poured myself a glass and continued to wait. Across the tavern, a chair flipped on its side as a rowdy laborer argued with another. I watched the red on their face double in their shouting, the froth of ale clinging to their beards messily, the thick fingers gripping the front of one another’s tunic. I rested a leg on the table as I lounged back, lazily observing the patrons and absently wondering the number of possible outcomes this scene could take. I drank calmly, fingers tapping on the tin glass thoughtfully. 

Of course, one of the lasses from earlier came to the rescue, her sleeves drooping heavily to antagonize the men as her bubbly tone soothed their fiery dispute. It was not long before their eyes were off each other and on the lass, a second soon joining them to summon a hearty laughter out of them that had them fixing the chair and sitting back down to drink some more. 

I’ll admit, I was mildly disappointed. The look was clearly riddled on my bored features as the barmaid returned with her promised meal, the bowl slopping with the broth, a few vegetables floating here and there. It hardly looked appetizing, but it served me well as I immediately began to wet the bread in it, enjoying it regardless of the bland taste of carrots, celery, and turnips. It was then that a stranger passed by my table that caught my attention. Much like myself he was cloaked for travel, or perhaps for other reasons. I paused in my mindless chewing to watch him leave, his posture and back somewhat familiar as he wandered up the wooden stairs. Another sip of my bitter wine was taken as I kept my eyes locked on him and soon enough, I sighed in mild annoyance. 

So he was here after all. And of course, he chose the moment I started eating to summon me for a meeting. “Dammit all,” I cursed under my breath. I drank as much of the broth as I could and settled for bringing my jug of wine with me, the empty tin glass pinned against the load of bread I refused to leave behind. Abandoning my half eaten meal there, I left the table and proceeded upstairs, flagging the barmaid that had served me to let her know I was finished and retiring for the night. She tossed me a key in return, telling me to look for the door with an anchor, and letting me know she’d prepared a bath for me already. 

The hallway echoed the sounds expected of a brothel. It did little to phase me, though. Business was business even in matters of the flesh. The anchor room was at the far end of the hallway, offering some moderate privacy. I paused before the door and hesitated, perspiration now making my blouse stick to my skin uncomfortably. This was not the first meeting of this kind that I had, yet the same familiar ribbon of nerves began to form in my abdomen. Before allowing it a chance to overwhelm me into self-doubt, I shoved the key into the lock, opening the door calmly and stepping into the room and closing it behind me.