Ambush in the Hall

Serenica would have loved to remain strong.

She felt the corners of her eyes burning. A lump manifested into her throat, bouncing up and down in the rhythm of her breathing.

She shook her head.

"No," she said, bitter and about to start crying like a bitch. "Don't explain anything."

Without completing her purchase, Helen left the place in a hurry.

Swordly the shopkeeper looked at Serenica. He had warm, compassionate eyes and a professional demeanor that made it easy for her to relax.

In this case, relaxing meant falling on his desk in tears.

The weeping tore through her throat.

She sucked at crying. It wasn't cute or feminine. It felt like burning alive. Her tear ducts hurt, her nose was dripping snot, but that wasn't the worst thing.

She had tried to give Helen something strong to lean on.

She had thought that Helen liked her for who she was. Maybe that had been naïve. She had pulled Helen out of so many troubles caused by the socialite life and its inherent dangers.

Discreetly, she had taken care that Helen would never birth an unwanted bastard.

This was how she was rewarded for her troubles, wasn't it? Helen saw her as a savage. Just like everyone else.

Serenica stared at her hands and tried to force the rest of the tears out so that she could be done with this.

It was awkward.

Thankfully, Swordly didn't try to comfort her. He arranged weapons into a neat row on the edge of the table Serenica wasn't using for her breakdown.

"I'm done," she finally said and hiccuped.

Swordly offered her a handkerchief.

"This has some shit on it," he said with an apologetic tone.

Serenica took one horrified look at his hand and declined the offer.

The shopkeeper shook his head. "No, not really. I just needed to take your mind off her."

The best medicine for a broken heart was obviously shopping. In all her healer years, Serenica had never found anything except for time that truly mended that ache. However, spending money she didn't have helped with the symptoms.

She looked at the guns, feeling her curiosity rising.

"This is a witch rifle," Swordly said, pointing at a long barrel. A true beauty among rifles, it lacked a traditional flintlock mechanism, but a metal container was attached to it with an intricate knotted rope. The design looked sturdy enough.

"I will touch it," Serenica said.

Her determination to find out more about this rifle could not be contained.

She ran her fingers along the graceful line of the barrel. She picked it up, feeling its moderate weight and the ergonomically pleasant grip. All of its black wooden parts were carved full of occult symbols.

"Sigils charge, gunpowder activates it, no flintlock needed. Sadly, it doesn't do more damage than a regular rifle of this kind, but it's quicker to use and easier than a regular flintlock firearm," Swordly explained. "I will not ask if you want it. I don't want to offend you by insinuating you don't."

"You're my kind of a man," Serenica said. "How much?"

"One hundred and twenty golden coins," Swordly said without batting an eye.

Serenica wasn't able to keep a straight face. The added desperation forced her to sit back down, with the rifle still resting against her body like a pining lover.

"I suppose I can pay you later?" Serenica asked, already imagining how she'd give up both food and firewood for this.

Swordly nodded. "I'll give you two weeks."

Serenica measured the gun dealer from head to toe. Swordly had always been wealthy and unafraid to show it. He lacked Helen's gaudy taste, or that lack of taste. Didn't mean he wasn't wearing a small fortune in silk right now.

Sometimes Serenica wished she would have had just about any other passion. No, she had to be a doctor, in a city full of colleagues who wanted her dead.

She left, indebted, heartbroken and still weirdly happy.

It was bad manners to carry such a gun everywhere. Her home wasn't a safe place to leave it, though. She would have to consult yet another acquaintance. That was easy. She knew a retired pirate named Blackbones, a truly trustworthy man. After visiting the old geezer Serenica decided to visit the city council meeting. She could gather some valuable information and perhaps get an idea of the person she was up against.

She was still certain that her enemy was a woman. Why else would the Ink Witch have omitted all pronouns?

The council hall was already buzzing with commoners and especially merchants. Some of the meetings were open to everyone, which meant that the smartest came to listen instead of talk. Every now and then a madman would cause a scene, but that was just fun drama, not the main attraction.

Serenica had saved herself from many calamities by keeping her head down and her ears open.

The actual council members came in slowly, disrespecting each other by being late and bringing their own wines. The wine the council hall served was disgusting sweet stuff, even for Serenica's low class tastes.

Still, she herself had no options.

She let a servant pour her a goblet.

Her eyes met his gaze. Tired and aware of it, the man understood her and she understood him.

Even though she was now the one being served, she was still on his level.

They were just commoners about to listen how they should be trampled on.

He nodded and left in a hurry.

Then the rich people began to talk.

There was no official openers. A merchant with a huge, shiny forehead just got drunk enough to start ranting about the proposed law of aesthetic property.

None of these people actually cared about laws unless they had a horse in the particular race. There were quite a few good merchants and officials, but they stayed far away from this snake pit, choosing to work behind the scenes.

Serenica got distracted for a moment while looking at a wife of a merchant who was sitting alone.

She checked out the blonde, older but more beautiful than Helen and with more taste in clothes.

Serenica intended to stop envying the woman's cheekbones right when the husband would arrive, but the man never came.

Then the blonde woman in the gray dress opened her mouth and Serenica realized something.

She was nobody's wife. She was here as herself, protecting her own interests.

She could be the one who wanted to kill Serenica. She could be the one who had sent the Ink Witch.