The Knife in the Dark by D.W. Hawkins

Author:D.W. Hawkins [Hawkins, D.W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Laconic Press, LLC
Published: 2018-01-03T07:00:00+00:00

**

“They do exist, I can promise you that,” Dormael said. “There’s a vast swath of the Stormy Sea full of the things, and they’ll suck a ship right down to the bottom. Just look on a map. It’s called the Maelstrom Field.”

The barmaid smiled. “Come now, that can’t be true. You’re just trying to impress me with all the big, amazing things you’ve seen. Your sort are always coming in here, trying to convince me that they’re all handsome adventurers.”

“I don’t have to convince you of anything—I’m a handsome adventurer no matter what some beautiful woman thinks about it,” Dormael said, taking another pull from the firewine. It burned on the way down, and left a sweet taste in his mouth. The bottle was almost halfway gone, and most of it into Dormael’s cup. His aches and pains were beginning to fade into the background, and his vision was taking on a comfortable, hazy quality.

“So I’m a beautiful woman, am I?”

“Do you need a handsome adventurer to tell you so?”

“It’s nice to hear,” she laughed. “Are you going to finish that entire bottle?”

“I could be persuaded to share with a beautiful woman, especially in a more intimate setting.”

“Such as one of the upstairs rooms?” she asked.

“If you prefer one of those rooms, that’s fine by me. It does sound convenient.” Dormael gave her a sideways wink as he took another pull from the bottle.

The barmaid let out a peal of silvery laughter.

“No, honey. I’m not for sale.”

“Who said I was offering to pay?”

She slapped him on the shoulder, and gave him a kiss on the cheek as she rose from her seat. She moved down the bar to serve the other two patrons, leaving Dormael alone with his bottle. More customers trickled into the taproom, showing Dormael quick glances of the rainy afternoon. The smell of the incense was pleasant, and the drink had relaxed him.

He turned from the bar and shambled over to a velvet couch, covered in garish bolts of purple and crimson. The colors were jarring to the eye, but the half-dressed women lounging around the taproom were a much more pleasant sight. He smiled at them, but indicated with his expression that he didn’t want to be bothered. As much as he enjoyed flirting, when he thought of buying a whore for the evening, Shawna’s voice popped into his mind.

I see, she would say. That’s exactly what I would have expected.

His thoughts were full of the memory of her skin, and the taste of her. She had been silent on the whole thing, and Dormael dared not press her to remember. There were times that he found himself searching her eyes for any recognition, any acknowledgment, any hint that the fire she had shown him was lurking beneath the surface. The woman, as always, was inscrutable.

Probably wants nothing to do with an idiot like you. She said it herself—you’re terrible.

Dormael’s eyes went to the door as it opened to the rain outside, and he almost choked on his drink.

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