Jeana

by AJ Cooper

 

The laborers slowly cranked open the giant wooden gates, which scraped the dirt road noisily.

Sir Jacq felt slightly out of place as he entered the Greenwater District, a sprawling slum filled with drug dens, alehouses and brothels. His Ratling companion and Galiope native, Skee, walked beside him, wearing a black hood.

The foul stench of waste clung to the ill-swept road like green scum on a pond. Jacq tried his best not to breathe out of his nose. In the distance, he could hear the hammering of tinkers and the sound of chickens and cattle, but the people were a strangely silent and suspicious lot.

As an irritating drizzle pattered on Sir Jacq’s bare skin, making the cool gray-skied day colder, a wooden cart came into view inside an alley. It was tipped over, stuffed with tufts of white wool. Skee stopped suddenly. “Could that be…” he whispered.

Jacq shook his head. “Don’t think so. The stolen wool was already spun into yarn,” he said, and they resumed their walk.

They passed under the shadow of two lean-together houses, each made of creamy white plaster and wood planks, and thatched with brownish-yellow straw. The landlords rented these cheap residences to the poor, making modest coin for an even smaller investment. Jacq sneered, finding it difficult to imagine living in such squalor.

“We need to find a place to stay. There’s got to be a few inns around,” he said, hand on his longsword. A cross-eyed thug examined him greedily, looking for anything he could sell on the black market—a pair of silk breeches, perhaps; a fine silver bracelet, or a fur coat. But Jacq had dressed in plain ruddy clothes, hiding any evidence he was a wealthy knight.

“There’s one up ahead,” said Skee, “The Ruby Temptress.”

The seedy inn was in better shape than Jacq expected. The wood-paneled floor creaked under his feet, but the boards were strong and sturdy. The faint scent of hot food tantalized Jacq’s stomach. In the central hearth, a black pot filled with soup hung suspended in the bright flames. Nearby, a wooden shelf sat tucked behind a small oaken bar in the corner, displaying various specialty spirits—ales, fruit wines, ciders and more.

The Ruby Temptress had its fair share of patrons, all gruff, bruised, and poorly dressed. Each had a club, a dagger, or a shortsword within arm’s reach. They eyed Jacq suspiciously as he entered.

The serving wench immediately caught Jacq’s eye. She was stunning; her blonde hair hung long and loose; her thin legs were cleanly shaved. A set of high, round breasts peeked from her tight, low-cut dress, which was dyed scarlet and bordered with tacky white frills. His hands grew clammy. She struck him as familiar, but he couldn’t figure out why.

“Hail!” she said. “Can I get you men something to drink?  Hard cider?  Or, it’s a twopence for a glass of the regular ale—we got plenty—and I got some ham and bean soup just fired up for lunch!”

“Fetch me a glass of Zarube wine—the deepest red you have—and…”

Skee nudged him hard in the ribs and cursed under his breath.

“Zarube wine?” she laughed, hands to her hips. Her breasts jiggled slightly. “Sometimes we got plum wine, or pear—not today, though. That display case is just for lookin’. But we never got Zarube. Not in Greenwater. Y’must think we’re in Court District, or Marketview!”

As the ruffians laughed amongst themselves, Jacq placed two silver pennies in her soft hands. “Hard cider, then.”

“Will do.”

 

Jacq eyed her as she brought out the glasses, thinking how much he’d like to remove that red, tight-fitting dress. Rough she was, and poor, but more beautiful than any noblewoman he knew.

She set the mugs before them. The murky brown liquid smelled of fermented apples.

“What is your name, lass?” Jacq asked, taking his mug by the handle.

She smirked. Jacq assumed she was well accustomed to the attentions of the inn patrons and therefore unsurprised by the comment. “Jeana,” she said with a grin.

He froze as recognition dawned on him. The name brought back a thousand memories. A feeling reawakened, more than just Eros; a longing that burned his soul like Hamminid rum.

“Jeana?” Jacq said, “Cerne’s beard!  How did I not recognize you?”

“Brecko’s furs!” she gasped, “Are you Jacq?  From Julian’s Crossing? I can’t believe it!  It’s been so long!”

He grasped her soft white hand.

“I’ve missed you,” he said, “It’s been—what?—twelve years?”

“Sixteen,” Jeana said flatly.

Jacq smiled. “Never had much of a memory. Don’t take it the wrong way, though,” he said, “So what takes you so far from the village? And Greenwater, of all places?”

“I don’t want to get into it,” she said, “Not a terribly interesting story.”

“Why not meet tonight?  We can talk things over,” Jacq said.

“Good idea,” Jeana said. She thought for a while in silence. “Well, now that I think of it, we have a private dining room which we rarely use. No one’s reserved it tonight; I can make dinner, too, if you like.”

“Very well,” he said with a smile.

“Meet you at dusk,” she said, grinning wryly.

The figure of the innkeeper appeared in the open doorway—a porcine, sour-faced man who wore both an apron and a perpetual scowl. A bloody meat cleaver dangled from his hand. “Jeana!” he snapped, “Get back to work. You got drinks to pour and a floor t’ sweep ‘s filthy as Isdar’s loins.”

“Excuse me,” Jeana whispered and walked off.

Jacq gazed in her direction. Then, he and Skee headed upstairs to rest.

 

“How do you know her?” the Ratling asked as they entered.

The room had insufficient private space, with only a small, round wooden table, two oaken chairs, and two straw beds. Jacq could hardly spread out his arms.

“I remember her very well,” he said, “My father, he was the lord of Julian’s Crossing, and Jeana’s mother was one of his servants. That girl was the biggest coquette in town. She said we were meant to be together.”

“A coquette?” Skee said, “Doesn’t seem to have changed much in that regard.”

“She loved me,” Jacq said, “And I loved her, more than I had ever loved anyone before. One night, in secret, we made love outside the village walls, in the pasture… indeed, we were meant to be together. I would have married her, but I left for my training at age fourteen, and when I returned a few years later, she had left. My friends said she and her mother had journeyed east after her father passed, but they weren’t specific. I went on with my life, but I still think about her once in a while.”

Skee yawned and stretched. “And now she’s a halfpenny prostitute.”

Jacq glared at him. “You don’t know that for certain.”

The Ratling mumbled some indistinct reply, and said no more.

He came to the lobby at dusk, where Jeana awaited him, her hair stuck in a bun.

“Hello,” she said, and led him by the hand into a private dining room, where she had set out dinner—two slices of apple pie and a jug of hard cider.

They sat down in their chairs. She had burnt the pie crust slightly, and the apples were mushy and soft. Galiopea had the best apples in the world, and he was left with this?  Jacq hid his disgust, but he had to continue, no matter how horrid the fare.

“What are you doing in Greenwater?” Jeana said.

“I should ask the same of you.”

“Well, after you left for the knighthood, my father died. My mother and I went to Galiope. She fell ill… and we couldn’t support ourselves… so... well…” She looked down shyly.
“You—”

“I offered certain… services… for coin, if y’ must know,” she said, “But I only worked that trade for a while. After mother died, I got hired here. And you?  What’s your story?”

Jacq debated in his mind whether to tell her. Caution was always beneficial, but he knew her well enough to trust her.

“I’m here to wring the neck of a dirty crook. He’s nicknamed the Black Asp,” he said, “He’s been looting trade caravans. You know how enviable the wool is, our side of the river.”

She rose and swabbed her mouth with a napkin. “I’ve got to go,” she said and moved towards the door. Jacq stopped her.

“Why?”

She pushed past his hand. “I’ve just remembered something. I’m sorry to cut our talk short. We’ll get together tomorrow, I promise!”

“Good night,” he said, confused.

But at least he got the cider to himself.

The next morning, Jacq climbed into a plain russet tunic and baggy linen breeches, and shoved his sword into its leather sheath. Skee pulled his woolen hood over his head, and they headed downstairs.

Jeana waited in the main hall. “Hello,” she said and embraced Jacq. Although they knew each other well, he was a bit shocked by the boldness of the move and was slow to return the favor.

“Sorry about last night,” she whispered.

“It’s all right,” he said.

“I’ll meet you tonight, just outside the inn. I know of a place we can be alone.”

“I’ll be there.”

After spending the day interrogating the various beggars, hoodlums and ruffians of Greenwater, they realized the Black Asp conducted business from the sewers. But vespers rang and it was too late to act. Besides, Jacq didn’t want to finish the mission and risk never seeing Jeana again. What excuse would he have if they completed their mission today?

“You seem very interested in her,” Skee remarked on their way back to the inn.

“You’re right.”

“I’d be careful,” the Ratling said, “You can’t trust anyone around here. Even if you think you know her, people can change a lot over sixteen years. She’s working as a serving wench, for gods’ sakes, out of some seedy tavern in the worst part of Galiope. Who knows?  Maybe one morning, you’ll wake up in bed, with the girl gone and not a penny to your name. That’s the way of the slums.”
 “People never change,” Jacq said, “That’s one bit of wisdom you realize as you get older, young Skee.”

“You’re only one year my elder,” the Ratling sneered.

“I know her. Harming me is the very last thing she’d do,” Jacq continued, “She was kind, smart, good-hearted, everything you could hope for!  Neither of us could possibly have been happier, back then.”

“Maybe she’s smart—and not so sure about kind—but definitely not good-hearted,” Skee said. “If you haven’t noticed, she’s a bit flirtatious with those low-life customers of hers. I would bet a florin that she’s a prostitute.”

“Well, she used to be one, but she’s not anymore,” Jacq said with a hint of causticity.

“Do what you will. But if you do—ahem—fulfill your desires, she’s probably got an awful case of syphilis or some other harlot’s disease.”

“Shut up!” Jacq snarled, stopping short of striking him.

“Do as you want,” the Ratling said, shrinking back and raising his hands in surrender, “I won’t stop you.”

Jacq waited outside in the crisp, cold night air. The darkness deepened and wispy silver clouds veiled the full moon. He shivered and rubbed his arms together. Galiope was the coldest city in the human lands, with freezing winters and cool summers.

A few minutes passed and worry crept in. Had something happened to Jeana?  She certainly didn’t mean to keep him waiting—she said she would be there after dark.

A chill wind rustled his tunic as several cloaked men approached with brightly-burning torches. “I bring you greetings from the Black Asp,” said their leader.

“I will slay you where you stand!” Jacq threatened.

“Unarmed?  Unarmored?” he laughed.

But the crew—about four strong—spared no time for further insult, and charged. One stuck Jacq hard in the side with a dagger.

The knight returned the favor with a strong, bone-crushing punch across the jaw. He ripped the dagger out, grimacing in pain, and cut his throat in reply with a loud slice.

Turning quickly to the second, he kicked him down hard. A third attacker ran at him and Jacq swept under his defenses, plunging his weapon past his ribs and into his heart.

Three down.

The fourth thug dashed for him and swiped hard at Jacq’s neck, but he caught him by the arm, twisted, and flung him hard to the gravel with a loud thump. With the two living assailants knocked prone alongside the dying, he hurled the dagger down, piercing the second thug’s lungs—a fatal blow. The fourth scurried off, screaming, into the dark night.

Grabbing one of their smoldering torches, he turned back toward the Ruby Temptress entryway. After shrugging off a dagger wound and defeating four assailants without his sword, little question remained why, out of all his knights, Duke Lionel had picked Jacq for the mission.

When he came to the inn he noticed Jeana standing there, shadowy in the dim light.

“What happened?” she cried fearfully.

“They tried to kill me,” Jacq said, approaching slowly. Silence ensued. He eyed her suspiciously, and she returned the glance with a look of shock.

“You don’t think—” she started, mortified by the wordless accusation. “Jacq, how could you think I could harm you?  Wasn’t it I who said we were meant to be together, forever?  All those years ago?  Well I meant it!  I loved you, Jacq, and I still do!”

She kissed him on the cheek and wrapped her arms around him, squeezing tightly.

Perhaps she was telling the truth. He loved her, and she loved him. Just like she said in Julian’s Crossing sixteen years ago, they were meant for each other.

Silently, he looked at his wound. “I’m bleeding,” he murmured.

Jeana nodded. “Come inside—you’re in dire need of a bandage.”

They walked upstairs into a large bedroom. A straw mattress sat on the wood-paneled floor, lined with a clean linen sheet. At its foot was a wooden basin of cold, clear water. He peeled off his tunic as he walked to the bed, and sat down gently. Jeana grabbed a cloth from the floor and wrung it in the basin.

The wound bled badly—the cut went deep. She wiped the blood off with the moist rag and pulled a white cloth tight around the area, then firmly twisted it into a knot.

“It’s not fatal,” she said. “You’ll be all right.”

“Jeana?”

“Yes?”

“You say you are poor… you can leave Greenwater, with me—I have enough money. I’ll take care of you.”

“That’s sweet of you, Jacq…” she paused, “And I would like to, but we can’t leave now, with you like this. Everything will be better in the morning, I promise.”  She paused. “Lunas grant you sleep,” she said, and walked out the door.

 Jacq carefully turned to his side and shut his eyes. Surely she would never betray him. They were meant to be together.

But the door opened again and Skee entered, wearing his black hood.

“Are you a total fool?” he cried, “I saw the whole ordeal from the window. Jeana set that up!  She set you up! She’s a dirty, rotten…”

“Quiet!” Jacq yelled, “She would never do that!”

“I can see it in her eyes. She can’t be trusted!  She’s trying to kill you, Jacq!  She’s using you and she probably works for the Asp!”

“You’re wrong!” Jacq said, “I know if she worked for the Asp she would tell me. We’ve fallen back in love. I know it for a fact.”

“Are you really this dense?” the Ratling hissed, “She’s—oh, forget it!” He slammed the door shut behind him.

Jacq knew he was wrong—he remembered her very well. A sweet, harmless girl if there ever was one; if perhaps a little too friendly with the opposite sex. He knew she told the truth, and would never commit such a horrid act.

He sighed, denying vehemently that any doubt was in his heart, and then drifted to sleep.

He awoke, heart racing, to find his hands bound with ropes. So tight were they he felt like a knife-blade was biting into his wrist. He struggled wildly and hollered for Skee, but the ropes wouldn’t budge. He thought himself incapable of breaking them, but he often misjudged his strength.

To his great wrath, Jeana stood there, a steel dagger dangling from her hand, dripping with poison.

Jacq glared at her. Immense shame and anger surged through his veins; shame at his stupidity and anger at her wily deceptions. “You… you’re betraying me?  Why you—”

“I’ve no other choice,” she sighed.

“You work for the Asp!  Skee was right—I am a fool!  A Moonstruck fool!” he said, “Go ahead!  Stab me!  Stab me and take all my silver. I hope it makes you happy, you filthy, good-for-nothing—”

“I’ll take care of the little mouse, Jeana!” a deep voice interrupted him. Jacq saw the porcine innkeeper in the doorway, fat and menacing, holding a knife in his hand.

But at that instant Skee appeared, charging past the innkeeper, and tossed Jeana out of the way. She hit the wall lightly. Pivoting, he drew his knife smoothly and lunged for the innkeeper.

The chubby man dodged with surprising grace.

He threw his weight onto the Ratling and knocked him over, growled, and grasped his neck with his chubby fingers. Skee did the same in reply, but the innkeeper was unmistakably stronger. The Ratling’s furry face began to redden. In desperation, Jacq struggled violently and stretched the rope farther than he had before.

Skee flailed his arms wildly for lack of breath.

Fire surged through Jacq’s veins and he thrashed with every ounce of strength that remained. He roared and his muscles bulged to enormous size. Slowly, the ropes splintered, unwound and then gave way with a loud snap, and he leapt to his feet. Angrily he thrust his boot into the Asp’s chin, and the massive man fell backwards, hitting the floor like a boulder.

Skee leapt upon him and plunged his dagger furiously through his chest, hammering into him again and again, splitting ribs and slicing organs. Blood stained the innkeeper’s once-pristine clothes and a crimson pool grew in size as he lay there. By the time he was dead, ten stabs disfigured his corpse.

Jacq eyed Jeana. She looked horrified.

“Thanks,” she said faintly. Her expression smoothened and she embraced him. “I love you!” she said, burying her face in his arms, “And I always have… the innkeeper—he’s the Asp, you see—he imprisoned me against my will and I didn’t have a choice. But now we can be together, forever!  Just let me go get my things and we’ll leave right away!”

“You liar,” Jacq sneered, “You don’t love me. You were about to kill me.”  He threw her off him and took a step forward threateningly.

“How could you think that?” Jeana whimpered, “I l-love you, Jacq!”

“I don’t believe you anymore. I’ll make you pay, you wh—!”

Jeana grabbed his cheeks and firmly planted a prolonged wet kiss on his lips. She shoved close against him, and wrapped her legs around his. She didn’t relinquish her mouth’s steely grip until she ran out of breath, panting. “I’m yours, Jacq. I’m all yours,” she said. She kissed him again on the lips, briefly, and pressed her chest against his. “Just let me get my things. I want to spend the rest of my life with you!”

His body ached with lust. He imagined removing the red dress from her body, slowly, feeling her cold white skin, running his hands through her hair, gazing at her impeccable physique. He imagined a night spent alone with her, and many more to follow. Alone, under the stars, just like times of old. He couldn’t help himself.

His silence gave her affirmation, and she disappeared out the door.

Skee crossed his arms, smirking derisively, and shook his head. Jacq returned the favor with a heated glare.

But a few minutes later, she hadn’t returned. Jacq walked outside; the hall was empty. He descended the stairs; but she wasn’t in the main room either. And on further inspection, not a single soul stirred in the kitchen, save a few mice.

One by one he went through each room, but she wasn’t within them either.

He opened his chamber door and his heart sank. Everything was gone!  All his money, his sword, and even his clothes!

A note cut out of cheap parchment had been nailed to the wall, the words penned in black ink:

 

A lightened load,
courtesy of the true Black Asp.

Don’t take it personal,
my sweet little pet.

 

Jacq growled. “So…”

“She was playing you like a card the whole time,” Skee snickered without the slightest trace of sympathy, “She didn’t work for the innkeeper; he worked for her. No one would expect an unassuming—okay, very assuming—tavern wench of being a notorious crime lord.”

“So it was all—”

“A ruse,” Skee said with a smile. He cracked his knuckles, “He had to keep the appearance of being in charge. Thus his screaming and bossing her around. Or so I have gathered.”

Jacq snarled, especially aggrieved by the loss of his sword. “Why that dirty, rotten…”

The Ratling laughed. “There is a proverb I have grown rather fond of,” he said, “A fool’s love sees no evil.”