Saving Solace

Vercleese stood within the shadowed doorway of a tailor's shop and watched Mistress Hulsey's doorway until Gerard reappeared. Vercleese ducked back out of sight and told himself this wasn't really as bad as it looked, spying on his superior. Gerard wasn't behaving like himself this morning, wandering around town and evading him. Something was making the sheriff very anxious.

Given all that had been happening in town lately- the two deaths and the attempt on Gerard's life the day before-Vercleese was determined to keep an eye on the younger man, for his own safety.

Gerard was hurrying down the street now, paying He attention to his surroundings. If he was walking in to a trap, he was certainly going into it with his guard down, Vercleese reflected.

The knight frowned and wondered what could possibly be so important that Gerard, normally so cautious, would pay such little heed to his own safety, vercleese darted from doorway to doorway in Gerard's wake, raising eyebrows from the many passersby who noticed him. But he was obviously justified in his efforts to remain hidden from Gerard's sight, for Gerard began to pause and glance behind him, as if fearful. Whatever the young man was up to, he was acting very furtive, which to Vercleese's mind only called that more attention to him.

He hoped Gerard wasn't attempting to do some thing foolish, such as confronting a murder suspect by himself. This seemed all the more likely, after Gerard picked up his new sword from Torren Soljack. Was the sheriff headed for some kind of dramatic showdown?

Vercleese was surprised when Gerard turned down a street with shops and businesses catering to the more prominent citizens of Solace. The knight's eyebrows shot up, unconsciously mimicking the looks he was receiving from all who spotted his peculiar behavior He slipped into the shadows of yet another doorway startling the proprietor inside, who looked up sharply then waved in friendly greeting. Vercleese smiled wanly and returned Kedrick Tos's wave, hurrying on before the councilman could ask what in the world he was doing.

With a last wary glance around, Gerard ducked into an unmarked doorway. Vercleese waited several minutes then, when Gerard didn't reappear, followed cautiously. When he peered around the doorway, risking a look inside, he saw that the door opened not directly onto another shop, as he had expected, but onto a short hallway with a couple of closed doors at the end Vercleese tiptoed down the short corridor, his hand on the hilt of his sword. A strange, rhythmic tapping came from the other side of one door, along with what sounded like someone humming. Very slowly, Vercleese opened the latch and pushed the door open just enough to peek inside.

In the middle of an empty room, Gerard stood facing a tall, imperious woman who was rapping the floor sharply with a long staff she carried in one hand. At the same time she was humming a lively air. For a horrified instant, Vercleese thought she must have placed Gerard under some kind of terrible spell, for he jerked and twitched spasmodically in time to her beat. Abruptly, however, the woman stopped tapping the staff, and dapped her hands in annoyance, bringing Gerard to a halt. 'No, no, not like that at all! Are you utterly bereft of rhythm?' Gerard glowered shamefacedly at the floor. 'Once more, and this time try to feel the music!' She began humming again and resumed the rhythmic tipping with her staff. With a smile, Vercleese quietly closed the door and moved with a stealthy tread back down the hall, determined to preserve Gerard's secret, regardless how tempting it might be to let on that he knew. Some secrets deserved a modicum of privacy, and to Vercleese's thinking this was one, for Gerard was engaged in as heroic and momentous a struggle as any he'd ever faced. The new sheriff was learning to dance.

Early that evening, resting in his attic room, Gerard at at a small table by the open window and worked industriously as the daylight waned. His quill scratched again and again across a page that soon filled with the lines of his fine, precise hand. He paused periodically to dip the nib in a small pot of ink nearby, careful not to overturn the ink it with a careless elbow or a sudden flourish with the quill. Then he blotted the excess ink from the nib and resumed writing. At one point, he stopped long enough to light a small lamp, the daylight having faded.

On one corner of the table, a small stack of completed pages grew under his relentless efforts.

Meanwhile, the day of the temple dedication quickly, approaches, Gerard wrote. It's only three days away at this point, which means that one way or another it will be all over by the time you read this letter. The town is full to bursting, sometimes leading to angry confrontations between longtime residents and newer arrivals, although for the most part, the atmosphere is festive. But the commotion makes the town somewhat raucous at all times of the day and night, and I've become rather grateful for my tiny attic space high in a tree.

He stopped to reconsider that last line then crossed out tiny attic space high in a tree, substituting instead accommodations comfortably removed from the general activity.

This job is challenging, but also extremely rewarding, he continued, and I find myself relying heavily on my training as a knight. This last part he added with specific thought toward justifying his leaving the knighthood, wishing to affirm that his earlier schooling had not been wasted. I almost regret that the term of my position here will be coming to an end with the dedication as I have become quite fond of the town and its citizens. He paused, struck by the unexpected truth of that last sentence, then went on. Palin has been an immense help through all of this, as has my deputy, another former knight. He chose not to mention that Vercleese had left the knighthood after serving a full span of duty, quite a different case than his.

In fact, I have made any number of new friends here-Gerard was thinking of Kaleen, but refrained from mentioning her, knowing that to do so would immediately raise unreasonable expectations-and have been learning all kinds of new-he hesitated in his scrawl, thinking of the dancing lessons, then finished instead-skills. The former sheriffs murder and various other unexplained incidents have yet to be solved, but I've been pondering them and feel I'm getting closer to learning the truth behind these unhappy events.

And now I need to prepare for the next stage in our investigation, a task that will require some delicacy in handling. I will, of course, be careful, and remain as always your faithful son,

Gerard.

He glanced over the final page then, satisfied, sprinkled it with sand to dry any remaining ink. This done, he blew the sand away, ordered the sheaf of pages he had accumulated, and folded and sealed them into a neat packet. He addressed the finished letter and added it to the others he had written, all of which he stored in a drawer under his spare clothes. Feeling he had discharged his filial obligations for the moment, despite never having actually sent any of the letters he wrote, he stood, being careful for once not to bang his head on the rafters; buckled on his new sword; and hurried out into the twilight for his appointed rendezvous.

Up on the bridge-walks, where he traveled at first, the last glow of sunset still lit the way. He frequently had to slow his steps as he worked his way through the throngs of revelers headed for one occasion or another. The celebratory mood of the town was definitely reaching a fever pitch as the dedication approached. Down below, the streets were more clogged than ever, despite the growing darkness, and Gerard refrained from descending to ground-level as long as possible. Eventually, however, he left the bridge-walk and made his way quietly to stand in the darkest shadows across from the front door of The Trough. Even at this early hour, the evening rituals were well under way inside, with music and the practiced squeals of laughter from the establishment's female clientele emerging through the closed doors and windows.

Vercleese materialized out of the darkness at Gerard's side. 'Is everything ready?' Gerard asked quietly.

'We're just waiting for word from Blair,' Vercleese whispered.

Scarcely had he spoken when Blair emerged from around the back of the tavern. 'He's here,' Blair said, his voice equally hushed. 'I've been watching the back door. Just had to be patient. He went in with another man about an hour ago.'

'All right, keep your eye on the back door,' Gerard told the sergeant of the guard. 'If either of those two men comes out, you know what to do.' As Blair melted away again, Gerard turned to Vercleese. 'I'll go in alone. I need you to watch the back door with Blair.'

'What? You mean I'm not going in with you?' Vercleese sounded as disappointed as he was disapproving.

'I need you to remain out here,' Gerard said, putting a hand on his deputy's shoulder. 'Don't worry, I'll be all right. I've been in some pretty tight situations in my time.'

Vercleese, well versed in the proprieties of command, lowered his eyes. 'Just be careful,' he grumbled, heading after the sergeant.

Gerard smiled into the darkness. Then, with a display of more confidence than he felt, he strode across the