Inharmonic (The Music Maker Series Book 1) Page 18

  They sat in awkward silence. Nadja dug in to the beef and potatoes in front of her, all the while doing her best to avoid Pax’s probing stare.

  Finally he spoke.

  “So, how did you like the Harvest Bazaar?”

  Caught.

  Nadja took a long drink of cider.

  “Very much,” she said, stabbing another piece of meat. “I particularly liked the street performers.”

  “Mmm.” Pax reached over and plucked an apple slice from her plate. The crunch sparked the air as he bit into it. “I heard you ran into some old friends while you were there.”

  “And where do you get your information?” snapped Nadja, fed up with his scrutiny. Why did she feel the need to explain herself to him? And how was it any of his business, anyway? “Have you been pestering Helaine?”

  “No,” he said, looking genuinely appalled at the suggestion. “Our roommates spend a lot of time together. It’s only natural you occasionally come up in conversation, much like you did tonight over supper.”

  Petrin. How could she have forgotten?

  Pax’s and Petrin’s living arrangements had only recently come to light during a late-night study session between her and Helaine.

  “See, I thought it was interesting you happened to run into some old friends, considering your past. I mean, I’m pretty sure the Wanderers are usually halfway to Chansey by this time of year, so the odds of you bumping into someone you know are, what?” He polished off the apple slice. “One in a million?”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty incredible,” replied Nadja, staring at her plate while shoving another potato into her mouth.

  “Oh, come on, Nadja.” Pax leaned across the table and stopped the fork on its way to her mouth. “You purposefully cut ties with your past, yet you happen to meet and spend time with ‘old friends’? You show up back here looking like you’ve been through more than just a dip in the river, and then you sleep half of the day away. And don’t think I didn’t notice the trouble you’re having just making it from one side of the room to the other. Cut the garbage and tell me what really happened.”

  Nadja clenched her jaw and glared at his fingers wrapped around her wrist.

  “Sorry,” he muttered, releasing his grip and rubbing his face.

  When she didn’t say anything, he continued, “Nadja, you are my friend. I care about you. I want to help you, but you have to let me in. I know you’ve had a difficult past, and you’re looking to make a new start. I’m not trying to stand in your way, but I don’t want to see you get hurt either. You trusted me with your past. Trust me with this.”

  Friendship? Was that really all he was offering?

  Nadja thought back to all the time they’d spent together. He’d saved her in the forest and cared for her injuries asking nothing in return. Yes, he kissed her once. But, that was a thoughtless moment of celebration, nothing more. He sought her out as a partner because he wanted someone to work with, not someone to fawn over him. And in all the time they spent together, not once had he behaved as more than a good friend.

  Did he care for her? Obviously.

  Were his feelings more than platonic? Nadja was beginning to doubt that.

  Perhaps it was never Pax’s intentions she was avoiding. Perhaps she had been running away from her own feelings this whole time.

  If growing up as a Wanderer had taught her anything, it was that no one could do it all alone. Within the tribe, each person has a specific task. When the burden of survival is shared among everyone, the tribe thrives.

  If Pax felt for her truly as a friend, then she could keep her own emotions in check. He was offering to share her burden. It was time to stop carrying it all on her own.

  “All right,” she sighed, setting down her fork. “I’ll tell you.”

  Chapter 20

  Nadja’s boots thumped a steady march along the cobbled street which painted a straight line from Cantio’s southeastern city gate to the docks, neatly bisecting the wharf. The main thoroughfare was as crowded and bustling as it had been the first day she arrived. This time, however, she knew exactly where to go and moved with purpose towards the Naval Headquarters.

  It had been two days since her escape from her would-be abductors. Two days since she confided in Pax the details of her disappearance, omitting the wanted-for-attempted-murder part. As far as he knew, the Wanderer scouts were tasked with retrieving a runaway, nothing more.

  His reaction was as she suspected, surprise and anger at her ordeal, but not at her. He appointed himself her on-call bodyguard at once, insisting on coming along any time she left the conservatory grounds. Pax’s friendship and loyalty comforted her, and she was happy to have someone to confide in. But sharing one’s burden meant just that—sharing. Not dumping it all on someone else’s shoulders. So, she kept today’s outing to herself.

  When she approached the imposing facade of the Naval Headquarters, she turned off of the main road and followed a small footpath around the left side of the building. Behind the headquarters stood a large rectangular patch of land surrounded by a stone wall. She strode up to the set of heavy wooden double doors marking the wall’s only entry. The doors were reinforced with iron and were big enough for a drove of horses to pass through, six abreast. The outline of a smaller door was visible within the door on the right with a little hooked handle just below the melon-sized one. She tugged at it, and the small door swung open with ease.

  She crossed the threshold and found herself alone in the Naval Headquarters’s training ground. A great, open dirt floor took up most of the space. She wandered into the middle and took in her surroundings. Leather and straw archery targets and thick wooden training dummies stood at attention along the far wall. Benches lined the perimeter, and a small shaded area in one corner offered spectators a place to view the training yard shielded from the elements.

  Something shiny caught Nadja’s eye, and she strolled over towards the wall opposite the archery targets to inspect the source. Three weapons racks, laden with every imaginable armament, stood gleaming in the early afternoon sunlight. Bows and arrows, axes, swords, and knives stood pristine and resolute, waiting for an experienced hand to bring out their full potential.

  Nadja’s eyes moved across the array and settled on an axe. Its curved head was different from any she’d seen and the decorative detail on its handle demanded closer inspection. She lifted the axe from its resting place, feeling both a sense of awe at the beauty of the craftsmanship and dread at the kind of damage it could do to a man.

  All at once, a beefy hand clamped over her mouth as another arm snaked around her waist, knocking the axe to the ground and pinning her back against a wall of muscle.

  “Lesson one,” chuckled a mirthful baritone. “Always be aware of your surroundings.”

  Angrily, Nadja wriggled free and spun to face her attacker.

  “Was that really necessary?” she growled.

  Wheedler’s solid body blocked out the sunlight and cast her in shadow. The jerky rise and fall of his shoulders belied the look of mock innocence he wore.

  “I told him you wouldn’t appreciate that. No one likes to be taken by surprise.” A voice Nadja didn’t recognize came from behind Wheedler.

  Wheedler stepped aside and looked over his shoulder, revealing a slim but muscular form topped with cropped, dark auburn hair. “Maybe not, but I’ll bet that’s one lesson she won’t forget.”

  “That remains to be seen,” the person replied with a distinctly feminine tone.

  Wheedler grinned and turned back to Nadja. “Nadja, this is my partner, Brooks. She’s the best guard at Montgomery & Co.” He paused and wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Except for me, of course.”

  Brooks snorted and rolled her eyes as Wheedler picked up the fallen axe and replaced it on the weapons rack.

  “Speaking of Montgomery & Co.,” said Nadja. “I mentioned in my letter I’d like to keep our sessions private. That means from everyone, including my uncle. Is that going to be a problem?
”

  Wheedler scratched his chin. “Well, that depends. You planning on practicing your new skills on him?”

  “No.”

  “Then I don’t see any reason to bring it up. Your uncle’s a fine captain. One of the best, I’d say. When I’m doing a job for him, he likes to know everything that’s going on, and that’s fine by me. But what we do on our own time is our business. Besides, he’s captaining one of his runs to Chansey right now, so he’s not in town.”

  Nadja glanced over his shoulder at Brooks.

  “Look,” snapped the bored-looking woman. “We know how to keep our mouths shut. Now, are we going to stand here chatting all afternoon, or are we going to get to work?”

  Nadja nodded. “Let’s get to work.”

  Wheedler led the trio away from the weapons rack and towards the practice yard. “All right, sugar, show me the goods. I need to see what we have to work with.”

  Nadja unhooked her cloak and draped it over a bench, revealing three straight wooden rods tucked into her belt. She slipped them out and fastened them end to end. When she’d received Wheedler’s reply letter agreeing to train her, he asked that she bring along any weapons she was comfortable using. Her blowpipe was the only thing she could think of. It was more of a hunting weapon than a defensive one, but it was the only real weapon she’d ever used.

  Once the blowpipe had been assembled, she removed one of the cone-topped darts from its small leather pouch and made her way across the yard towards the archery targets. She planted her feet and inserted the dart into the mouthpiece. Sliding her left hand down the length of the shaft, she lifted the pipe, stabilizing it with her right hand and bringing it to her mouth. She closed her left eye and lined up the sight, aiming for the target’s red center. After a few breaths to steady her nerves, she filled her lungs.

  A tiny thhhhpt was all that could be heard as the air exploded from her lungs and through the blowpipe. The dart shot through the air and embedded three quarters of its length into the target. It missed the bullseye by a hand’s width, but being a few months out of practice, Nadja was pleased with her attempt.

  She walked over to the target and removed her dart, then returned to Wheedler and Brooks. The former wore a contemplative, if puzzled look, and the latter regarded her with one raised eyebrow and a bemused expression.

  “Well, that’s a first,” said Wheedler, stroking his chin. “May I?”

  Nadja handed him the blowpipe. He paced away from the two women, tossing it up and down.

  “For a ranged weapon, it’s not ideal, but you could make it work.” Brooks nodded towards the pipe. “What’s the maximum distance on it?”

  “About twenty paces.”

  Brooks snorted again. “That’s it? That won’t get you far in a fight.” She flipped open the leather pouch and held up one of the darts. “These look like they’d be more of a nuisance to an enemy than do any real damage.”

  A banging sound caught their attention, and they both turned to see Wheedler beating the blowpipe against one of the practice dummies. Nadja cringed hoping she’d get her weapon back in one piece.

  “It’s used for hunting,” she said, turning back to Brooks. “The darts alone are not terribly lethal, unless they hit just the right spot. Most of the damage is caused by whatever poison you dip them in.”

  Brooks nodded, then stepped back and sized up Nadja. “Better that you try to avoid close combat, anyway. You won’t best anyone when it comes to size or strength.”

  She circled Nadja. “But being small isn’t always a bad thing. It’s easier to play hide-and-sneak. And if you’re quick enough, you can outmaneuver a larger opponent.”

  Brooks completed her circle. “Just don’t let anyone get close enough to surprise you.”

  As soon as the words left her mouth, Brooks’s right hand arced towards Nadja’s face, palm open.

  Nadja saw the movement just in time, stepping back and crouching to avoid the blow. She felt Brook’s hand ruffle the hair on top of her head as it passed.

  “Not bad,” said Brooks, eyes narrowing.

  “This is an interesting little stick you’ve got here,” said Wheedler, walking back towards the women and spinning the blowpipe like a whirling clock face.

  “I’m thinking short staff,” he said to Brooks.

  “My thoughts exactly,” she replied.

  Wheedler looked at Nadja. “This blowpipe will work well for stealth attacks,” he said, walking over to the weapons rack. “But it’ll need to do double duty if you want to defend yourself.”

  He reached into the rack and removed a pair of wooden poles. They resembled the blowpipe in size and shape though the poles were a little longer. He tossed one to Nadja.

  She caught the staff, surprised by its weight. It was heavier than her blowpipe, but not by much. The wood was sanded smooth, and the weight was evenly balanced.

  “Your best chance is to avoid being attacked all together. But if you can’t, using your blowpipe like a short staff will give you a better chance of coming out on the good side of a fight. Now, hold the staff above your head with one hand at either end. Spread your feet apart, one in front of the other, and bend your knees slightly.”

  Nadja did as instructed. Her muscles were already warm from her brisk walk from the conservatory, and the aches and soreness from her overnight horseback ride a few days earlier were all but gone.

  “Lesson two,” said Wheedler, with a grin. “Don’t get hit.”

  As soon as she was in position, Wheedler swung his staff above his head and came down hard, connecting with hers. She felt the vibrations from the blow tremor through her hands and arms, but she kept her staff in position.

  “Good,” he said. “Again.”

  Wheedler ran her through a half dozen blocks over the next hour, drilling each move over and over before proceeding to the next. Muscles which had only just recovered were once again strained and sore. Her head pounded with each block, and her failed attempts could be numbered by the purple patches now mottling her skin.

  “I think that’s enough for your first session,” said Wheedler, swiping a hand across his forehead. Nadja, for her own part, was drenched in sweat.

  “Just a minute,” piped up Brooks. For most of the training session, she had remained a silent, sour-faced observer, watching their progress from one of the benches. Now, she rose and took the staff from Wheedler, claiming his position in front of Nadja.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  It was more of a warning than a question. Before Nadja could reply, Brooks began a series of slow attacks. The difference this time was that, with each attack, she took a step towards Nadja, forcing her to retreat. The speed of her attacks increased with each blow, and Nadja stumbled on the hem of her skirt as Brooks continued to press forward. Nadja tried to regain her footing, but only managed to get even more tangled in her skirt. In less than a minute, she was disarmed and on her rear, squinting up at Brooks.

  “Lesson three,” said the leather-clad woman. “Lose the skirt.”

  Without another word, Brooks retrieved Nadja’s staff and headed to the weapons rack. Nadja glared at her back.

  “She’s right, you know,” Wheedler said lightly, offering Nadja a hand.

  Nadja accepted his help up, brushing the dirt from her backside and straightening her skirt. “She didn’t have to be such a boor about it.”

  “Don’t take it personally. She may not be skilled in social graces, but she knows what she’s talking about. And there’s no one else I’d rather have watching my back.” Wheedler looked approvingly at his partner, who was busy cleaning and replacing the staffs. “But, yes, it would be a good idea to rethink your clothing. Long skirts will just get in your way.”

  As they headed towards the practice dummies, Nadja fished a pearl from her pocket. “Thank you for your help,” she said, offering the payment to Wheedler.

  He pushed her hand away. “No way.”

  “I’m not looking for any handouts,” said Nadj
a, extending her arm once more. “I appreciate you agreeing to train me. The least I can do is pay you for your time.”

  “Look, in your letter you didn’t say why you wanted to learn to fight, and I didn’t ask. But, the fact you want to learn makes me think maybe you need to. Now, what kind of gentleman would I be to take advantage of a lady in her time of need?” He offered her a charming grin. “Besides,” he continued, “your uncle has always been good to me. The least I can do is help out his niece.”

  Nadja considered him for a moment, then nodded and put the pearl back in her pocket. “Thank you.”

  “Uh, don’t thank me yet,” he muttered, running a hand through his sandy hair as they approached the blowpipe. Now that Nadja was close enough to really see her weapon, she could tell something was wrong.

  “Your blowpipe will make a good staff substitute if you’re caught in a bad situation. But, it’s a blowpipe not a staff. The hollow core makes it weaker than a solid staff, and I may have been a little too rough on it.” Embarrassment colored his face as he handed her the blowpipe.

  The pipe looked to be in decent condition, but there was a long crack running from the sight straight up the bottom third of the weapon. It was now useless as anything more than a glorified walking stick.

  “Look, I’m really sorry about that. But take it up to Sil, the armorer who works in the market district. He can patch it up good as new. Tell him to put it on my tab.”

  “You have a running tab with the armorer?” Nadja asked, quirking an eyebrow.

  “What can I say, I’ve always played rough with my toys.” Wheedler walked Nadja to the doors. “Once you get your blowpipe fixed, you can use it for solo practice. But for sparring and training here, we’ll stick with the real things. No need to damage your weapon if you don’t have to.”

  Nadja thanked him again and raised a hand to Brooks in a half-hearted farewell gesture before exiting the training yard. With a trip to the armorer added to her to-do list, she now had two stops to make before returning to the conservatory.