Wayfarer - Roai Kingsley

Ch. 1

Eleazar had thought that after all this time on the sea, he’d have gotten used to it by now. The rocking, the creaking and groaning, the way he’d be lurched around as the ship tipped from side to side by violent waves. It was a small annoyance, at first–something to be tolerated in the wake of greater things. The voyage to the new world was an opportunity, Eleazar had believed. A chance to sever himself from his old life, to start off with a clean slate.

But it had been nine weeks. Nine weeks of rocking and groaning and lurching. His attendance for the voyage was not exactly above-board. Quite literally, in fact; he had snuck his way onto the ship the night before its departure, climbed into the cramped cargo hold, and made himself relatively at home. At some point, Eleazar wondered if things would’ve been more comfortable if his stay was spent where passengers were meant to be. Not that he could have; his funds were too meager to afford the boarding fee, he had no evidence of his citizenship to show, and most took one look at his strange complexion and thought him ill. His musings would always end with the same conclusion–it was a patently horrible idea to make himself known.

Unfortunately, his unique form of passage came with more downsides than just his discomfort: it was much harder to find things to eat. His appetite was a peculiar thing. He could not stomach salted meats or stale bread. He needed something warmer. Supple. Living. And only so many things on board fit that bill, and that he could feed from without causing a stir. He ran out of rodents four weeks in, and so he turned his attention to the mousing cats aboard. But those only kept him sustained until the eighth week.

When the ninth week finally rolled around, Eleazar could barely stand without the slightest tilt of the boat knocking him over. He had spent his days curled up on his makeshift cot, a bundle of crates with a burlap sack haphazardly laid over them to provide a meager amount of comfort. He drifted in and out of sleep, the waking world too hazy to distinguish from dreams.

Until he felt the ship stop.

He had imagined it plenty of times before, of the ship docking in the harbor, of clawing his way out of the hold, breathing in the fresh air of a land unknown. He was sure this was just another one of those dreams, until he heard the commotion above deck–an eager frenzy of passengers, their feet scuffing and stomping above him–and knew all it once this was real. With great effort, he roused himself, slinging shaky legs over the edge of the crates and stumbling between bundles of them to the steps leading up and out of the hold. Or at least, he
tried to. Before he got very far, his knees buckled, and his head swam with colors. Next thing he knew, the floor was coming up to meet him, and with an impact he could barely feel, blackness overtook him.

◦✵◦

The softness is the first thing Eleazar noticed when he awoke again. It wasn’t right–he hadn’t slept on anything remotely cushioned for months, but as he weakly bunched his fingers into the woolen fabric beneath him, he was sure it wasn’t imagined. His head flopped to one side, his brow pulling tighter before he willed his heavy eyes to open.

Plastered white walls surrounded him on all sides, a large window framed by wood on the wall to Eleazar’s left, its silky white curtains drawn for privacy. Even then, he could tell it was opened as a soft, cool breeze filtered in through it. No light shined in the room or through the curtains, save for a lit lantern on a nightstand to the right of the bed, but Eleazar didn’t need its meager light to see the room with clarity. A shelf sat in the far left corner of the room, angled and lined with well-kept books, topped by an intricately-built model ship. Close by it on the wall hung a portrait in an oval frame, the features of which were hard to distinguish with Eleazar’s blurry vision. When Eleazar rolled his head the other direction, he saw the carved wooden door leading out of the room, a tall wardrobe not too far from the bedside stood against the wall, and right next to him, in a chair, sat a woman in a simple white shift dress. He hadn’t realized her hand was on his forehead until then, as she gasped softly and withdrew it. “Oh, thank goodness. You’re awake.” She spoke in a hush, eyes brightened with relief, but still frowned deeply. Eleazar blinked slowly, processing her words, then squinted up at her. “Where..?” he croaked, his throat constricted and tight, and the lady leaned in a little to listen. When he said nothing else, she gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “This is the Governor’s home.” She moved to tuck Eleazar in more snugly. “You were found in the cargo hold with your foot in the grave. By the feel of it, you’re still not faring well.” She lifted her hands towards a pitcher on the nightstand. “It’s a miracle you were even alive–I can’t imagine how long you were down there.” Eleazar watched the lady pour a glass of water, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. He felt weak and starved, but he was certain that whatever the woman had to offer him would not quench his thirst. She held the glass up to his lips, and he grimaced at the cold feel of its rim. He turned his head away, moving his heavy arms to prop himself better against the headboard of the bed.

“Thank you kindly, miss, but I don’t need your hospitality.” His gaze swept around the room, lingering on the open window. The lady pulled away again, scoffing, and Eleazar heard the glass clink as it was set back onto the nightstand.

“With all due respect, sir, you can barely hold yourself up.” Her tone remained cordial, but with a bite of annoyance. “You’ve been out for hours, you’re cold to the touch, and not to mention how your ribs poke through your skin.”

The lady’s last statement grabs Eleazar’s attention. He snapped to look at her, brows furrowed. “What?” He barked. “How did you know–” pausing, Eleazar’s gaze shifted down to himself, where the blanket pooled around his now revealed torso. Covering it was not his own filth-stained clothes, but a soft, silky nightshirt. His brows then raised, he raised his hands to feel it. “Where are my clothes?”

“I took the liberty to wash and fix them up for you. God knows the poor things needed it.” She motioned to the end of the bed, a bench pushed up against it, where his clothes were folded neatly–a pair of brown breeches, a dark blue vest, and an overcoat of a similar color. His stockings were laid next to each other, his tricorne also set with the ensemble. “I couldn’t let you stay in those dirty rags in good conscience. Nor would the Governor allow you to stay in his home dressed like that. He’s awful curious about you.”

Eleazar followed her gaze, his lips pressing tighter. “I…” He looked back at the lady again, his head spinning a little. It was a little hard to keep up with everything, a thick fog sitting over his mind, and he didn’t realize he had been staring at her neck until she cleared her throat.

His eyes slipped back up to hers, before he averted his gaze entirely. He rubbed the back of his neck, swallowing again, trying to ignore the rising thirst. “Thank you. Again.” He forced the words out, his own agitation rising. “But I insist. You don’t need to dote over me.” He began to leave the bed, each motion still taking a significant amount of effort. “I’m actually feeling quite a bit better. If you would–”

“Ah ah ah, you’re not leaving until you’ve gotten something in your stomach.” She splayed her palm on his chest and forced him back down onto the mattress. Eleazar grunted, shooting an incredulous look up at her.

“Miss, that isn’t–”

“Hush, now, and stay right there.” She jabbed a finger into his chest, meeting his sharpened look with a pigheaded glare of her own. “I’m going to go fix you something, and you are not to get out of this bed.” 

Before Eleazar could protest any longer, the lady whipped around, hiking up her skirt as she marched out of the room. The door clicked shut behind her–she took some care not to slam it–and Eleazar was left alone with his thoughts. He sunk back down into the bed, massaging his temples as he shut his eyes for a moment. Of course, he had no intention of doing what the lady had said to. Staying here would only cause him trouble; no doubt that the Governor did not have the means to sustain him, and even if he did, he was sure to be subject to some kind of interrogation as to his mode of passage. At best, he’d be arrested and charged as a stowaway. At worst…other facts about him could come to light. And after all this time spent trying to start over, no way in hell was he going to let either of those things happen.

He was still incredibly weak, but able to shuffle over to the end of the bed, tugging off the pristine nightclothes he had been provided, dressing himself in his own garb. It’s significantly cleaner, but no amount of washing would help the once-vibrant hue of his clothes to return in full. At the very least, the lady’s repairs had fixed up the moth-eaten garments significantly. He didn’t bother combing his tattered blond locks, haphazardly putting on his tricorne and slipping into his boots. Taking another moment to gather his strength, he pushed up from the bed, shuffling on uneven feet to the open window and pulling back the curtains.

As he suspected, night had settled on New Valmore–the land he had been taken to by the voyage. Crickets chirp into the blackness, his sharp eyes discerning the landscape before him with supernatural ease. He was on the first story of the home, and the house was situated on a hill. A dirt path led down it, a crude wooden fence lining it. Eleazar’s eye followed it as it winds off, connecting to a larger road. Beyond that, it was difficult to make out where it led, but the faint silhouette of buildings in the distance told Eleazar what he needed to know. There, where the rest of the settlement was, he could find a place to hang low until he could plot his next move. He climbed through the open window, grunting as his feet hit the dirt, steadying himself against the wall before pressing on.

Eleazar trudged down the path, his feet scuffing into the dirt, one hand rubbing soothing circles into his throbbing head. The downhill trek was a small comfort when every step he took was a massive strain. He reached the bottom of the hilly path, eyes staring forward but not
seeing, before he lost his footing. His foot had caught on a rock in the path, and he was barely able to stop himself from falling entirely by catching himself on a nearby fence, hissing as his eyes screwed shut. His body did not want to move, his arms and legs shaking, and silently, he cursed himself; he could barely walk a meager few yards. How could he expect to make it to the settlement before daybreak? He couldn’t turn back now, the mere thought of walking back up the hill making Eleazar lightheaded. What he needed more than anything was something to replenish him. But where on earth would he find it?

His eyes finally opened after a long stretch, staring out beyond the fence. Just beyond the barriers lining the sidewalk, A small pasture caught his attention. Within it, several dark forms were settled in the grass, initially difficult to distinguish. He leaned closer, eyes narrowed, trying to discern their shapes. What he found made the world fall still around him.

Goats. Five sleeping goats, lying there in blissful ignorance. Five goats, full to bursting with the sweet, sweet ichor that he so desperately longed for. His entire body seized, eyes locked onto one of the slumbering forms, just a bit further from the rest of its kin. A doe, smaller than its counterparts, sprawled out on its side, its chest rising, falling. His tongue ran over sharpened canines, the edges of his vision going blacker. All he could think about is putting his teeth into that slender neck.

His body acted before he realized what was happening. Over the first fence, he vaulted,
then the next, and in a blur of motion, he had lunged forth. Strength that had eluded him until
now surged into his arms as he pinned the creature to the ground, plunging fangs into its skin,
and oh, God, the taste of its blood flooded his mouth, and all he could do was drink, drink,
drink. His prey writhed and kicked and screamed, rousing its kin, who bleated and screamed
with it, but it didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered, besides the taste.

“What in God’s name–”

Eleazar’s whipped up, sitting on his knees. His chin dripped with streaks of red as he looked out, hands still firmly holding his quarry, searching for the source of the interruption. It landed on the light of a lantern, held up by a man, standing at the base of the hill. He wore a simple pair of nightclothes, his hair short, graying, and disheveled like he had just been roused. He squinted into the night in Eleazar’s direction, before cursing under his breath, stomping closer.

“Damned cur, get off my goat!”

Pulled fully back to reality, Eleazar had a realization; if he were to stay any longer, he’d be discovered. Any of his prior, uncontrollable urge to feed had now faded, his mind fully and entirely cleared. Before the man came close enough to reveal Eleazar in full, he pushed up from
the goat, jumping to his feet. He turned and scrambled away, almost on all fours, as he vaulted over the fence again. He didn’t look back as he heard the man’s horrified gasp, not even to see his reaction to the butchered goat Eleazar left behind, as he scurried off into the night.

Ch. 2

Eleazar reached the settlement just as the dim glow of morning began to color the sky. He managed to scurry into an ordinary just before the sun peeked over the horizon, slamming the door behind him as dawn finally broke. He sighed, slumping up against the doorway, pulling his hat from his head as he ran thin fingers through his ragged hair and heaved for air. For the moment, all that filled the candlelit bar was the sound of his own breathing.

He couldn’t help but curse himself silently. He had lost control of his hunger, attacked the Governor’s livestock, and had been seconds away from being discovered. It was far too close of an encounter for his comfort. Years had passed since Eleazar found himself in a situation like that–when he first left his old coven and needed to fend for himself. Back then, he was sloppy and inexperienced, having to hunt for his food for the first time ever. He wasn’t sure if it was due to blind luck or his own wits that he didn’t end up caught and hung, but he learned quickly enough after a myriad of failures. Enough so that it should not have been so easy to lose himself and almost reveal the truth of his existence to the Governor, of all people. He couldn’t help but wonder, though–even if they did find out he was a vampire, would he be believed? Or would they just think him psychotic?

A sharp squeal interrupted his musings, his eyes opening to narrow in on its source. He found it easily enough–a portly, darker-skinned woman, smaller than him but clearly an adult, had come out from a room behind the bar. Her hands shot up to her mouth, eyes wide as she took in the sight of Eleazar. He cocked a brow, but before he could question it, she spoke.

“My word, you’re a right mess!”

Eleazar blinked, then stood up straighter, looking down at himself, and suddenly became painfully aware of the splatter of blood over his ascot.
“Ah…shit.” He raised his hands to the stained white fabric, running his fingers over the splotches. “I can explain myself, miss. I promise it’s not what it looks like.”

“Not what it looks like?” The lady repeated, waving her hand over at him. “It looks to me like you’ve sputtered wine all over yourself!” She tutted, propping her hands on her hips. “Hardly a proper way to be walking around.”

“I- what?” Eleazar shook his head, pinching his brows. He looked up at her, then back at his ascot, when a realization hit him. In the dim candlelight, his sharp eyes saw the stains for what they were–but if one didn’t pay too much attention, it did rather look a bit like wine.
“Oh. Yes. Wine.” He cleared his throat, a hand raising to wipe the remaining smears around his lips, before turning his gaze back up to the woman.

“Nevermind that, what are you doing awake at this hour?” Eleazar asked as casually as he could muster, stepping further into the establishment and approaching the bar. The lady scrunched her brow, her gaze sweeping over Eleazar like he had two heads.

“Darling, I run the place.”

“Ah. Right.” Obviously, Eleazar scolded himself. He nodded at the innkeeper, sagging onto one of the barstools with a huff, laying his hat on the counter. She relaxed a little, her gaze turning contemplative, before crossing her arms.

“I could ask you the same thing, you know. Don’t usually see guests before serving time.”

Eleazar watched her, folding his arms on the counter. It felt a little strange to talk with his heart still leaping out of his chest, but he tried his best to compose himself. “Just wanted to beat the rush, is all.”

She snorted. “Beat it, you sure did. By a couple hours at least.” She turned around, grabbing her apron off a hook behind the counter. “Can’t offer any food yet, but I can get you some ale if you’d like.”

“Ale?” Eleazar perked up. “How much for a pint?”

The lady jabbed her thumb to the side, and as Eleazar followed her motion, his gaze landed on a small wooden board propped up against where the counter met the wall. On it is listed several prices–the costs for meals at different times of the day, as well as individual drinks
outside of serving hours. Eleazar leaned towards it, taking it in his hand and observing it with a grunt. He had to bite back a wince as he looked the prices over–things were much more pricey here than they were in Valmorea. He knew his pockets would be hurting if he indulged in drink the way he once had, but God, did a drink sound good. Even so, he held himself back.

“I think I’d rather buy a room.”

The woman hummed, turning back around to face him after tying up her apron. “It’ll be a silver for just the night, or five for the week.”

“The week, then.” The innkeeper nodded, then turned and disappeared into the room behind the counter. Eleazar reached into his pocket, grabbing a handful of change and pulling it free. As he does so, though, something slipped through his fingers, clattering to the wooden
floor below with a stark chime. Eleazar muttered a curse under his breath, placing his coin onto the counter before he slid off the seat and bent down to pick it up, when he realized just what it was he had lost.

It was a finely crafted, sterling silver ring, an intricate pattern embedded in its oval-shaped top, depicting a horned owl with wings spread and talons outstretched–the emblem of his family. The sect of the coven he belonged to. He turned it this way and that, staring into the pristine metal, slowly rising back to his feet as he scrutinized it. It was the only thing on him that ever stayed clean, even if the sheen dulled slightly with time–Often, Eleazar had considered pawning the ring off. He was sure it would sell well enough to at least buy him booze for a month. But for whatever reason, the thought of parting with it made his gut twist. Since the moment he first was given the ring, it was ingrained in him not to lose it. All members of his coven had rings like it, some simpler, some much more intricate. It was representative of where one stood in the pecking order, a proof of their belonging. To lose it meant to forsake that place, to throw oneself to the wrath of the superiors and be punished as they saw fit. Maybe some small part of him still feared that somehow, even on the other side of the ocean, they would find out if the ring changed hands to someone considered unworthy. They seemed to have eyes everywhere, back when Eleazar was under their thumb, and though by all reason and logic it was impossible for them to have come here, he couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy.

“Hope you aren’t meaning to pay with that.”

Eleazar snapped back to attention, looking up to meet the curious eyes of the innkeeper, her hands behind her back. He shook his head, quickly shoving the ring back into his pocket.

“No, no. Not at all.”, Eleazar slid the small heap of silver over the counter at her. “Just looking.”

She hummed, tilting her head at where the ring had disappeared, then met Eleazar’s gaze again. “That’s a pretty bauble you got there.” She set the key down in front of Eleazar, then took the handful of coins into her palm. “Why don’t you wear it?”

“It’s not worth much, really,” Eleazar insisted, hastily reaching for the key. “More of a…keepsake.” He pushed up from his seat. “Now, I think I’ll be on my way.”

“Hold on now!” the woman gently grabbed the fabric of his sleeve, preventing his escape. “I wanted to give you something else, as a lil’ token of my gratitude.” She held out something white and pristine in the hand that had previously still been behind her back, presenting it to Eleazar for him to see. “Take this.”

Eleazar tilted his head, one brow cocked, before the other shot up to join it. In her hand was another ascot, fresh and clean, lacking the red splotches that Eleazar’s was stained with. He pursed his lips, looking back at the lady.

“You’re just…giving this to me?”

She shrugged. “Why not? Not like I need it myself.” She let go of Eleazar’s sleeve but took his hand, turning it up and setting the fabric in it. “It’s all yours, sweetheart.” Eleazar stared down at ascot, holding the crumpled fabric in his hands. “Why?” He asks, looking back up at the woman with confusion. She chuffed softly. “Pa doesn’t get out of bed much anymore, so he won’t get much use out of it. You, on the other hand, seem to care a bit about your appearance. You’re the cleanest man that’s set foot into this place since I took over.”

“I…see.” She couldn’t have been further from the mark on that, Eleazar couldn’t help but think. But he supposed getting caught up in the Governor’s home was good enough for one thing–his clothes look almost as fresh as they did when they were first sewn. But even if it weren’t exactly true, he’d be glad to change out of his current ascot and rid himself of the evidence of his prior actions. He took the key from the counter and shoved it into his pocket, standing up from the stool as he turned to head up the ordinary stairs.

“Well. Much obliged, miss.”

“Bella,” she called out, having already begun to head back into the room, but stopping in the threshold to look back at Eleazar. “Don’t be a stranger, now. Come by if you need anything else.” Then, in she went, leaving Eleazar to his own devices. He sighed, grabbing his tricorn off the bar and dragging himself up the stairs, the wood groaning with each step. The upstairs hall had rooms lining the wall to the right, while the left was open to the establishment below, a bannister lining the left end of the hall to prevent drunken fools from toppling down below. The doors were all fashioned with simple panelling, each fitted with dull bronze doorknobs. Eleazar jabbed the key into the room at the furthest end of the walkway, as instructed by Bella, and sure enough, it clicked open with a twist. Stepping into the room, the lodgings were nothing to write home about. A simple, wide-plank wooden floor lined the small room, with a floral-patterned rug sitting under a twin-sized bed, pushed against the middle of the left wall. The walls were painted a sage green, the lower half trimmed with wainscoting. A simple wooden chair sat in the far right corner of the room, a window with a drawn curtain on the far wall, with a dresser to the left of it. He walked to that first, pulling the drawers out to inspect their contents, only to find them bare. To be expected, he supposed.

Eleazar then turned his attention to the bed, settling down on it. He kicked off his boots, stripping off his overcoat and vest and throwing it to the floor and setting his hat on the bedside table before falling back onto the sheets with a sigh. They weren’t particularly comfortable
beneath him, but at the very least, they were clean. He had long been past the point of being picky where he slept, and to be honest, he was ecstatic to have a bed to lay in again. He simply rested there for a stretch, staring blankly up at the ceiling as he began to think. First things first, Eleazar would need to find a way to make some money out here. Most jobs he expected would need daylight, so entering the workforce was off the table almost entirely. Stealing would be a little harder to do without being noticed, but he’d gotten pretty good at pickpocketing over the years. Hopefully the inn had enough traffic that he could live off the pockets of his unaware victims until he found better arrangements.

That thought brought his next concern to the forefront of his mind–food. He’d be fine for the next few days, but he’d be better off knowing how he was going to sustain himself. This wasn’t much of a difficult thing to come by in Valmorea–it was practically brimming with prime targets for him to get his teeth into. Stray pets and vermin were easy enough to come by if you knew how to look, and Eleazar learned fast. This made up the vast majority of his diet, but unfortunately, someone of his nature couldn’t always afford to be picky. In those moments of absolute weakness, when he could not find an animal to drink from, and needed something immediately, he had to resort to feeding on humans.

His old coven had little issue kidnapping anyone unfortunate enough to wander into their grasp, caging them to be used for feedings. The poor souls could be kept alive and used as often as needed, until their bodies failed them from starvation or exsanguination. Eleazar found he was the only one bothered by it, watching as they’d wither away slowly, his superiors pressuring him to feed from them as they screamed and struggled, as if they were hardly more than livestock. But if there was any luxury to be had when feeding in his coven, at the very least, their victims could be kept alive for a time. In Eleazar’s case, he couldn’t afford to leave a human alive, to let a target escape and tell others of the violence he had enacted upon them. No, when Eleazar had to feed, he had to kill, and though he tried to find people that wouldn’t be missed, it’s hard to play the judge of morality when losing his mind with hunger. Each time after his feedings, though, the guilt would remain, the question of if he could truly sever himself from his kin after all echoing in the back of his mind. Shoving the thoughts into the back of his mind, Eleazar sighed. He didn’t need to dwell on that now, and nor did he really want to. All he really wanted to do was relax–he made it to the new world. He’d survived the journey to New Valmore. He’d finally set himself apart from his coven. He was free now, and he’d make the most of it.

◦✵◦

Eleazar spent the next few days and nights settling into a routine. He’d rest through the day, remaining in his room as he waited for night to fall. When it did, he’d slink down into the main floor of the ordinary as supper was being served, weaseling his fingers into pouches and buying alcohol with his stolen coins. Then, he’d settle into a booth, sitting quietly among the men. He watched as they filled the tavern, his ears primed and attention rapt–or as much as it could be with the buzz in his head. The first couple nights of this proved rather uneventful, and not much different from his time spent in taverns and inns back in Valmorea. They would discuss politics, air their grievances, talk of trade, of cattle and crop health. It was all, for the most part, incredibly dull–save for when a brawl broke out on the second night, and Bella had to come out from behind the counter to break it up.

On the third night of this pattern, with his ale in hand, he hunched over the table, eyes scanning the growing crowd as more and more men piled in. It had been a few hours since supper had started serving–Eleazar had ended up buying himself a meal to avoid Bella’s suspicion–and drink had been flowing freely. It had been long enough for the vast majority of the tavern to become a little tipsy, enough so to loosen tongues and spur on conversation and merriment.

With a huff, he pressed his cheek into his propped up palm, heat in his face and a light buzz in his head. He was already a few cups deep, but even that wasn’t enough to liven up the

night’s conversation. His eyes slid down to his half-full glass, his hand lazily gripping over the glass as he swirled around the contents. His plate had gone cold, the soft wisps of steam that once escaped the remaining half of the mincemeat pie he had been served having long since vanished. Most of his kind couldn’t appreciate human cuisine, as it often tasted bland and came up in chunks if ingested. For whatever reason, Eleazar could both taste it and hold it down–though it did nothing to sate him. Still, he didn’t mind indulging himself every now and then, welcoming tastes into his palette that no other of his kind could enjoy. It was food like this that made him curious about humans in the first place, turning him reluctant to see them as just animals to be bled dry and discarded. He picked his glass up, lifting the cold rim to his lips as he moved to take another sip of his ale.

“Mind if I join you?”

Eleazar startled a little, looking up at the man who had spoken to him––a middle-aged man, dressed in a well-fitting tan coat over a dark waistcoat, a powdered wig covering his scalp. An easy smile graced his features, as did a splash of pink. It seemed the man had also been
imbibing, if he felt the urge to approach someone as closed off as Eleazar. He shrugged his shoulders.

“If you want.”

The man’s eyes brightened, and he settled across from Eleazar with a heft, the clink of the glass in his hand following soon after as he put it on the table.

“Pardon the intrusion, I simply couldn’t find better company to drink with.” Eleazar raised a brow. “How so? This place is brimming with people doing just that.” The man chuckled. “Come now, a man of your stature surely understands the desire to partake with one of more…refined tastes.”

Eleazar squinted, then turned his gaze out to the rest of the tavern. He supposed he had a point. There was a reason Eleazar chose to sit closer to the wall rather than by the main congregation of tables in the middle of the ordinary. One, he could hear them just fine from where he sat without needing to get closer to the action. And two, they were of a cruder ilk. Working men, clothed simply and reeking of sweat, with a propensity to rather intense mood swings if you looked at them a little funny. They were hardly tasteful in their consumption, and usually all too eager to speak or start a fight with anyone within arm’s length. Of them, a fellow‘ man of stature,’ as his impromptu drinking partner put it, who dressed fine and drank slow, would be much better company.

“Can’t argue with that.” Eleazar took another swig of his ale. “Though if you’re looking for conversation, I’m not really a talker, mind.”

“Ah, that just means you haven’t had enough to drink yet.” The man waved his hand, then pulled a handful of coins from a wallet clipped to his belt, setting it on the table. “Bella!” he barked. “More ale!”

Eleazar, initially unwilling to accept the stranger’s charity, eventually relented. Who was he to deny free drink? They shared a few glasses throughout the night, and sure enough, Eleazar felt a little more inclined to engage. They didn’t talk about things of too much interest, and Eleazar improvised a little when a personal question was directed his way–it was a bit difficult to be upfront about his past and reasons for being in New Valmore without fully blowing his cover, after all. In fact, Eleazar felt he painted quite the compelling narrative–a man from wealth, excited by the prospect of expanding his family’s influence into the new world. That is, until the conversation fell into a lull, and after a sip of his drink, the man–Hendrick, he learned–spoke something that made Eleazar’s blood run a little colder.

“Have you heard of what happened at the Governor’s manor?”

Eleazar’s drooping head shot up, the glass he held by his lips lowering slightly. He blinked slowly, once, twice, before setting his glass down entirely, suddenly a lot more alert than he was before.

“It doesn’t ring a bell, no.”

Hendrick grunted. “Suppose that makes sense. It’s something I heard about in passing up at the courthouse.” He leaned back, lifting his own glass, watching how the candlelight of the establishment danced along the cup and its contents within. “It’s got the Governor in a right fit, I’ll tell you. Can’t blame him either–something got his goat.”

Eleazar tensed, his body going stiff as he tightened his brow. It’s not that he was surprised that his misdeed had been circulating the town gossip–if anything, he was more surprised it took so long to be brought into the ordinary. No, what concerned Eleazar was the Governor’s reaction to what happened–and the fact it was being brought to him, of all people. His skin suddenly felt prickly–did this man know what he had done? Was Hendrick’s attempt to loosen him all a ploy to make Eleazar confess? He leaned forward a little, honing in on the conversation through the ruckus of the other patrons, narrowing his eyes slightly.

“Is that so?” he replied, keeping his voice as neutral as possible, disguising his unease as feigned interest. “That’s a shame. What got it? A wolf?”

“That’s the strange part of it.” The wigged man pointed his finger, punctuating his words as he leaned in as well, just a little closer to his conversant. His own voice had dropped, his lips curled into a sly grin. “Supposedly it was something unlike anything ever seen before. The goat didn’t have any wounds besides a bite in the neck, and it apparently had been entirely drained of its blood!”

Eleazar nodded and hummed, pretending to care, despite how much it frayed his nerves to keep this conversation going. He needed to be careful. It was a bad idea to keep pressing the topic. But part of him still wanted to know more of what happened after his departure.

“Odd…” He interlocked his fingers on the table. “Wonder what could have done that.”

Another swig, and Hendrick offered a reply. “He intends to find out, so I hear.” He mused. “I’ll let you in on another little secret–the stowaway they found on the ship? He apparently went missing the same night. Governor wonders if whatever got the goat took him too–and if it did, that’s a threat to all of us.”

Eleazar’s hands clenched tighter, his knuckles growing white. He kept his posture hunched over slightly, tense and coiled like a spring. “What does he plan to do?”

“Not entirely sure, to be honest.” Hendrick shrugged. “I reckon he’ll try to get a night watch in order. Maybe even round up the men and hunt down the beast.” He lazily pointed in Eleazar’s direction. “You know, if he does send out a party, he’d want to pick men like us first. We’re probably some of the few in town who’ve ever held a musket, let alone shot one; he’d want all the firing power he can get.”

That was the last straw for Eleazar. He unceremoniously pushed up from his seat, clutching his head with one hand as he shut his eyes. The world spun a little bit as he did so, the alcohol making his legs feel heavy, but he shook himself out. “Sorry to cut this short,” he grunted, “But I think I might have drank too much. Need to get some fresh air.” It wasn’t exactly a lie–his stomach did feel like it was starting to turn into knots, but he was sure there was more than one cause.

Hendrick blinked slowly. “Hm? Oh, yes, of course. Go on, friend.” He leaned back, relaxing in his seat, tipping his glass in Eleazar’s direction. “I’ll be here when you feel well enough to join me again.”

Eleazar only nodded curtly, already having begun to make his way to the ordinary doors. He pushed them open, the cold night breeze a refreshing change compared to the stale air of the ordinary. He breathed in deep through his nose, exhaling slowly from his lips, leaning against the outer wall of the building to steady himself for a moment. When he felt well enough, he pushed off of it, shoving his hands into his pockets, his brow knit tight as he frowned deeply. He needed a moment to think about what he had just heard. About just how big of a blunder it was to kill the Governor’s goat.