Capítulo 3: The Blue Girl
The kitchen was supposedly a nice place. All of Murdon's fine friends loved his matching teacups.
Serenica looked at the checkered curtains, all white and salmon pink, like the rest of the room. She hated it here. Recently, the old man had started to smell like decay, like death, and he wouldn't come to visit her, no matter how good the discount was. Serenica doubted his fidelity already. Soon enough, she saw Murdon take a bottle of pills from the nearest cupboard and wash some of the contents down with grog.
"How many did you take?" Serenica asked.
"Enough and not too many," Murdon grumbled. "What were you about to say? You can't pay?"
Normally the man would have threatened to evict her. Something even worse was in the air.
"I'll have the money in three days. Just give me time. I'll give you anything. I can give you wolf's paw, I can give you –"
"I've got something much better than your wolf's paw," Murdon interrupted. "I don't care for your hocus pocus. I'm seeing a real doctor now."
The words dropped down in Serenica's stomach like heavy stones tied to a traitor's boots. A real doctor. Someone with a license, someone with the tools to actually drug their patients until there was no pain or any other sensations. What could she do? It was rumored that even the wolf's paw was mild compared to the new concoctions.
"Listen, I can tell you're dying and the new doctor clearly isn't of much help."
"Don't try to scare me, witch."
"I'm serious. If you die, I'm homeless."
"You have two days until I tell the city watch about your illegal drugs."
Dread solidified itself into a concrete form inside Serenica, it filled her to the brim and demanded to be let out. "You wouldn't do that. You shouldn't."
The city watch didn't like witchcraft. They liked witches even less. Serenica had heard many things about how they made arrests based on forged evidence. She had heard so many people cry after their loved ones had been shot unarmed in their own beds. The city watch was but a front for something far more malicious. What that something was, Serenica could only guess.
"I can give you double the price in three days," she said.
"Make it two."
"I'll see what I can do," Serenica said, got up and left. There was no use staying for tea and niceties. Murdon wasn't a nice man.
The Blue Girl was on the busiest, seediest street imaginable and even then, it managed to shine amongst the jewels of excrement that were the taverns and brothels of Merchant Street. Unofficially, the street was named Pox Boulevard.
Serenica strolled down the street and noticed that the rainy season had already ripened its most disgusting fruit, the drunkards and gamblers, both often seen in the company of the other. She was no fine lady, and neither was she looking like a prostitute, but nevertheless at least five men whistled at her and yelled licentious things that were better left unheard.
At the doorstep of the Blue Girl she hesitated. It felt brave to enter the house alone. Almost too brave.
Serenica pushed her body past a man sleeping in a chair. He was obviously the doorman, a failure at that, as in her footsteps followed a pair of fighting women, the blonde one actively drawing blood from the redhead's face.
Serenica did her best to stay out of the way.
The space downstairs was crowded. People, mostly men with a few girls of the night sprinkled in for good measure, were drinking grog and rum and even finer drinks. Ale was served as well. All of a sudden Serenica remembered that she'd been here before with Helen. It had been a particularly interesting rainy season, much like this one, and they had both been way too drunk to assess anything about the tavern besides the taste of its ale. The taste had been bad, and even now, with only a few silver coins in her pocket, Serenica opted for grog. She didn't really have the money for that, either, but her heart was beating in her chest like it wanted to be let out. Her arms were hurting from writing all day and she had barely eaten a thing. She got herself a piece of white bread and a tankard of grog. Neither of them had any nutritional value. This diet was the way the simple men of the sea got themselves scurvy and related illnesses.
There was no sign of Gadfly. The man would have been easy to point out, as it wasn't very fashionable in Neul to wear so much jewellery. Instead, two inanely blubbering men came to Serenica. The other one apparently recognized her and tried to tell her about a home remedy to arthritis. She pretended to listen.
The drink calmed her body and mind and the piece of bread was surprisingly tasty. She looked deep into the hypnotizing swirls of the grog as she used a stick to stir it. Some witches could scry this way. Serenica had never been good at it. She knew only what she could touch and heal with her own two hands.
"Serenica! Serenica!"
Startled, the men left her alone. Serenica searched for the owner of the high-pitched voice.
Helen Dastra appeared from the crowd, all dressed in black with red spots, like those in that nice scarf, smiling widely with a drink in her hand.
"Come sit with me, Helen! I'm lonely. I could use some words of encouragement."
Helen was a socialite. Arguably the best one in Neul. She wasn't exactly of blue blood or particularly rich, but she did have a way of gaining anyone's favor and talking people into liking her. Her friendship with Serenica had started with a discreetly induced miscarriage. Soon enough, they found their relationship straying away from professionalism. Instead of payment, Serenica took advice and precious objects with emotional value. Helen was full of spirit and joy and Serenica loved her and her funny hats.
"What on earth brings you here, Serenica?" Helen asked, putting the other drink in Serenica's hands.
The drink was probably rum mixed with coffee or the other way around, and it was much better than the grog that was made in watery juice. Relief was in everything, the drink, the dirty tables of the Blue Girl and Helen's clean, dainty hands that seemed far too sophisticated to hold such crude things as rum.
"Oh," Serenica said. "It's a long story. One I'd rather not tell. I have a feeling you'll make me tell it regardless."
"You're right about that."
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