Nights of Villjamur - Mark Charan Newton [185]
The two women now sat enveloped in thick layers of brown robes that did nothing much for either of them except keep them warm. For a long while there was a tenuous silence brought about from suddenly being brought together. Visitors often possessed the power to inflict self-consciousness on their hosts and she could see a hesitant look in the rumel’s eyes, as if she too was uncertain at how to handle the situation.
They were startled by the sound of a snowball striking the window.
“Would you like some tea?” Marysa inquired.
“Thanks,” Tuya said, “but you don’t have to be polite to me. I can easily understand you not wanting someone like me in your home.”
Marysa stood up and walked over to the kitchen area. “Jeryd merely said you were in trouble, and that people were after you.”
Tuya wondered if Jeryd had informed Marysa of everything she had been through, of the destruction she may have caused. Not something to bring up, though, as it didn’t make for an easy conversation.
“I work as a prostitute,” Tuya said bluntly.
Marysa glanced back at her. “Oh.”
Another snowball hit the glass.
“It’s not as bad as you’d think. I’m selective.”
So cozy, with the clink of cups, the crackling fire, the water boiling.
“I’m in a little trouble with some people who’ll be looking for me. They wanted what I couldn’t give them.” Tuya laughed inwardly: what exactly could she not give a man? “You know, you’re really very lucky to have someone like Jeryd. He seems such a good sort.”
“He is.” Marysa spun around rather too quickly, her expression warning Tuya to stay away from the husband she loved.
“You know, I’ve never loved anyone like you must have done,” Tuya said. “Never even been in love.”
“Really?” Marysa inquired, and there was genuine interest in her tone.
“That’s right, never. And I’m in my forties. I’ve not met any man with whom I could form a connection. I suppose, in my job, it’s easier if you don’t get too attached to people.”
“I can understand that.”
Tuya continued, “I’ve had men who’ve had their little infatuations with me. Lonely men, in particular, seem to become infatuated so easily.”
“Why do you do … what you do?” Marysa said, embarrassed but curious.
Tuya thought about this for some time. “I’d like to say for the money. It’s easy money, after all. I don’t have to do much, just use whatever I’ve been blessed with. But there’s an emptiness now that I just can’t explain, like a spiritual scar.” She touched the side of her face. “Sometimes you know you’ve walked so far down a particular path that you’ve nothing left but your dignity. Dignity to keep on down that very same path, even though it’s the wrong one. Because when you stop, when you think … that’s when it hurts the most. Some sort of dignity is all I’ve got left.”
Tuya resisted the urge to cry but she could tell by the fact that Marysa was now walking toward her that she was failing in this. Marysa placed a hand gently on Tuya’s.
A sound now from the roof.
Tuya looked up. “What’s that?”
“It’s those damn kids,” Marysa said, “throwing snowballs at our house. It usually stops after half an hour, but it doesn’t half drive you crazy.”
A snowball smashed the windowpane and exploded inside, accompanied by squeals of childish laughter.
Now working in his chambers, Jeryd checked his crossbow. They didn’t make them now like they used to. You used to get some slick firing mechanisms that were so straightforward to reload. Insert and click. The new one he held in his hand was problematic, because you had to insert the bolt so deep before it locked in place. Sure, it fired much further, so they claimed, but you spent far too much time reloading, in which time a knife could rake across your throat and it was all over. He needed something quick and deadly, promising a swift shot in the dark. The rumel held the weapon this way and that,