Sascha limped into the bar and took a table where she could sit with her back to a wall facing the door. A young girl came and deposited a mug of beer on the table. Sascha used a scrap of sleeve wetted with beer to clean the blood from her face. The girl appeared again and left a cleaner cloth. Shascha smiled thanks and went back to her ablutions. She drank what was left of the beer and settled in for a long wait.
A polished steel shield hung on the wall. From what she could see of the bartender in it he looked more troll than human. Sascha wondered what he thought of her. She knew even with her best efforts, blood caked in her eyebrows and hair, turning fiery-red dark. Fortunately none of the cuts and tears in her clothes were in places which could cause trouble.
Well after moonrise, Jacko slid into the seat across from her. The room had filled up and they were able to talk under the boisterous crowd.
“What happened to you?”
“A couple of bravos thought they needed my purse more than I did.”
Jacko winced, “Did you have to let them bleed all over you?”
“One thought he could hold me while his partner finished me. I had to cut his throat.” She shrugged. “It was messy.
“They must have been desperate.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“After all that you didn’t even check their purses?”
“Whatever else I might be I am not a thief.”
“You could have taken enough for some new clothes.”
Sascha stared at him until Jacko looked down.
“OK, OK, You’ll do anything for gold but steal it. I don’t get you, Sasch.”
“You don’t need to get me.” She leaned forward across the stained wood of the table. “Did you get the information I asked you about?”
“I did, the old man’s holed up in the old monastery outside the south wall.”
“Thanks” She dropped a handful of coins on the table. “Buy yourself a decent meal.”
Her stained and ragged clothing helped Sascha blend into the shadows well enough the guards didn’t notice her climb over the south wall. The moon shone bright enough to reveal handholds, but not so bright as to make her stand out. She reached the bottom and stretched out the cramps in her hands.
The place was more ruin than monastery. Walls and roofs now jumbles of stone. The only building still standing was the crypt for the monks who never left their retreat even in death. She pushed on the door and found it barred from the inside. She smiled, neither corpses or ghosts had any reason to bar the door. With the blade of her thinnest knife she lifted the bar and eased the door open.
The faint gleam of moonlight didn’t show anything but dust and bones. She entered the crypt and followed the faint scent of cheese. An old man waited for her.
“Robson sent you.”
“He wants the stone.”
“Ah,” the old man nodded. “Want some cheese?”
Sascha shrugged and took the chunk of cheese from his hand. She bit into it and almost cried at its sharp flavour against her tongue.
“There is water if you wish to clean up.” He tossed her a bundle of cloth. “My fellows won’t mind if you borrow a robe. The smell of death disturbs me.”
“You’re afraid of dying?” Sascha asked through the splashes of water on her face.
“I was hoping you would be. ”
“So I would just give you the stone?”
“I don’t want to kill you.”
“But you will if you have to.”
“I will do what I need for Gold.”
The old man looked at her sadly.
“I don’t see greed in your eyes.”
He reached into his robe and puled out a tiny bundle wrapped in silk.
“Silk is the only substance that the stone won’t effect. Be careful.” He handed it to her.
Sascha allowed the silk to move from the stone and touched it against a bone that lay on the floor. It turned into pure yellow gold.
“You are at the very edge of darkness. I didn’t want to push you over.”
“Then you understand.”
“Goodbye Sascha, you’re almost free.”
“Without Gold, I will never be free.”
“Remember the silk.” The crypt went dark.
Sascha found herself outside the crypt. She shook her head and patted the small weight of the stone in her pocket.
Robson was waiting for her in the room he called his throne room.
“You have it?”
He snapped his fingers and one of the thugs beside him pulled a little girl from behind Robson; her hair the colour fine gold.
“Mommy!” the girl cried.
Robson took the little girl’s hand and kept her from running to her mother.
“The stone first.”
“This is the last time,” Sascha said holding up the tiny bundle.
“Sascha, Sascha, you can trust me. Let me see the stone, then we’ll talk.” He let go of Gold and the girl ran to her mother.
Sascha tossed the stone to Robson and swept up Gold in her arms. She used the bit of silk to wipe the tears from her daughter’s eyes.