touch the ceiling when she stretched her arms.
Orrin had found a rafter a few feet above her bed and was preparing to settle in for awhile. As he rested directly over her, Skyla wondered what sort of bowel control a sleeping raven possessed.
“Do you think he’ll let us stay longer?” she asked.
Orrin uttered a croak.
“You think we should keep moving…”
“ Pree-cher .”
Skyla sighed. “You saw how big Marley is. He would crush the man.”
Another croak and a click.
She reached a hand out and petted his soft feathers. Orrin closed his eyes, yawning.
“Customers!” bellowed Marley from the front.
*
Sitting at a table near Dale were a couple of patrons that, by the looks of them, had already been drinking long before they arrived. The woman cast a hazy gaze at Skyla, then cracked a yellowish smile. Skyla grabbed a full mug from the taps and delivered it to them while Marley greeted newcomers from behind the bar.
“Well, look at you!” said the woman, overflowing in all the wrong places from her corset. “And who might you be?”
“I’m Skyla,” she said, placing a dolphin-shaped mug in front of the woman and another in front of the man.
“Very nice to meet you,” the woman said. “Marley! You start hiring any younger, you’ll have to deliver them straight from the mother’s wombs yourself!”
Marley walked back to the counter and waved her comment away. The woman released a high-pitched cackle.
“You must be new!” she said to Skyla.
“Yes ma’am.”
“Ma’am!” The woman gave a wry grin and elbowed her date. She leaned closer and said, “I could tell from the school uniform. You’re a Bollingbroker ?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“My great uncle was too, you know. Back when times were good.”
She was speaking now with a lubricated nonchalance. Skyla noticed her nose was red, and her breath smelled of whiskey.
“That’s what they do up the hill, you know,” she said. “If you ain’t got money, you ain’t got a place in Bollingbrook.”
By the time people began to stumble home, Skyla realized that it was nearly sunrise. Her mouth was dry from introducing herself so many times, her head spinning with so many new faces. Some people were asleep in their chairs as the last conscious patrons left, waving and staggering. Marley hefted one of them out the door, suggesting he sleep against the wall outside. He threw them out, one by one, all except for Dale who was passed out at the bar, a small puddle of drool forming around his shallow beard. Marley polished the counter around him.
“Why do you let him stay?” she asked Marley. She was sitting a couple of seats away from the sleeping man. Her ears still rang from the evening’s noise.
“He’s had a bad run of luck,” said Marley, leaning onto the counter. “Used to be lookout crew. Guarded the docks.’
“What happened?” she said. Dale muttered something in his sleep.
“He lost a bet. A big bet.”
“What was he betting on?”
Marley polished a spot close by on the bar for a long thoughtful moment.
“He bet on me,” he said, then straightened to his full height and threw the dishrag under the counter. “Hungry?”
Marley disappeared behind the wall as Skyla looked at Dale’s shadow in private. She had seen men like him in Bollingbrook, one violation away from being jailed or banished from the city. She supposed a lot of them ended up here, assuming they didn’t find themselves on the business end of a scout’s crossbow. As Dale snored, his shadow spread out behind him. It was lonely and broken, reeking of disappointment and bad decisions—otherwise harmless. There was a hint of the handsome man he had once been beneath that beard.
Marley returned with a pair of plates garnished with pickled yams and bread. Skyla made quick work of hers and saved a piece for Orrin.
“Why did someone call him Half-Dale?”
Marley grunted between massive bites, his walrus mustache wiggling as if he were about to eat the
Orrin had found a rafter a few feet above her bed and was preparing to settle in for awhile. As he rested directly over her, Skyla wondered what sort of bowel control a sleeping raven possessed.
“Do you think he’ll let us stay longer?” she asked.
Orrin uttered a croak.
“You think we should keep moving…”
“ Pree-cher .”
Skyla sighed. “You saw how big Marley is. He would crush the man.”
Another croak and a click.
She reached a hand out and petted his soft feathers. Orrin closed his eyes, yawning.
“Customers!” bellowed Marley from the front.
*
Sitting at a table near Dale were a couple of patrons that, by the looks of them, had already been drinking long before they arrived. The woman cast a hazy gaze at Skyla, then cracked a yellowish smile. Skyla grabbed a full mug from the taps and delivered it to them while Marley greeted newcomers from behind the bar.
“Well, look at you!” said the woman, overflowing in all the wrong places from her corset. “And who might you be?”
“I’m Skyla,” she said, placing a dolphin-shaped mug in front of the woman and another in front of the man.
“Very nice to meet you,” the woman said. “Marley! You start hiring any younger, you’ll have to deliver them straight from the mother’s wombs yourself!”
Marley walked back to the counter and waved her comment away. The woman released a high-pitched cackle.
“You must be new!” she said to Skyla.
“Yes ma’am.”
“Ma’am!” The woman gave a wry grin and elbowed her date. She leaned closer and said, “I could tell from the school uniform. You’re a Bollingbroker ?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“My great uncle was too, you know. Back when times were good.”
She was speaking now with a lubricated nonchalance. Skyla noticed her nose was red, and her breath smelled of whiskey.
“That’s what they do up the hill, you know,” she said. “If you ain’t got money, you ain’t got a place in Bollingbrook.”
By the time people began to stumble home, Skyla realized that it was nearly sunrise. Her mouth was dry from introducing herself so many times, her head spinning with so many new faces. Some people were asleep in their chairs as the last conscious patrons left, waving and staggering. Marley hefted one of them out the door, suggesting he sleep against the wall outside. He threw them out, one by one, all except for Dale who was passed out at the bar, a small puddle of drool forming around his shallow beard. Marley polished the counter around him.
“Why do you let him stay?” she asked Marley. She was sitting a couple of seats away from the sleeping man. Her ears still rang from the evening’s noise.
“He’s had a bad run of luck,” said Marley, leaning onto the counter. “Used to be lookout crew. Guarded the docks.’
“What happened?” she said. Dale muttered something in his sleep.
“He lost a bet. A big bet.”
“What was he betting on?”
Marley polished a spot close by on the bar for a long thoughtful moment.
“He bet on me,” he said, then straightened to his full height and threw the dishrag under the counter. “Hungry?”
Marley disappeared behind the wall as Skyla looked at Dale’s shadow in private. She had seen men like him in Bollingbrook, one violation away from being jailed or banished from the city. She supposed a lot of them ended up here, assuming they didn’t find themselves on the business end of a scout’s crossbow. As Dale snored, his shadow spread out behind him. It was lonely and broken, reeking of disappointment and bad decisions—otherwise harmless. There was a hint of the handsome man he had once been beneath that beard.
Marley returned with a pair of plates garnished with pickled yams and bread. Skyla made quick work of hers and saved a piece for Orrin.
“Why did someone call him Half-Dale?”
Marley grunted between massive bites, his walrus mustache wiggling as if he were about to eat the
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