Page 30 of Of Curses and Moonlight

Rothbart forced a smile. “What can I do for you, Kilron?”

“Oh, yes.” He held up the fishing rod in his hand. ”I came to return my pole. You left in rather a hurry. And I wanted to see how things went with Lady Gertrude.”

“She was… evasive.” He ran a hand over his face. “Getting anything of relevance out of members of the court is like piercing through dragon scales.”

“People are tricky. And there is none trickier than those of the court.”

Rothbart slumped into his cream cushioned chair, the despair of defeat lingering close to the surface. “I swear, Kilron, if I don’t figure this out soon…”

“You will. Keep at it. I’m sure something will turn up.” He moved with a sweep of his deep purple robe. “I better be going. I have an evening training session with the new recruits. Don’t suppose you’ll stop by, being the head sorcerer and all?”

Another responsibility that fell to Rothbart that he’d neglected. Another reason to be grateful to Kilron for handling this for him. But tonight he was determined to follow up on his only lead, as he’d promised Zoya.

“I have a task I must attend to this evening before returning home. I will come and inspect them tomorrow morning.”

Kilron flashed him one of his winning grins. “Then we shall prepare a dazzling display for you.”

“I look forward to it.”

After Kilron left, Rothbart gripped a bean from his pocket. It was time to find this Helga woman.

With aching feet and grumbling stomach, Rothbart trudged up the old, worn dirt street. The inner streets of the town always smelled of a combination of baking bread, cooked meat, human excrement, and smoke from home woodfires. For hours he’d moved about the town, asking the women with children if they knew of the lodgings of a Helga the midwife. Not one had even heard of her.

The dusk had faded to night, and only lantern light from the windows lit his path. Dilapidated two-story buildings cramped the unpaved road. A wrinkly woman with a ragged shawl came toward him, tugging on the arm of a small child.

“Don’t you sass me,” she snapped at the disgruntled youngun. “I been around years before you were born. Now, off to bed with you.”

He stopped and stared at the woman as she dragged the child into a side apartment along the street and slammed the door.

Rothbart slapped a hand to his head, berating himself for his foolishness. He’d been asking women with children, but Zoya was near full grown. He needed to ask someone older.

All had scurried inside due to the lateness of the evening. If he wanted to continue his search, he’d have to speak with those whose businesses stayed open late.

He walked into the old saloon. A splintered timeworn bar and a few sturdy tables dotted the space. Staring at the servers, his gaze fell on a woman with gray hair moving about serving drinks. Rothbart quickly claimed a table.

“What can I get for you, love?” The large bosomed lady looked about the same age as Rothbart’s mother.

He swallowed back the twinge of pain that automatically came with that thought.

“A whiskey, if you don’t mind.”

When she returned with the drink, he took a small sip and asked, “Have you worked here a while?”

“I should say so, lad. Nigh on twenty years now.”

“You wouldn’t have heard of a woman named Helga who was a midwife?”

Her face lit up. “Aye, I knows Miss Helga. How’s the old broad doing?”

“I’m actually wondering if you have any knowledge of her whereabouts?”

The waitress’s eyes slitted, her movements growing cautious. “And who be asking?”

“She delivered my sister—who was killed recently.” He let his expression fall. “I just wanted to discover what she remembered from her birth? For memorial purposes.”

The woman melted so quickly Rothbart couldn’t help but see her suspicion as a mere formality. “You poor thing! Last I heard of Miss Helga, she gone off an’ married a man from the Wandering Wetlands. They be making their home in between the two rivers, Aro and Luz.”

Rothbart’s heart leapt. He stood, clasping the woman’s hand. “Thank you. Thank you.”

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