Aldric Thornmoor's Arc

Chapter 3 of 16

Aldric woke on a bench at the back of the bar with his cheek stuck to the wood. Wanda sat across from him, feet up, eating something that glowed. The void chef floated behind the counter, sorting bottles with the tip of its tail. Aldric sat up. His throat was still empty. He pulled a scrap of paper from his cloak and wrote one word: WHO. Wanda read it. "Tell me the names," she said. "I'll narrow it." He wrote five. Five council members had voted to strip him. He did not know which one carried the curse. He needed to know before he stood in front of them and shouted a proclamation he could not shout. Confront the wrong one and the rest would bury him before he ever reached the chamber. Wanda tapped each name with a charred finger. "Two of them drink here. One buys salt from the void. One I've never heard of. The last one lives past the north gate." She shrugged. "Doesn't tell you who cursed you." Aldric pushed the paper toward the counter. The void chef slid closer. Its star-eyes moved over the names. "Curses have a flavor," the void chef said. "Yours is on your collar. I tasted it when you walked in. Sour. Old paper. A little iron." Aldric touched the gold broach at his throat. The coin with his clan's crest. He had worn it every day since the council took his title. "The flavor's on the pin," the void chef said. "Not on you. Someone salted the metal before you kept it." Aldric unpinned the broach and set it on the counter. The void chef bent over it. Its body dimmed, then brightened. "One hand," it said. "Left. Wore a ring with a square stone. Signed the curse with wax under the coin." It nudged the broach with its tail. The back of the coin showed a smear of old wax, dark as tar, that Aldric had never scraped off. A thumbprint sat in the wax. The thumb was missing its tip. Aldric knew that hand. One councilor had lost the tip of his left thumb to a horse two winters back. Only one. He pinned the broach back to his collar. His hand shook. He wrote the name on the paper and turned it so Wanda could read. She whistled. "Him. Alright. He drinks at the north gate house on Thursdays." Aldric stood. The void chef tilted toward him. "Payment," it said. "Later. I'll pick." Aldric nodded. He owed it now. He did not care. He had a name. He had two days until Thursday. He walked to the door and pushed it open. The wind took his cloak. Behind him, Wanda drained her glass and followed.