The Book and the Memory

Mnemosyne broke the crust of the staling bread and felt the insides, dry and brittle, crumble at her touch.  She pulled off a mouthful and dipped it deep into the tepid bowl of soup in front of her.  It tasted bland and felt gritty, but non-the less she continued to eat with relish.1

"Where’dyeh hail from?" a deep voice inquired.  She looked up and studied the man, clearing her throat of the cloying bread with a sip from her own canteen.  He was taller than her, and heavily built- a brutish sort of strength that he could use to overpower her if she weren’t quick enough- he had greasy black hair that scraggled to his shoulders and rough grimy beard.  Mnemosyne unwrapped her ankle from around the strap of her pack, its bells jangled slightly.2

"South."  She replied shortly.3

"What’s yer trade?"  He asked.4

"Trinkets and magic.  Do you want me to read your palm?"  She used the usual lie.5

"Nah- some old crone came by a few years back offerin’ that- took a bit o’ silver off of me to tell me I’d be married in a year.  And I ain’t married yet."6

"We can’t even trust to the future no more."  She replied sagely, shaking her head.  Mnemosyne broke off another piece of bread and dipped it into the soup.  The man remained.  She eyed him warily, wondering what more he wanted.7

He waited, watching her eat, almost expectantly studying her.8

"Do you bring any news from south way then?"  He whispered, leaning over so that only she would hear.  "From the islands maybe?"9

"I’m no herald" She replied dropping the last crust of bread into the empty bowl and reaching under the table for her pack.10

The man stood frozen for a moment, in which time Mnemosyne was able to stand and swing her pack onto her back- the bells rattling loudly.  She reached down to pick up her unbuckled belt and sword.11

"No, you’re more than that Mnemosyne."  12

The man caught hold of her arm; annoyed at being cornered Mnemosyne pulled, putting all of her body weight and that of her pack into releasing her from his grip.  She twisted and squirmed like a child caught stealing apples being dragged back home to be punished- but the technique worked.  As soon as she was free she made a dash for the door of the little wayside inn.13

The man followed, quicker than he looked, and caught her hand as she got through the door.  With her free hand Mnemosyne caught hold of the hilt of her sword, shaking it free from the scabbard which she let fall to the ground.  A little frown of anger played upon her brown – outrage flashed in her eyes.14

Undaunted, the man pulled her close to him, whispering quickly before she had chance to use her weapon;15

"Don’t you even want to know how I know you?"  At that he let go of her hand and stood breathing heavily; watching her as she thought what to do next.  The other occupants of the inn had risen from their seats, old tavern loafers and lunching farm hands alike keeping a cautious, but curious distance.16

Mnemosyne shrugged.  "Okay, so how do you know me?"  She asked.17

"Not here.”  He said glancing into the inn, “Follow me."  He pushed past her.18

"Wait," she told him.  She adjusted her bandolier and put her pack properly onto her back.  Then she bent down and picked up the scabbard and belt that she had let fall, replacing the sword and buckling it securely around her waist.  Checking herself over thoroughly, she signalled to the man to wait outside and she went back into the inn to retrieve a daffodil she had let fall beneath her table.19

As she walked past them, the onlookers stepped warily back away from her.  She did not notice one old man side step her and move to the door to hurriedly question the burly man who apparently knew her in a low whisper.20

Returning, she smiled and nodded at him to continue when she returned to the street, brandishing the flower like a wand.21

An inquisitive looked wiped the preoccupied, slightly annoyed expression he was wearing, but he didn’t bother to voice his question and instead turned his back on her and led the way.22