Free By Moonlight Wrought (Bt Moonlight Wrought) by John Crandall Page B

and unaware what that
would even entail had she known.
             Cinder was fascinated with the clock and
the humans’ need to have time measured so precisely.  “It’s so...so human ”
she thought.  Time was just a natural rhythm, the pulse of the earth, and all
those of elven blood were well aware of this beat and could judge it
infallibly, subconsciously,  if they could manage to interest themselves in
something so human long enough just to give it a thought.  Time measured in
hours and minutes, increments that passed so quickly for a being with an
extended lifespan, was extremely interesting to Cinder.  Elves, especially
Cinder’s mother, never used hours or minutes and, in general, never seemed
concerned with time other than to mark the passing seasons.
     
     
             Dirk and Melissa walked up to the bar and
Barnabus set two mugs of ale down for them.  “Hi Busy,” Dirk said, smiling. 
“This is Melissa.  She’s a friend of mine.  Melissa, this is Barnabus.  We call
him Busy.”
             “Hello,” said Busy, a smile on his simple
face.
             “Hi,” Melissa said, shaking hands with
him.
             “Where’s Malchor?” asked Dirk.  “Is he
still around?”
             “Yeah,” Busy said.  “He’s a-round...doin’
books and things.  You want me to get him for ya, Dirk?”
             “No, that’s all right.  I just wanted him
to meet Melissa.  We’ll see if he comes out in a little bit.”  Melissa gazed
around at the interior of the Grizzly Bar , her ale half-finished as Busy
rushed to the other end of the counter to fill another order.
             The two, Dirk and Melissa, had been
working together for four days, and though Melissa’s job was primarily in
helping Dirk make his deliveries, she did also care for the horses, arranging
their exercise, rest and diets.  She enjoyed being with the animals:  it was
one of the few things she enjoyed in her life before the city.  Each night Dirk
dined in Melissa’s room, and before coming to the Grizzly Bar that
night, they had eaten leftovers from a large chunk of beef Melissa cooked the
day before.  Just as Melissa began to tell Dirk that she thought the Grizzly was a nice place, a commotion at the far end of the bar sent Dirk hustling
away.  Melissa watched as Dirk helped Busy apologize for a spilled drink.
             “You buffoon,” chastised the angry
patron.
             “I’m sorry.  I really am,” Busy said as
he tried drying the liqueur from the man’s shirt.
             “Be nice,” Dirk said to the man.  “He
really didn’t mean to do it.”
             “Who are you, his brother?” he said
knocking Busy’s hands away.  The room grew quiet as the crowd of regular patrons
knew that the stranger was treading on dangerous ground.
             “No.  I’m his friend, and he didn’t mean
it,” Dirk said angrily.
             “Well, you’d better teach your friend
some deftness.  How many shirts do you think I own?” the man snapped.
             “You’d better watch it, friend,” warned
an ancient and long-retired sailor named Gregory, a frequent customer and
witness to Dirk’s nature.
             “I’m not your friend,” the doused patron
snarled, himself a sailor whose accent indicated he was from lands far to the south.
             “All I think is that you need some
manners taught to you,” Dirk said, grabbing the man by the shirt.  Melissa ran
forward, urging Dirk to stop.
             “Who’s gonna teach me?  You?  Maybe the
moron behind the bar?” the man asked, finally looking up from his stained shirt
to gaze on the angry deliveryman and realize perhaps he had been a bit hasty in
his chastisement:  while Dirk was not as hirsute as Busy, his demeanor was much
angrier.  Dirk raised his broad fist to pummel the man when Melissa grabbed his
wrist.