The Rokkoh Adventures

Rokkoh and the Princess, Chapter 9

"Fair enough," I shrug, taking her in my arms and closing the door.

Torvald joins us as we approach the building, and I glance at the sign hanging above the door. Elloriana's Cure, it reads crudely carved. Under the name, etched more precise and clean, are three symbols: a triangular bottle topped with a cork; a fork and a knife crossed over each other to make an X; and a bed. Together they all form a triangle, the bottle and cutlery on top and the bed on bottom. A twinge of unease voices itself in my gut, but I ignore it as Evalina points to the guardsmen.

"Friends," she says, waving to them. I watch the gargoyles for a moment, waiting for them to come to life and wave back. They remain motionless.

"Yes, honey, friends," I agree with her.

"Personally, gargoyles always kinda freaked me out," Torvald mutters behind us.

"Don't be rude," I scold him over my shoulder. "The princess says they're friends, so they're our friends."

With my free hand, I reach for the door knob. Inches away, the round iron turns. The door swings open, swinging inward and revealing a stout woman, short but thick with strength. Her broad shoulders fill most of the doorway, and her head stops just shy of half the height of the space. A dress, white and flowing, covers her frame. Her auburn hair is pulled back into a thick braid that runs down the length of her back, two tendrils loose and hanging on either side of her face. Her face is clear, clean, devoid of scars or blemishes, almost as if it's brand new, round with dimples in her cheeks. She eyes us for a moment, the unnervingly bright green things almost illuminated and glowing. They hang on me for too long of a moment, but then move on to my companions. An odd familiarity flickers in my memory, something not her but eerily similar. I can't place it. Her sudden smile, wide and warm, snuffs that sparking would-be flame.

"You lot look a bit peaky," she says. She steps aside. "Come on in. I'll fix you up something to eat."

The exterior does a disservice to the interior. While the outside is dark and eerie, the inside is brightly lit, clean, and cozy. A few small round tables dot the room, a couple chairs at each. Beautiful and intricate paintings hang on the wall here and there, landscapes and portraits alike. Logs burn in a fireplace on the wall ahead of us, a white wooden door on either side. On a shelf above the little pyre sit various items: an urn or vase (I cannot tell which) with painted flowers; the hilt of a sword, a bit of the broken blade still attached; a small velvet bag, fat and sitting upright with unknown contents giving it random misshapen bumps; a bit of cloth folded over twice; a stuffed bear, small and well-loved; and an empty glass with "In Case of Emergency" written elegantly on the label.

"Sit wherever, loves," our host says, showing off the little tables. "I'll get a special seat for the wee one."

She disappears through the left door, her footsteps silent on the wooden floor. Torvald claims the table nearest the front door, choosing the chair that would give him the quickest and easiest escape. I take the other, resting the princess on my knee. Out of instinct I didn't know I had, it and she bounces.

"Horsey!" she giggles. I join in the infectious sound.

"This place seems alright," Torvald says, looking around.

"Something you should know if you are to become a knight," I tell him, my eyes still on the happy little girl, "is to always be on guard. You never know what will happen, what hideous secrets are just under the surface. Did you see her eyes? Product of unnatural magic. Keep your wits about you, boy. You'll live longer.

"Tell me. You've traveled this road many times, yes?"

He takes a moment, counting on his fingers, then nods.