Dagger Key and Other Stories

Though Hota held out some hope that their night together would be the beginning of intimacy, he soon recognized it to have been their peak. Thereafter the relationship settled back into one of functional disengagement. He brought her food, whatever she needed, and kept watch over her with devotional intensity. Their conversations grew less frequent, less far-ranging, as her belly swelled…and it swelled much more rapidly than would a typical pregnancy. Four weeks and she had the shape of a woman in late-term. She stayed in bed most of the day. Never again did they visit the tavern or walk out together in the town. Hota sat in a chair, brooding, or stood at the window and did the same. He became familiar with the window much in the way he had become familiar with Magali, noting all its detail: patches of greenish mold on the sill; a splintery centerpiece; areas of wood especially stained and swollen by dampness; rotted inches eaten away by infestation. Its gray dilapidation was, he thought, emblematic not only of the room, but of his life, which was itself a gray, dilapidated region, a space that contained and limited his spirit, stunting its growth.

He recognized, too, that his position in the town had changed. Whereas formerly he had been someone whom people avoided, few had spoken against him; but now when passed in the streets, no one offered a greeting or a salute—instead, men and women would stand closer together, whisper and dart wicked glances in his direction. The reasons for this change remained unclear until one afternoon, as he entered the inn, Benno Grustark accosted him at the door and demanded twice the usual rent.

“I’m losing business, having you here,” Benno told him. “You need to compensate me.”

Hota pointed out that his was the only place in town where visitors could stay and thus he doubted Benno’s claim.

“When people hear about you, some will sleep outside rather than rent my rooms,” Benno said.

“When they hear about me?” Hota said, bewildered. “What do they hear?”

Benno, who was that day dressed in his customary brown moleskin trousers and a red tunic that clung to his ample belly, a costume that lent him an inappropriately jolly look, shifted his feet and cut his eyes to the side as if fearing he would be overheard. “Your woman…people say she’s a witch.”

Hota grunted a laugh.

“It’s not a joke for me,” Benno said. “What do you expect them to think? She’s about to give birth and yet she’s only been with you a few months!”

“She was pregnant before I brought her here.”

“Oh, I see! And where was she before that? Did you keep her in your pocket? Did you make her pregnant at a distance?”

“It’s not my child,” Hota said, and realized that this, unlike his previous statement, was only partially a lie.

An expression of incredulity on his face, Benno said, “I saw her when she came. She wasn’t showing at all. And I’ve seen her since, in the hallway, no more than a month ago. She wasn’t showing then, either.”

“All pregnant women show differently. You know that.”

Benno started to raise a further point, but Hota cut him off. “Since you’re so observant, I have to assume you’re the one who has been spreading rumors about her.”

Benno popped his eyes and waggled his hands at chest-level in thespian display of denial. “Plenty of people have seen her. Other guests. Some of my girls. Her condition’s hardly a secret.”

Hota dug coins from his pocket and pressed them into Benno’s hand. “Here,” he said. “Now leave us alone.”

With a plodding tread, he started up the stairs.

Benno followed to the first step and called out, “As soon as she’s able to travel, I want the both of you gone! Do you hear me? Not one day longer than necessary!”

“It’ll be our pleasure.” Hota paused midway up the stairs and gazed down at him. “But take this to heart. Until that day, you would do well to suppress the rumors about her, rather than foster them.” Then a thought struck him. “What possessed you to cut the boards of the inn from Griaule’s back?”

Benno’s defensive manner was swept away by a confounded look, one similar—Hota thought—to the looks he himself often wore these days. “I just did it,” Benno said. “I did it because I wanted to.”

“Is that another one of your lies?” Hota asked. “Or don’t you even know?”