Goldeline by Jimmy Cajoleas (i read books txt) 📕

months back. It doesn’t fit him quite right, and his stained undershirt hangs tight over his belly. He’s got a jewel-crusted flagon for a cup, and he’s pouring good drink out into the nice goblets, passing them around to everyone. It’s a reward for a job done right, even to the ones who didn’t do a thing. You’d think we were the rich guys, all the stuff we got around here. I even have a decent library hidden in my tent. I keep every book that isn’t too heavy or isn’t all mucked up. Gruff smiles when he sees me.

Momma said I could trust Gruff, that he was a good man, as far as men go.

See, Gruff was good to Momma and me, sometimes gave us food when we didn’t have any, potatoes and meat and vegetables, stuff he probably stole from somewhere. But Gruff was kind, and I can’t really say that about much of anybody else I ever knew. That’s why I took up with Gruff and his boys after the Townies killed Momma. The people in Templeton I mean. The Preacher and everyone wanted me dead too. The same wicked in her was in me, the Preacher said, on account of how we both had magic. Said he could see it in my eyes, gold-flecked, same as Momma’s. That’s why she named me Goldeline, because of my eyes.

After all the men are passed out, me and Gruff go off to a secret spot, a little clearing where there’s a stream and a great big rock, where you can lie on your back and hear the trickle of water and feel the cool of the rock on you, where you can best see the sky. I’m tired and feeling a little bit lonesome, missing Momma, missing our hut in the woods where I was always safe, where I knew I would always belong. I look up at all the stars and point to all the pictures in them, the archer and the saint and the dog and the dippers, the birds and the dragons, the constellations I know already and the ones I just make up on the spot. It’s a nice game, to draw pictures with the stars.

“Tell me a story,” I say.

“What about, darlin’?” says Gruff.

“Tell me about Moon Haven.”

“Lord, Goldy. Again?”

“Please,” I say. “You don’t even have to tell me a story about it. Just describe it to me. It’s my favorite place in the world.”

“Angel, you never even been there.”

“That’s why I need you to tell me about it again.”

“A’ight,” he says, sighing. “To start with, law don’t take in Moon Haven. It doesn’t know what to do with itself. That’s why folks like you and me can get along just fine there, without any trouble. Gambling, circus animals, magic—the good kind, like what your momma had—anything you want, right there in Moon Haven. Right there in the heart of it, you know what they got? A courthouse? Heck naw. What they got is the most wonderful place of all.”

“What is it?” I ask, same as always.

“What it is,” says Gruff, “is the Half-Moon Inn. You never seen a place like it. I doubt there’s any other place like it in the whole world. There’s dancers, women who you wouldn’t believe. Mermaids, I seen a mermaid there, they had her out on display. It was just a dummy of course, stuffed, because you could never yank a mermaid out of the water without her turning straight to dust. But you could see how pretty she would have been if she was real. You could see how a sailor would drown himself for her. And a lady with the whole story of the world tattooed on her body. You could read armies fighting, great battles and love and stars, all kinds of things written into her, from her neck down to her toes.”

“They got stuff for girls there too?” I say.

“Sure thing. They got dresses, all colors, silk and everything else. They got seamstresses, they got madams serving tea and cake. They got dollhouses for days, a million different kinds of dolls, porcelain, all different kinds of hair, anything you want. A special place for kids to play with them while the grown folks go about their business. Whole barn out back full of bunny rabbits for girls to pet. What are you wanting with little-girl stuff anyhow? You ain’t any little girl anymore. You’re an outlaw, like me.”

“Pretty big inn to have all that in it,” I say.

“Shoot, it’s the biggest inn in the Hinterlands. Tall as a castle, but made out of wood. Got a flag with a skull and jewels for eyes on it, flies high over the whole woods. The doors are higher than a normal house, bear rugs all over the floors. Just like a king’s palace in a storybook, I guarantee you. All you could dream of they got in the Half-Moon Inn. There’s an old lady with no eyes who can read your future in a deck of cards. Speaks through her daughter, little blond girl, not too much older than yourself, by the name of Zemfira. You two would be friends, you and Zemfira would. She could talk to dead people too, anybody you want. Spirits, you know, dancing like little fires over your head.”

“Could she talk to Momma for me?” I say.

“Course, Goldy, you bet. Could even talk to old dead Ajur Redbeard if you wanted, fiercest pirate that ever sailed. They got acrobats and knife-throwers and sword-swallowers and swashbucklers and Siamese twins, anything you could want is in the Half-Moon Inn. Could’ve spent my whole life in the Half-Moon Inn.”

“Why’d you ever leave?” I say. “If I was there, I’d never leave. It would be my home forever.”

“Well now.” Gruff coughs. I like the way it rumbles in his chest, like he has a dragon hidden inside him, big and powerful and fire-breathing. “Guess I got crossed up a little. Cards, women, you know how