Chapter Seven

“Oh, Petra—”

Amber slowly swept her gaze around the house’s interior. “Sterling was right. Have you tried talking to someone about your problems?”

The floor before them was covered in empty glass bottles. Of all various shapes and sizes, cheap alcohol littered the room like an addict’s ball pit.

“Bletchny’s sake—” Petra muttered, kicking a cluster of bottles out of his way. He turned to Amber. “You’re not thinking these are mine, are you?” Amber hesitated.

“Well—I wouldn’t judge you if a few of them were yours.” Petra shook his head in disbelief.

“I couldn’t drink if I wanted to. The joys of being an Azurite,” he scoffed. “Our bodies don’t tolerate the strong stuff. This is all Potluck’s doing.”

Amber suddenly felt the need to whisper.

“The green dragon?” Petra nodded.

“Looks like he’s not here, though. Probably out chasing some poor dutchess at the tavern. As if any self-respecting female would be caught dead with that hairy toad.” Amber cut a small giggle at the word “toad,” and suddenly Petra found himself an ounce less cross with the world.

“Make yourself comfortable, Amber,” he said motioning to the tattered, plaid-patterned couch at the room’s center. “I’m gonna put on some tea. And don’t worry, I’ll pick up the rest of this.”

“It’s alright. I’m not too bothered,” she replied, inspecting an odd-looking bottle that was shaped like a rooster. Imagining whatever drink it once held began to make her feel queasy.

Petra’s living room was small, but it had a modest charm to it. While he was busy in the kitchen, Amber crept around the corner to take a peek at what was in the other rooms. Being nosy wasn’t hard when the rooms had no doors to hide them.

Inside the one, was a disheveled bed with a large sword pinned to the wall beside it. The desk in the corner was covered in papers that had begun to escape onto the chair and floor. And here and there, bits of laundry had decorated every place else.

It’s certainly a boy’s room, Amber concluded as she glanced into the next.

The second room didn’t have much to see. It was empty aside from a pile of more glass bottles mixed with (what she hoped were) animal bones. There were also some hooks on the wall that held up large pieces of brass jewelry.

Across from the boy and his dragon’s residence was the washroom. The toilet was made from a polished stone that had no handle. There was a stone sink next to it as well, and atop sat a large wooden container with a label that read: Premium Eater Ice. It was surely the nicest washroom Amber had seen.

The sound of dishes clinking around the corner brought Amber quietly back into Petra’s presence.

“Hey,” he smiled when he sensed her. “I hope you like plum grass, it’ll be good for your throat.”

The kitchen was as tiny as every other room in the house, but there was room enough for a nightstand with a rounded table top. Petra placed a saucer upon it and poured a steaming purple liquid into Amber’s cup. “Might take a bit to cool,” he said. “I’ll be right back, when I’m done you can bring that tea into the living room.”

“Oh, thank you.” Amber stared into her teacup. She had been enjoying the hospitality, but somehow it felt—temporary. It was an abrupt feeling; one that was hard to shake.

When the floor was clean, she found Petra sitting in an armchair pulled up to the sofa.

“Have a seat, Amber. There’s a few things I need to ask you.” He began pouring himself a cup of the purple tea.

Temporary, she confirmed in her head. It’ll only be a matter of time.

“I know you’re still recovering, so I’ll try to be easy about this,” Petra reassured. “My job requires me to report any incidents that involve threats to public safety.” Amber brought her cup to her mouth and took a few anxious sips. “Let’s just start with why you were out there alone in the forest.”

“Probably because someone tried to get rid of me,” she replied.

Wherever Petra’s mouth should’ve been, the teacup did not find it. His hand tilted when Amber spoke, and a drizzle of hot liquid seared his lap.

“Ohh—are you alright?” Petra squeezed his eyes shut and mouthed the words: I’m fine.

“Who tried to get rid of you?”

“I don’t know exactly.”

“Do you know why?” Amber thought about it.

“I’m sure—it was cause of the milk incident.” Petra blinked.

“I’m sorry, milk, you said?” Amber drew in a breath.

“This is all I can tell you, because I don’t fully understand it myself.”

Earlier that night you found me,” she began, “I went to the kitchen of my house. The house that Malhuire Glass owns.”

“Is Malhuire your father?” Petra cut in.

“No.”

“Relative?”

“No.” Petra began to feel uneasy. He decided to shut up and continue to listen.

“I went to the kitchen,” Amber continued, “I was just a bit thirsty. I usually don’t do it, but there were no clean dishes in the house, and I didn’t want to disturb Malhuire. So I took some milk from the icebox and drank it out of the jug. A few minutes later, he came in to complain that his wineskin was empty. He wanted me to go fetch him some more. I tried to remind him that all the nearby shops were closed right now, but he just laughed and mumbled something strange, like: ‘even the animals bring things back, so what’s it to this one?’

And then—”

Petra watched Amber intensely.

“Malhuire noticed the milk in the icebox and drank it just the way I did. He drank it all down, and the next moment he was on the floor dead.”

Petra had been just about to take another sip of tea, but the nature of Amber’s story caused him to set it back on the table.

“What do you think happened to him? Heart attack maybe? He did seem like an alcoholic from what you described.” Amber shook her head.

“I have no idea, but I promise you it wasn’t me.” The boy watched his guest thoughtfully.

I’d like to believe that, Clingy, but we’ll need something more than just your word.

“There’s still more,” Amber said quietly.

“Of course, go ahead,” Petra replied.

“When that happened, I was as surprised as you. But I didn’t have a chance to respond. Malhuire had guests over that night and it wasn’t long before they walked into the kitchen and found us there. You can imagine what they assumed. Before I knew it, they had pinned me and stuck something over my head so I couldn’t see. It got quiet cause they went away for awhile, but when they came back they lifted me up and made me start walking.”

Petra leaned back and ran his hand through his hair.

“Dear Sol—I don’t think ‘sorry’ could be enough. What you’ve been through is unimaginable.”

[But it was imaginable to Petra. In another life, he’d traversed the realm of all sorts of dark dealings, which was why he had an idea of where Amber's kidnappers had attempted to take her.]

“So—if I’m to put the pieces together, wherever they were taking you, they took a path through the Cressdale woods, didn’t they?”

“If that’s what you call the place where you found me, then yes. I’d never been through there before, but I could hear it was a forest

—and I heard those things.”

“Cockatri?” Amber shuddered.

“Yes.”

“That’s around when they attacked?” Amber nodded.

“Malhuire’s friends were screaming and running away. One of the cockatri tore off that cloth thing over my head, so soon as I could see again, I ran too.”

“And that thing on your head, do you remember what color it was?” Amber wondered why that detail interested Petra.

“I couldn’t tell being inside it, but it felt like a pillowcase, and Malhuire did have blue ones on his bed.”

That was it then, thought Petra.

After the last few exchanges, Petra was at a loss of what to do. The report would have to wait. It didn’t feel right to press Amber too hard all at once. Instead, he stood up and took a seat next to her.

“I hope you know I admire your bravery in all of this. Is it okay if I just looked at the tag you’re wearing one more time?” In silence, Amber untucked the tag around her neck. Petra pulled it toward him slightly to squint at all the little details up close, and Amber took the tug as an invitation to lean her body weight more comfortably onto him. Now if you’re going to be devious like this how am I to trust you’re not really the criminal mastermind? She had closed her eyes and was breathing softly. There was no way Petra could get up now, at least until it was time to leave. So he sat. And she dreamed.

When the little clock on his wall read: eight-thirty, Petra gave Amber a nudge. It was time to get going.

“How long will we be gone,” she asked, hugging his waist.

“Uh—no later than sundown,” he blushed. “Wait a minute, we? You’re not coming with me.”

“But—but—” she began to look panicked.

“You need to rest. You may feel better now, but your injuries haven’t healed and you might relapse. Sterling knew that. That’s why I promised her I’d find you a physician.

He walked to the door and lifted a shoulder bag off the arm of a coat hanger. “Which is a huge reason I need to be at work. I have to ask around to figure out where the nearest physician is.”

Petra shoved his uniform in the bag and exhaled. “Alright. There’s food in the pantry, and fresh H Salt in the washroom.”

“Oh—about that,” Amber cut in nervously. “A little while ago, I found out I’m allergic to that stuff.”

“H Salt?”

“I touched some by accident and it burned my hand.”

Petra scratched his head. "H Salt," or its colloquial name “Eater Ice,” was a unique waste dissolving mineral that dracians in the West used instead of septic pipes. It was a product even more common than soap, and one thing it was not known for doing was burning skin.

“What have you done to manage without it then?” he asked. Amber lowered her head. “Aw—hey, look you don’t have to tell me then,” eased Petra.

“Outside,” was Amber’s only response as she evaded eye contact.

“I see. Well—I’d hate for you to have go through that here. But you realize you don’t have to touch the salt directly though? I do have a cup in the washroom for scooping the granules.”

He paused as a thought came to mind. “Actually—no, hang on. I have something better for you.” Petra shuffled into the kitchen and returned with a pair of oven mitts. “There, see? This should help. You’ll be fine.”

Now, one more thing—” Petra put an arm around Amber and guided her into his bedroom. There was a clean sheet covering the mattress, and the clothes had all been picked up. Amber wondered if she’d look under the bed and find them.

“Promise me you’ll lie down and rest when I leave?” Amber glanced nervously at the bed and then back to Petra.

“If something happens while I’m here, I won’t be able to call for you,” she quavered. “I don’t understand, couldn’t you use the Azurite ability you were talking about earlier so we wouldn’t need a physician?”

Petra’s face darkened. He wanted to say:

Don’t you think if I could, I would’ve done that the moment I found you? Instead, he lifted his right hand and touched the cockatrice scar over Amber’s brow with two fingers. He looked Amber dead in the eyes and said: “No. I can’t.” Suddenly Amber feared she’d overstepped her boundary.

“You are right,” Petra admitted, “and I know its scary. But trust me, there’s greater there’s greater odds of something bad happening while we’re in town, than there are of something bad happening while you’re asleep. And things will be busy, so there’s no way I’ll be able to keep an eye on you at the tavern.”

“What’ll happen if the green—uh, I mean—Potluck comes back?”

“Ohh that frog. Figures he’d fail to leave a good impression. Well, one thing I can say is that you’ll be safe with him. When it comes to women, he’ll curtail any bad habit.”

Petra squeezed her shoulder gently. “I’m here to help you, I promise. But I need you to promise you'll take care of yourself until I get back.”

“Alright,” she gave in, swallowing the lump forming in her throat. “I’ll try to rest.” The boy smiled and headed for the door.

“Sundown!” He called to Amber before shutting it all the way. “I’ll be back by then. Sooner, even. I’ll skip my break.” The lock clicked, and for some time, Amber just stood there staring back at it.