Elisha Barber: Book One Of The Dark Apostle by E.C. Ambrose Read Free Book Online

floor, one by one gathering Elisha’s filthy tools. Fastidiously, he avoided kneeling down and besmirching his clothes. Every so often, he wiped both tools and hands on a delicate kerchief not quite up to the task.
    “Don’t do that,” Elisha said at last, snatching the handful of tools and reaching out for the next. “Your wife will notice blood.”
    Laughing again, Martin rose. “My wife is dallying with a weaver, unless I miss my mark. Handsome lad he is, too. And a good thing, since he’s like to be the father of my next child.”
    “I’ve no idea how you manage.”
    “I am a tradesman, Elisha. I contract, I conspire, and, above all, I compromise.” He remained standing, staring down at Elisha on the floor. After a time, while Elisha polished his tools on an edge of the soiled linen, Martin said, “I wish you’d just come clean; this curiosity is killing me.”
    Sighing, Elisha dropped the tools on the table with one hand, sitting back on his haunches. “I tried to seduce her. On the eve of their wedding.”
    “Oh, my.” Martin’s eyebrows notched upward.
    “I thought she married him only to get out of the brothels, that she wanted to set up on her own at worst, or take advantage of him at best. Nathaniel was so taken with her that he wouldn’t hear a word against the marriage, not from me. I told her I knew what she was up to, that I’d keep her secret, if, well, I got mine.” His face flamed, and he kept it averted. “I expected her to be more than willing, and I would have my proof. I’ve never been so wrong about a person in my life. She called me every sort of monster, slapped me, and called my brother to throw me out. Neither one would hear an apology.” He broke off, and looked up at last to Martin’s sympathetic face. “It’s been Hell, really, living in this house, but which of us could afford to move?”
    “If you’d told me,” Martin began, but Elisha cut him off.
    “No, you wouldn’t. You’ve got a position to maintain. If anyone knew—” But there was little point to finishing that sentence.
    “I love you desperately,” the draper said, advancing to touch Elisha’s cheek.
    Elisha gently withdrew from the caress. “No, you don’t.”
    “Are you sure?”
    As much at the mournful expression as at the wistful tone, Elisha smiled. “It’s time you found someone to return your affections, Martin. You deserve better than a barber.”
    Running his fingers along his own cheek, Martin said, “A barber who doesn’t even finish the job.” With a shrug, he reached into a pouch at his belt and pulled out a narrow strip of cloth.
    “What’s that, a favor to carry into battle?”
    “Consider it such, if you like. I like that idea well enough.” He held it out and Elisha took the delicate fabric. “Keep it on you, Elisha, don’t part with it for anything.”
    Frowning, Elisha looked up at his friend. “But what does it mean, Martin?”
    Laying a finger across his lips, Martin smiled. “Now that would be telling. Promise me you’ll keep it?”
    “Is it blessed by a saint or something?” He ran the silk through his fingers, its fine fibers catching on the bits of dead skin. Threads of gold ran through in some pattern undistinguishable in the gloom.
    “Charmed by a witch, perhaps. Now don’t look at me like that. Just you keep it on you, and secretly.”
    “You do like your games,” Elisha grumbled, tucking the fabric into the pouch the captain had returned.
    With a final sigh, Martin slipped out of the door, back to his wealthy house, his courtly wife, and her handsome weaver.
    Sometimes, Elisha would have liked to love him, would have liked to think himself worthy of such a man—or, indeed, of anyone. But he was no good at make-believe, and Martin’s affection was a dangerous gift, even left unconsummated. He endured the flirtation when he tended Martin’s barbering needs in the privacy of the man’s chamber, but they could both be ruined if anyone knew.
    Elisha