Woman in Love

By Jim Webster

Asked to look for a missing husband, Benor finds that the female of the species is indeed more deadly than the male.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AG Books
• Release date: Jun 13, 2016
• ISBN: 9781785385360

Jim Webster

I can cope with being described as fifty-something. During the course of a reasonably quiet life I’ve done a number of things. I’ve farmed cattle all my life, and at the same time have been a consultant and a freelance writer. I also fit in being a husband and father. My life has included some intriguing incidents, at the age of twelve, my headmaster was somewhat put out to discover that not only was I selling ammonium nitrate to other boys to make bangers, it wasn’t actually forbidden by the school rules. I’ve watched Soviet troops unload coffins from a transport plane at Tashkent; been questioned by an Icelandic gunboat captain, not so much at gun point as at 40mm Bofors point, and according to the nice man at Frankfurt airport, I inadvertently invaded Germany. I was perfectly happy to believe him, I am happy to believe anyone who points a Heckler & Koch MP5 at me. Brought up on the classic masters of SF, I bought Jack Vance, ‘The Dragon Masters,’ in the early 1970s and that book taught me that the world or society the characters lived in was every bit as important as the plot. I’ve also written Supplements for Pelgrane Press to go with their ‘Dying Earth’ role-playing game, inadvertently contributed to the design of the FH70 Field Howitzer and living where I do on the outskirts of Barrow-in-Furness most of my mates have at one time or another built nuclear submarines. Me, I tend to seasickness on a particularly bracing bus trip.

Book preview

coincidental.

Chapter 1

As he helped the young woman to her feet, Benor supposed that it was the fact that Fellmonger’s Wharf wasn’t really a ‘working’ wharf that meant people tended to leave bulky low-value items scattered about. As a general rule, sailors and stevedores tend to be tidy people, coiling ropes neatly away so that nobody trips over them.

He’d been heading back to the barge, looking forward to his evening meal, when a young woman in front of him had measured her length on the ground, nearly tripping him up as well. As he helped her to dust herself down he studied her.

He guessed her age at about seventeen. Her hair was probably long but was done up into a tight bun under her hat. Her clothes were conservative, the skirt relatively long, but they were made from good quality material. Benor suspected that she wasn’t the first wearer. Not only were there leather patches on the elbows, there were leather bindings on the cuffs. He assumed that the jacket at least had been her mother’s; the style and colour would have suited an older woman better.

As she looked up from rearranging her clothing he caught the first glimpse of her face. Quite pretty, a pale complexion, and by the way she peered at him, almost certainly short sighted. She also looked worried.

Thank you sir. She was well spoken and could at least give the impression of being self-possessed.

Think nothing of it. Benor gave a half bow and turned to go.

Excuse me, but I was looking for Shena the Mud-jobber.

Benor turned back. I lodge with Shena and her husband. If you want I can take you there.

She smiled at him. Benor upgraded his assessment from ‘quite pretty’ to ‘pretty’, Thank you sir.

Benor offered her his arm. It might be a rather old fashioned gesture but given the state of the dock it could save him from having to repeatedly pick her up. My name is Benor Dorfinngil; at your service.

She took his arm. Ami Shadear.

He led her across the wharf and helped her down the ladder to the first boat. She had strong calves and well-formed ankles. The grip on his arm had been firm as well. A young woman used to activity. Benor marked her down as a skilled artisan, perfectly capable of supporting herself but forced to be careful with money.

He led her across the decks of the first five barges and onto the one he currently called home. He knocked on the door, opened it and looked inside. A Mistress Ami Shadear wishes to speak to Shena the Mud-jobber, he announced.

Shena took off her apron and walked across to the door. Well don’t stand there, bring her in.

Benor stepped in and beckoned Ami to follow him. She entered the galley hesitantly, walking cautiously, as she stepped out of daylight into the relative gloom.

Shena said, Welcome Mistress Shadear. To what to we owe the pleasure of your company?

Ami’s voice was formal, but Benor detected an underlying tremor. Are you the mud-jobber?

I am.

I believe you buy... bodies.

Yes. Shena realised this sounded a bit stark. Well that’s how they describe it. In reality I pay a reward which I recoup when I to return the body to the family.

I was hoping you’d found a body, a man of thirty, of middling height and build with bushy sideburns and a moustache. Benor heard the tremor again. This young woman was upset.

No, I’m afraid not. Do you have a name for him?

Garen Aspurn, my husband. It was then that she finally burst into tears. Shena helped her to a chair, and let her weep.

Finally Ami regained control. I’ve been looking for him all over and you were my last hope. If I pay a finder’s fee for his body will you look for him for me?

Shena sat down next to her. Perhaps we can help. When did he disappear?

The galley door opened, Ami looked up as Tallis walked in.

Don’t worry; it’s just my husband back. Shena said. He’s someone who has a lot of contacts in the city. Tell us your story and we’ll see what we can do to help.

***

By the time Tallis had placed strong coffee in front of her Ami had dried her eyes, blown her nose fiercely on a large but clean gentleman’s handkerchief and seemed to have recovered her self-possession.

I suppose I had better start at the beginning. I was orphaned when I was only four or five. My father had been a successful cooper and he’d made some good investments. So when he died he left me a lodging house on Nailor’s Close. It is rented out to a long-established tenant who runs the business. She was an old friend of my mother so there’s no problem with the rent.

Tallis butted in, The big house with three floors and a turret?

Ami looked surprised, You know it?

I knew you looked familiar, you’re the image of your mother, or will be when you get a little older. I was a tenant there, a young poet starving in his garret, when your parents bought the place. Tallis stared off into the far distance. Your father, the cooper, had inherited a little money and decided to put it into this property. I helped your father fix the roof instead of paying rent. I have fond memories of your mother’s fruit cake and her kindness to a penniless artist. He