Aparumcium Public House
Settlement of St. Cyprian
12 January, 1692
Just before eight bells in the morning

It was early yet, but it was shaping up to be an entirely pleasant day in St. Cyprian. The clear skies and warm weather outside the tavern would have been considered nice in so many parts around the world.  But there was a heaviness to the air, too; an unseasonal humidity with just a hint of electrical charge, as if a storm were brewing just over the horizon. 

It had been humid the night before too, with a strange scent mixed in the air that he couldn't recognize.  Pollux had tossed and turned for most of the darkened hours, until he'd finally given up on getting any sleep.  As it was in so many ways, Aparumcium had become his refuge.  He'd gotten up early, well before the pastel-painted sky had finished maturing to fully blue, and made his way downstairs to the main room of the public house, where he'd set himself the task of re-cleaning all the mugs that Aquila had left out to dry at the end of her shift the night before.

This early in the day, there wasn't likely to be many visitors about.  Although Aparumcium occasionally took boarders, this was the wrong time of year for it; most of the ships stopped in port only briefly, eager to continue on their way now that the winter squalls were mostly done.  Unless Aquila had kept someone over, their first round of guests was not likely to arrive until just before lunchtime, giving way to a steady stream well into the night.

Hopkins seemed to sense that something was amiss.  The cook-pot usually kept to its own devices until its services were needed around midday, but it had settled down next to Pollux as soon as he'd taken up his position behind the bar.  Now, without him even saying a word, it had started bubbling, a sign that it had started something simmering in its interior completely of its own accord.

Pollux glanced at it as he wiped clean another mug and set it aside.

"Cornmeal?" he asked it, wrinkling his nose. 

The cook-pot gave a gurgling noise in response.

Shaking his head, the tavern owner took a rag and went to wipe off the nearest wooden table.  Even if all this only signified that Hopkins had taken a liking to Aquila's latest companion the night before, it appeared that Pollux should be getting ready for company.

It was early, but not too early for the fishing boats docked to unload tangles of trade-sized sea serpents, the fruit of their nocturnal efforts. The sea serpent trade was illegal now thanks to the Statute of Secrecy, but that didn't eliminate the need for sea serpent roe or sea serpent scale or sea serpent oil, did it? Of course not. Everything would keep turning, somehow, and as the magical world was forced to narrow, St. Cyprian became its single roaming eye.

A witch in a heavily brimmed hat and long cloak disembarked the fishing vessel and bid a bandaged-handed wave of farewell to the captain. She'd traded for passage to St. Cyprian with the simple cost of knowing where it was. It was the Truth-Teller and Secret-Keeper Niobe Thursby.

"Luck to you, Cash," she called.

"Keep some for yourself, Miss Thursby," came the reply.

With that, Niobe clomped up the docks and headed towards the tavern with the wand and key sign. No smoke from the chimney yet. Was her lie-in brother still asleep? Instead of knocking up the front door, Niobe helped herself a little crack Apparition to the back yard. She nearly stepped on something green and growing and had to hike up her cloak and jump to the side. She leaned on the kitchen door and let herself in.

She was at once greeted with the smell of cooking cornmeal. She froze, a smile creeping to her lips.

"Did you know I was coming?" she called out.

He'd been whistling as he gathered the place settings -- not out of joy so much as a futile attempt to ward off whatever foul luck was about to descend upon them -- when the crack sounded in the back. 

Pollux looked up, frozen in place as his gaze flicked toward the kitchen.

There had been rumors circulating -- never quite said directly; always alluded to in an off-handed sort of way -- of a East India Company ship patrolling somewhere near St. Cyp's waters.  But Company enforcers would never snap around to the back.  If they were here to raid Aparumcium and inflict their silly little rule on him, they'd make a show of barging in the front, their silly wooden stick raised as they flung spells and orders interchangeably about.  But there were few others who'd bother to come through the kitchen.  Even if Aquila had been out all night without him noticing, she couldn't Apparate the way that wand-users could.

Hopkins, though, appeared to be entirely unconcerned.  The cook-pot hopped down from the counter, its chicken feet pattering against the wooden floor as it made a beeline into the kitchen, heading directly for the back door.

Stomach clenched, Pollux grabbed for a broom and started into the kitchen, holding it in both hands like a staff.

The door swung open, and for the second time in sixty seconds, the tavern owner froze.  He stared at the witch before him, sun-tanned with a sweeping hat covering her tightly rolled locks, who had a smile tugging at her lips as if it were fifteen years ago and she'd only just stepped out.

Niobe Thursby.  Explorer and Adventurer, Secret-Keeper and self-proclaimed Truth-Teller, who'd chosen a life on the move over anything that they might have built together.

Hopkins, the little traitor, pattered right up to her to bubble a merry greeting.

Pollux stared.

"No, but that explains the cloves in the air last night," he said at last.  How long had it been?  He'd lost track.  At the very least, at some point he'd stopped counting.

He was still brandishing the broom like it was a weapon and he was one of Cuffe's reckless bunch.  Swallowing against the tightness in his throat, Pollux lowered it. 

 "Why are you here, Niobe?" he asked, his gaze still locked on his elder sister.

Pollux looked old. There were a few greys in his beard and he had a look in him that wasn't there before. Otherwise her younger brother looked hearty and hale, more than when she'd last seen him. And this place? This Aparumcium? It was quick with the living.

"Pol. That's a big question," she said gingerly, sweetly. Her eyes were a little wet. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and listen to his heart beat; instead she pulled off her hat and directed some effortful cheer at the hopping pot.

"You still have it! What did we call him? Hopkins? Hi, what are you making for Auntie Nibs, eh?" She directed the last part to the little enchanted crockery, the very same strange familiar Pollux had found on the beach all the way back in Barbados thirty years ago. It was the first time Niobe had ever seen anything like it, and in all these years, she'd never seen another one. Among its other strange properties, it always knew what to rustle up.

"Smells good," she said, and hung her hat by the door. She shifted her weight to look around and past Pollux at what he'd done here and what space he had.

It hadn't been a big question, and Niobe's response wasn't an answer at all.  But the little cook-pot had pushed its way in to take over the conversation, as it often did.  It now happily gurgling away at his sister's feet, bumping into the toes of her boots as if it couldn't contain its excitement at the new guest.

It apparently didn't matter if he invited his sister inside or not.  Pollux stayed where he was, watching her warily as she hung her hat on a hook and began to glance about.  He hadn't asked her here.  She'd decided to come crashing in on her own, into his establishment and into his life, and he could either go along with it or pick up the broom and try to put up a fight.

Hopkins, clearly pleased with the praise -- the little pot was easy to win over -- gave one last burble and turned to pad its way past him into the main room of the public house.  Pollux sighed, running a hand through his tightly curled hair as he watched it go.

"You owe me more of an answer than that if you're staying for breakfast," he informed his sister, and then turned to follow the pot back into the main tavern.

It was a wide open room; big enough to hold several dozen on a busy day.  Low-hanging timbers crossed the ceiling, well above Pollux's head but posing a potential hazard for any who were taller.  The tables were all made out of wood: most of them were long and narrow, but a few were smaller rounds, big enough to sit two or four depending on how closely one minded one's elbows.

It was at one of the smaller, circular tables that Hopkins hopped up to perch on top of.  The cook-pot settled down on its chicken feet and began to gurgle more vigorously, the audible signal that it was reaching the end of its meal preparation.  Pollux rested the broom he'd been carrying against the bar, and then grabbed a single place-setting.

"You'll be on your way after you've eaten, I take it."  He didn't let it hang as a question as he laid out the items for his sister: a plate, a wooden spoon, a metal cup.  The sooner they could get this over with, the better.  Niobe Truth-Teller had obviously come here for some purpose, and all he could hope was that it would be a quick one.  "You must have a ship to catch before the next tide?"

When Pollux didn't warm up to her, Niobe set her expression a little more contrite and trailed after her brother and the little pot into the tavern proper. She'd hoped any chill between them would have thawed, but he was all things skeptical and guarded himself from welcoming her. It was fair of him, she'd just hoped for more.

She watched guiltily as Pollux played the good host and laid out a table for her, like she was a customer rather than the only family he had. Starting with her cloak, Niobe began to slowly unburden herself her traveller's trappings. It wasn't much; other than her purse it was just two well-worn bags. She set them down and lowered herself into the chair without turning towards the table. She tucked her hands between her thighs and tapped her foot. Her bandaged hand needed more attention but it could wait a little longer.

Niobe could talk to anyone, draw out their loves and fears, but here with Pollux she dreaded trying. She sensed there was almost no one he'd throw out of his tavern, but it was his heart where she needed refuge.

"Not this time," she said as a start. For some, telling the truth was difficult, but for Niobe it was all she knew.

"I'm sorry, Pollux. I shouldn't have left the way I did. I was angry and scared. And, truthfully, I didn't believe you needed me."

He'd told her exactly that, but she wouldn't hear it.

He didn't look at her as he returned to the bar, busying himself with searching for the good molasses that he knew Aquila kept hidden.  Truthfully.  The word hung in the air between them, his sister's reckless pride and her burden.  But that was what hurt most about her flight.  He knew that every word she'd spoken, she'd truly meant.

Steam was pouring out of the top of Hopkins now.  The cook-pot gave a little hiccup, and then, with a much louder belch, ejected a round yellow cake onto the plate in front of it. 

Somehow managing to look pleased with itself despite being cookware, the little pot rattled its lid in Niobe's direction, and then hopped back down to the floor, padding its way over to its owner.

Pollux had located the molasses behind a large jug of Jamaican rum.  As Hopkins jumped onto the bar next to him, he grabbed a wooden tankard, bent to fill it with a fizzling ale from one of the barrels under the bar, and then carried both the tankard and the jar of molasses over to his sister's table.

He placed both heavily on the table in front of her, and then pulled out the bench on the opposite side.  Swinging a leg over to sit, he crossed his arms tightly against his chest.

"That's not an explanation as to why you're here," he said at last, meeting her gaze directly.  She'd come to stay, that much was clear, with her worn travelers' bags and the hat she'd hung by the door.  "Alright, Lie-Slayer.  What brings you to St. Cyprian?  I'd like to know what risk I'm running by not turning you out directly onto the street."

It was cush cake. Aw, Niobe melted a little and wiped her nose. Pollux kept on with his passive aggressive care of her; he was bound to and entitled to it. She smiled a little at his threat, turning to the table and taking up the fork. 'Lie-Slayer'. Aye, she was that. But not every lie was a dragon. Some were friends, some were family. Slay too many lies and a one could find herself alone.

"The storm, it's growing," she said to the plate, to the happy little cake. "I thought we could weather it and we did, we did for months. We had to keep moving, ship to ship, port to port, we'd cover the moon to stay hidden. But they came closer and closer and closer. The cuts became too close and we'd run too far. Mari grew tired. But some of us can't sleep."

She took a bite of the sweet corn cake and closed her eyes to savor the texture and the nostalgia.

"I made a promise that Mari didn't," Niobe continued then looked up to Pollux. "She left and took Teni. I didn't have anywhere better to go, and I Knew where to come. So here I am. And that's all I brought with me."

She nodded at her bag.

For a traveler who had only been allowed inside on the good whims of his hospitality, his sister hardly made an effort to keep her words light.  No talk of reunions missed or travails carrying ones through, but rather of ominous winds blowing, of threatening squalls and dangerous gloom.

A coming storm.  That might have been what the breeze had carried to him the night before, aye, but even with his sister's spice mingling with it, it still didn't seem like quite the right name to put to it.  Besides, Niobe surely spoke metaphorically.  It wasn't a storm that was after her, but rather the Wizard's Council with their decrees about wand-bearing or the East India Company and their imposed dominance on the seas.

Still, the name of the lover that she'd left with tasted bitter.  He would have ventured that it wouldn't have taken her this long to leave Mari behind.

Finally, his sister got to the heart of her truth.  Nowhere better to go and a promise to someone else.  Pollux nearly cracked a smile.  Of course.  And aye, all she'd brought with her was her traveler's bag -- that, and the weight of all the long years she left strewn in her wake.

It was unlikely that he was going to get any more satisfying answers out of her, and Pollux was half of an inclination to send her on her way.  There were other inns in town, and his sister and her baggage could surely find a place to stay in any of them.  If there were a tempest bound for St. Cyprian, he'd just as soon keep his little public house as far from its eye as he could. 

But before he'd made up his mind decisively, there came a rattling sound from behind him on the bar.  The tavern owner paused, turning his head to look back at the little cook-pot, which had evidently decided to add its own tuppence to his considerations.

"There's an open room at the top of the stairs to the left," he said at last, turning his head to look back at Niobe.  "But don't bring any storms to my doorstep, sister.  If you can't sleep at night, run from your shadows somewhere else.  Don't invite them here."

"Pollux...!" Niobe turned in her chair again to face her brother fully, her voice tight and her brows knit.

She pushed the plate away and slid her hands behind the back of her neck. She'd forgotten how much Pollux made her crazy in the way only a brother could. She felt instantly transported to a time when they were young and found any reason to argue, Niobe insufferably prideful and Pollux insufferably high-roading. With anyone else, she'd have stayed the sage but with Pollux...

"I missed you. I need you. And you're going to need me, too, because whether I came or I stayed away, these winds are coming to St. Cyprian. Do you not want to weather it together? Are you...?"

She bit her lip and looked around for some kind of trapping of attachment. "Are you alone?"

They'd barely gotten to breakfast, and already the indignation was rising in his sister's voice.  Her tone made Pollux tense up too, as if it hadn't been all that long ago that they'd been igniting each other to the point of explosion.

Was he alone?  Pollux looked around bewilderedly at the public house, at Hopkins still perched on the bar, at the tables and benches that might be empty now but surely would fill once the day started to slip away.  He hadn't spent the last dozen-odd years racing off to face the unknown arm-in-arm with a lover, but that was because he'd built something.  That was why they'd gone their separate ways: Niobe had hungered for risk and adventure; he'd yearned to put down deep roots and nurture a place for community.

There might be a storm coming to St. Cyprian, with his faithfully-spoken sister as its harbinger, but it wasn't as if he were sixteen years old again, left to flounder in the world with only a cook-pot and a sibling to face it.  He'd built walls to keep out the gales and put down roots to serve as an anchor.  Niobe sounded so sure, but then, that was her gift and her curse.  Even though he'd thought the wounds she'd left had long since healed over, seeing her again made his pride feel too raw to accept even an honestly-spoken apology.

"That depends," Pollux shot back, eyes narrowing at his sister.  There was a bite to his tone now, a flickering heat, as if a forgotten ember had spent too long smoldering in the ashes and was now threatening to ignite once more.  "I've hardly driven everyone I know away with my incessant truth-telling and absolute refusal to compromise, if that's what you mean."

Niobe's mouth twisted up, trying not to cry. These last months, she'd lost so much. People she loved had been stolen and their memories wiped away. Any magical folk who helped the non-magical folk was locked up. She and Pollux had already lost their mother and their aunts and cousins when they'd fled Barbados. She'd come to Pollux bare, naively expecting him to see. Even if the Council or their mercenary arm had not followed her, the harms she'd done clung to her like barnacles latched in deep. He just needs time, she told herself. Until then, he wouldn't listen.

His non-answer about having someone told Niobe enough. She looked around again, trying to understand. The inn gently pulsed with warmth, the wooden beams saturated with the smells of food and ales. There were paintings of ships and old men on the walls, mismatched chairs married to their tables waited for their regulars, and the glass in the windows were carefully cleaned and clear. Here and there, little pieces of Barbados even. She saw it now. Pollux had everything to lose. Why wouldn't he protect it like one protected their heart?

"I can see this place you have made is important," she said, affirming what held his heart now. "I am not the last who will come here in need of it. If you'll not have me as your sister, then I'll take whatever you'd offer them."

Niobe stood up then and picked up her things. She needed sleep. The cornmeal cake didn't look satisfying anymore.

His sister's words threatened to soften the hardness inside his heart.  But that was her gift, too.  Niobe had long ago learned to wield her truth like a weapon: cruel and cutting in one moment, gentle and consoling the next. 

He wouldn't let that lighten him.  Pollux held onto his mistrust as he regarded her, skepticism sharpening his gaze. 

As much as he didn't want to listen, the words she'd spoken resonated a little too strongly.  She'd come here requesting respite, and yes, he'd give her what he would have given to any other traveler in need.  Perhaps that was the truth that he clung to, much as his sister adhered to hers.

But that was all that he'd give her.  And as Niobe rose now, abandoning Hopkins' gift of a warm, sentimental breakfast to retreat from his company, Pollux held fast to that newfound resolution.

"Left at the top of the stairs," he repeated warily. "If you bump into my barmaid, let her know you'll be lodging with us."

"Thank you, Pol," Niobe said and slid her chair back home. Then with a little bend and warm little smile, she spoke to the hopping pot like a child. "And thank you, little kettle. It warmed me deep."

Then without another look at Pollux, she went round and up the stairs, seeking that bed. The room was well cared for and the bedding was fresh. She began shedding layers until she was bare-armed. Then, she sat on the edge of the bed in the light from the window and began to unwrap the bandages from her hand slowing when it came to the layers close to her skin. There in her palm was the still healing-burned from a brand, fragrant with salve. The 'X' marked her as someone who'd helped the non-magical folk, werewolves, goblins, and vampires. She'd earned it keeping binding secrets.

From her bag, she drew out what she needed to tend to the injury, humming something soothing to herself.