by RG Long
Pearl glared down the end of her very long nose at Blume. Her skin seemed to be hanging from her skeletal figure. A few chin hairs were made more prominent by the fact that her face was the shape of a crescent moon. Her forehead and her chin both stuck out much farther than her nose, and that was quite the accomplishment. She dressed as one who had great wealth.
Which made her presence in such a tiny inn very odd.
“Well she didn't grate my ears, as the last few entertainers you've had here did,” Pearl said. Blume assumed this was an attempt at a compliment.
“What was that song you were singing? The one just now?” she asked, stroking her chin with her bony fingers.
“It's called 'The Flight of Ingur,'” Blume answered, trying to be more confident than she felt. For some reason, she felt as if Pearl were someone to be fearful of. “It's one of my favorites.”
Pearl considered her for a moment, stroking her chin.
“Yes,” she said after what seemed like a very long time. “Ingur. Nasty elf settlement up north I believe.”
She said it more as a fact than a commentary.
Blume tried not to narrow her eyes in disgust.
“Yes, I believe it is north of Sea Gate,” she responded.
“Was north, you mean,” Pearl replied as she sipped from her cup of wine. “Was north,” she repeated. “The Mercenaries have made short work of those spindly legged creatures and are putting their forests to good use I hear. Ship building. Many companies from Sea Gate went north to harvest the lumber and are floating them down the coast to build a massive fleet. It's been great business for my husband. He's the owner of the leading shipbuilder in the entire country.”
Blume now understood why she disliked Pearl so much.
Beryl laughed.
“Now don't go bragging to this wee one,” she said as she pinched Blume's cheek. “She'll know all about your husband later. Didn't you say you could get her a job at the theater you own, Pearl?”
Pearl smirked at Beryl and petted her hand.
“Shush now, Beryl,” she said in a sickly sweet voice. “No need to be getting the young one's hopes up. Especially if she keeps singing trash.”
She turned back to Blume.
“I very much enjoy your singing,” she said to her. Blume sat smiling as best she could, though she was attempting to hold back the desire to throw the woman's wine in her face.
“Do learn some proper songs and perhaps I can have use of you in larger venues, hmm?”
Blume widened her fake smile and, as she scooted off of the bench, bowed to Pearl.
“Yes ma’am,” she said. As her face bowed, she rolled her eyes.
“Please excuse me,” she said. “I must tend to the guests' rooms or Miss Beryl will throw me out!”
Beryl laughed and pinched Blume's cheek.
“I could never throw you out, dearie,” she said in a singsong voice. “But yes, do get to the linens. I would hate to lose you to Pearl, but as she's my oldest friend, I may very well try to have you singing for larger audiences sometime soon!”
Blume walked away from the table and up the stairs to fluff the pillows and gag.
She remembered the talk in Weyfield of the inferiority of the lesser races.
And she promised herself never to sing for Pearl again, unless it was an elven ballad or dwarven march.
That woman deserved no songs of her own liking.
***
THE TRIO CONTINUED at the inn week in and week out. The only problem was that they worked from sunup until way past sundown and barely had anytime to figure out what their next move should be, let alone do any spying at all. This frustrated Blume to no end, but she was willing to be patient in order to find the right opportunity.
“The Sly Pirate,” which was the name of the inn of which the three found themselves employed, was a small establishment. Ten rooms, five on the second floor and five on the third, held its overnight tenants. The bottom floor was a combination kitchen, dining room, and reception area for guests.
Abigail helped serve the food to any who ate. Mostly her guests were from the night before or ones who planned on staying the next night. She busied herself busing tables, refilling drinks, and making lots of small talk. She excelled at the latter and received many compliments for being able to talk to any who came in for the night.
Jeremy was helping keep the books for the old man, as he proved himself valuable at keeping record of transactions and helping the old innkeeper find ways to make an extra coin here or there. When he wasn't dealing with the books, he assisted the wife in the kitchen. He was no cook, but he could follow directions to the letter. For a simple stew or plate of fish, Jeremy proved more than capable.
Blume's job was to sweep and mop, make the beds and see to the linens. When she wasn't fluffing a pillow or cleaning up a spill from a guest who had far too many drinks of the Pirate's best ale, she was singing to entertain the diners.
She had never guessed that she would sing for any to listen, save friends or family, but the innkeeper's wife had heard her while she cleaned and almost insisted her to sing for the group who were finishing their meals and heading to bed.
Before she knew it, Blume had sung three songs and had to sing them all again due to rapturous applause.
The old innkeeper and his wife were pleased with their newfound staff and asked few questions, for fear of losing such a wonderful (and inexpensive) team. They hadn't suspected their story in the least, which was good because not a one of them could tell it over again. How three supposedly teenage friends had shown up in Sea Gate without relative or reason was nothing to fuss over, Beryl, the innkeeper's wife said. What mattered was helping the poor orphans find a place.
Blume didn't remember explaining that their parents had all died tragically (as far as she knew, Abigail and Jeremy both had full families back in Thoran), but didn't bother to correct her either.
All was well for the trio in the inn.
All except for the innkeeper's son, that is.
Marvin and Beryl were old. Probably somewhere in their seventies and unable to carry out the heavy lifting that running an inn required. Especially a three-story inn. That's where Drake helped out. He was the one who worked the crank to get barrels of hot water from the upper rooms and then poured into the tubs and basins there. He was the one who collected the waste containers from each room and emptied them outside. Drake was also the one who would deal with the very unruly customers who showed up from time to time and were too drunk to dispose of themselves.
All this lifting had made Drake very strong. He was also quite the good looking man, being around thirty years old. Which would have been welcomed, had he been warm hearted and kind. But Drake was terrifying. He was mean and bullied Jeremy to no end. Both Abigail and Blume had been the unwilling target of his advances on them. As long as Marvin and Beryl were nearby, however, there was nothing to fear from Drake. They shooed him away with a sad look in their eyes whenever the girls complained. Sometimes he would be gone for a few days’ at a time, leaving the trio to do his heavy lifting as a team.
When he would return, it would be either in a drunken rage or in tears of sorrow and remorse.
Blume never knew.
So when Drake came back from one of his four-day absences, the trio did their best to stay close together. It wasn't too hard, as they shared a room on the top floor and the inn was far from capacity that night. Since word had gotten around that the inn had improved its staff, the little Sly Pirate had enjoyed better business than it had in years. Blume was singing every night, Jeremy was making sure Marvin collected every coin he was due, and Abigail talked the ear off of any patron who would listen.
Six rooms were full that night, not including the one Blume and the others shared. Marvin, Beryl, and Drake lived in a house that shared a wall with the inn. In fact, a door opened from the inn's kitchen over to their modest two-story home, but out of respect for her employer's privacy, Blume never tried to enter th
rough it. At least while they were watching.
Drake stumbled into the inn with a dark bottle in his hand. He slumped over to a table and laid his head upon it.
A few patrons looked around, startled at this new addition to their dinner, but Abigail calmed any anxieties.
“Oh don't worry about him, that's the innkeeper's son. Looks like he's had a bit much tonight. He ought to stay asleep there for some time. I once watched him sleep for ten hours straight like that.”
Drake slept on the table for the rest of the evening. By the time the other patrons had gone to bed, the dining room had been cleaned, and the dishes put away in the kitchen, the trio was exhausted.
Abigail and Jeremy headed up the stairs first. Blume had seen a fork that Jeremy had left out on the table and went to retrieve it. Before she realized what she was doing she found herself reaching for the utensil that was right next to the sleeping Drake.
She hesitated for a moment, shook her head, and quickly grabbed the fork away. Drake continued his heavy breathing and didn't stir.
Blume let out a sigh of relief and walked off to the kitchen.
She didn't know why the older man bothered her so. She had not felt like this when she was with Ealrin, or even Holve, as grumpy as he was.
With them she had felt safe. Maybe it was because they had saved her life before they even knew who she was. But when she was around Drake, all she felt was a sense of foreboding and a desire to not be alone with him.
After washing and putting away the fork, Blume returned to the dining room and began to make her way upstairs. When she had ascended only a few steps, she paused and looked back at the dining room.
The small fire in the hearth was dying out, but it cast enough light for her to plainly see that Drake was no longer asleep at his table.
He was gone.
Blume began to climb the stairs again, hoping that he had stumbled over to his house.
Looking up, however, she found herself less than an arm's length away from Drake, who was two stairs higher than she was.
"You're way too pretty to be all alone tonight," he said in a drunken slur. "I could fix that."
He lunged at her with his great strong arms, but Blume was too quick for him. She ducked underneath his reach and ran up the stairs. She didn't even look back when she heard him tumble and fall to the bottom of the stairwell, cursing.
Blume flew up both of the staircases until she had practically knocked down the door to her room and slammed it shut behind her. She turned the latch to lock the door, and then turned around to see Jeremy and Abigail giving her puzzled looks.
"Drake," she said as she slumped to the floor, leaning against the door for support.
***
"I THINK HE'S A DISGUSTING man," Abigail said as Blume related her story to her companions. The two girls sat on the bed they now shared. "He really is gross. His breath always reeks of alcohol and he keeps staring at me like a carnivorous wolf. I wish he'd stop it."
She was tying knots over and over again in her head covering. It was quite fortunate that she worked with the food at the inn. Her constant adornments of bandanas and headpieces were all in the name of keeping her hair out of her eyes as well as out of patron's food.
None had yet questioned her about her elongated ears. They hadn't seen them.
But the bandana she now yielded was becoming frayed due to her angrily messing it over and over again. Blume gently took it from her.
"You'll have to make another if you keep treating that like its Drake's neck," she said with a smile.
Abigail laughed.
"I just wish he'd leave us alone," she added as she examined her nails. Blume saw that they had become cracked and broken in places. The constant handling of food and dishes had given her hands a rough time.
"Perhaps you could tell Beryl? Or Marvin?" Jeremy suggested as he lay on the floor. He spoke to them from the other side of the sheet they had hung to create a privacy barrier between what was now called the girls' side and the boys' side.
The room was quite small. If Blume and Abigail held hands, they could reach opposite walls both length and width. It didn't matter. It was more than they could have asked for. The bed was soft enough and better than the stones of the street. Jeremy said he preferred the floor. He had gathered a few blankets and made a pallet on which he slept each night.
Whether he was being chivalrous or truthful, Blume couldn't tell.
One armoire with two drawers was the only other piece of furniture the room had to offer. No chairs or desks. Those went to the paying patrons.
"I'm not sure if it would break Beryl's heart to know what we think about her only son," Abigail said.
"No one wants to hear that somebody thinks your own flesh and blood is an evil disgusting pervert."
Jeremy poked his head around that sheet.
"You really hate him?" He asked.
Abigail rolled her eyes at Jeremy and then gave him a stern look.
"You wouldn't understand, you're a boy," she said emphasizing the word boy.
"I'll come of age in less than two years’ time," Jeremy said as he came around the sheet and sat on the end of the bed. "And that's in dwarf years. I've been a man in human terms for almost 10 years now!"
"No one invited you over to the girl side!" Blume said as she threw her pillow at him.
"Plus, that means you’re as old as Drake anyways. You tell him to quit looking at us like we are pieces of meat," she continued.
Jeremy threw the pillow back at her.
"That doesn't seem very prudent seeing as I'm supposed to be younger than both of you," he replied. "How would you like to be corrected by a 13-year-old?"
Blume knew he was right; she just didn't want to agree with him.
"We ought to be talking about how we can spy on the small army that's gathered here," she said, trying to change the conversation.
"I've heard some of the patrons complaining about all the military in town. That includes some of the mercenaries as well."
The mercenaries, or Mercs, were Androlion's personal soldiers, with no allegiance other than to the man himself.
"I don't see how we'll have time to spy on anybody with how hard we have to work here," Abigail said with the tiniest of squeak in her voice.
Blume knew that squeak meant that Abigail was still scared of the idea,but didn't know how else they could be useful in this war. Certainly not by cleaning up an old inn.
"I think we should be talking about how to save our money and go back home," Abigail said in a very small voice.
"Back home?" Blume said, surprised. "We can't go back yet! We need to find out what the Southern Republic has planned! We need to help Princess Teresa!"
Jeremy and Abigail exchanged a small glance.
Blume looked back-and-forth between the two of them.
"What?"
"Well," Jeremy began. "I'm not sure how much good we'll do trying to spy. Who knows what could happen to us if we get caught? Tortured or worse. Perhaps it would be wiser for us to avoid confrontation and try to return home."
“Do both of you feel this way?” Blume asked, her voice rising.
Abigail looked down at her fingers. Jeremy remained stoic, but spoke again.
“We both have families. Granted mine has never really understood my affection towards magic instead of working the earth, but they are still my only familial connection. Abigail feels the same,” he said, motioning to her with his hand.
Abigail didn't deny him, but didn't speak up either.
Blume was livid.
“And neither of you told me that's how you felt? Why didn't you tell me?” she demanded.
“Because we knew this is how you'd react,” Abigail said. She looked up from her fingers at Blume.
“I know you lost your family. You never talk about it, but they told us a little at school before you attended your first lesson. We were told not to bring it up. I don't know what happened or why, but I know you're alone. That ha
s to be hard, I don't doubt it for a moment. But we have families. My mom is probably worried sick and my dad will have paced the floor raw.”
Blume jumped off the bed and began pacing herself; trying to figure out why her friends couldn't understand the position they had been put in. How much help they could be! Jeremy backed further onto the bed. Abigail stayed put.
“I spoke to a sailor a few days ago,” she continued. “He said we could probably barter passage to River Head for as little as fifteen coins a piece. Just two weeks’ worth of work and we could go home!”
Blume stopped pacing.
“Home? Home! Thoran isn't my home! My home burned to the ground because of these... these monsters that call themselves the Mercs! They murdered my brother right in front of my eyes! They killed my mom and dad, too! Do you think they'll stop with that? Do you think they'll just quit killing and leave Thoran alone?”
She was beginning to yell.
Jeremy scooted closer to the edge of the bed and hissed at Blume.
“Be quiet! If someone overhears your ramblings...”
“Ramblings!” she yelled even louder than before. “It's not rambling, it’s the truth!”
"What do you think they would do to you if they found out you were a dwarf, Jeremy?" She said pointing a finger at him. "Or what about you, Abigail? Do you think they'd let you go because you're a kid? They murdered my younger brother! They would do the same to you!"
She was livid. Blume couldn't understand how her friends wouldn't take advantage of the opportunity they had been given. If they were in Sea Gate
, their best move would be to find out what their enemy was doing. And soon.
Blume grabbed her coat out of the armoire and hastily put it on.
"If I can't get a dwarf and an elf to come with me to save their own races, I guess I'm going to have to do it myself," she said, turning to walk out of the room. She turned the latch on the door and swung it wide open.
Framed in the doorway was the massive figure of Drake, a scheming smile twisted on his lips
