The Wandering Inn_Volume 1

by Pirateaba

For once, Lady Magnolia seemed off-balance. She exchanged a quick glance with her maid.

  “Then what did you have in mind?”

  “Twenty answers to twenty questions.”

  “You must be joking. Ryoka my dear—”

  “I’m not going to tell you everything. I’d answer a limited number of questions, but not everything.”

  For the first time, Lady Magnolia seemed genuinely shocked. She cast around for a reply.

  “You know, it may have been naïve of me, but I had assumed coming here that I would be able to name my own price for discrete assistance. But you have a price of your own, I take it. Ryoka, is your leg worth say, four hundred questions?”

  Ryoka gritted her teeth.

  “No more than eighty—no, forty questions.”

  “…I cannot accept that. Even two hundred questions—do you harbor such dire secrets that you must put a price on this?”

  “If you’ve got to ask, you know the answer. Forty questions. Take it or leave it.”

  Lady Magnolia blew out her breath in exasperation.

  “I am in shock. Truly. And if I called your bluff?”

  Ryoka’s eyed narrowed. She removed the sheets around her leg and swung herself out of bed. Her flesh screamed at her, but the bindings on her leg held it in place.

  “There’s the door.”

  Lady Magnolia didn’t move. Her eyes were transfixed on Ryoka’s bound leg, and even Ressa looked ill. But Magnolia was genuinely shocked. She knew what bad injuries looked like.

  “Ryoka. How are you still moving around on that leg?”

  “Magic. Duh.”

  Lady Magnolia blinked. She looked up and met Ryoka’s eyes.

  “And how many healing potions have you used up so far?”

  Ryoka shrugged.

  “Forty? Fifty? I lost count.”

  “And you’ve been sitting here, without going to see a proper [Cleric]? Why?”

  “Not enough money.”

  “And you didn’t visit me and request my assistance because…?”

  “If I tried to reach you, they’d run me over again.”

  Lady Magnolia’s frowned darkly.

  “No one would dare assault a guest on my doorstep.”

  Ryoka shrugged again.

  “It might happen. And I don’t want to lose both legs.”

  “I cannot believe—this goes beyond a mere act of sabotage. Whoever did this intended to cripple you. I trust you know this? Even an experienced [Healer] would have had a near-impossible task saving your leg.

  Ryoka grinned. Her face was deathly pale, but she kept herself propped up on her elbows.

  “They wanted to amputate it right away. I said no.”

  “And you won’t accept my offer?”

  Lady Magnolia stared at Ryoka. Her eyes pierced the young woman to her core, searching for the truth. That was what Ryoka was afraid of. But she met the eyes and shook her head.

  “Forty questions. That’s all I’d answer. A finite number, not everything.”

  Once again, she received the impression she’d truly surprised Lady Magnolia as the older lady hesitated and seemed to grapple with Ryoka’s offer. But the noblewoman shook her head at last.

  “A good gambler knows when to bet and when to fold. My offer stands. Answers to all my questions and I will have your leg healed by the end of the hour, my word on it.”

  Ryoka bit the inside of her lip until it bled and tried not to let her disappointment show on her face. But then, Magnolia would sense it either way, right? But she didn’t say anything. Instead, Ryoka collapsed onto her bed and stared up at the ceiling.

  Magnolia stared at her, still seemingly in a state of shock.

  “Incredible. And you still refuse. What secrets do you hold that would be worth that price, Ryoka Griffin?”

  Ryoka didn’t answer. After a moment, Lady Magnolia stood up.

  “Very well. I believe you will change your mind. I will wait for your response.”

  Still, Ryoka didn’t respond. She heard rustling, and then Magnolia pressed something cold and hard into her hand. Ryoka raised her head slightly and saw it was a strange medallion—bronze and seemingly not that expensive, but inlaid with a precious blue sapphire in the center of the metalwork.

  “Simply shatter the gem in the center and I will know you accept my terms.”

  Lady Magnolia stared down at Ryoka as the young woman lay on her bed. She didn’t even glance up at the noblewoman. Instead, Ryoka smiled bitterly at the ceiling.

  “You play hardball, huh?”

  “I gamble with lives and opportunity, Ryoka my dear. And I am convinced that this is a gamble worth taking. Accept my offer.”

  “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

  More silence, and then Ryoka sensed Lady Magnolia move towards the door. Ressa held it open for her, but the noblewoman paused in the doorway for a long minute.

  “Is information truly worth such a high price?”

  At last, Ryoka raised her head. She saw Lady Magnolia staring at her with what looked like genuine worry. Ryoka grinned. Her brow was covered with sweat and she was pale under her tan. She wasn’t really grinning, either. Just showing a lot of teeth.

  “You want trust. That’s too high a price for me.”

  Lady Magnolia paused and opened her mouth. Then she shook her head.

  “I will wait. But hurry, Ryoka. Your time is running out.”

  The door closed. Ryoka was left alone. She covered her eyes.

  “Damnit. Gods damn it all.”

  —-

  I’m an idiot. I have to cover my eyes to keep the tears from leaking. I’m such a complete and utter, stubborn idiot.

  I should have accepted her offer immediately. No—even if Magnolia wanted me to be her slave, or her maid, or to work for her for ten years I would have accepted her offer in a heartbeat.

  But she wanted me to tell her the truth. Damn it. Damn her and her insight. That’s the one thing I can’t give her. Ever.

  My leg is agony. But my heart is ice. And now that I’ve been given the offer, the path is clear. Two roads stretch out before me, and a world waits upon my choice.

  Is that dramatic? It’s too dramatic. But it is true.

  Stand up. I need another healing potion. My leg hurts—I need a clear head for it.

  I get up and open the chest. Pain shoots through my bad leg. Three healing potions. Damn it, again. I can’t waste them. Not if—

  Well, if I refuse there’s no point to them. They’re weak things, anyways. But they told me a stronger healing potion would start growing each fragment of bone out of my skin, and that would destroy my leg beyond any healing.

  Something. Oh. I see at the bottom of the chest the only thing I really own in this world. From my world. It lies at the bottom of my chest. Useless, without power. At least the earbuds are still attached, but again, useless without electricity.

  I look at the piece of plastic and metal lying at the bottom of the chest. Would she accept that instead? But I’d still have to tell her what it is, and that could be as potentially dangerous as—

  No. No, it’s worthless in any case. If there was power left in it I might be able to make the trade but—no. It’s information she wants. And that price is just too high for me to pay.

  “Information.”

  The word rots on my tongue. It sounds so stupid, so simple and easy to give away when you say it like that. And it would be simple for me to agree to answer however many questions.

  Except that Magnolia can read minds. Or sense untruths. And she’s cunning, smart enough to keep asking questions. If I gave her unlimited answers she’d have the entire truth eventually.

  I could lie. But she’d sense it if I didn’t intend to fulfill my bargain. Trapped, again.

  Pride be damned. I’ll go back and beg her if need be. The cost—I’ll think of it later. But even if it means selling part of my soul or my world’s secrets, I will run again.

  But…no. I
can’t do that. No, never. Because if she asks questions—

  If she asks questions she’ll learn about my world. Good? That’s fine. Even if she knows, can she get there so easily? I don’t think it matters. If someone could travel between worlds so easily, we’d already know about it. Maybe she could, but we have guns and way more technology that she does.

  But that’s the catch, isn’t it? We have technology, and if she asks more questions, she’ll know about our world’s technology. Not just things like hygiene or bacteria, but the things that should never be told. Secrets, jumps forward in capability that would make any nation a superpower in an instant.

  Gunpowder. Firearms. Germ warfare. Steam power, electrical power, locomotion. Everything from interrogation techniques to how to build a tank or a bomb. Nuclear weapons.

  Does it sound stupid to say it like that? I don’t know how to make nukes. But I do know what goes into gunpowder. I aced chemistry class. I know exactly how a turbine works, and I’m pretty damn sure I remember all of the techniques the FBI illegally used on terrorists.

  Damn it. It’s a moral choice, isn’t it? Lose my leg, or give away the secrets of death and destruction. If it were anyone else I could lie, or tell only small truths. But she can read my damn mind. And I know exactly where to gather all the ingredients of gunpowder. And guns wouldn’t be hard to make, not in this world.

  Lady Magnolia. I know nothing about her. Just rumors and that she’s a powerful and influential lady with wealth and connections. Even if she appears nice—especially if she appears nice—I have no way of knowing if she’d use that power to help or harm.

  No. It’s simpler than that.

  Even if I could trust her, the secret would spread. That’s how it works. She’d want to see a demonstration, and someone would put the pieces together. Ressa, her maid, maybe. Sooner or later technology would spread. I’d be responsible for bringing guns into the world. And maybe it’s not that far away from that level of technology already but—

  “Belfast. Beruit. Phnom Penh. All flesh is grass.”

  When I was a girl, I went to the Newseum in Washington D.C. I saw the pictures on the walls. I looked at the children, the dying and the dead. My dad thought I was too young to understand.

  All flesh is grass. The “War Photographer” by Carol Ann Duffy. Is it a straight line between bringing the capabilities of gunpowder to the world and terrible war? No. But where there is knowledge, there is power. And even if she used her power to help her nation, that would only lead to war in the end.

  Napalm. Mixed petroleum with a natural or synthesized rubber like latex. It wouldn’t be hard to create the same kind of thing. Not with Magnolia’s influence.

  I want to run. I want to walk again.

  I’m no Walter White. But I remember too much. Too much National Geographic and other shows about the world. Not a perfect memory. But too close.

  Damn it. I can’t do it. I don’t want to be the one who creates a Hitler or gives another white…woman a gun and a mandate to conquer the world. But I want to run.

  I can’t figure it out. I can’t decide. I waited a week—a damn week for her to arrive. In pain and fear. And now that she offered me what I was dreaming of I should have leapt at it. But I hesitate. I draw back.

  I sit on the edge of the abyss and wonder if my soul burns well in hell. It’s not fair. All I ever want to do was run. I don’t want to lose my leg. I want to run. I want to live. I want to walk.

  I don’t want to see the child sitting alone. I don’t want to see the vulture. I don’t want it to be my fault.

  Alone, I sit in my room, sitting with the fate of two worlds in my hands. This world’s, and my world. I live to run. My legs are what define me.

  The medallion is cold in my hands. I could shatter the gem in an instant. Grind it against the floorboards. It would be so quick, so easy.

  It would—

  The door opens. I look up. A face like perfection and a dream stares at me. Half perfection, half mortal. The cruelest of both worlds. Ceria Springwalker.

  She hesitates, and then steps into the room. I expect hollow words and hollower promises. I expect to be let down, or to feel nothing but despair. But she doesn’t bring any of that.

  She brings salvation.

  —-

  “I know it’s bad.”

  Ryoka sat on the bed. Ceria stared at her leg, and then looked away.

  “I’ve seen an injury like that before. I’m aware it can’t be healed so easily. I’m not sure if your friend really understood—”

  “She doesn’t. It doesn’t matter. She can’t help. Neither can you.”

  “We owe you a debt. You might not understand it, but Calruz hired every member of the Horns of Hammerad because we believe in honor. If we can help, we will.”

  Ryoka bared her teeth.

  “Got a few hundred gold coins?”

  “No. That’s beyond us, frankly. Even if we sold our armor and weapons – and Calruz might, to impress you – I doubt we’d be able to get close to a [Cleric] of that level. They’re in constant demand. Thousands camp around the church in Tenbault each day, hoping the [Cleric] there will heal them. Even if we had the money they charge it would take a miracle.”

  Ryoka grunted. Her hand was clutching a medallion Ceria recognized. A simple spell was embedded in the gem in the center. She made no comment. Instead, Ceria looked at Ryoka. Ryoka gazed back.

  What the young woman saw, Ceria could guess. A half-breed, perhaps. A memory of what was lost, or maybe she just saw a mage, someone who pursued strange goals few understood. It didn’t matter. And for some reason, Ceria thought that the Runner known as Ryoka Griffin looked at her differently than the rest. But duty was duty. Honor was honor.

  “My peo—I don’t trust the nobility.”

  Ceria glanced sidelong at Ryoka, as if hoping for a conformation. Ryoka grunted.

  “I don’t trust anyone.”

  “I know that Lady Magnolia offered you…something. I saw her on the way in. You might want to accept, but all deals have a price. Even if she doesn’t say, she’ll want something.”

  “I know.”

  “A spell is probably the only way to cure your leg. But there’s magic that she offers, and then there’s…another way.”

  “Another way?”

  Ryoka looked at Ceria. Her eyes seemed to pierce the young half-elf to her core. Ceria Springwalker had lived for forty years, but she hadn’t ever seem someone as desperate as Ryoka.

  “Tell me.”

  The eyes seemed to be boring a path straight into her soul. Ceria took a deep breath.

  “…How do you feel about necromancy?”

  1.28

  After a few days, Erin concluded that she had three types of customers. The first type was the Antinium, namely Pawn and the Workers. He brought them every day, or every other day as soon as the sun touched the tops of the mountains in the south.

  The south. Apparently, the sun set closer to the south than the west in this world. Erin felt stupid for not noticing earlier, but then, she didn’t carry around a compass, did she?

  But the Workers arrived like clockwork, many bringing chess sets of paper or stone. Apparently, Workers did earn some kind of pay and they spent their money exclusively on chess and food.

  Erin felt bad about that, especially given the price she charged for acid flies. But Pawn told her that before this, the Workers didn’t claim any of their weekly stipends. And besides, they ate like pigs. Starving pigs with a taste for crunchy flies.

  But despite their obsession with her food, the Antinium were polite, quiet except when they were eating, and they played chess. In other words, Erin would have been glad to have them over every night.

  The second kind of guest she got were the Goblins. They were like the Workers, but smellier, dirtier, and they paid her with coins covered in blood, dirt, and occasionally—

  Erin had instituted a policy in her inn. Goblins had to jump in the stream, or at least was
h themselves before they were allowed in. Not that many visited. In truth, it was just Rags and her posse.

  And it was a posse. Or a group. Or gang. Erin was sure she was the leader of whatever they were, but while Rags was in command, it was also clear that she wasn’t in charge of her tribe, if there was still a tribe.

  Occasionally the small Goblin would come in alone, but often she had two bigger Goblins following her. They were almost always injured—not seriously, but with small wounds that suggested scuffles and fighting. Erin wondered if the reason she didn’t see more Goblins was because they were recovering from injuries.

  Nevertheless, Rags paid for her followers’ meals and her own and ate in silence. Occasionally she played a game of chess, but Erin got the distinct impression the small Goblin was watching her.

  That was fine, but Erin had grown…warier over the last few days. She always checked to make sure she knew how many Goblins were around her inn, and even when Rags was alone in her inn, Erin never left any knives or other weapons out in the open. She also made the Goblins leave whatever they were carrying outside the inn.

  Still, if the Goblins were an issue that occasionally made the Workers pause and Erin count the knives in her kitchen, they were still decent customers. They paid money, which was more than Erin could say for the last type of guest: annoying mage.

  “Do you know how much money you owe me for all these meals?”

  Pisces looked up, mouth bulging around a bowl of soup. He swallowed, grabbed a piece of bread and munched it down before replying.

  “I am as always reliant upon your good graces and tolerant nature, good mistress. Rest assured I will pay off my debts in due time as soon as I acquire the necessary funds.”

  Erin planted her hands on her hips. The inn was empty except for Rags sitting in one corner, slurping down another bowl of soup.

  “You keep saying that, but do you actually have any money on you?”

  Pisces raised his eyebrows.

  “What is money but a concept? If you are referring to the notion of money, I am indeed wealthy in—”

  “Coins. Do you have them?”

  “Not as of such, no.”

  He shrugged as Erin glared and went back to his soup. It was amazing how Pisces could manage to scarf down her food and still grimace at the same time.