Runescribe

by Megan Derr

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Book Details

  Runescribe

  About the Author

  MEGAN DERR

  Near-blind without his glasses, regarded as a burden to his family, Tyri left his clan to attempt a career as a runescribe in the city, taking his mute sister Vess with him so she doesn't grow up tormented as he was.

  But finding a job proves more difficult than he anticipated, and his last hope to avoid being thrown out on the streets depends on the interview he has that morning.

  A morning that comes crashing down on him by way of a thunderstorm and the stranger who runs into him and destroys his glasses…

  Runescribe

  By Megan Derr

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.

  Edited by Samantha M. Derr

  This book is a work of fiction and all names, characters, places, and incidents are fictional or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.

  First Edition December 2018

  Copyright © 2018 by Megan Derr

  Printed in the United States of America

  It was chilly when Tyri heard the knocker-up at the window. He groaned as he shoved his glasses on his face, climbed out of bed, and shoved the sash up. He leaned out, greeted by a face full of misty rain, and called out, "Thanks, Katy! Have a good day."

  "And you, Tyri!" She winked and went on to the next window.

  Tyri shivered, closed the window, and built the fire back up. It was a sad, tiny thing, as the room was barely big enough for the small fireplace and the furniture—which was just a bed, a rickety table and one chair, and a short, wobbly bureau.

  Once the fire was going, he tipped the last of the oats into a pot and added water and a pinch of their limited salt. Then he got dressed for the day, making certain his clothes and hair were especially neat. He had to make a good impression—a spectacular impression. If he didn't get this job, there'd be no rent money, and he and Vessie would be sleeping on the streets. Some big brother he was. But he couldn't be sorry he'd brought her along on his mad attempt to build a life outside of the clan that didn't really want either of them. Their job was entertaining people and selling stuff to people, and of what use were a basically blind man and a mute girl for either of those things?

  Not that he was sorry to have missed all that. He hated that life, and he loved being a runescribe, helping wizards with their work, being the highly skilled and capable assistant they simply could not live without.

  That was the dream, anyway. Whether or not he'd achieve it… Well, so far it had been one failure after another. He wasn't thrilled with this latest prospect, but he was in no position to be choosy. He'd work for Daleus for a year, obtain a warm apartment in a good neighborhood, far away from the slums they currently lived in, then look for work with someone whose opinions he didn't despise.

  He was just shaking Vessie awake when thunder cracked overhead. "Oh, no." He had to get to the job interview, and he couldn't afford to take a carriage to the end of the block, let alone clear across town. His only hope was to beat the storm. "Vessie, get up! I have to go. I'll be back in two hours. Behave! I love you!"

  Grabbing his satchel and slinging it over his shoulder, Tyri raced out of the room, down the rickety stairs, jumping past the missing or broken ones with absentminded familiarity, and ran as fast as he could.

  His feet splashed in puddles as he raced, which meant it had rained in the night too. He must have been sleeping hard to have missed that, but then it had been a long day moving cargo for a pittance.

  He ran, lungs burning, splashing through the streets, praying fervently that the rain held off just a little longer. Ten minutes. That was all he needed to reach High Street, at which point he could take covered walks all the rest of the way to the Hall of Magic.

  He looked up as thunder cracked loud enough it felt like the ground shook, even though he was running as fast as he could—

  And saw, far too late, the man who came running out of the alleyway.

  They collided painfully, and Tyri went down hard, cracking his head on the cobblestones. His glasses went flying, the world reduced to blurry colors. He scrambled frantically for his glasses, terrified—

  Only for the dreaded crunch of boots smashing glass into cobblestones to fill his ears. No. No, no, no.

  "Damn it," said the other man.

  Then, just because Tyri's world hadn't completely fallen apart, the rain finally let loose. It didn't even have the grace to start out slowly. The sky simply tore open and dumped rain that fell so hard it stung where it struck his skin.

  Tyri just sat there in the rapidly increasing mud and puddles, trying not to cry. It wasn't fair. He'd worked so hard to come this far. All he'd needed was for the spirits to give him this one morning, just one fucking morning where everything went right.

  Instead, as usual, everything was going horribly wrong.

  "Why are you sitting there? Come on, come on, this rain is too cold to linger in." The stranger yanked Tyri up and right against his side and threw something over him. A cloak. It was heavy, warm from the man's body heat, and seemed to repel water completely. That was expensive spellwork, never mind that the cloak seemed to be big enough for both of them.

  Tyri tried to speak—to thank him, to ask what was going on, to explain that he was blind without his glasses and would not be able to find his way home—but they were moving too quickly and his head was killing him, between hitting it and not being able to see, skipping breakfast so Vessie could have what remained of their oats, soreness and exhaustion from laboring the other day…

  He did cry then, as the loss of his glasses really sunk in. There was no way he'd be able to get new ones, not even at a junk shop, even pretending for two minutes that he could find his way to one. Vessie could guide him, but she couldn't speak, so if someone dangerous came upon them…

  How was he supposed to go home and tell his baby sister his clumsiness was going to leave them homeless and starving? Tyri just cried harder. At least the rain made it impossible for the stranger to notice; he didn't need that humiliation on top of everything else.

  "Come on," the stranger said. He had a beautiful voice, warm and bright, like standing in front of a crackling fire, wrapped in a soft, cozy blanket. "Just here, now."

  Tyri cried out as he struck what he realized too late were stairs and pitched forward—but he was caught at the last minute, dragged close again.

  "Are you alright?"

  "I can't see," Tyri bit out. "My glasses—my vision is terrible."

  "Of course," the stranger said, sounding genuinely contrite. "My apologies. It really was most stupid of me to bolt out of the alleyway like that. I should have had more care. Hang on tight."

  "What—" Tyri yelped as he was swept up off his feet and flailed briefly before finally managing to throw his arms around the stranger's neck. So close, the cloak still mostly, awkwardly wrapped around him, he was struck by hints of the stranger's cologne—night jasmine, anise, musk. Mercy. He wanted to roll around in that scent.

  He flushed hot. He must have hit his head hard to be thinking such a ridiculous thing about a man he hadn't even seen. His wits were finally well and truly addled.

  But mercy, that voice, that scent, and the way the man carried him like he weighed nothing… If not for the wretchedness of his day, and the fact he had not a single pence to his name, Tyri might have been inclined to try a bit of flirting.

  Then they were inside, though whether it was a house or a teashop or the home of the Great Spirits, Tyri couldn't begin to say. The man was giving orders to greenish blobs, nev
er pausing in his stride as he spoke. The blobs replied, but Tyri was too disoriented to really listen to what was being said.

  Finally, they came to a stop, and he was slowly lowered to his feet. "Where am I?" He pressed a hand to his aching head, which wasn't helped by the strain on his eyes. What was he going to do? Bad enough they would be homeless and starving, now he wouldn't be able to protect Vessie or look for work. Or do anything.

  "My home," the stranger replied, and clearly he thought that was an adequate answer, never mind that they could be on one of the moons for all Tyri knew.

  "I mean—hey, what are you doing!" Tyri tried to shove the man away but only got his hands knocked away for his efforts.

  "You can't stay in these sodden clothes; you're soaked clear to the bone."

  Tyri pulled away, face hot. "I can undress myself! I have bad eyes, not bad hands! If you please!"

  The hands vanished, and an infuriatingly delightful chuckle washed over Tyri. "My apologies." Something warm and soft was pressed into his hands. "Here is a dressing robe. I'll return in a few minutes."

  Then the man was gone. Without a name. A proper location. Nothing. What sort of mad fiend dragged a stranger to his home and began undressing him, all over broken glasses? Why not simply take him to a coffee shop or teahouse or something and resolve the matter there like a normal person?

  But then again, normal people would have probably given him some money to pay for the damages and gone on their way, without even asking if he could find his way home or to his destination. At most, they might have offered to pay for a carriage.

  Mad fiend or not, this man seemed to be trying to take care of him in a peculiar, roughshod way. Hopefully. Tyri couldn't, or wouldn't, think why else a stranger would drag him into their home without so much as a by your leave.

  Tyri stripped quickly, piling his clothes as best he was able, and shrugged into the dressing robe. It smelled like the stranger's cologne and was so soft he was hard-pressed to stop petting it. He looked around, trying to discern which blob might be a sofa or chair or something, but before he could decide which to try, the door slammed open again.

  "Ah, good. We'll get these cleaned and repaired, though it looks like the breeches are torn badly enough in the seat that you'll need a new pair. "Liste! Where are you? Oh. Why are you lurking over there?"

  "I didn't want to get smacked while you're flailing about," Liste drawled. "I prefer to drink hot toddies, not wear them."

  The man snorted a laugh. "Imagine that. Give it here, that one isn't for you."

  "Never say."

  "Oh, stop being impertinent and send the boys to fetch Borin and arrange for Clyra to come in the next few days. What are we having for supper?"

  "Food, same thing we have every Tensday," Liste retorted loftily, and then Tyri could hear the click of his heels fading off.

  Was Liste really a servant? How could he speak that way to his employer? Surely that was going to get him in trouble.

  But the stranger only laughed and bellowed after him: "Make sure there's enough for three!" He gently pressed something into Tyri's hands—a mug, so probably the hot toddy. "No, wait." He took the hot toddy back, rested a hand on Tyri's back, and led him over to what proved to be a ridiculously comfortable sofa. Tyri couldn't remember the last time he'd sat on anything but his creaky bed or the chair that was liable to break at any moment.

  "All right, now drink this," the man said, and gave him the mug again. "Liste doesn't believe in moderation, so there's lots of whiskey in that."

  Tyri held fast, terrified of dropping what felt like fragile, expensive china. "Thank you," he said, and took a sip, not certain what else he could do under the circumstances. It burned all the way down and left him gasping. "You were right about the whiskey."

  The man laughed. "You get used to it."

  Did the man even realize how silly it was to say that to someone he'd never see again after he was done…doing whatever he was doing? As much as Tyri would love to get used to being served hot toddies by wealthy lords with lovely voices and sexy cologne, such things didn't happen in even his wildest dreams. His only wish for the day had been to tell his sister he'd finally gotten a good job. He'd planned to spend his first whole week of pay, after rent and food, on her: clothes, shoes, toys, and books. All secondhand of course, but it would have been something.

  "Thank you for helping me, my lord. My name is Tyri Morsca."

  "Oh! Yes, names! My apologies—again. My name is Rathte. I apologize profusely for crashing into you like that and then promptly destroying your glasses. I am truly sorry for that; my impatience and rough edges should not harm others. But never fear, I've sent for the man who does my reading glasses and a tailor to get you in new clothes, since it's also my fault your breeches are quite ruined."

  "You needn't go to so much trouble," Tyri said. "I was running and not paying attention. It was as much my fault as yours, if it was yours at all."

  Rathte laughed. "Oh, it was my fault entirely. One expects people to run on the street, especially from an oncoming storm. But bolting blindly from an alleyway? I know better. I was just impatient to be home and distracted by my thoughts. How is the toddy? Too much whiskey? Should I have Liste make you a new one?"

  "No, no. It's wonderful. The best thing I've drunk in months." Not that it was hard to do better than tepid water, but even back when he was still with his clan, the toddies had never been like this.

  "Tyri Morsca," Rathte repeated. "That's a nomadic name. Dancing River Clan, I believe."

  Startled, Tyri said, "Yes, how did you know?"

  Rathte laughed again, and Tyri wished that he could see. Someone who smelled so wonderful and had such a lovely voice and beautiful laugh…

  It made his gut twist, though he couldn't say exactly why. Or didn't want to admit why, at any rate. Nobody like that was every going to regard someone like him with anything but pity.

  "I traveled extensively in my younger days," Rathte said. "Spent some time with the Sunflower Clan, helped them over the wintering in the Black Peak Mountains, met many of the other clans."

  "That's incredible." If they'd allowed him to travel with them and winter with them, they must hold this man is high esteem.

  "I was most honored by their invitations. I keep in touch with them to this day, go to see them whenever they're in the Valley."

  "Amazing," Tyri said, fighting back sudden tears. Dancing River wasn't nearly so kind or accommodating. Not with strangers. Not with those who left. "They must hold you dearly."

  "They do, though I don't deserve it. I was even more of a trial in my youth than I am now."

  "Youth? You don't sound even the slightest bit old," Tyri said.

  Rathte replied, "Thirty-seven."

  "That's not old."

  "Depends on the hour and the day. What about you? Not a day over twenty, I would wager."

  "Twenty-four," Tyri said sourly. He looked young, but not that young.

  "My apologies," Rathte said, a grin in his voice. "Now, then. My glasses master will be here shortly. Would you like something other than whiskey with a splash of tea and honey in the meantime? I'll have it brought," he promptly added, standing and calling for Liste, his voice fading off as, instead of simply waiting a moment, he went searching.

  Despite everything, Tyri laughed. Whoever Rathte was, he was quite the tempest. He reminded Tyri of his father a small bit, in that he handed out orders not because he just assumed everyone would obey him, but because it never occurred to him not to take control of a situation. His father, however, did get vexed when he wasn't obeyed, even if the order was a poor one. To judge by Rathte's interactions with Liste, he took corrections, suggestions, and adjusted accordingly—and didn't care if people smarted off.

  Rathte might be a mad fiend, but he seemed wonderful at the same time. He was dizzying in the best, worst way. Tyri's day might have been completely ruined, but at least he hadn't been knocked over by some heartless ass who'd left him on the str
eet.

  Tyri hid a sigh in another swallow of the toddy. What was he was supposed to do, now he'd missed a chance to interview with Daleus? Runescribe postings showed up so infrequently. He could go back to the docks or the nightsoil yards, but the more time he spent doing cheap labor, the less time he had to find work as a runescribe.

  Maybe his family was right, and this was all a stupid, futile waste of time, and he should have just done as the clan told him.

  Of course, there was always Forri and his despicable offer. Maybe it wouldn't be completely awful.

  Tyri swallowed, remembering the lascivious look on Forri's face, the mean glint in his eye, all the whispers from others in the slums who'd been desperate or foolish enough to accept Forri's offer.

  No, he couldn't. He'd probably change his mind after sleeping on the streets for a few days, but right now his answer was still no.

  Thinking about Forri ruined any desire for the food being brought. At least the whiskey was starting to take effect, dulling the whole world and quieting some of his tumult.

  "Now I know I can be a bit much for even my mother to take, but surely my company is not so bad as to look that wretched," Rathte said as he reappeared as suddenly as he'd departed.

  Tyri flinched. "No—of course not! I'm so sorry! I appreciate all you've done for me, of course. I simply was worrying—" He broke off as Rathte laughed and laughed.

  An arm fell across his shoulders, tugging him closer, causing the toddy to splash a bit on his robe. "No need to worry; we'll set all to rights. I am certain you will feel much better once you can see again, hmm? Liste has set the girls to getting your clothes in order, and he also took the liberty of setting your soaked bag and the papers within to drying out."

  "My papers!" In the tumult of it all, he'd completely forgotten about his bag and all the precious licenses, work history, and handwriting samples within.

  "No need to fret. Liste is an old hand at rescuing paper from ruin. From the look of your papers, you're a runescribe. So where were you going, my fine new friend, when I so rudely knocked you about? Is there an employer I need to inform of your whereabouts? I should have asked sooner. You should have said something!"