by RG Long
A fury rose up inside her.
“Get your hand off of me,” she demanded through clenched teeth.
Drake leaned in closer and nearly whispered in Blume's ear.
“Make me,” he said.
The blast of energy that sprang from Blume's hand sent Drake flying backwards into the hallway.
She nearly fainted as she felt the energy being drained from her body. Holding back was still a lesson in Speaking that she needed to learn. Blume steeled herself and grabbed Abigail and Jeremy by the hands.
Jeremy had been clutching his head, with Abigail next to him, seeing if he was ok.
“Grab your things,” she told them. “We have to leave. Now!”
They each shoved their belongings into a sheet or towel, tied them up, and ran down the stairs.
Drake was stirring in the hallway. A terrible sounding moan escaped his lips.
Blume wasn't sorry she didn't kill him.
Several patrons poked their heads out of their doors to see what all the commotion was. When the trio got to the bottom of the last staircase, Beryl was there in her night clothes and hat. She had her broom in her hands as if she was wielding a sword.
“What in heaven's name is going on, Blume?” she asked them. Then her eyes went wide as she stared at Abigail.
“You're.... You're an elf!? In my inn!”
Blume looked back and realized that in the commotion, Abigail hadn't put her bandana back on. Her ears were prominently displayed for all to see.
Abigail tried to reach for the headpiece in her towel and say something to the innkeeper's wife at the same time.
“Drake attacked Blume, Miss Beryl. He nearly...”
“Suns protect us, an elf!” she said loudly over Abigail. She swung her broom in their direction. “Shoo! Get out! Out I say! Blume, my darling, come away from that creature!”
But Blume didn't heed Beryl's words. She grabbed Abigail's hand and ran from the inn as quickly as she could. Jeremy followed closely behind. Many more guests were stirring and coming down the stairs to see what all the yelling was about.
They didn't stand around to try to explain themselves any further to anyone.
Out into the streets of Sea Gate, the trio fled.
THE CITY WAS STILL bustling with life, but not the kind that was appropriate for daylight. Blume had steered them clear of the main street and onto a different area of town that was closer to the docks. The Sly Pirate was on the north side of Sea Gate. Blume was taking them as far south as she could judge.
Beggars walked the streets, talking to other vagabonds or warming themselves by makeshift fires.
A few women, dressed in revealing clothing and fancy jewelry, talked with any passerby who walked by the heavily perfumed building. Many different colored lights came from the first floor windows, but on the second story of the building, not an opening could be seen.
On an old bench, several men sat and smoked their pipes, watching Blume, Jeremy, and Abigail walk by.
“Why can't we stop, Blume?” Abigail asked. “Not that I've seen any nice places to stop and rest, but I mean, why can't we stop and try to figure out where we are and try to find a place to sleep tonight? I'm awfully tired and my feet hurt.”
Blume looked back at Abigail and saw the tired look on her face. Her own feet were dragging as well. Jeremy looked better than they did, but he may have just been trying to look like he was ok.
In truth, they were all exhausted.
Blume turned down one street, then another, and then an alleyway.
They found themselves, once again, in a dark alley with stone walls on either side. Blume directed them behind some boxes, pushed a few to block them from sight, and then sat down, exhausted, on the sheet and blanket she had purloined from the Sly Pirate.
“I was hoping for another inn, Blume,” Abigail said pitifully as she also sat down on the dusty alleyway floor. “Maybe we can find one in this area, though it seems a little bit more of a run-down part of town in my opinion.”
“We can no longer find comfort in a reputable lodging facility, I fear,” Jeremy interjected, his back turned to them as he looked over the boxes and barrels for any potential followers.
Abigail blinked and looked up at him.
“Why's that?” she inquired.
Blume ached for the realization Abigail would have. That she, as well as Jeremy, had already assumed.
“Abi,” Jeremy said in a consoling tone as he dropped down beside her. “We just ran from a small inn with a very old innkeeper who has lots of friends in the city. Many of them, I'm sure, will soon hear about the elf who hid her race as she worked for The Sly Pirate. And if they see Blume or myself, they'll know for sure that we are still with you. And if they find out your true lineage...”
Jeremy shuddered.
“You heard Beryl. Even after all you've done to help her run her business, she told you to shoo. Just because of your blood. Because of your race.”
A small tear trickled down Abigail's cheek.
“But... but... she was so nice before. Maybe... maybe she didn't mean to say...”
She wasn't really able to get out many more words than that. She buried her head in Jeremy's shoulder and Blume looked on at them.
An elf and a dwarf in a city that didn't want them. Far from their parents. Far from anything they had known as familiar.
Maybe Jeremy was right.
Maybe they needed to find a way home.
She was so tired, though. Her spell and the subsequent flight from the inn had winded her. She needed rest. They all needed food. A plan to get home would have to wait until morning.
Blume had just come to that conclusion, when a box tumbled over and a man wielding a whip and a near toothless grin stepped forward.
“Ah. Some street urchins, eh? It's to the shops with you three!”
A crack of his whip was the last thing Blume heard before passing out.
BLUME WOKE TO THE SMELL of dust and sweat. She jerked awake as she realized she was sleeping on some terrible smelling mattress. It took her a moment to orient herself and take in her surroundings.
She was in a warehouse with a three story high ceiling. Several low burning lamps showed her that she was not alone. Rows and rows of bunk beds were neatly lined up in four rows. Two touched the walls of the giant room, while the middle two touched each other. The sound of a large group of collective breathing echoed in her ears. She looked down at her body and saw that, instead of the clothes she had worn in the escape from the inn, she wore a stained nightgown and nothing more.
Then she remembered.
She had been nearly drug here by a group of men, led by the one with the whip. Blume was so exhausted she had barely been able to walk, let alone protest. Their belongings had been taken and put into a chest, and then they were given these awful clothes to wear.
Wait a moment, Blume thought as she processed what had happened. Jeremy! Abigail!
She looked frantically about for signs of her friends. She didn't need to look far for one of them.
Abigail was sleeping in the bunk above hers. Or at least, she was lying down. When Blume jumped out of her bed to look around, she had just barely laid eyes on her companion when a voice called out.
“Hey! You! Back in bed!”
The shrill call echoed throughout the warehouse. Many of those who had been feigning sleeping gasped sharply.
Blume, still too tired to resist, climbed back into bed and began to whisper to Abigail.
“Psst. Psst. Abigail. Are you ok?” she said as softly as she could, hoping she could be heard.
A squeak was her only answer.
“Abigail,” Blume continued. “I don't know where we are, but I'm going to get us out of here.”
“Hush!” came a whisper, not from the same shrill voice that previously quieted Blume, but from another, much closer and smaller sounding person.
“Do you want breakfast in the morning or not? Keep quiet!”
Blum
e didn't respond to the voice, or even dare look over to see where it came from.
All she heard were the small, stifled sobs from the girl lying on the bunk just above her.
BEFORE EITHER OF THE suns had risen to shine their light through the large windows of the bunkroom, a horn blast sounded. Blume nearly fell out of her bed. The others around her were much quicker to their feet and their shoes as the same shrill voice from last night called out.
“Breakfast! If you ain't there in five minutes, you won't have a scrap to eat!”
Blume saw, laid neatly next to her bed, two pairs of beat up shoes. They looked to be ten years old at least. Abigail quietly climbed down from her bed. She didn't look Blume in the eye. Instead she just stared at the ground.
“Hey! New kids!” called a girl who was walking quickly past them. “You better hurry up if you want something to eat. But don't get your hopes up about how good it'll be.”
Blume noticed the girl seemed no older than ten and wore the same type of stained nightgown as she did. Her hair was tangled and her shoes mismatched.
The two girls quickly tried on the shoes and found that neither fit them very well. They went with the least uncomfortable choice and followed the line of girls filing out through a small door.
The door lead into another room in the giant warehouse, nearly identical to the one they just came from. Instead of beds, however, this room had tables lining the floor. Candles in beaten up and rusty holders provided the only light. Benches stood on either side of the tables and looked ready to tip over at any moment.
Two lines were forming up at the head of the room, which Blume could see had a large table holding stacks of bowls.
"Are they going to serve us breakfast?" Abigail asked in a small squeaky voice. Blume didn't have to look back to know that her friend was fighting back tears.
She also didn't have to answer either.
"I suppose you could call it breakfast," the girl in front of Blume said underneath her breath.
"Every meal here looks the same. And if I were you, I wouldn't complain if you want to eat."
Blume quickly glanced back at Abigail and saw everything she expected. Her eyes were bloodshot and your cheeks were red and puffy. She must have spent the whole night crying.
"Whatever it is, make sure you eat a lot," she told her.
As they got closer to the table at the front of the room, Blume could see the other line was all boys. None of them looked older than 18 years, just like the girls.
Blume copied the girl in front of her and took a small wooden bowl from the stack as well as a spoon. She held it out to a very large cook who ladled her out some broth.
"Fresh meat?" The cook growled at Blume. He let out a gurgling, vile laugh.
"Better get used to my cooking, you little wretch. It's all you'll eat! Tell me you liked it or you won't need to have any supper tonight!"
Blume look down at the broth and couldn't see the bottom of her bowl. An unidentifiable chunk or two floated in the semi brown soup but that was it. She looked back up at the cook and was about to say something about not having enough, when the little girl who had gone in front of her caught her eye. She shook her head violently at Blume, and motioned for her to keep walking.
"Something wrong?" The cook asked in a mocking tone.
"No," Blume said as she hurried to follow the girls walking back to the tables to take their seats.
Abigail set down quickly next to Blume and picked up her spoon to take a mouthful of the broth.
A bony hand knocked the spoon into her face, spilling her soup as well.
“No one eats until they've said their thanks,” said a gray haired woman, towering over everyone in the room. She was bone thin and her eyes were sunk back into her head. Half of the teeth on the bottom of her jaw were missing. Only the other half from the top of her mouth gave her a full set of teeth across.
She wore a gray dress with a plain white apron. At least it may once have been white. It was now gray and dingy.
Her hands rested on her hips as she stared at Abigail with a look of angry satisfaction. Blume could see why.
A single tear rolled down Abigail's face as she shuddered slightly.
“Well!?” the woman asked, more to the room than to Blume and her companion. “Teach these new ones how to be thankful.”
Every child who had sat down now stood. Every standing child bowed slightly, keeping their arms at their side.
They spoke in unison and their voices echoed throughout the room.
“Thank you, Miss Greer, for the food on our table, the clothes on our back, the beds we sleep in, and our work that gives us purpose.”
As one, they all stood up straight and looked directly at whom Blume assumed was Miss Greer.
The woman sneered as she glanced around the room.
“Where is he...? Hmm...” she was saying in a low voice.
No child dared move.
“Ah!” she said as she pointed a bony finger over to a table full of boys.
One of whom, was Jeremy.
“You're one of the new ones, too.”
She spoke in a shrill voice. Blume recognized it as the one that commanded her to get back in bed last night.
Miss Greer continued to stare at Jeremy for a moment. Then her gaze returned to Blume and Abigail.
“You've got a lot to learn about how we do things here at Miss Greer's Home for the Helpless. The first is that you had best be thankful. Orphans on the street get much worse than you in here.”
“But we're not all orphans,” Blume protested.
Her head smacked the table so hard she saw black spots floating in her vision. Her soup spilled down to the floor.
“The second lesson,” Miss Greer continued, nursing the hand that had hit Blume across the face. “Is that respect is our way of life. Never talk back to me again. Or you'll get much worse than a day without meals.”
She turned and walked away a few paces.
After a moment, she stopped and looked back at Blume.
“And that goes for your little dwarf friend, too,” she said with a twisted smile.
Abigail gasped. Miss Greer laughed. It was a dry, careless sound.
“Yes I know about both of your heritages,” she said. “And I could care less. If your parents aren't dead, they surely will come for you and claim you. That's all it takes to leave my home! Just let your parents know you’re here and you can leave as soon as they come for you! Until then, they're dead. And you work.”
Her hand went to her neck and caressed a piece of jewelry there.
It only took a moment for Blume to recognize it.
Her necklace!
She began to step towards Miss Greer again, but Abigail grabbed her hand and squeezed it hard.
Miss Greer smiled wickedly.
“You'll learn your place, soon enough. Maybe a day of work without meals will learn you.”
She walked off to a staircase that led to a small door on the second floor. A window next to it was dark, but overlooked the dining hall below.
Just as she reached the door handle, she looked down on the children.
Not one had moved since they stood to say thanks. None moved to defend Blume, Abigail or Jeremy. Of the fifty or so kids who stood with their hands at their sides, only a few seemed to have any life in them at all. And three of them had only arrived last night.
“You're welcome, children. Eat up. Work begins in ten minutes.”
With those words, Miss Greer opened her door, walked inside it, and slammed it shut with a bang.
BLUME WALKED BACK AND forth between the giant loom on one end of the room and the stacks of thread on the other.
The air was cool and would have smelled of autumn, were it not for the dust that invaded her nostrils. Bits of string and cloth littered the floor. Children ran all over the room. Some threaded the loom with the string Blume brought them. Others hauled the giant sheets of cloth that were made from it over to giant sewing tables.
Still others worked needles tirelessly.
Abigail was sewing one sheet to another. The needles were tough and the thread was strong. Blume was curious what it was they were making. But a second red mark on her face had taught her that asking questions was not encouraged in this workshop.
A man who had given her instructions and referred to himself as 'the boss' carried a three foot rod with him to encourage any who fell behind the breakneck pace to keep up.
Several children worked with constant tears streaked along their cheeks. Crying was permitted. Not working was forbidden. For hours on end they toiled at the white cloth. Blume brought string to the loom. Those working the loom weaved it into fabric. The fabric was carried to the sewing tables. The fabric was sewed together and then placed on carts. Boys carried the carts out of the large room into another space that Blume couldn't see. Every fifth cart, Jeremy came in hauling a cart with another boy.
His face showed great strain.
Though his race was known for their hard work, Jeremy had been one who favored books over labor. He was visibly struggling and twice received the rod in Blume's presence.
The first day passed without further incident or meals. The three were forced to sit at the table and watch others eat. Blume licked her lips and yearned for the broth and the extra treat that came with dinner: a crust of bread. She knew, though, that it would do little to satisfy the hunger she felt in her belly.
Abigail, however, sat with her hands in her lap. Her eyes were downcast. As Blume watched others consume their paltry dinner, Abigail made no attempt to look up.
Instead, she massaged her hands.
Blume couldn't see Jeremy over the heads of the other children, but she could only guess how he felt.
With each passing moment, Blume hated Miss Greer and her Home for the Helpless. And with her rage grew the desire to escape.
AFTER DINNER, THEY were marched back to their dormitories for what Miss Greer called 'reflection time.'
