Page 21 of Minor Works of Meda

“Do you want a view?”

“I don’t care.” It was difficult to care about anything just then.

“One argor, two argit. Your choice of wine or juice. Four argit more and you can see the Etegen from your room.”

“What?” My eyes must have popped out of my face. “That’s obscene.” It cost more than my trip on the Sea-Sprint.

The woman blinked at me.

“Not from here?” she guessed. I felt my anger turn to embarrassment. With that simple phrase she’d made clear that I simply didn’t understand the way of things.

“I’m from Nis-Illous,” I muttered. In response, I got a raised eyebrow.

“If you want cheap rooms, try the washerman’s cove.” She started to turn away.

“Is that another inn?”

“It’s a neighborhood. Twenty-minute walk.”

I thought about it for a moment, biting my lip. Two nights here would clean out my purse entirely. If I were even capable of understanding the Ward, it certainly wouldn’t happen that quickly. But nor could I just turn around and go home. The witch had offered me a path in, no matter how impossible.

Was I really willing to risk a twenty-minute walk in the dark, through the strange and twisting city? I’d probably get lost all over again, and for all I knew if I made it to an inn unharmed it would just be to save a single argit. I was starving, I was tired. I could find a way to make money tomorrow. Or I could go back to the Temple and beg them to at least give me board and access to their library while I wracked my brain.

“I’ll take it. Ridiculous,” I muttered. She turned back to me with a stiff smile. I perched on one of the bar stools and hauled my bag into my lap, flipping it open. I pawed through the rumpled clothes for my purse.

My heart began to sink. Wooden bird, hair oil, crumpled dress. Tooth-cleaning paste, wooden bird, blouse. Underthings, dirty dress, hair oil again. Wooden bird.

“Sorry, I know I have…”

“Take your time.” She leaned on her elbows again, reed pen dangling out of her mouth.

“How much was it again?” I asked, stalling as I rummaged.

“One argor and two argit.”

With an exasperated sigh I slipped off the stool and crouched on the floor. There was nothing to do but unpack my bag inelegantly on the ground. If the money purse was in there, I was going to find it. And it had to be in there. I tried not to think about the stares I was probably drawing from tavern’s crowd.

My pale-yellow dress. The little carved bird from Eudoria’s workroom. A pair of walnut-brown wool stockings. Gray underthings. But no coin purse. Panic rose in my throat. I’d had it getting on the Sea-Sprint. Surely I’d had it getting off the ship, too? Except I hadn’t purchased anything all day.

“Oh, sweet mysteries,” I moaned, and buried my face in my hands for a moment. I took a deep, shaking breath against my palms. Could life get any worse? The urge to stay curled up on the floor was overwhelming. Fighting against it, I quickly shoved everything back into the bag and straightened. Now going home wasn’t even an option.

I found myself wishing Kalcedon was there. He’d call me an idiot and shake his head at me, but I wouldn’t even care. He’d help in the end; he always did.

The woman was still looking at me, now with both eyebrows slightly raised and no smile on her face.

“Apparently, I have been robbed,” I told her flatly. She pursed her lips and said nothing. I cleared my throat.

To make matters worse, we were no longer alone. A tall, dark skinned man stepped up to the bar and set down an empty cup. He folded his plump hands in front of him on the counter, flashing an absurd number of gold rings.

Just what I needed. An audience. I stared straight at the woman, ignored the man, and barreled on.

“Might there be—is there work I could do?” If I had more than a grain of power, earning my keep would have been no issue. “I could scrub pots, or make beds, or sweep, I don’t care. And I don’t need a room, really. I’d sleep in the kitchen.” My tone dipped with every shameful word, and I tightened my hands around the strap of my bag, squeezing hard.

“We don’t need help. If you can’t pay, there’s the door,” the woman said with a nod. Her voice was cold.

“Oh, here,” the man beside me said. His hands vanished from the counter for a moment, and then he set down a stack of argor in front of the woman. More than his cup would cost to fill. More than a round for the whole tavern, surely. I turned to look at him.

He seemed young, twenty at oldest, and chubby. No hint of heat; he was fully human. The gaudy gold rings weren’t limited to his hands. They marched up one ear, bright against his deep brown skin. A ribbon held back a tumble of dense black curls that would have fallen just past his shoulders if let loose.

---