The wandering inn volume.., p.289
The Wandering Inn_Volume 1, page 289
“Do you think it’s true?”
“What, that we ate all of the ingredients of the faerie brew? It might be possible. We eat a lot of weird stuff, Erin.”
“Not that! Do we really eat bugs?”
I sigh.
“Yes. We do, Erin. You know about all the stuff food companies put in candy and fast food. Why are you surprised?”
“I thought they were just chemicals and poisonous stuff! If I knew bugs were in Skittles, I’d never eat any again!”
“That’s not—why would you be okay with…? Okay, never mind Erin. Ivolethe?”
“You shall get nothing from me! I will not reveal my kind’s secrets so easily!”
The faerie sinks up to her ears in the cold soup. I raise my hands.
“I’m not going to ask you any more questions. I was just curious. Why don’t we talk about something else.”
“Yes! Let’s!”
Erin grabs her milk and drinks deeply from it. With a little coaxing, I get Ivolethe to come out of her stew. She dries herself off on a slice of bread, and then she sits on the table with Erin and me. And we talk.
“So, what did you do after I left you, Erin?”
“Oh, I just made some stuff at Octavia’s. You know, more experimental stuff.”
“Huh. Where’s Octavia now? I’ve never seen her eat—does she do it at her home or should we invite her here now and then?”
I think that would be the polite thing to do, but Erin shakes her head.
“I don’t know, but Octavia won’t want to eat today. She’s in bed with bad food poisoning.”
I pause.
“How bad?”
“Bad.”
“…And how did she get so sick, Erin?”
The other girl doesn’t quite meet my gaze.
“I uh, fed her something that didn’t come out as well as I’d hoped.”
“I see.”
“I would like to try it!”
“Oh no, it’s impossible. I threw it out—it was starting to stain the pot. It was just another failure.”
Erin sighs. I eye her.
“You’ve been going over to Octavia’s every day. Still trying to make new recipes?”
“Yup! I don’t want to go back to Liscor until I figure out how to make more cool stuff.”
“What about your inn?”
“What about it? Mrsha’s safe with Selys, and I don’t know where Toren is. My inn can stay where it is, right?”
“But Lyonette’s in it.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
Erin smacks her forehead lightly. I shake my head. Erin hesitates.
“She’ll probably be okay. I really want to stay here for a little while longer, though, Ryoka. I can experiment with Octavia all day, and I can help Agnes out at night!”
“And you’re not bored? You’re okay with that?”
Erin looks at me blankly.
“Yeah. Why not?”
Ivolethe and I shrug at the same time.
“Doesn’t matter to me.”
“‘Tis your choice to die of boredom.”
Erin scowls at us, but then she smiles widely at Ivolethe again.
“Soooo…Ivolethe! You must have lived a long time, right?”
The faerie eyes Erin suspiciously.
“That is obvious.”
“And you met all kinds of cool people—like Merlin and King Arthur, right?”
“Perhaps. What of it, mortal?”
Erin throws up her hands.
“Tell me stories! Tell us all about Merlin, and the knights of the round table.”
Ivolethe considers this, one tiny hand on her chin.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I do not want to.”
“Please?”
“Erin…”
“No. Such tales are too grand for the likes of you.”
“But—”
I put a hand on Erin’s shoulder.
“You heard her, Erin. Ivolethe doesn’t want to tell, so you should respect her wishes. Besides, she probably didn’t see any of the good parts.”
“What?”
Ivolethe sits up in outrage. She leaps upwards and flies towards my face.
“Ye think I did not witness the legends in person?”
“Well, you don’t want to say. So I just assumed—”
“Fool! I was there when the boy became a king! I witnessed the instant the true king fell, and I have seen countless miracles besides! I saw the three kings die to each of Lugaid’s spears! How dare ye!”
“I’m just saying, you talk big, but if you’d care to share a story that you remember—”
“Hah! I will recount to you a legend beyond all else!”
Ivolethe flies into the air and raises her voice.
“Behold! I will tell you for the one true king of Camelot! His sword still sits in Avalon, waiting for his hand to draw the ancient blade! Listen well mortals!”
All heads turn as the small faerie begins to declaim. She has an amazingly loud voice, and the story—
I’m going to get to hear King Arthur’s story. I feel like a kid again. This is amazing.. Erin gives me a delighted look, and I wink at her. What can I say?
I do know a bit about faeries. Or at least, this one in particular.
—-
The next day dawns bright and early. Or so I suppose. For once, I’m sleeping in.
So is Erin. And the rest of the guests in the inn for that matter. In fact, some are still snoring as I walk downstairs and find them lying on the tables or ground.
As it turned out, Ivolethe did know the stories of King Arthur, the entire story. The true story. And she told it to us last night, with many dramatic flourishes and a whole host of embellishments it’s true, but it was true. Every word of it. Faeries don’t lie, and to look at Ivolethe as she was speaking was to believe.
It was true. And if I were an author I would have tried to capture every word she spoke on paper. Or maybe that would have been an impossible task, because her story was one of the greats.
In the end, we just all fell asleep listening to the tragic end of the tale of the King of Knights. His kingdom in ruins, his knights dying on the field, and only the hope of his eventual return to keep spirits strong in the dark times to come. Thus, the King of Camelot closes his eyes and breathes his final breath.
And here I thought I was being smart by ripping off the poets of my age. No wonder faeries looked down on us mortals for not creating stories that can match that level. If you’ve got forever to live, your standards for good storytelling rise accordingly.
Of course, that was last night. In the light of the day, all I want is for a hot meal before I go running. But with Erin so tired, that might be asking too much.
She has [Advanced Cooking] as a skill, but apparently you need to be at least moderately conscious to make it work. Or else not even that skill can fix dumping a bag full of flour onto an iron griddle. At least I got the pan off the fire before the flour combusted.
Mandatory near-death experience for the day completed, I finally make myself eggs and let Erin snore in the kitchen. I open the door—
And find Ivolethe waiting outside. The faerie grins at me, hovering in the crisp winter air. Honestly, I hadn’t even realized she’d left when I dragged myself into my room upstairs.
“Ivolethe. How are you doing?”
“Well, mortal!”
She flies immediately to my shoulder and lands on it. Then she fidgets, and flies up to my head. I stare up at her dangling legs and sigh. But I make no comment.
As I begin to walk down the street a tiny frozen leg kicks me on the temple.
“So, what are ye doing today? More staring at books and cursing? Or will ye run about like a snail once again?”
“If you’re bored, you can leave. You don’t have to follow me all the time.”
“Bah. I might miss something interesting. Besides, there is much to do that will amuse me in the meantime.”
I shrug, but feel a bit better. I try not to smile so openly; it doesn’t feel natural.
“Suit yourself.”
It’s a short jog to the Runner’s Guild, but I pause at the door. Ivolethe senses my intentions and tenses, but she makes no move to get off my head.
“I’m going inside. Do you want to wait somewhere else?”
“I will stay right here.”
“The iron won’t bother you?”
“Not overmuch. It is simply a shackle indoors, not a needle in the skin. Even if it feels so.”
Huh. I wonder how uncomfortable it is? Are faeries allergic to the metal, or is it like kryptonite?
“If you don’t want to go inside, that’s fine with me.”
“I shall stay.”
“No, I really don’t think you should go inside.”
After her last interaction with people other than Erin and me, I really have a bad feeling about letting Ivolethe inside a building. But she bends down to glare at me.
“I insist! I do not fear the iron!”
I sigh. For a being that calls herself my friend, Ivolethe doesn’t seem capable of yielding on any point. Or maybe she considers her stubbornness part of friendship.
“Just don’t cause trouble, okay? And…can I persuade you to hide in my belt pouch?”
The faerie is silent on my head for a few seconds.
“Mayhap. Is there food in the pouch?”
“Let me get some.”
That was how I found myself stuffing fried meat and sticky-sweet jam buns into a belt pouch, much to Ivolethe’s muffled delight as I walked into the Runner’s Guild. I close the pouch; Ivolethe assured me she wouldn’t suffocate inside if I did, and I’m honestly not sure if faeries breathe.
I’ve got a Frost Faerie in my belt pouch. Well, there’s that. I walk into the Runner’s Guild and stop when I see a familiar face.
“Garia!”
The broad-shouldered girl turns and gives me a big smile. But then her expression changes to one of dismay.
“Ryoka? I didn’t know you were here…today.”
I walk forwards, frowning. Garia seems nervous. And then I look over her shoulder and see a crowd of people, Street and City Runners alike, clustered around one person. She has a familiar face. Sallow, I would call it, although pinched is the more accurate word.
“Persua.”
She’s standing in the center of the room, surrounded by a huge number of people—everyone in the Guild, in fact. Even the [Receptionists] have come out from behind their counters, and an older man is standing by Persua’s side. I think…he’s the Guildmaster. I don’t know. He normally never comes out of his small office.
Persua is basking in all the attention, talking loudly in her shrill voice and laughing often. When she laughs, the others laugh with her. It’s like how she normally interacts with her posse, but now everyone’s doing it. She’s so engrossed she hasn’t noticed me yet, and from the way Garia drags me to one side of the room, maybe that’s a good thing.
“What’s going on?”
I whisper to Garia as I look back at Persua. She doesn’t look that different—new clothes and running gear maybe, but she’s just the same unpleasant person who once had my leg crushed by a wagon. My fists itch to break a few of the bones in her face.
I don’t see Fals. He’s normally in the same room as Persua, mainly because she tends to follow him about wherever possible. He’s not here today, though, and his absence is somehow conspicuous.
“Ryoka, why are you here? Didn’t you hear what was happening today?”
“No, I did not.”
I frown at Garia as I take a seat at a far table from the group. No one tells me anything. Mainly because I don’t listen if it’s an invitation to hang out or hear the latest gossip. But this…I probably should have paid attention to.
“What’s going on, Garia?”
“It’s Persua. Today’s her going-away party. She’s going to move to Invrisil, or—some other city up north. She might come back this way, but she’s not going to be around here so everyone’s having a party for her!”
Persua? Going north? Best news I’ve heard all day, and I’m barely awake still. I smile at Garia with genuine pleasure.
“What’s wrong with that? If she’s going, I’ll congratulate her as well and help her on the way out.”
Garia doesn’t grin at my response. She doesn’t like violence anyways, but she looks worried. There’s an odd emotion in her voice I can’t quite place. She lowers her voice even more.
“Ryoka…she’s going to be a Courier.”
“What?”
I can’t believe my ears. Persua? A Courier? She’s not nearly fast enough to be one. I should know—I saw Valceif and Hawk running, and they’re like lightning compared to me. Persua’s barely quick enough to be a City Runner, and she’s lazy to boot.
But Garia’s eyes are deadly serious as she nods. And I remember that moment where I swore she passed me on the road earlier—
No. It couldn’t be. Could it?
“How?”
“She leveled up and got a Skill, Ryoka! A rare one—she’s not even Level 20, I know that for a fact, but she learned a powerful movement Skill. Everyone heard about it! Ever since then, she’s been completing deliveries so fast none of us can keep up.”
A Skill. Of course. I feel a bit sick. Persua’s got terrible form, bad endurance, and she’s got no incentive to train or push herself. But give her a Skill and suddenly she can outrun anyone.
“Was it just luck? Or—how do you get Skills?”
Garia looks miserable as she shrugs. No, not just miserable. Jealous. That’s the emotion I’m seeing in her.
“Normally the good ones come up every ten levels. But you hear stories—some of it is chance, and Persua got lucky. Really lucky.”
“Okay, what skill did she get?”
“[Double Step]. It’s one of the core skills most Couriers have. That and [Quick Movement]—those were the ones Valceif had, remember? If you get those, people say you’re already two thirds of the way to becoming a Courier!”
Fuck. I remember Valceif running as if he was taking two strides for every one of mine. Garia’s right; get even one of those skills and there’s no Human from my world that could touch you. That is…completely unfair.
“Why’s she going north, then? It sounds like she could stay here and make a comfy living.”
“Well, Couriers make way more money and have more respect up north. And, Perusa has been doing just that! She’s completed almost half of the requests in the guild by herself. They’ll have to make her a Courier soon, or we’ll all be out of work!”
I drum my fingers on the table, good mood completely forgotten. Persua the Courier. I wanted to be one, but I can’t run fast enough. Valceif told me that I might be one if I proved myself, but Persua? Before me?
It’s really, really pissing me off. But—and I have to think of the plus side here, at least she won’t be bothering me again. And if she’s taking high-level requests, maybe someone will put a hit out on her and she’ll end up dead. I can only dream.
But for now, I think I’ll get out of the way before I have to deal with Persua again. I’m about to ask Garia if she wants to join me at Erin’s new inn so I can drink the bad taste from my mouth when Garia makes frantic gestures. I don’t even have to guess to know that Persua is coming my way; it just makes sense. When I step in crap while running, oftentimes there’s a second pile waiting for my other foot*.
*Translation: When it rains it pours. Plus, Persua’s a spiteful little monster, so she’ll take any opportunity to try and piss me off.
“Why Ryoka, I didn’t see you there! Come to congratulate me on my special day, have you?”
Garia freezes, and goes pale. I stare at her, considering my next move. I don’t turn around. I don’t change my expression.
“Hello, Persua.”
“Good morning to you too, Ryoka! How are you today? You were gone for so long in Liscor, I thought you were dead. But you aren’t. Did you get a lot of deliveries done while you were away? Or did you just like sleeping with non-Humans that much?”
Is that an insult? I shrug. I’m not giving Persua anything, even if she’s not apparently the best Runner around.
“I had fun.”
I still refuse to look her way. Persua’s shrill voice goes up an octave as she grows frustrated. She walks around me and I catch a glimpse of her pale, sharp features and her pursed lips that compliment her sour expression.
I don’t like her. I hate her guts. But I’m also smart enough to know that she’s goading me in her hour of triumph, hoping to get me in trouble. And you know what?
I’m not going to do a thing. It’s time for the ultimate Ryoka skill: acting impassive. Guaranteed to annoy anyone with an ego.
“I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but I’m going to be a Courier now. Isn’t that wonderful?”
The old man who’s probably the Guildmaster clears his throat nervously.
“Actually Persua, that’s not decided yet. You’re a wonderful Runner of course, but a Courier—”
He brakes off as Persua gives him a vicious look. She turns back and gives me a big, fake smile. I just grunt.
“What do you think, Ryoka? Won’t I be a wonderful Courier?”
“Mhm.”
She blinks at me, and then frowns. I look slowly around and see the other Runners standing and watching us. I know some of them by face, if not name. They’re City Runners, the people who band together and pat each other on the backs. They follow the leader or the fastest Runners, like Fals. Some of them are Persua’s people, but most are just like Garia; afraid to cross someone like Persua.
