Innkeeper's Assistant

by Alex Quill

  Synago gave him a weak smile. His kindness soothed her and gave her hope that they’d make it through this after all. The good in people always outshined the bad. A question for him lit in her mind. Maybe he could help them after all.

  “Do you know where to find the Resistance embassy? We have to go there by end of day according to the gatekeeper.”

  Tash nodded. “Why yes, yes I do know where that is. Take your first left down there and then a right at the corner. It will be at the end of that lane. Can’t miss it.” He pointed in a direction to their left.

  Synago felt Mellie tug on her sleeve. She pointed to one of the bins of candy, the one filled with small red sugar hearts. Synago smiled at her and rummaged through her pockets for something to pay Tash with. While she fished, Tash filled up a small paper sack with the candy and handed it to Mellie. Synago tried to hand him some coins, but he shook his head.

  “On the house today. You girls have been through a lot,” he said. Synago reluctantly tucked the coins back into her pockets.

  “Thank you, Tash,” she said.

  While Mellie ate the candy, Synago ushered her back onto the saddle and remounted the animal herself. She turned in the saddle to face Tash.

  He waved at them. “Best of luck to you girls, come back any time!”

  Synago nodded at him. “Have a good one, Tash. Thanks again for your help.”

  She navigated the horse through crowds of people along the roads, following Tash’s instructions. Synago had never seen so many things - people, Yuka, houses - squashed so close together before. She realized they must not be the only ones who came here when the Wraithen took over their city. It seemed everyone in the world had made their home here. It took her a moment to pick out the Resistance emissary building through the crowded street.

  It was a squat, small structure, that seemed to have been converted over from a house. In front, there was a tie post for their horse. Synago dismounted and tied the horse’s lead to the post. For a moment, she wondered if the saddle bags would be safe out amongst all these passerbys. But in the end, there wasn’t anything inside them she couldn’t stand to lose. Except for the Devah’s egg, which still laid safe in the satchel at her side. She helped Mellie down from the horse. She was still sucking her candy hearts, smiling from ear to ear.

  Inside the building was dark, dusty, and cramped with people. The lamps were lit with cheap kerosene rather than light stones, and the glass around them was burnt black and foggy. Most of the people inside looked to be from Tolren just like Synago, with their blonde hair and gray eyes. They all had a sullen look as they stood in a line that ended with a desk at the far back of the room. Even the children who stood at their parent’s sides were quiet and subdued. Most of the people were carrying their belongings in sacks held at their sides or slung over their backs.

  A man dressed in Resistance uniform approached them with his arms crossed over his chest. He wore a grim look on his grizzled-veteran face. Sewn into the shoulder of his uniform were several symbols Synago didn’t recognize. He spoke to Synago and Mellie in a low voice, that dripped with casual disdain.

  “More from Tolren, I assume?”

  Synago clutched her satchel closer to her and put her arm around Mellie, who had just finished her candy. “Yes, we’re from Tolren. It’s just us two. The gatekeeper told us to come here. Are we in the right place?”

  The man sniffed, and put his hands behind his back. He slowly looked around the room as if he were seeing where they were for the first time.

  “Well, this is the Resistance emissary. If that’s what you mean.”

  Synago rolled her eyes and frowned, then looked the man up and down. She wanted to size him up. “Yes. That’s what I meant. Who are you, exactly? Can you help us?”

  The man smiled, as if he had been waiting for her to ask her question.

  “I am Tessen Lorak, Captain of teams fifty seven and fifty eight for the Resistance. I’ve been assigned here to ensure that our new… rules are followed. We will provide employment and housing, assuming you comply with those rules. If you’d like, you can get in line with the rest of them.” He gestured with one hand to the line of weary travelers.

  Synago looked at the line, and then back at Tessen. She gave a curt smile and tried to usher Mellie past him, but he put out his hand to stop them.

  “Don’t you want to know what those new rules are? Our help does not come without a price,” he said.

  Synago sighed, the weight of his words threatening to snap her already stretched out nerves in half. “Sure. What’s the price?”

  “You’ll both be entered into a draft lottery. Should your names get called, you’ll be drafted into the Resistance.”

  Synago frowned. A draft lottery? Were they really that desperate for people?

  “Well, I can be entered. But my sister can’t, she’s—”

  Tessen held up a finger and wagged it at her. “Ah ah ah,” he said, “If you want the help, you’ll both be entered. Those are the rules. And people trying to make exceptions, like your sister for example, are the reason I’m here. You follow the rules, you enter the draft, or you don’t receive our help. And if you choose not to receive our help, the city won’t allow you to stay. Understood?”

  Synago gritted her teeth together, but nodded. What other choice did they have?

  “Come on Mellie,” she said, and pulled Mellie by the wrist to the back of the line.

  “Bye bye!” said Mellie to Tessen, and she waved. Tessen waved back. Anger boiled inside Synago, but she kept a lid on it.

  As they stood to wait their turn at the desk with the other refugees, Synago wondered about these new “rules”. She had spent her life with the common knowledge that the Resistance didn’t draft. Only Wraithen drafted. Resistance recruited.

  Wraithen were expected to join the military within a certain age range due to strict military rule. Resistance and Neutral countries, however, were supposed to be free to choose sides. The only difference between Neutral and Resistance countries was technically how many of the given country chose to join the Wraithen. Neutral communities had larger populations of Wraithen, while Resistance countries had little to none.

  And then, of course, there were even smaller communities of people that abstained entirely from the war. Those who could afford it could use magic there without being restricted by Wraithen law. Osko had been one of those communities in years before. Synago hadn’t expected the change, but with so many new refugees here it didn’t surprise her. Even if they did draft now to keep up with Wraithen numbers surely they wouldn’t draft Mellie. She was, practically speaking, a child. She may not look the part, but she still needed a lot of care and attention.

  But without the Resistance’s help, they’d be forced out of the city with no supplies. The next nearest neutral city was days away by horse. Damned if they did, damned if they didn’t. There was only one way forward now; stay in Osko.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The Inn

  SYNAGO KNEW MELLIE did not like waiting in line. She did her best to keep Mellie entertained with little games of “see what I see”. She’d tell Mellie she saw something of a certain color and Mellie had to guess what it was. But soon Mellie had had quite enough of the game and was on the precipice of a tantrum. Thankfully, they reached the end of the line just as Mellie began to whine, and were called forward by the woman at the desk a few moments later.

  “You two, forward please,” she said. She had dark brown skin, and her puffy hair was pulled back. She wore a black Resistance uniform and a dark look on her face that betrayed her annoyance.

  Synago led Mellie to the desk and sat her in one of the chairs, then sat down herself.

  “Hello,” said Mellie, and she waved one of her hands wildly at the woman.

  The woman paused and seemed to consider Mellie for a moment before speaking.

  “…Hi. Names, please?”

  Synago spoke up before Mellie could say anything else. “Synago and Mellie
Amira.”

  The woman took out two new sheets of parchment, press-printed with words and blanks. She filled in their names with a small chiseled fountain pen, encrusted with a smooth-stone that would keep the ink from drying until it hit the paper. The sound of it scratching against the pulp of the paper was somewhat hypnotic. When she was done she faced them again, the look of annoyance still there.

  “And what can we do for you two today?”

  Synago cleared her throat and shifted in her seat, looking from the paper, to the woman’s eyes. “We’re refugees from Tolren. We were told to come here or we’d be kicked out of the city.”

  The woman scratched a few more things into the two sheets of paper, and then filed them away in a drawer by her side. She withdrew another slip of parchment from the drawer.

  “As I’m sure Captain Tessen told you back there, you’ve both been entered into our draft lottery. That is assuming you do want our help, yes?” she asked, as if they had a choice. Synago nodded, holding back her snarky feelings.

  The woman flashed her a surprisingly warm smile. “Good. We will contact you when we have a drawing. Until then, you’ll work here at…” she glanced at the parchment and squinted at the small lettering, “…True-Silver Inn.” She smiled and handed the parchment to Synago, then continued explaining.

  “They’ll provide room and board. Though, judging from their history, they’ll send you back within a week. They’re pretty strict. If and when they do send you back, you’ll have to be entered into the lottery again before we can give you another position somewhere else. Good luck.”

  An inn? That wasn’t exactly her area of expertise. She was a researcher for High Mother’s sake! And what with Mellie being the way she was they couldn’t afford to be entered in the lottery twice if they sent them back. Not with what was at stake. Synago stared at the parchment in her hands. Surely this woman, a good Resistance soldier, would understand if she’d just explain her situation.

  “Actually, I’m a researcher and thought maybe I could—”

  The woman waved a hand to stop her.

  “Bup bup bup. We don’t care what you did before. Food, shelter, work. That’s all we give you. Go to the inn, get sent back, and maybe the second time around you’ll get lucky with a better position.”

  Synago shut her mouth into a hard line. Maybe in the real world good Resistance soldiers didn’t exist. At least not anymore. This woman was probably drafted against her will, just like Synago or Mellie could be. She’d just have to take this job and do her best with it. Synago stood and took Mellie’s hand in hers to lead her out the door to the hitch post outside.

  “Horsie!” shouted Mellie. Synago watched as her sister ran to their draft horse, still tied to the post outside and stroked its soft nose. Synago rested her back against the outside wall of the emissary building and looked at the parchment the woman gave her. Written on it was instruction on how to get to the True Silver Inn. On the bottom it also had information for the proprietor - someone named Yolanda Crabb.

  She looked back up at Mellie and the huge draft horse. It was nibbling dangerously close to Mellie’s fingers.

  “Come on Mellie, let’s go,” she said. They got on top of the horse and Synago used the instructions to navigate them through the city streets.

  Rain clouds gathered in the sky above them as Synago navigated them through the sea of people crowding every corner of the place. By the time they arrived at the inn the clouds that had gathered opened and rain fell down onto their heads. Synago tucked the important slip of parchment into her leather satchel to protect it. In just moments they were soaking wet. On the porch of the building next door to the inn an older woman stood smoking a pipe. Synago met her eyes for a moment in the rain. The woman was staring at her.

  “Wet! Wet! I’m wet, Syn!” said Mellie, who disliked the rain. Synago snapped back to the present moment and dismounted from the horse. She helped Mellie down and then tied the lead to a post outside the inn. They moved to go inside, and Synago took one last look for the woman on the porch beside them. But she was gone.

  The inside of the inn was huge. Red paper lamps glowed in every corner, lit by light stones. There seemed to be no doors, besides the one they came from. Instead there were sliding paper frames as high as the ceilings on runners set into the floors. Synago had never seen any building designed this way. She and Mellie stood staring at it all, dripping onto the shining wooden floor beneath them. A nicely dressed man approached. He looked down his nose at them and gave a sniff of disapproval at the puddle of water gathering beneath them.

  “Travelers, I presume?” he said.

  “Refugees, actually. We’ve been assigned jobs here,” said Synago.

  The man eyed them up and down again, from head to toe.

  “I see. Papers, please,” he drawled.

  Synago retrieved the piece of parchment from her satchel and handed it to him. After a few moments of reviewing it the man handed it back to her with another sniff of disdain. When he spoke again it was accompanied with a bored sigh.

  “I’ll have someone fetch some towels. I don’t want either of you tracking mud inside. Stay here,” said the man, pointing to them as if they were dogs. Then he disappeared behind a nearby sliding door. Synago wondered pointedly if everyone in this country was so rude. The two of them stood shivering until a Yuka carrying a pile of towels walked up to them.

  “Kitty! Are you a kitty?” crowed Mellie, pointing to the Yuka. Synago sighed.

  “Refugees?” said the Yukan in a distinct, barking voice. He seemed not to notice or care that Mellie had just compared his fur covered, small stature to a cat. Synago nodded yes to his question.

  “Here, take them,” he said. Synago took the towels, dried herself off, and then helped dry off Mellie. The Yuka gestured for them to follow him. “I’ll take you to our boss, Yolanda. She’ll get you set up.”

  “Thank you for the towels,” said Synago. The Yuka didn’t acknowledge her thanks. He just waved her words away with one of his small fur covered hands.

  They walked longer than Synago thought possible inside just one building, and then Yuka stopped them. He slid open one of the paper doors and gestured for them to go inside and then rolled the door closed once they were in.

  The smell of cooking food hit Synago first. They stood inside a vast kitchen, bustling with many different people attending to a litany of dishes. A large fire with a huge cauldron sat on top of it was at the center of the room. Something that smelled delicious was bubbling inside.

  To the right side of the cauldron was a miniature staircase, and at the very top stair a Yuka woman stood stirring the mixture with an oversized ladle. Another Yuka man stood at the bottom stair with arms crossed, tapping his feet against the ground. The Yuka woman spoke first.

  “Roland, I told you a hundred times not to put in so much nutmeg. But what do you do? You put in a whole jar. If only the Gods had given me a son who listened.”

  Roland, the Yuka at the bottom step turned to look at Synago and Mellie standing in the doorway. “New arrivals, mom,” he said. The Yuka woman, who Synago assumed was Yolanda, looked away from her pot for a moment to regard them, then went back to stirring.

  “Not a moment’s peace,” she muttered.

  Synago stood awkward in the doorway for a few more moments before deciding to offer some help. She had to keep this job. “Would you like me to stir that for you?” said Synago.

  Yolanda appraised her for a moment with her piercing black eyes. The tips of her ears and her muzzle were sprinkled with white fur, and over her left eye was a pink scar where no fur grew. Despite her small size, she was intimidating.

  She motioned Synago over and handed her the ladle. Synago stirred while Yolanda reached over to a nearby table and poured various spices inside.