Joined at the Hilt: Union (Sphereworld: Joined at the Hilt Book 1)

by Caleb Wachter

  Randall knocked in his usual fashion, and immediately he heard their voices from within. “Doll!” Ellie cried as she opened the door and nearly leapt into his arms. “Is good to see you, we are so worried after we hear about the Guards attacking you this morning!”

  Randall returned her embrace as best he could while trying—and mostly failing—to protect his ruined ribs and gently lowered her to the floor. “It’s nothing,” he assured her as stoically as he could manage under the circumstances.

  “Nothin’, my hairy split!” snapped Yordan from behind the smaller, thinner woman Randall had just set back down onto her own feet. She stepped past the still-grinning Ellie and grabbed Randall’s face in her hand, turning it side to side as she appraised his nose. “They’ve done a right number on that once-fine beak o’ yours, they have. Like to heal crooked as the redroot you’ve stuffed up there, what without a proper set,” she scolded as she gestured inside the tiny flat. “Come and sit a spell whilst I fetch some rags; we can at least try doin’ a half-decent job of it ‘fore any more damage is done.”

  Randall complied with the bossy Yordan, whose overbearing demeanor had always been strangely comforting to him. It was one of the few constants in his life, along with Ellie’s indomitable optimism and cheery disposition, and he had often wondered how he would do without their friendship to rely on. While they had all been born in different regions, and had greatly different appearances and accents as a result, they knew each other as well as one could know another.

  Yordan did as she had promised and fetched some rags from beside the basin of water the girls kept for sanitary purposes. There was no plumbing of any kind this deep in their quarter of the city, and the two women had shared the tiny room for as long as Randall had known them. Some of his fondest memories were in that room and he looked around to take it in one last time, feeling waves of regret and nostalgia battle for his attention.

  “Here, let’s have a look see,” Yordan instructed, and Randall gritted his teeth. He knew that Yordan was a skilled herbalist and, in his opinion, a fine healer in her own right but her bedside manner left more than a little to be desired. Yordan reached into his nostrils and removed the piece of Redroot he had placed there to cauterize the wound, causing white-hot pain to flare up the middle of his face.

  “River’s tears, Yordan,” he protested, only to have her repeat the process on the other side—and if he thought the first one hurt, the second made it pale in comparison.

  “Oh shut yer yap you big baby, and give me the Redroot,” she scolded and he did as she instructed, handing over the half of the root he hadn’t yet used.

  Ellie giggled in the corner as she resumed her usual task of sewing. She was apparently repairing a very old dress which had suffered significant damage in what appeared to be a fire of some kind. It was clearly a difficult task, but that was the only kind of work Ellie ever got.

  She had great skill as a seamstress, just as Yordan had impressive skill as a healer. But it was almost impossible for ‘half-elves’ to get decent business licenses on their own—which made Lorie’s ability to retain ownership and operative control over the Coin an impressive accomplishment in and of itself. But this inability to compete on a level field resulted in skilled people like Yordan and Ellie having to work for a tiny fraction of what they were worth since their only option was to operate under a pureblooded human’s license, who would keep the bulk of the proceeds for themselves.

  Had Ellie been paid fairly for her labors even for the past two years, Randall knew the girls would have long since left the poor section of the Native District and they likely would have taken him with them.

  But, the incorruptible spirit she was, Ellie never let their circumstances get her down. Randall suspected that without her presence, Yordan—and he—would have long since fallen to the depression which sweeps through their community like wildfire and given up hope entirely.

  Yordan gently felt along the sides of his nose before nodding in satisfaction. “This is like to sting a pinch,” she warned, and before Randall could react she twisted his nose and gave it a sharp, downward tug. There was a sucking sound as she did so, and Randall’s vision left him entirely for several seconds. He was no longer able to distinguish between the pain in his nose and the pain in his ribs after he doubled over reflexively, gasping briefly for air as he did so.

  “Yordi,” he growled after recovering his wind, and he felt fresh blood beginning to pour from his nose.

  “Sit up and act a man fer once,” Yordan challenged, “I’ve to stop the flow ‘fore the swellin’ takes hold.”

  He grudgingly sat up and removed his hands from his nose, and Yordan took the piece of Redroot he had given her into one hand. In the other hand she held a clean strip of rag which she placed against the frame of the front door and began to grind the redroot into the narrow strip of cloth. When she was satisfied, she twisted the piece tightly and then dipped her finger into a small jar of ointment she had brought from her kit. She rubbed the sticky substance onto the wadded redroot cloth and gestured for Randall to tilt his head back.

  “Can’t I do that, Yordi?” he asked meekly, but the hard look she gave him carried the answer more clearly than words ever could.

  He reluctantly tilted his head back, and she firmly shoved the piece of cloth up his left nostril. Strangely, there was almost no pain as she did so. But rather than decry his good fortune, he elected silence as she plugged the right side as well.

  “Thanks,” he said awkwardly, his speech once again sounding congested. Yordan nodded curtly as she wiped her finger on the lip of the jar before replacing its lid. “What happened with you two last night, anyway?” he asked after she had returned her supplies to their proper places.

  Yordan snorted derisively, but Ellie gave her a patient look as she continued working on a particularly tricky seam. “We go to dockside, to see light-rafts from White River,” Ellie explained.

  Randall’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “The light-rafts have come down already? I thought the festival upriver wasn’t for another two weeks?”

  Yordan nodded as she sat beside Ellie opposite Randall. The ‘furniture’ of their flat was little more than flimsy bits of scrap lumber bound with kelp leaves which washed ashore during the windy season. There wasn’t a cushion in the entire place, but again, that mattered little to any of them.

  “Yes,” Ellie continued, never taking her eyes off her work, “light-rafts come early, so we think is okay to watch. Every year we do, and never have a problem—”

  “Seems the Feds were lookin’ fer one of our kind,” Yordan cut in. “Stoppin’ every last ‘pointy,’ they were,” she spat, using one of the many derogatory terms humans had developed when referring to those with Ghaevlian blood.

  Randall nodded slowly as he got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Why were they after this person?” he asked, trying to keep his feelings off his face.

  Ellie shrugged and gave a short sigh, which was as close as she ever got to out-and-out exasperation. “Why do purebloods ever do as they do?” she asked rhetorically.

  Yordan shook her head as she leaned forward. “I heard they got him this morn—in the street near your bar, if the wind-word’s true.”

  That sealed it for Randall; the girls had been rounded up during a manhunt for the very person whose possessions he now carried under his arm. He somehow felt responsible for their plight, and before he knew he had done so he said, “I’m sorry, girls.”

  Ellie paused briefly mid-stitch and cocked her head quizzically. “You need not say sorry to us, Randall,” she said soothingly, “it was not you they hunted.”

  Yordan made a shooing gesture toward Ellie, who promptly returned to her task as the bossier girl lowered her voice conspiratorially, “Wind-word also says the Feds ain’t happy ‘bout makin’ that collar like they did.”

  “Oh?” Randall asked and, if it hadn’t been before, his stomach finally sank to the absolute pit of his abdomen.
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br />   Yordan nodded knowingly, and for what he was certain was the first time in his life Randall was actually grateful for her insatiable appetite for gossip, which she and her ilk called the ‘wind-word.’ “Somethin’ ‘bout a bit o’ contraband what’s still missin’,” she explained bitterly. “Like to tear the Rickety apart lookin’ for it, they are!”

  “Yord,” Ellie sighed, “must you always be so dramatic?”

  The ‘Rickety’ was a term their kind used to refer to the poorest parts of their District and despite Ellie’s protests, Randall knew that it was entirely possible they would do precisely as Yordan had suggested.

  Before Yordan could counter the always cheerful Ellie, Randall held his hands up haltingly. “I just wanted to stop by so I could say ‘goodbye’,” he said awkwardly, and both girls turned and shot him fearful looks.

  “Go?” Ellie asked bleakly. “Is something the matter, Doll?” she asked, concern threaded throughout her voice.

  “Bah,” Yordan recovered quickly, “like to’ve met some rich widow, he has. Off to lands unknown and a life o’ seein’ to her physical needs; ‘til death do you part, eh Randy boy?” she said playfully, but Randall could tell she was unhappy at the prospect of his leaving.

  Ellie set aside the dress and leaned forward, taking Randall’s hands in her own. “Will we see you again?” she asked, and Randall felt a pang of regret at having to leave them behind. But much as he would like to have imagined a scenario where they could all go together, he knew it was simply impossible. It would be difficult enough for him alone, even with the disguise kit and supplies ‘T’ had given to him.

  Randall squeezed her hands gently. “I hope so, El…more than anything,” he replied, meaning every word of it. He reached into his pack and fished around until he found what he was looking for. “I have something for you two,” he said seriously as he took out the quarter bar of gold and placed it in Ellie’s hands.

  Her eyes went wide as fancy tea saucers and she immediately tried to give it back to him. “We cannot take this, Doll,” she protested, but he shook his head forcefully and gently closed her hands around it.

  “Please,” he said softly, “if I can’t be here to help you when you need me, then the least I can do is see that you get some better lodgings while I’m gone. I thought we could go find a spot before I leave tonight, if you girls’ schedules are open,” he added wryly.

  “Open as your last trick’s legs two ticks past seventh bell!” Yordan snapped, snatching the small bar from Ellie’s hands and whistling appreciatively.

  “It’s not much,” he said regretfully, “but it should be enough to get a deposit on a room a floor or two up from the street, maybe even with a private tub if we’re lucky.”

  A look of shocked surprise came over Ellie’s face at the prospect of private bathing facilities, and Yordan stood abruptly. “Well, what’re we waitin’ for?!” she demanded. “I’ve some house-shoppin’ to do!”

  Nearly two bells later they had finally decided on a new home for the girls. It wasn’t much by objective measure, but it was still fully twice the size of their previous flat, and this one had a fine view of the eastern horizon from its main window on the third floor of the general store which served as the main structure of their new home.

  The room was a loft, not dissimilar to the one Randall had occupied at the Coin. But there was a tiny balcony which was just large enough for the two girls to share if they draped their legs over each other—which wasn’t so different from the way they had slept since becoming roommates so many years earlier—and the room came pre-furnished with simple, lightly padded furniture which, while having clearly seen better days, was leaps and bounds better than any of them had ever used.

  Unfortunately there was no dedicated bathroom for them, but there was a tub on the second floor of the store which afforded some privacy to its occupants, and it had a sturdy-looking lock to which the girls were given a key to share. There were two other girls sharing the loft opposite theirs, and that was the entire occupancy of the makeshift lodging section of the general store.

  Randall had pushed for this particular room because he knew the owner, who was a decent man—even if he was a pureblood—who routinely provided day labor for down-on-their-luck ‘half-elves.’ He had a solid reputation among the non-pureblood community, and Randall knew that the quarter bar of gold was more than enough to cover a year’s lodging for the girls.

  “Oh, Doll,” Ellie exclaimed as she twirled and danced like a young girl wearing a new dress for the first time, “it’s beautiful!”

  Randall smiled happily, pushing thoughts of his imminent departure from his mind. “I’m glad you like it, El,” he said before turning to Yordan. “What do you think, Yordi?”

  Yordan gave the room a critical, appraising look. “Roof’s like to collapse if’n we get a full load o’ snow,” she grumbled as her expression turned surly, “and there’s holes ‘nough in that bath’s walls for half the city to take a peek when we’re down to naught but nature’s wrap…” Then her face broke out into the brightest smile he had ever seen her wear, “Aw, Randy…it’s a keeper!”

  He returned her smile and the three of them embraced in a group hug for several seconds before he felt Ellie begin to sob in his arms.

  “Now, El,” he soothed as he felt a pang of regret, “you have to think happy thoughts for all of us, just like you always have.”

  She nodded her head vigorously as she buried her face in his armpit. “I will try, Doll,” she said with her face pressed into his shirt.

  “Okay,” he said, doing his best not to break down into tears of his own, “that just leaves one last dinner together; where should we go, Yordi?”

  Yordan pulled back and wiped her own moist eyes before looking thoughtfully toward the window. “It’s been many a moon since we shared a bitter muckfish,” she suggested.

  Ellie’s nose wrinkled at Yordan’s idea, and Randall had to admit that he was in agreement with the smaller woman. “What do you think, El?” he asked her, hoping she had a more palatable suggestion than half-rancid fish that spent most of its life wallowing in the city’s sewer outflow.

  Ellie considered briefly before her eyes brightened. “Starfruit!” she squealed. “I noticed the vendors near dockside had plenty of them last night! It has been so long since I tasted starfruit…” she said wistfully as she folded herself against Randall’s side with a dreamy look on her face.

  Randall nodded. “Alright, starfruit and rotten muckfish it is,” he declared triumphantly, putting an arm around each of the girls. “To the docks!”

  Chapter V: Meal, Interrupted

  Evening, 25-11-5-659

  They still had nearly an hour before the dockside curfew took effect by the time they arrived there. So they took a leisurely stroll past the various street food vendors, kibitzing about which particular vendor likely had the best muckfish or starfruit, when they all knew they shared the same suppliers.

  They ultimately settled on a particularly rank-smelling muckfish that was on the small side, but that was fine since Yordan was likely to eat most of it. Randall didn’t mind the occasional bite of the powerfully bitter, almost completely rancid flavor, but he rarely ate more than a fourth as much as Yordan did.

  Ellie, on the other hand, decided that starfruit wasn’t all she craved when she finally saw the array of fresh produce on display. When all was tallied, Randall spent nearly an entire silver coin filling the girls’ arms with the aforementioned muckfish, fresh fruits, vegetables, and a few slices of choice meats and cheeses for him. Most people of Ghaevlian descent disliked animal products, not because of any abhorrence for the taking of life. They simply did not sit well in their digestive systems.

  But Randall was an exception, often touting himself as a pure carnivore—which made Ellie go pale each and every time he made such a declaration. The only meat Yordan would eat regularly was spoiled muckfish, which she referred to as merely ‘bitter muckfish’—a distinction with whic
h Randall had never agreed.

  “Oh, Doll,” Ellie said as she playfully bumped her hip against his leg, “I do so wish every day could be as this one.”

  Randall nodded, and from the look on Yordan’s face he could tell she felt the same. “Let’s take this stuff back to the room for a proper, sit-down feast,” he suggested.

  “Are you certain you’ve the time?” asked Yordan skeptically, to which Randall shook his head.

  “For you two?” he asked, feigning shocked disbelief before his expression turned contemplative. “Well, now that you mention it…” he began, only to have Ellie slug him in the arm and the girls both giggled as they continued down the street.

  “But we’ve naught to drink,” Yordan protested, “we must stop at the Coin for some of Lorie’s special mead.”

  Randall smiled at her suggestion, having never considered the option himself. “Sounds perfect to me,” he agreed.

  They strolled down the main street toward The Last Coin, laughing at jokes old and new as they made their way to Lorie’s establishment. When they arrived, the common room was already half-filled with Federation soldiers. Randall pushed his way through them to the bar where he saw Lorie giving instructions to the night’s serving boys and girls.

  “Randy?” she said with a confused look on her face. “That didn’t last long,” she said with a note of disappointment in her voice.

  Randall shook his head emphatically. “Just taking Yordan and Ellie out for a last meal together,” he explained, to which Lorie smiled in understanding. “In fact, we’d like a keg of the special if you’ve got one to spare.”

  Lorie nodded and tilted her head toward the stockroom. “On the house,” she said as he turned to retrieve the container, “just see that the girls bring the cask back when it’s empty.”

  “You’ve got it,” he agreed as he passed through the door to the stockroom. He took a final, nostalgic look around the long, narrow room before selecting a dark keg from the newest stack. Tossing it over his shoulder, he had to adjust his hold of the sword bundle under his arm to avoid dropping it. When he had secured his load he exited the stockroom and nodded his thanks to Lorie, who returned the gesture.