Poor and Poorer

JASMINE FLAMESWORTH

I pulled the door to the Underwall Inn open and pushed the elf girl through in front of me, hoping the sight of her might stave off any complaints from Dalmore.

The innkeeper squinted at us, then his face fell into a deep frown and he rolled his eyes. "No Jasmine, we've already…" The stocky barman's voice trailed off as he stared at the half-starved elf. "Don't tell me you've kidnapped a child!"

I couldn't help my snort of disgust as the girl looked up at me in alarm.

"You old fool, Dalmore. She was lost, alone in the woods." When he just kept staring, I snapped my fingers. "She needs hot food. A drink."

Dalmore flinched as if I'd threatened to hit him, then vanished into the small kitchen behind the bar. The other two patrons in the inn watched us curiously, but they quickly turned away when I glared at them.

Shaking my head, I led the girl to the closest table and gestured for her to take a seat, then sat down across from her.

Our walk back from the Beast Glades had been quick and quiet out of necessity; I was weak, in no shape to protect a child from the mana beasts if we drew attention to ourselves.

The girl's remedies had kept me from bleeding to death or going into organ failure from the venom, and once I'd recovered enough to get back on my feet, I'd harvested the ravager's mandibles, a fair amount of venom, two heavy plates from its back, and it's beast core, which was all I could fit in my dimension ring.

I'd hoped the ravager might be edible, but the thick walls of soft meat under the carapace had stunk, and I was worried the flesh was poisonous, so we'd left it for the other mana beasts to devour.

Angry fatigue had settled into every muscle in my body, and all I wanted was a stiff drink, a hot bath, and several days' well-deserved rest.

"Jasmine?"

Realizing I had been staring at the table for at least a couple of minutes, I looked up and met those pale green eyes. "Hm?"

"Are…are there any other elves here?" Her voice was barely a whisper, and thick with anxiety.

I shook my head. The elf girl's bottom lip trembled.

Dalmore appeared from the kitchen with a large, steaming bowl and a mug. He set them down carefully at the table, then sat himself, his worried gaze on the girl.

She looked at me for confirmation before taking a careful sip from the bowl. A little frown crossed her dirty face, but she kept eating.

"So," Dalmore began, shooting me a look from the corner of his eye, "what happened? Who are you?"

"My name is Camellia Lehtinen," the girl replied between spoonfuls of broth. "Thank you for the food, sir."

Dalmore's tired old face brightened. "Sir? Please, call me Dal."

The girl only smiled and kept sipping at her broth. When she took a drink from the mug, her eyes widened. "Honeyed milk!" She took another long draw, then grinned at Dalmore. "Thank you, sir—Dal. It's my favorite. Mama used to…"

The momentary brightness faded from the girl's expression, and she set the mug down.

Dalmore gave her a sad smile. "Go on then, little one. Tell us about it. It helps."

She wiped away tears. "I—I'm from a little village, near where…they first attacked. My Papa and brothers stayed to fight, with a group led by Princess Tessia, and Mama and I…we went with the others, evacuating farther north, toward Zestier.

"But we were attacked by soldiers that had made it around the princess's group, and Mama and I got separated from the others. We ran and ran, and it was hours and hours later that Mama realized she'd gotten turned around and had taken us back south.

"We tried to find our village, but we found them first. They chased us. Mama told me to keep running, and then she—she…"

How long had it been since that assault on Elenoir? Had this stick-thin little girl been out there, surviving on her own, this entire time?

Dalmore was making soft cooing noises, apparently doing his best to be calming. "That's all right, little one. You're safe now. Jasmine here may seem like the rough sort, but she's going to take good care of you."

I shot him a startled look, suddenly wide awake.

Me? Take care of a child? I held back a derisive scoff.

Clearing my throat, I said, "Someone needs to help her find some of her own kind…"

"A fine idea," Dalmore said chipperly. "But first, why don't we get Camellia here a hot bath, some new clothes, and a bed to rest in, aye?"

I nodded slowly. "I can't pay—"

The innkeeper waved my words away. "Why don't you see to getting some new clothes for our new friend here, and I'll go light a fire under the tub."

"Yeah, fine," I muttered, glad for a chance to be alone with my thoughts, even if I'd rather be lying in a warm bed.

The girl looked at me nervously. "Maybe I should come with you instead?"

I shook my head firmly. "No, you stay here with Dal. Don't worry, he's a good man, and you'll be safe here." I shot him a look that told him he'd better be as good as my word. "I won't be gone long."

Ignoring the girl's gaze burning into my back, I quickly left the Underwall and headed for another tavern close by. Before anything else, I needed a drink.

It, too, was quiet. I sucked down two quick mugs of beer before laying a five-foot-long, blood-stained mandible on the bar as payment—much to the displeasure of the barkeep—and then walked back out into the cold night air, feeling a little better.

From there, I meandered through the town, taking my time. The market was almost entirely shut down. The few merchants and tradesmen who stayed at the Wall had little to sell, and they didn't bother setting up shops, instead working and selling directly out of their homes.

One such woman, whose husband was a soldier still stationed here, had been a seamstress. I knew she still helped to mend clothes, so I headed for her house first.

I hadn't been to her home before, so it took me wandering around the residential area and knocking on the wrong door twice to find the house.

The woman who answered was young, but the life of a soldier's wife had aged her prematurely. She looked me up and down, then said, "Sorry, miss. Not much I can do for that lot. You'd be better off buying new clothes."

I suppressed a scowl and fidgeted with my bloody, ruined clothing and armor. "I'm looking for clothes for a girl, about this tall"—I held my hand up around the height of my shoulder—"and thin as a sapling."

The woman gave me an appraising look. "You got coin? Or barter, maybe? Finding decent cloth for new clothes isn't easy, mind."

My scowl slipped through, despite my best efforts. "I'm a strong mage. Perhaps there is something I can—"

She was already shaking her head and inching the door closed. "No need of favors. If you don't have anything to trade, I'm afraid I can't be bothered. Now good night, miss."

The door shut in my face before I could respond. I considered kicking it down and giving the miserly woman a smack upside the head, but that would only land me back in jail.

Instead, I took a step back from the door and just stood there for a minute.

The croaking of a sludge hopper rose up out of the Beast Glades beyond the Wall. The smell of meat being roasted over an open fire drifted through the streets from one of the nearby houses. Someone was drunkenly singing a sad, slow song that I couldn't hear properly.

My mind flashed back to my conversation with the senior captain. More specifically, to the man he'd met with just before me: the almoner, Jeremiah Poor.

I'd never visited the dwarf in an official capacity. Perhaps it was the Flamesworth in me coming through, but I couldn't stand the thought of taking charity. But then, this wasn't for me.

This should have made me feel at ease, but I couldn't help asking myself what I was doing this for. The little elf girl didn't mean anything to me. I'd already nearly died to save her. Wasn't that enough? I hadn't intended to become her guardian when I brought her back to the Wall.

Despite myself, I turned away from the seamstress's home and headed toward the Wall. I knew the almoner had an office in there somewhere. It didn't take me long to find, since the first guard I met accosted me and demanded to know what I was doing climbing the stairs up into the interior of the Wall itself.

The young man, hardly more than a boy, led me to Jeremiah Poor's office himself, watching me suspiciously the entire way.

We found Jeremiah still hard at work, reviewing lists of items written out on long, curling scrolls of parchment. He looked up immediately when we entered and smiled kindly. "Ah, Wendel. And the young Miss Flamesworth, as well." The dwarf hopped up from his seat and gave a small bow. "What can I do for you?"

"I found this one poking around," the young guard—Wendel—grunted, jerking his head in my direction. "Said she was looking for you."

I gave the guard a dismissive wave before focusing on Jeremiah. "I need some clothes."

He looked over my ruined outfit and armor. "I can see that."

"For a girl, this tall, very thin."

The almoner frowned and looked down at his list. "Plenty of children's clothes left by the people that evacuated, but do you mind my asking why you're in need of such things?"

I chafed at the blatant distrust, but couldn't really blame him for his suspicion. "I found an elven refugee in the Beast Glades."

The dwarf ran a hand through his wiry beard, frowning in concern, but it was Wendel who spoke. "And have you informed Senior Captain Albanth about this? There could be others, we should—"

"There aren't any others, but Albanth should be told." I gave him a cool look. "Why don't you run along and see to it, Wendel? Let the senior captain know that I've brought him another mouth to feed, and that someone needs to look after her. She's at the Underwall Inn."

The young soldier glanced from me to the almoner. It looked like he was thinking very hard. Finally, he nodded sharply, waved to Jeremiah, and marched quickly away.

I shook my head, and the almoner chuckled.

"Good lad. One of seven brothers who served at the Wall." Jeremiah paused, then added, "And the only one to survive the beast horde's assault."

The pain from my wound and the bone-aching tiredness were started to get to me. I met the dwarf's eye and shrugged. "Plenty of good people died. Now, do you have some clothes for the girl or not?"