Solo Not the Horse!

[Deltan Colari]

67th of Fall, 8th Bell Deltan hated Sunberth. He hated Sunberth! Thanks to Mirian (Or "that thieving whore," as he now affectionately thought of her) Deltan had lost most of the money he'd brought with him. Fortunately, he'd had a run in with a nice young lady who he had convinced to give him a couple mizas. With enough money to survive for a few days, Deltan had gotten a little breathing room. In front of the young man was a rather oily-looking felllow with greasy hair who smelled of sweat despite the cooling weather. "Hmmm... Hmhmmmm..." The creature oozed the sounds as he inspected Deltan's mount. They were in a stable that had been recommended to Deltan by his fellow guards in the caravan he arrived in. Unfortunately, the management would not refund his fee on the horse's feed, though they had "generously" connected him with a merchant who needed a few horses for his guards. It was ironic that he had no need for more guards. Then again, employment was rather scarce in this city unless you had someone who could vouch for you. At least, employment Deltan was looking for was. Few would pay a man to watch their back without any reason to trust him. In Sunberth, that was doubly true. Thus, Deltan had to get money for a few more nights from somewhere. So, the horse had to go. The greasy man turned back to Deltan after inspecting the horse, beady eyes fixing upon the redhead with almost palpable greed. "Twenty mizas," he said, belly puffing out in a nauseating sort of way. Twenty? Twenty? The horse was a paint; worth at least seventy. This, Deltan wouldn't stand for. "Twenty? Why, you..." The young man trailed off; he needed this man. Unfortunately, the merchant knew it thanks to the oweners of the stable. He had to have the money today, and was as likely to get his throat cut as get a fair bargain from anyone else. At least this man had a reputation of a sort. Calming himself, he smiled as politely as he could. "Why, you're very generous," Deltan continued smoothly once he was able to sound rather calm, projecting sympathy as strongly as he could without straining his abilities. That was to say, not much. After all, a piercing headache would not help him negotiate this deal. ...And from the little he had heard of the magic, it was best to be careful with hypnotism. Those beady pupils focused on Deltan as he continued, "But I can't let him go for that little... You understand, I'm sure." Deltan was about to put a hand on the greasy man's shoulder, but he didn't want to push his luck. For a moment, Deltan thought it had worked. Then, the piggy little man snorted and answered, "Quit bargaining, boy. That thing's worth little more than the meat on its bones. You're in a fix, so here's what I'll do: You get thirty and not a miza more for the horse. Throw in the saddle and tack and you'll get five more. Try to get any more out of me, and I'll walk. I can get another horse anywhere." The man sounded sickeningly confident about that. Deltan wanted to hit him. Badly. Unfortunately, he couldn't. He got ten more mizas than he'd had before, so it was worth the effort. Still, Deltan knew he was being completely robbed. Well, perhaps not for this city. Here, this was probably generosity. So, he'd take what he could get. With as polite a thank-you as he could manage, the young man took the money and watched as the horse was led out. Deltan wasn't one to get sentimental about horses, though he'd miss the thing. Deltan had never named the horse, but he had served the redhead well enough. The thing that bothered Deltan was that the horse had been worth so much more. He was well-muscled and sturdy after such a long journey, and clearly would not die on the way as long as he was treated properly. Deltan made a mental note never to stable a horse here again, and to hurt their business if he found an easy way to do it. For now, though, there was nothing to do but look for employment. After all, thirty-five mizas would not go far, even with how thin Deltan could stretch it. The young man drew his cloak tightly about him and moved out into the busy streets after tucking his newly-earned coin into his pants. No more using a coin purse for him; that lesson had been learned quite well. Deltan stepped quickly, hurrying on to his destination. Now, he could afford a more permanent residence. For the winter, at least. As soon as possible, he'd get out of this cursed city. For now, though, he was stuck. To the Sunset Quarter, then.

[Deltan Colari]

Deltan shouldered his bulging pack, face flushed and slightly moist from lugging the heavy thing all the way to the Sunset Quarters from his previous room. It was a miracle he'd not been stabbed in the back for his things. Then again, he'd picked up a rather substantial half of a plank with a rusty nail driven through it. It wouldn't take much to drop the pack and allow the nail to make intimate acquaintance with someone's face, and his pack was just ratty enough that it seemed he didn't have anything worth getting hurt over. Deltan was beginning to pick up on the discretion one needed to survive in Sunberth. No fancy clothes for him. The young man weaved his way through the cramped confines of the Sunset Quarters. It seemed like there were more doors lining the way than wall, almost. Were these all houses? They seemed more like closets. Even to Deltan, a man who had lived with his mother in an apartment that was by no means large, thought them small. Well, he hadn't much money, so he had to put up with it. He'd only be here a season, if he had any choice. After asking a few people--mostly women and children he could corner to make them answer--Deltan located who he could ask about a room. Most of them pointed him to the orphanage. Pointed in the general direction, at least. In practice, he had to waylay some poor person every five minutes lest he lose his way. After close to two hours, the young man managed to make his way into the orphanage. Quite abruptly, he was almost bowled over by a horde of children running in through the door after him. He kept an eye on his pockets, after two children both tried to clumsily pickpocket him at the same time...And a more adept third nearly got away with it. Still, his irritation was tempered somewhat. The ragged children were just being children. Deltan was quite convinced that the gods designed children specifically to cause havoc. Then, quite abruptly, all childish games ceased as a dour-looking woman walked into the room. They hastily scurried from the room, heads ducked. As the woman--apparently this Jillene he'd heard about--approached Deltan, he noticed a few things at once. First, she was blind. Her eyes had the milky white that made it hard to believe she'd ever seen anything, and she had her hand on a little girl's shoulder. Apparently, the little girl was her guide for the moment. Likely not a permanent fixture, though, since the girl seems tense. Not scared, exactly, but wary. The woman was almost a foot shorter than Deltan, but she had a bearing that said she was very used to being obeyed. "Why are you here?" She inquired archly, back straight as she stared up at him. Deltan, for his part, wasn't exactly intimidated. A little blind woman was hardly a threat, but he'd show her respect if she somehow maintained control over the entirety of the Sunset Quarters. "I need a room," he answered, pitching his tones as close to respectful as he could manage. He did respect her somewhat for being able to keep all these orphans in line, so there was no need for hypnotism. It was half practice and half pity that made him meet Jillene's guide's eyes. The girl had big, brown eyes that watched him with only a little fear. Jillene was a guardian, so she was safe from harm while the woman was near. At a glance, it was obvious the girl was a skittish thing, scared of both him and Jillene, though the latter had somewhat proven herself. With a faint push of suggestion, Deltan tried to implant the idea of safety in the girl's mind in connection with the woman. The girl relaxed barely, but he doubted it would have a lasting effect. Besides, there was no way to know if she relaxed, since his own presence likely made her wary. Deltan knew that, among hypnotists, he was probably on the hamfisted side of things. Abruptly, Deltan realized that Jillene was speaking, and he returned his attention to her. Those blind eyes were narrowed, almost as though she could see him. It was troublesome, but nothing unbearable. After listening to the prices, Deltan settled for a simple apartment at one and a half silver mizas per day. He paid ten days in advance, introducing himself in the process and getting a cool nod from Jillene in return. She didn't seem interested in anything he had to say, so he simply turned and left. He risked a backward glance, and noticed that the girl was more relaxed around Jillene than she had been at first. Maybe he'd done some good, after all.

[Deltan Colari]

Deltan had to ram his shoulder against his new front door in order to get it open. Twice, in fast. Finally, it opened with a loud shriek of rusted hinges and Deltan stumbled through. Not that he minded; nothing in the world could ruin his elation. He finally had a place to sleep! More importantly, it was a place of his own until the end of winter. He was secure for the time being, and had enough time to be ready to leave by the spring thaw. The young man looked about his room, taking stock of the area. It was a closet, by any reckoning. Small enough that he could take five short paces between one wall to the other if the room were empty. The room, however, was quite far from empty. There was no window, of course, but there was a splintered dresser on one side with a cracked wash basin on it and a shelf hanging above it and a cracked, horribly blurry mirror above that. On the other side was a bed with a (thin) hay mattress, a table, and a rickety stool. It was all old, poorly-made and more practical than decorative, but it was all his. For the moment, at least. Deltan stepped into the room and shut his door, and hesitated a moment before barring the door. This was Sunberth, after all. The young man set his pack down and, after hanging his cloak on a hook by the door, began stowing his gear away. First the tent and its trappings under the bed, then the rations on the table. He'd eat those over the next week, though they were absolutely vile-tasting. Next the few spare clothes he had, and then his crockery on the dresser beside his razor. Finally, he placed his few coins in his pack and shoved it into a corner. That would do, he thought. It would do very nicely. The young man sat down on his new bed, grimacing at the lumpiness. At least he could afford to sleep without fear of having his throat cut.

[Vanari]

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