Ren woke in a panic. Where was he? Had he been kidnapped?

Then it all came rushing back to him. Thumps and voices traveled up through the building to tell him that the inn’s guests were waking. A faint clatter said that the kitchen was probably serving up breakfast already.

He hated it, but he knew he should be leaving. He didn’t want to spit on the kindness shown to him by overstaying his welcome. He dared to hope that Garam might send him off with a roll of bread. Another stupid fantasy. Maybe if he stopped dreaming he’d actually be able to do something for once.

The boy crept down from the attic and made his way through the halls, noting that his ankle felt considerably better. Showing his dirty face to the guests wouldn’t be good for Garam’s business. There were a few customers in the tavern, faces practically buried in their bowls of rice and eggs. Perfect.

Nobody even looked up as he passed through the room toward the door.

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?” Garam’s voice boomed, bursting the peace of morning’s silence.

Ren froze. Gutter-piss and Rat-shit! Had Garam changed his mind about letting him go?

“We never finished our talk,” said the innkeeper. “Come on back to the office. Norn can handle breakfast while we chat.”

Norn didn’t seem to agree. She shot Ren a look that could shatter glass as he passed into the back.

Garam sat with him as they each sipped on a cup of steaming tea. This one seemed to be infused with some kind of sweet flower he couldn’t quite identify.

Ren refused to speak first. He’d been expecting much worse than a seat and some tea and he wasn’t going to disrupt whatever magic was changing his luck by sticking his mouth into things.

“It’s a damn shame what happened to your family,” said Garam, “that you folks came all the way out here only to lose everything like that.”

The big man shook his head ruefully. “I’m not a man of pretty words and flowery speeches. Nor am I particularly given to charity. So I’ll cut to it.”

Ren held his breath.

“Work for me lad. Just part time. I’m not gonna pay you, but I’ll feed you and give you a roof to sleep under. On your time off you can look for paying work. I know you said you need to start making money to pay the debt faster and buy your parents’ and siblings’ freedom. I could use the free labor till you find something better.”

Ren was now speechless for a whole new reason. “Really sir? Yes. I’ll do whatever you need.”

“Cut it with the ‘sir’ crap. I ain’t your commanding officer, boy. It’s just Garam. Or boss if you like, but only while you’re on duty.”

“Yes si- Garam.” Ren was smiling so hard it hurt. He wondered if it looked weird. He hadn’t smiled in a long time.

“Good.” Garam was grinning too. “I’ll take the floor and have Norn ready a bath and tailor some old clothes of mine into a uniform for you. Training starts today.”

*******

Norn squawked in horror and disgust.

She’d been stirring through the urchin’s old rags where they lay on the floor with the handle of her broom, trying to determine if anything was salvageable—something she should not have to do, this was not her job. She was a serving girl. She served customers. Paying customers. She didn’t root through flea ridden scraps of gutter trash, and bathe emaciated street boys. And yet here she was, holding what could only be a picked-clean lamb shank that had been hidden in the pile.

Disgusting. And she was supposed to work with this trash-monkey?

She half expected to be called in to help the beggar bathe. He no doubt had no idea how.

Maybe it was her fault. She’d been soft on him, bringing him tea when he collapsed into that chair, teeth and bones chattering.

She prayed to the Seventh Fire God. Zastura, help me.

But no help came. The bone was no illusion. It was just as real as the bile rising in her throat. She stalked out to the common room and grabbed the fire poker, spearing the nasty rags, carrying them into the alley, and flinging them onto the refuse pile.

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Once she was back inside, she breathed in air that was now blessedly free of the gutter stench. Good riddance.

*******

Ren had been too embarrassed to tell the girl who was helping him about the greasy brown cloud that had spread across the tub after he’d put a single foot in. So instead of changing the water, he splashed himself with the brown liquid and hoped that not too much of the foul grime clung to him.

When he’d finally left the bath, doing his best to cleanse the tub, he found a pile of clothes. Some black pants that had been taken in and up, and a tan shirt that had had the sleeves shortened and waist taken in. Even so, the shirt was pretty long on him, so he tucked it into the pants.

Norn had a surprisingly good eye for tailoring. He’d venture to say that the new clothes were even comfortably fitted. As much as was possible when the clothes belonged to someone stones heavier and several hands taller.

***

Training was simple. Or it should have been. He was just being shown how to mop and wash dishes and fold sheets and empty chamber pots and scrub and hang laundry.

But somehow everything he did brought on Norn’s ire. He was either scrubbing too hard, or mopping too slow, or using too much soap, or standing wrong. The ornery serving girl had kicked his feet out multiple times, saying, “This is how you stand if you don’t want to slip and fall on your ass, fool.”

Okay, she hadn’t said fool. But she may as well have.

But still, nothing could get Ren’s spirits down. He had a full belly. Uncomfortably full, actually. It was amazing how much one’s stomach could shrink in a matter of months.

And maybe soon he’d find a job and start making money. He’d be able to finally help his family. Able to face them again. Able to face Sitara. Maybe she’d take him back?

Yes! He’d visit her as soon as he had enough money for a new outfit.

“Put your back into it.” Norn said. Her voice was quiet, but it somehow still felt like she was yelling at him.

He shook himself. He had to focus. This kind of stuff had never been his strong suit. He was more of a words and numbers and stories kind of man. Though he supposed he’d been getting pretty good at running these past few months.

***

“Lady Melfina,” said Garam, bowing his head when they’d reached the table to which he had literally dragged Ren. “Are you recovered from last night?”

It was the lady Ren had brought in. She was shockingly beautiful in the light of day. Though there was a harshness to her features that reminded him of an eagle or a lion. Her black hair was streaked with red, forming a beautiful contrast with her alabaster skin, and her eyes were grey like storm clouds. Definitely a foreigner. What he had mistaken for jewelry the night before was actually bits of metal from her armored clothes and exposed hilts of all sorts of weapons. Most notably, a scimitar that hung from her hip.

She raised an eyebrow, “To be honest, innkeeper, I don’t quite remember making it back here. I ran into some… complications last night.”

“Well, I can clear some of that up for you, honored cultivator,” said Garam, though the woman waved the honorifics away with a scowl. “It was actually Ren here who's the one that brought you in.”

She sniffed and wrinkled her nose. She could definitely smell that he wasn’t really fully clean. He’d heard that cultivators often had enhanced senses. Ren’s cheeks, which were already in full bloom from his hormonal response to the woman’s appearance, pulled off a miracle and got a shade darker and hotter.

Mercifully, she said nothing about his smell, even as her eyes traced along his form, taking him in, and finding him lacking.

“W-Well really,” he managed to stammer out, “it wasn’t much. You were just in an alley. I probably wouldn’t have moved you if it hadn’t been raining, honored miss.”

She smirked. His flustered state was at least amusing to her.

“A good deed is a good deed. We cultivators must trust in virtue to keep us on our path, after all.” She flicked a coin to him, then turned back to her bowl of breakfast.

The coin was heavy… and silver. Silver!

It was also, thankfully, Ardinian currency. A real silver rupee. The equivalent of fifty copper dham. Not enough to put a dent in the debt, but…

Maybe he’d be seeing Sitara sooner than he’d thought.

*******

Fish-Lips scratched at the rash on the back of his neck.

The boss was not happy. He’d made a big fuss trying to catch that urchin, who was now known across the east side as the Rat-Spy. But it’d been days and the search had turned up nothing.

Fish-Lips knew that the higher ups only gave Basher so much leeway to run the district because he showed no weakness.

Until now.

The gang had chased that urchin across half of lowtown and everyone who was anyone knew that he had gotten away. Basher had only grown more violent since then, taking out his anger on anyone who annoyed him. Big-Toe was evidence of this, laying half conscious in a puddle of his own blood.

Though he despised the man, Little-Fist had always been good at staying on the Boss’ good side. The best thing to do was follow his lead and stay out of the way.

But Fish-Lips had seen the little shit’s face. And he was good with faces. Some might even say obsessed. But what did people think was gonna happen when they called him Fish-Lips?

Needless to say, his discerning gaze had identified eyes from the east and a nose from the west, a very distinct face.

What would Basher give him if he managed to locate the Rat Spy? He licked his lips in anticipation.

“Stop licking those things, Fishy! You’ll make me puke.”

Maybe he’d use his reward to get off the street. He was smart. He’d make it so nobody ever made fun of his face again.