Quentin heard a soft thump from above just before dawn. He saw Theo massaging his leg as he tried to climb out the window.
“The window shut itself when I was trying to climb out,” he groaned.
Quentin tried hard not to laugh. Then, he sighed at the desperation and bravery the boy was displaying. He bit his lip. Ophelia wouldn’t like what Quentin was about to do. He wanted to set the boy free. Something about the dream he had inspired him. Theo managed to survive this long without active magic if he had any at all. His quick-thinking and speed worked in his favor before. Maybe Theo could think of something that Ophelia and him hadn’t. Quentin breathed through his nose. “You’re free to go as soon as you have breakfast.”
He led Theo down to the dining area and offered him porridge with milk. The innkeeper watched him finish it slowly. He then snapped his fingers to unlatch the bolted door. Inside the pantry, he brought out an unused jar.
“Before you go…” Quentin held a finger as he cooked more oats and rye with water and milk. He transferred the porridge into an empty wooden jar and grabbed three cookies. He covered them with a clean towel and folded them over. He handed it to Theo along with small wooden bowls and spoons. “If you do find your friends, give them this.” He then remembered that he still had some raisins from Ophelia, so he added that to the mix. Theo stared at it, wanting to say something, but nodded and left.
Quentin slept once more and woke up at dusk. He prepared the stew and baked some cookies with the new ingredients Ophelia bought him, mixing them all together, delighting in the sweet scent of sugar, milk, and vanilla. He made the creamy porridge next, adding a drop of vanilla, cream, and raisins. When his guests arrived one by one, the sweet aroma was still lingering in the air, above the chatter of villagers.
Finn came back, cheerful. Quentin nodded at him, amused. “Someone’s in a good mood.”
“I made so much!” he whispered. He flipped a silver coin at Quentin. “What will that give me?”
He caught the coin and set it on the back of his palm. Quentin had known some of the commerce during the weeks he started being a proper innkeeper.
“A lodging for three nights, three hearty meals each day, and a fine horse with a cart to take you where you went home. If you have another, you can hire a refined red guard to escort you.”
“That much?” Finn said. “Wait, no, I’m not hiring any of those brutes. I’d rather hire a mercenary.”
Old Tom overheard that. “Not many mercenaries around these parts, I’m afraid. They’ve been outlawed by the red soldiers. Either they transition into the twisted versions of the classes the Red Army is forcing upon them or are kicked out of the kingdoms.”
“How did you manage to trade here, by the way?”
“The academy. They analyzed my potions and deemed that my ingredients were top-quality. They sent me to trade here with your green mages and potioneers. And they granted me a license to sell my potions. They paid for my carriage and protection.” Finn shivered as he recounted his story. “There were some pretty mutated monsters out there, afraid of the red mage’s flames.”
Quentin wondered about the classes they kept mentioning. “What is the difference between green mages, apothecaries, and potioneers?”
“They work in synergy with each other. Green mages can commune with nature and grow ingredients. Potion makers can use the most common ingredients and develop liquid potions. Apothecaries house those ingredients and have more to do with preserving them until the time potion makers get them from us. Our masters teach us their secrets. We combine them, preserve them, turn them into powders and syrups, and such. We can all brew potions, but not as the same quality as potion makers. And don’t even get me started with alchemists. That’s a whole other discipline. It’s like the red mages and white mages. They both can heal, but not to the extent of the other. Like the flames held by red soldiers and red mages.”
Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.
Quentin nodded, letting it all sink in. Moving on from the topic, he clapped his hands. “So, to celebrate…” he turned to the barrel and poured him a nice cool ale, frothy at the top.
___
Quentin sensed Theo return close to the inn just as he ushered the last guests out. He waited for the person to turn around a corner before whispering his name in the darkness and swinging the door wide open. Theo and two other younger children rustled out of the nearby bushes. Quentin closed the door behind them and immediately checked for injuries. The children Theo brought looked so similar to each other that Quentin had no doubt they were siblings. The little girl was fine. The older boy, who looked no older than ten, had a burned leg.
“The red soldiers targeted one of our hideouts. These two managed to escape because of Laia.” Theo set the siblings on the table. Quentin brought them warm food and drink, as well as two cookies per child. “We usually go out at the night market festival to have fun, but some of us were born with unusual sicknesses that not even the most powerful of white mages can fix. These two stayed with my friends who couldn’t walk or stand properly. They told me that some of the rowdier kids came home early and brought the usual stolen items like healing ointments and syrups to lessen fever. Then suddenly the red mages were at their secret entrance. Laia was there and she somehow sent them on a secret tunnel or passageway of some sort. I found them in an alley not far from here diving for stale bread in the trash.”
Quentin closed his eyes. He grabbed three more cookies from the jar where he kept them. They munched on them and smiled.
Theo walked near the window and peered out. “She’s still out there, probably in the tunnels. They wanted me, too.” He stared at Quentin. “You were right. They were trying to draw me out.”
Quentin gave Theo a wash basin filled with warm fresh water and clean towels. If only he had soap and a proper washroom…
He watched Theo scrub the dirt off their faces. They seemed to rely on him like an older brother. He washed the bruises on their knees and cleaned the dirt and dust sticking to their arms and legs. Quentin led them upstairs to their room when they yawned. He fluffed their goose-feathered pillows and flattened their wooly blankets. They smiled and fell instantly asleep. When he returned, Theo was eyeing his pantry. He had forgotten to close it.
“You’re running out of ingredients,” he said.
“There’s still plenty,” Quentin reassured him as he closed and locked his shelves.
“Not if you keep being this generous.” He looked at Quentin. “I know this inn is special and all, but you still need money to buy ingredients.”
“I profit enough,” Quentin shrugged.
There was something in Theo’s eyes like he wanted to say something as he eyed the ingredients. But he shook his head. “I think I know where some may be hiding. It’s something Laia told me about the streets. Maybe they are in the tunnels. She said that in her time, they built secret underground passageways but that they only used it for emergencies like this one. Sewer monsters may jump out at you in the dark. You need someone who can fight.” He stared at Quentin. “I told you before that I’m the only one that can fight. I meant that in my group, I’m the only one able. They say there’s a fighter in other groups, but I’m not sure how strong he is. I have to prepare.”
Quentin looked at the fair-haired boy in front of him. He is infinitely tougher than Quentin would ever be, he thought. “Theo, how old are you?”
Theo said, “Sixteen. I think.”
Theo joined the children upstairs. Quentin cleaned their bowls and threw the now murky wash basin outside. It splashed on the pavement. The boy needed healing. He wondered how to contact Ophelia when suddenly the fireplace burst into life on its own. Something in him told Quentin to throw a cookie over the fireplace and to concentrate on Ophelia. The fireplace glowed its usual color, then briefly flashed white and yellow, the colors of Ophelia and the inn vibrated close to Gorrimer Hill again.