Out of all the things Esmi had expected to get out of her brief visit at the Red Bear, employment had never made the list.

And why not get a real steady job with the geese?

When Orlon asked, she said yes.

Of course, working at the Red Bear wasn’t all bad: she got to spend time with Orlon, who she continued to feel drawn to despite the fact that he had become a mini overseer, directing her on what to do and how to do it, and getting her to assist him in the many far more complex tasks that needed doing by his hand, like polishing the kitchen knives and cleavers, beating the rugs clean, and carrying water drawn from the well several times till there was enough to fill the two barrels in the kitchen.

“Why do these other people even do?” Esmi asked him after her first few days, realizing that together they had done most of the cleaning, resupplying, and mending.

“Don’t ask questions.”

“But—”

Orlon shook his head resolutely. “You don’t ask questions,” he repeated. “You either accept a job and the pay that comes with it, or you don’t. It shouldn’t matter to you what others are doing. It should only matter what you’re doing.”

How could he be this way when he wasn’t even an adult? His father, Esmi had come to learn, was an inveterate gambler and a womanizer that spent a significant portion of his income on the whores just like the other stupid men that came over. Esmi just couldn’t understand it. “Fine,” she said with a sigh, surrendering to his judgment.

The worst part of her work was dealing with the needs of the devils upstairs—the whores. They were uncomfortable with any of the older male staff coming near them and intruding on their rooms without payment, and they had taken a liking to Orlon. But he was way too shy to serve at their whims. Esmi was beginning to suspect that his main reason for bringing her to the Red Bear may not have been any particular affection he had for her at all, but a desire to find a partial replacement for himself in that capacity and a trusty pair of hands that could help him with the rest of the work. Kids were a lot cheaper to employ, after all…

Plus, every time she successfully figured out how to do things the way Orlan wanted them done, he would smiled and congratulated her in earnest, even give her a pat on the back, which left her poor little heart aflutter. Sooner or later, he may have even tried to kiss her.

That would be a great reward.

But the whores…

The whores, Esmi did not care for.

“I asked you bring me mint tea,” spat Danielle. She was yet another one of the women living upstairs, more of a girl, really, and only older by Esmi by a couple of years. But she was much taller and fiercer, a blue-eyed blonde, and Esmi could sense that Danielle thought herself to be much superior for these reasons and others.

And because of that, Esmi played dumb and never fulfill her orders correctly. “I told you mint!” Danielle insisted.

Esmi kept her hands behind her back and shook her head like a simpleton. “Didn’t.”

“Well, you go back down there and get me a mint tea before I throw your little brown gypsy ass out my balcony into that pile of horseshit that’s been wafting up and stinking up my damn room, how about that?”

“Can’t,” said Esmi.

“Stop responding to me with one word! Yes, you damn well can. Now go and do it. If not, I will complain about you to Martin.”

Martin, the owner, could not have cared less. He was thrilled to have cheap labor, and he had already told Orlon that being able to find a good pair of hands and training Esmi up himself showed great promise—there was a future for them here. He had even given Esmi a tip sometimes after a hard day. The last thing Martin would’ve cared about was that one of his whores was too lazy to go get her own damn tea. Failing to serve the clients would’ve been reason for dismissal. But anything short of that…

“Okay,” said Esmi.

Danielle was so spoiled and lazy that she couldn’t even bother getting out of bed to hit her. She just grabbed the thing closest to her—a book lying on the pillow—and tossed it in Esmi’s general direction. “You stupid little gypsy cow!”

The book slammed into the wall next to her head, but fell to the floor ineffectively. Throwing was also not among Danielle’s talents.

A knock on the door startled both of them. It opened, and through it stepped an immense mountain of a man. Esmi had seen him around town a couple of times, but she had no idea who he was or what he did. It was interesting sometimes to see out of all the men she saw, just how many of them found their way here. Even really poor ones. Despite the expenses, they somehow found a way to put enough coin aside to fulfill the basest, most unholy of needs. Martin hated the poor ones, because they wouldn’t drink or eat, and that was the bulk of where his earnings came from, since the whores kept most of their pay. An understandable problem.

The large man entered. Danielle looked him up and down. “Did you wash?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a polite nod. His eyes found their way to Esmi and narrowed for a moment, then acknowledged her with a second nod. “You recognize me, little gypsy?” Esmi nodded. “You know who I am?” She shook her head.

The man reached into his pocket and gave her to a saresti. “Here. If anyone asks, you haven’t seen me,” he said, and winked.

Just one? she thought with dissatisfaction. This was the only tip she got all day. But it was better than nothing, and Esmi bolted out of the unhappy little room, happy to escape Danielle.

Back in the hallway, she saw Ottillie standing in her own doorway, listening absentmindedly to the talks going on downstairs. She was a furtive, guarded, untrustworthy and distrustful creature that loved to spy on others and listen in secret. “Little gypsy,” she said in her thick accent. “Work hard?”

Esmi arched her brows. “I suppose so.” As always, her eyes went to the brooch the redhead wore on her chest. Ottillie said it had protective power, but it was its sheer beauty that drew her to it. Besides, Esmi could scarcely imagine what a brooch like that would cost. If she were ever to get her hands on it, then—

“Esmi,” said Orlon from the landing. “Come with me.”

She followed him downstairs and noticed the problem: a man at one of the tables had thrown up and left a mess that the clientele struggled to look away from. “Help me clean this up, will you?”

While Esmi did not mind working, this she found filthy and disgusting. The idea of wiping vomit or scraping off god knows what crusty stuff there was inside the women’s rooms was not her idea of a good time. “Do I have to?”

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“I’m afraid so,” said Orlon, and smiled joyfully. Her pain was his pleasure.

She went and brought a bucket and a scrub while Orlon mopped away as much as he could. Martin, wiry, grey-haired, and impeccably dressed in a shirt and vest with the silver chain of his pocket watch dragging along his thigh, made his way towards them. “Quickly, quickly,” he said, but there was no annoying bark in his voice; though he was the boss, he managed to get across his orders more as if he were just another worker rather than the owner.

As Esmi got down to scrub, she grimaced, one of the men from a nearby table stood up. He was short, but immensely fat, with a grizzled beard and an incredibly shiny head that tapered towards an elongated end. A real ugly bastard, to say the least. “That a gypsy?” he asked loudly, his tone indignant and bordering on frenzied.

Martin took note of him nonchalantly. “Do you want a simple answer or one full of mystery and wonder?”

“Ain’t right. Having a gypsy in here.”

Martin went over and gently sat the ugly man back down, smoothing the creases in his shirt. “I understand you take an issue with it. However, this is my establishment. So, I’m afraid until you buy it from me, you’re going to have to accept the way I run it.”

Whenever he became this way, he spoke quietly and in an almost singsong manner. There was something oddly terrifying about it, and it was obvious he was used to dealing with far more difficult and dangerous individuals. Esmi couldn’t guess what he had done in his previous life, but ever since she started working for him she learned that he was much more than a mere property owner.

“I didn’t—” started the man, realizing he had made a mistake.

Martin still hovered over the ugly man threateningly; his voice remained low, silky and sweet, and his hands neatly caressed the man’s shoulder. “I understand, you don’t like how I run my tavern. That is quite unfortunate. And I think you should leave as soon as you finish your drink and seek another one out. But if you stand up again and complain, I’m going to have you thrown out, and barred entry forever. And if you don’t cooperate, I will make sure you’re denied entry to most establishments in this town. And if you truly make me angry…” Martin stopped himself and smiled. He straightened and smoothed out his own vest. “Well, let’s not even speak about that.”

The ugly, drunken oaf stared at him, blubbering something unintelligible. Martin gave him a final tap on the back. “Enjoy your drink.”

Once they finished cleaning, Esmi grabbed the bucket and scrub and returned them to the back of the tavern. In the kitchen, she bumped into Martin, who brought a slice of tomato to his mouth, and chewed it thoughtfully as he looked at her. “You’ve been doing good work,” he said.

“Thank you,” said Esmi. “Will I get more money?” Five saresti a day was next to nothing. And even with the tips, it still barely amounted to anything in the long run. Especially when she needed to eat so much to keep up her energy levels.

Martin giggled lightly. “Of course not. If you want more money, learn to get tips from the clients. That’s what they’re here for, to be sucked dry like the fat little hogs that they are. However, I have taken note of your—shall we say—unbridled enthusiasm. And that’s more valuable than a few extra saresti. Tell, how trustworthy are the gypsies from your camp?”

Esmi shrugged. “Not very. I guess it depends.”

“The clan leader, Manu. Is he a man of his word?”

Esmi thought it over. She wasn’t sure what to answer and in whose benefit. On one hand, she owed a lot to Manu. On the other, Martin was her boss now, and he treated her rather well, and being here with Orlon was far better than any work Manu ever offered. The last thing she wanted was to be alone again all day long and reading stupid magic cards for idiots.

In the end, she decided to answer in the way that avoided the most trouble. “I’ve never dealt with him in that way. But he’s nice to me.”

Martin bobbed his head and slipped another tomato slice past. He took the pocket watch out and checked the time. “I will take that into consideration,” he said, now distracted. “You may go.”

Going past the kitchen and entering the storage area, she could see Martin feeding one of the cats that often came by. “Sorry about the puke,” he said.

Esmi smiled. “It’s not like you puked.”

He rubbed the cat between its fuzzy little ears and made it purr. “Why don’t you head home, Esmi?”

“Already?” Usually, Esmi left late in the evening and came back before dawn.

“You’ve done enough today. I’ll be going soon too.”

That was strange to say. But she did feel tired…

Esmi thanked him, said good night, and left the Red Bear.

Lazily, she padded out of town and then toward the family wagon. As she approached the camp, a startling figure got her attention. Standing at the entrance to the sprawl of gypsy life and wagons, right by where her own wagon was parked, was a blonde woman wrapped up in a scarlet robe. Her hair was so bright that it was almost white, though from a distance Esmi could see that her thick brows were dark and rather noticeably so.

Too curious to turn back, she strolled towards home, trying not to take special notice of the woman. “You there,” said the blonde. The accent was only slight off, but Esmi could detect the traces Azzurettan in her pronunciation. Given the robes, her strange appearance, and her place of origin, there was no way this woman wasn’t a mage.

Though she should’ve been afraid, deathly afraid perhaps, Esmi’s heart only skipped a beat—the excitement sent tingles through her body. A mage, she thought. A real mage.

The blonde got closer. She was eerily tall and slender, similar to how Esmi pictured the elves; but while gaunt, her face was rather skeletal and simple, far from the beautiful and elegant elves she saw in drawings. Plus, her ears weren’t pointed. Nope, not an elf.

“Where is the man that runs this camp?”

“Why do you want to know?”

The mage arched her brows in displeasure. Her hand began to move, and Esmi took a step back, afraid the mage meant to cast a spell. Instead, she withdrew a lovely purple pouch from her countless layers of scarlet fabric and took out a full golden alaster. “This is yours if you can take me to him,” she said.

An alaster. That was a mad sum of money to offer for such a small thing; but then, these southern mages were supposed to be beyond rich. And why wouldn’t they be, if they could transmute the elements and create gold at a whim?

Still, how could she betray Manu’s confidence? Besides, she really had no idea where he could’ve been. “I don’t know.”

“You’re sure?”

“What do you want from him?”

To her great sadness, the mage returned the gold coin to the pouch and slipped it back into the folds of her robe. “A little chat.”

“Is he in trouble?”

“I suppose that depends.”

“On what?”

The mage pursed her lips. “On whether or not he has what I’m looking for.”

Esmi narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “You wanna buy something from him?”

“One could say that.”

The implication was there, but Esmi got the feeling it was more than that, and probably worse. So even if she might be able to guess where Manu could be, she wasn’t about to say. “I don’t know where he is.”

The mage smiled icily. “You told me that already.”

“Then what do you want?”

“Who says I want anything?”

“You’re scaring me.”

“Where’s your leader?” she repeated, trying to restart their whole conversation.

“I told you, I don’t know! You can come wait inside if you want…” said Esmi, unsure of what else to say.

After what felt like an eternity of scrutiny that held her very life in the balance, the mage nodded. “Very well. But no tricks. I don’t give second chances.”

Esmi could tell that the this woman had never been in a gypsy wagon before, wise mage or not, and her tired grey eyes darted from place to place without rest. “You live here?” There was genuine surprise in her tone.

“Yes.”

“How strange.”

“Do you live in a tower?”

“Why? Because I’m a mage?”

“Yes.”

The blonde laughed heartily. “No, I do not live in a tower. I live in a very big building, in which I reside alongside many others. I am still a student there, despite my age. But as you know, in the pursuit of knowledge, one never ceases to be a student. My room, I dare say, is not much bigger than yours.”

“But you’re a mage. You’re powerful. Can’t you just make a castle?”

“I don’t want one. What am I to do with a castle? If I could, I’d live in a coffin, like a vampire, right in the Royal Library. It’s good to have books on hand. And who has time for sleep anyway?”

Esmi watched her intently. “You know vampires?”

“I know what they are. Unless you are asking if I know one personally, in which case no.” The response was annoyed and bored, like the voice of a teacher answering stupid question.

“I’ve met one.”

“Is that so?”

Esmi nodded. “He killed my mother.”

“If that’s true, I’m very sorry. Vampires are dangerous. But they’ll be wiped out sooner or later. Reason and science are guiding us to build a better world, and soon all these creatures of the dark will be vanquished.”

Esmi wanted to ask what she meant by that. She also wanted to ask if she knew how to kill a vampire. But before she could ask anything, however, someone outside yelled, “Manu, good to see you, old chap!”

Panic.

Esmi’s eyes were instinctively drawn to the view framed by the wagon’s doorway, and through it she could see one of the camp gypsies running over to embrace Manu. Another drunk like her father who wanted to beg for coin to buy booze.

The mage noticed them too, and realized she had her target.

“Wait—” Esmi blurted out in a small voice.

But it was too late; already, the mage was out of the wagon and moving towards Manu, her scarlet robe fluttering in the evening wind.