“…this place is a dump,” I remark as I stand outside the camp created by the Hall. And it is. Craning my neck back and forth outside of the entrance, I see congestion. Too many people moving in too little space. Or not moving.

There are plenty of bodies sitting, slouching, and lying outside their cramped shelters, doing nothing but making life harder for the robed acolytes trying to move through the camp. Angry and exhausted acolytes ushering the crowd and layabouts in an attempt to bring order, because so many people forced to live in tight confines can only lead to problems. Compounding the horrible sight are the heavy scents of fear and sickness.

A true shithole.

“I think the guards are too busy to check us out or whatever they’re supposed to be doing,” Alana says with distaste as she watches the two acolytes that were guarding the entrance of the camp try to fend off the attentions of a desperate woman while not letting her get too close. “Where are the others? They clearly need more people.”

“They likely didn’t predict these numbers,” Yulia comments with sad eyes while one hand picks at the sleeve of her opposite hand. Allen is at home being looked after by Earl and Anna, freeing her up to do…whatever she thinks she’s going to accomplish sticking her nose into this. This little sickness might have deviated from Geneva’s expectations a little, but I doubt she’s messed up enough to cause a literal plague.

Kierra is also not with us, opting to, in her words, languish in victory. She strongly objected to coming to the camp. As a well-known healer, she didn’t want to deal with the hassle of the camp trying to enlist her services. Now that I’m here, I’m glad she did. I hope they’d know better than to harass us if we’re disinterested but desperate people aren’t normally reasonable and things here look very desperate.

“You sure you want to go in?” I ask the snow bunny as the woman trying to talk with the acolytes rushes them and is brutally shoved to the ground. One of the young men looks like he’s ready to strike her but he’s grabbed by his partner. “Seems a little rough.”

Yulia doesn’t look thrilled to dive into the trouble, swallowing heavily as she watches the woman reach for the hems of their robes and be kicked away by the more vicious of the pair. “We need…um. I would like a report on the sick, at least to see if anymore have died and what has been done with the bodies.” She clears her throat self-consciously. “If you will kindly assist me?”

“Already said I would.” I step in front of the James sisters, confidently crossing the boundary of the camp. The two acolytes near the gap in the stone shelters that serves as an entrance look up as we approach, the angry one with a sneer and his partner with exasperation. Both expressions are replaced with different variations of fear once they recognize me. I…don’t know if I like that. No, I don’t. But saints know it’s better that they think twice in my presence than not think at all.

In their moment of inattention, the woman grabs onto the surlier of the pair. I’ve been ignoring her until now, but the proximity makes it impossible to let her desperate voice be drowned by the general commotion of the camp.

“Please!” she sobs. “My daughter is sick. Very sick! It’s not like what others have!”

The more belligerent of the pair quickly finds his temper again. “I’ve already told you lady, you need to go the registering tent and make an appointment. The healers will see you then.”

“My daughter might not have that long!”

“You think you’re the only person staring down death? This damn bug infected the whole saints damned city! Those who were already weak, those battling another sickness, the old, the very young. They’re all facing death. And I’ve told them the same thing I’ve told you. If you care about your daughter, stop bothering people doing their jobs and go look after her.”

She stumbles as he pushes her away again but remains on her feet. “You’re supposed to be helping us!”

Her passionate voice draws the attention of the nearby loungers. Heads peek out of the shelters as well, drawn by the emotional moment. The meeker of the acolytes cringes under the weight of the many gazes but his partner is only enraged further. His face is red and his teeth are grit as he glares at the source of the trouble.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

“Get out of here!” he snarls menacingly, pulling a short and stout wooden club from his belt, holding it in a white-knuckled grip. “You insult us when we’re down here, wading in your filth and disease? Giving up our time and risking our own health to help you idiots? Saints as my witness, I’ll—"

“Oi.” Not in the mood to watch a desperate woman be clubbed and in need of some direction, I interrupt. The acolytes jump. Did they forget I was here? “I’m looking for whoever’s in charge.”

“Yes, my lady!” the calmer one is quick to say. “Alyssa Filagree is in charge. She has a tent set up at the eastern edge of the camp. I could show you the way, Lady Tome.” He’s jostled by his partner but returns the scowl with a deadpan look. The aggressive acolyte backs down with a huff. He may not be happy to deal with the masses alone but apparently, he also recognizes that handling me is the priority.

Someone else takes note of my importance. The woman changes targets, focusing on me as she takes two steps forward. “Merciful lady, please help us! My daughter—"

“Shut up.” She flinches at my hissed command eyes going wide. “That one’s right. You aren’t the only one with problems. Some saints inspired fools go out of their way to help you and all you can do is whine about how they’re not doing enough.”

Is it because she still has hope? For the Tome family, hope was systematically stripped from us until we learned to accept our lots in this life. My father is…was…an anomaly, doing what he could to rail against the Grimoires in his own limited way. For the rest of us, it was never even a thought.

The woman hangs her head. “There is nothing I can do. I’m just a simple seamstress—"

“Nothing you can do?” I scoff. “You aren’t sick, are you? You have two hands, two feet? Definitely have a voice. Look around.” I wave at the congested camp and our growing audience. “What does this place need? Bodies. Helping hands. Don’t tell me you can’t do anything.

“Saints, you should have done something when this whole mess started and someone knocked on your door and told you to get the hell out of the city.” I scowl at her, despising her for the guilt she inspires in my chest. It’s so easy to see myself in those like her. But I have to remember that’s who I used to be. Someone I can’t afford to be anymore.

While the woman contemplates my accusations, I snap my fingers to get the attention of the acolytes. “Let’s get moving.”

“Of course, my lady. If you’ll just follow me.”

The woman watches us pass with an intense stare and clenched fists. Her mouth opens but she’s silenced by Alana’s powerful glare. Seems my knight doesn’t care much for the refugees attitude. Coming from the perspective of someone who worked herself to the bone, literally, to be where she is, I don’t fault her for the emotion that borders disdain that she’s displaying. She is of the firm opinion that those who want help should first help themselves.

Yulia…averts her eyes and walks quickly.

How Alana ever thought her sister was the more attractive of the two, I will never understand. If the snow bunny is anything beyond her pretty face and friendliness, I’ve yet to see it. But she is family, adjacently, so I’ll humor her.

The rest of the camp is in a sorrier state than the entrance. It is literally filthy. My expression twists as I regret not bringing something to cover my nose. Again, guilt raises its head, but I bludgeon it with the knowledge that all these people wouldn’t have thought twice about it if the guilds killed my family. They might have even rejoiced.

I went far and above any moral duty by giving them warning. I gave them a chance. If this is what they chose to do with it, what they are content to be because the saints know they have the power to do something about it, then let them languish in squalor while we languish in victory.

The congestion thins as we reach the border of the camp and the tents are much nicer. Here, there is movement and order, as the acolytes in the area hurry about. The smell of sickness is also strongest here. This must be where the healers are plying their trade. We draw attention here as well, but unlike the refugees, the acolytes don’t look for long before getting on with their business. Whether that’s because they are too busy or too scared, I don’t know. Probably a mix of both.

“It’s right here.” Our guide stops before a plain-looking tent that can only be distinguished from those around it by its slightly larger size. As expected of Miss Alyssa. She’s not the type to flaunt her rank.

“Well?” I prod our guide when he remains outside the tent, shuffling his feet. “Announce us.”

“Uh. It was a late night.”

“Yeah?”

“…Boss is probably still asleep.”

A soft laugh escapes me. I can’t imagine what she’s put these young men through that her reputation is enough to rival mine. Or perhaps it’s because he was here instead of in Quest. He doesn’t understand. But I’m far more amused than offended. “Alright, go on. I’m sure you have work to do.”

“Thank you, my lady. Er, have a good day.”

“You don’t have to look so excited,” Alana says with equal amounts of exasperation and amusement as I open the tent flaps. But I can’t help it. This is a rare opportunity, after all.