“Fine,” she said. She whipped her shoulder bag to her front, opened the zipper and pushed it forward. Arlan deposited both items in the bag. “Thanks for the card.” She turned around and headed for the door.

“Have a safe journey. And give him my regards.”

She gave the man a thumbs up before stepping outside, the noise of busy people greeting her. She still had a number of things to do, but for now, she just wanted some rest.

5. Getting a Job – July 23, Year 216

Sally paid the innkeeper with some of the coin looted from the burned-out caravan, along with a relatively generous tip. She’d slept in and missed breakfast, but they’d been willing to whip up something for her regardless, and a large breakfast at that. They’d more than earned it.

Stepping onto the plaza once more, she headed toward the Circuit Runner’s Guild. While she had been lucky to get some loot she could sell from the caravan and the bloodfiend, she needed to buy extra provisions – preferably something more than cheese and hardtack – along with camping supplies, like a bedroll and a simple flamer to cook on. It would probably take all she had. Furthermore, she had her future to consider, as unready for it as she was.

In short, she had to get a job.

The ground floor of the Circuit Runner’s Guild was practically the opposite to the Arcanist’s one. Rather than a quiet, closed-off room with a single clerk, the Circuit Runner’s Guild was a bar filled with rough people in rougher clothes, all sitting on cushions at stone tables busy talking, eating and arguing with each other.

Having never been here before, she didn’t quite know where to go in order to apply, get assigned or whatever it was they did with newcomers. Lacking directions, she went to the most likely source to give her answers: the publican.

Marching up to the counter and seeing the woman wasn’t particularly busy, simply pouring drinks and grabbing plates from the kitchen through a broad window to the kitchen, Sally simply asked: “Where do I need to go to get a job?”

The woman gave her a glance, eyes lingering briefly but notably at the cut-off and tied-up left sleeve. Sally set her jaw, ready to argue back, but the bartend thankfully decided not to start one.

“Third floor, any open door will do,” she said, pointing at the staircase to the right of the room, before turning back to her duties.

“Thanks,” Sally replied simply, if a bit brusquely.

As she went up the stairs, she saw glimpses of what the rest of the building contained. The first floor was an open space filled with desks which half-encircled their occupants, on which lay a variety of papers and books, along with pen and ink. Manning these desks were people in some form of black-and-white uniform, looking much less rough than the people she saw in the bar. They were either busy writing things down, searching things in their books or talking with the much more varied people in front of them.

The business floor, most like.

The second floor was simpler and much less open. There were two corridors from the stairs, on either side of which were numerous doors but a couple of feet from one another. Most people were like those on the ground floor – rough, skinny, wiry; clearly the runners of the guilds – milling about and gathering their things, with a smaller number of the uniformed people talking to a few of the runners. Some of the doors were still open, through which Sally could see simple rooms with simpler beds.

Temporary lodgings for guild runners, she supposed. She certainly hoped they weren’t their permanent residences.

The third floor was like a combination of both previous floors, and also not like them at all. It had a much higher ceiling, for one. The sides contained larger doors, each with a name scribbled on a metal plaque. Lining the space between the doors were a number of cushioned wooden benches with small tables attached to them, while at the center of the floor were was a small garden of cacti, bushes and even a small tree. There was even a river in miniature meandering through it.

Sally wondered if the water was drinkable. In any other place it would most likely be fresh simply to add to the extravagance. But the Anteer cities had a particular, religious reverence for the waters of Lake Prior, which everyone could drink, but only once without dying for certain. It would not be surprising for this to be untreated, but unlikely considering the foreign guests. Wouldn’t want someone to have an accident, after all.

Most doors were closed, but she spotted one half-open on the other side of the garden and walked towards it. ‘Alain Teschel’, the sign on the door read. She knocked and pushed it open.

Behind it was an impressive room. Most things seemed to be made of wood – the chairs, the table in the center of the room itself, the bookcases lining the left wall furthest from the door, all of it. On the central table there was a glass pitcher filled with water, with a number of smaller glasses on a platter. The desk at the back, nearest to a window, was a desk larger than those of on the first floor and of a darker wood.

Behind the desk, on an elaborate wooden chair, sat an older man with a conventionally attractive look and a head full of greying-blond hair coiffed to the side. Looking up from whatever he was writing, she was met with an inquisitive, though professionally friendly gaze.

“Welcome. It is always a pleasant surprise for my appointments to arrive early.”

Sally scratched her cheek. “Sorry, didn’t know you were expecting someone. I’m Sally, I was directed here by the publican?”

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The man smirked. “I figured, ‘twas a joke. They never arrive early.” The man laid the pen down on and waved his hand at the chair in front of him. Sally took the invitation and sat down, bag on her lap.

The desk wasn’t particularly large, but it felt like she could barely look over it. Combined with her small height, the man on the other felt larger, more intimidating than he was. It left her feeling both discomfited and annoyed.

“Now then, how can I help you?” Alain continued.

“I’m looking for work, specifically for the duration of my journey to Lovesse, and perhaps beyond.”

“You aren’t a runner with the Guild, I take it?”

“No, sir.” When was the last time I addressed someone as sir?

The man was silent and simply stared at her, though not without a quick but pointed glance at tied-up half-sleeve.

“Then I’m afraid I cannot help you. Only those affiliated with the Guild one way or the another can take on assignments. I’m sorry, but there is nothing I can do.”

“Easy, I can join the guild. I’ve been a Warden for five years – eight if you count my training before that. I know the threats, I’ve fought the threats, and I know the Circuits and can travel them fast, I’ve-”

Alain held up his hand to cut her off. Annoyingly, it worked.

“Look, even if you were a Warden, there is a method to these things,” his voice remained neutral, although a steel had crept into it. “To become a runner, you either need an apprenticeship, a letter of recommendation or a sponsorship from a notable, neither of which you have or you’d have mentioned it. And I doubt anyone would give you one.” This time, the look at her sleeve was purposefully obvious.

Sally bit down the anger at his dismissal. “I’ve travelled forty miles in two days, from the Villas to the Gold and Red and then here.” She rummaged through her bag to get the bloodfiend tongue-fang. The man tensed for a second and reached for something underneath the desk, but she didn’t care.

“In the past two days – let alone the past eight years – I’ve crossed the Graidle, alone. Scared off a sheepstealer, alone. I’ve been attacked by a bloodfiend,” she held up the demon’s fang “and not only lived, I killed it. Alone.”

It was somewhat of a misrepresentation, but she didn’t care.

Alain looked about to say something, before freezing for a second. “May I?” He asked, hands outstretched. She gave him the fang.

Alain looked at it ponderously. He seemed frustrated, though this time not at her.

“What did you say your last name was?”

She hadn’t, but replied: “Palters.”

A shallow sigh left his lips.

“And do you plan to take the Gold or Red Circuit on your way to Lovesse?” He asked as he handed the fang back to her.

Taking and storing it again, Sally replied: “I thought on taking the Red, but can go through Gadeon, if that is what you’re asking. Or continue on to Bridgers, or Southwall.”

She didn’t know what had changed, bet she’d take it.

Alain waved her off. “No, no, that’s fine. Or, well, it’s not, but there’s nothing I can do about it.”

He grabbed a small piece of paper from his desk, wrote something and signed it before passing it to her.

Déjà vu, she thought, accepting the note. It said: ‘This individual is representing the Cardinar Circuit Runner’s Guild’ and signed ‘Alain Taschel, senior manager’.

“So, I have a job now?”

“Two weeks ago, my wife’s niece came to visit.” A strange non-squitter, but she didn’t stop him. “She was planning some form of ‘spiritual journey’ to the great lakes of the Grand Circuit – even Dread Lake. She’s a priest, a Dekantist, you see, and somewhat odd even for them.” There was some real bitterness in his voice and he became more animated as he talked, gesturing out his frustrations.

“Now, my wife was obviously not happy, but it was fine; pilgrimages happen all the time and it meant she would rise in standing in the church. What was not fine, though, is that she wouldn’t be joining them. Now, my wife loves her, so I, of course, offered a band of runners to travel with her for safekeeping. To my consternation – and my dear wife’s horror – she refused! Said she had to do it alone!”

She’d leaned back in her chair at the unexpected rant.

Not that he seemed to notice her anymore. He’d begun pacing around in anger. He grabbed a bottle of brown liquid out of the cabinet near the window and poured himself some. Then, immediately downed half of it, then turned around and pointed at her, glass in hand.

“Then, suddenly, she got a glazed look in her eyes and said: ‘One fang in one hand, send the last of the Palters to me’ or some such nonsense. All in that whispery, hard-to-hear tone of hers. Now, I can see that you don’t know anything-” she was mildly offended at the phrasing “or you’d have said something about it. ‘Twas probably that damned lake again.” He whispered the last part.

He looked a bit disheveled, some of his hairs falling into his eyes before smoothing them back in place. He’d begun to calm down and retook the seat behind his desk.

“Don’t get me wrong, I like her well enough, but she can be just so… much sometimes.” He downed the other half of his drink, letting the silence linger for a moment.

“Now, I don’t know for sure what she’ll ask you, but it seems obvious. You agree to it, guide her and make sure she’s safe, got it?”

She nodded and before she could broach the subject, Alain reached into some drawer and handed her a pouch. From the feel and weight of it, it was filled with coin and paper money, and not a small amount of it either.

“Upon completion, you’ll get the other half alongside a letter of recommendation. Meaning you’ll be a full member of the Guild.”

He looked at her, glare significantly intensifying.

“If you fail, do not set in foot in Cardinar again or the only foot you’ll know is six underground. Am I clear?”

The man wasn’t particularly intimidating – he looked like too much of a bureaucrat for her to feel that danger – but the threat was clear, real and within his means.

“Got it,” Sally responded, rising from her seat.

“Good.” Some of the manic energy had left the man, making him look tired, far more than when she walked in. “You know the way to the church?”

“Yep, down main from west, towards the lake.”

She got up and left, nothing further needing to be said.

It was time to do some shopping.

X

The Red Bazaar was, of course, just next door. A grand, circular building over thirty yards in diameter, the inside of it was packed with market stalls and the people wandering between them. Counting the ground floor, there were three levels to it. The roof was open, albeit covered in a tarp of some kind to block the sun. Due to the open ceiling, the first and second floor were smaller and not as busy, but the further up the more expensive the goods.

The cloying smells, loud noises and dazzling lights of glassware glinting in the sparse sunlight while the rest of the room lingered in the tarp’s shadow; all of it overwhelmed her senses. And yet within the nausea, she ironically found something comforting.

Her home had been a bit like this. All of her family, all of the men and women bearing the Palters name, living in a compact cube and underground tunnels, talking, eating, working and living together. She’d found it claustrophobic at times; another reason she wished to leave for the Circuits. Another reason for why she had become a Warden.

A thing she would never truly experience again, only false memories jumpstarted by parallels.

Nevertheless, she had a reason for being here and got to it.

Selling the handguns and rifles along with ammunition she’d looted from the caravan was an easy thing; weapons were always in demand. She kept one of the rifles, though, along with its accompanying ammunition. She did not know if her companion-to-be had her own weapons, but she figured a priest wouldn’t normally keep one on hand.

The rifle she kept was a Scarab .308 lever-action, a slightly less powerful rifle than the lever-action she was used to. Hopefully, the priest could help with some ranged support.

The bloodfiend fang was a bit more difficult to sell. She knew it could be done – Niall had told her about what parts of what demons were worth something – but she didn’t quite know where to sell. The more generalist stores offered little compared to what she’d been told, and had been unwilling to bargain or barter. Eventually, she did find an alchemist on the second floor who did.

It was a vocation unfamiliar to her, but apparently it was a specialized form of a Villa medician – a healer with a slightly magical twist. One of the few exceptions to the no-magic-allowed attitude of the Villas.

With money in hand, she could now start purchasing. A brown leather, military-style duffle bag was the first, to sling on her back while her other, smaller backpack would go to her front. A second and third set of clothes and underwear, all of either cotton and linen. Some extra .45 and .308 ammunition. Extra waterbags, both for her and the priest.

Her most important purchase, however, was a fully-charged burner with a skillet and a cooking pot. She even purchased some refills for it, the small charged metal easy enough to carry. Now she could finally prepare something other tack, cheese and salted meats, or at the very least make them taste better with some vegetables in a stew.

All in all, she felt ready for the journey to come. Hopefully, the priest would be too, or this could quickly turn into a months-long nightmare.