Nina avoided her mother when she returned to the house, immediately sequestering herself away in her room. The stack of academy brochures was on her desk when she entered, and she took great pleasure in sweeping them off into the litter bin. It was still a few days until weeksend, so she had that much time to make her preparations. Because there was no way she was going to let the professor down.

Though it felt like she had only just recently unpacked upon her return from school, she pulled her school trunk out from under her bed. It had been a present from her uncle a number of years back, and she loved it to bits.

Made of a medium toned wood, it had an extendable handle and a pair of little wheels. The latch on the side was made of a pearly metal which didn’t match the wood grain very well, but it had been a later addition. Keys could be lost and combinations forgotten so she had had her trunk fitted with a memory latch. It opened at her touch, and would open for her and her alone. The inside of the trunk was divided into several compartments, some open, some with lids, and one that folded out into a set of little draws for smaller items.

She would need to pack smart and for all weather. Light summer frocks, and thick woollen winter coats, she would need it all if she was going to travel the world. She threw open her closet doors and scrutinised her wardrobe. Her mother had never skimped on clothing for her children, even encouraging her to keep up with the latest Pherasian fashion and to show it off at society parties during the school holidays. Though, only her uncle had inherited the lordship, the Sterling name was inexorably linked to the aristocracy of Pheras and her mother wanted everyone to know it.

There was also the fact that she felt a little bit the ambassador for this trip. She’d be representing the academic community of Pheras through the museum but as a human, her appearance and behaviour would reflect on all the kingdoms. She must look the part.

Hours slipped by in her room as she tried on what felt like literally ever piece of clothing she owned, separating them for season, practicality, and comfort. She wouldn’t have the luxury of changing her wardrobe every term holidays, or ordering things be delivered from home. She had an entire year to get through, she had to get things right the first time. Trunk finally packed to her satisfaction, she collapsed onto her bed, asleep almost the moment her head hit the pillow.

Mind still buzzing with travel plans, she found herself having the most peculiar dreams. First she was riding the butterfly from the new exhibit, then she was the butterfly, being chased through her school’s exam hall by the professor with a net. A gong sounded, shaking the building from its foundations. Large square blocks of building were falling down around her, and she could hear the sound of a wolf howling in the distance just as her mother’s voice cracked through the haze of sleep and ripped her from her dream.

Her eyes snapped opened to the view of her mother standing above her bed, hands on her hips.

“Still here, are you?”

“Well yes,” said Nina. “I didn’t think you meant for me to sleep in the gutter for the year.”

Her mother pursed her lips in distaste. “Of course not,” she said. “I don’t want you out in the street. That’s precisely why I want you to sort out your priorities and get to your studies.”

“I have sorted out my priorities,” said Nina plainly, getting out of bed and disappearing behind a folded wooden screen for a wash from the basin there. “In fact I’ve managed to get myself an internship.”

“An internship?” her mother repeated in disbelief. “Where? With who?”

“Professor Linesley at the Museum of Natural History was quite impressed with my grades and offered me an entry position on a new project.”

“My daughter, pushing papers in a museum office?” said her mother, sounding horrified. “If I had known your visits to that place would have led to this, I would never have allowed it!”

“I’m not a secretary,” said Nina, though she couldn’t see any problem even if she was. “The professors are working on a comprehensive encyclopaedia of world cultures. I’ll be assisting them in the field.”

“I suppose that’s why you’ve packed your bags then?”

“Yes,” said Nina. “I’ll be heading out at weeksend.”

“You will not,” said her mother, and Nina could almost see her stamping her foot. “No daughter of mine is going to be caught dead hiking the world’s backroads so some old fuddy-duddy can write a book.”

“You said I could go on holiday if I could pay for it myself.”

“Only because I knew you couldn’t,” snapped her mother. “I am enrolling you at Oaksfield and you will be attending at the start of the new school year.”

Nina was silent for a moment, then came out from behind the screen, dressed, with a hairbrush in her hand.

“Oaksfield is the school father and uncle went to.”

Her mother looked momentarily surprised, but covered it quickly. “Well yes. Oaksfield is a proud Pherasian institution going back several hundred years. The Sterling family has been attending it almost since it first opened.”

“Oaksfield offers cultural studies.”

“Oaksfield offers every field of study,” snapped her mother. “You will be studying business and finance, and making something of yourself.”

“Uncle studied history,” said Nina stubbornly, running the brush through her hair.

“Yes, and look where it got him!”

She didn’t elaborate, but Nina already knew what she was going to say. The Sterling family had been producing the royal silver going back five generations, it was the main reason they’d been titled in the first place. When James Sterling had taken the lordship, however, he’d left it behind, ‘squandered it’, her mother would often say, to go and see the world. Her father had founded the Sterling Trading Company with his share of their inheritance, which salvaged some of the family’s good name and maintained their reputation in the upper social circles.

“He and your uncle could have been an unstoppable business pair, if only that man had had any ambition,” her mother said bitterly. “I suppose it’s something you and he have in common.”

Nina could not remember ever seeing her mother look so disappointed in her. It hurt to watch her leave, as though the woman had completely given up on her. She had to stay firm with her decision even if it hurt. She was going to do this, to put her name on something of real cultural significance, something that would be remembered longer than a company and she couldn’t let anyone stop her.

In the top draw of her desk, there was a notebook. She’d had it since the start of her final years of school and it was clearly well loved, with many page markers and extra pieces of paper slotted inside. It, like many of her much-loved things, had been a gift from her uncle. The soft leather cover had been imprinted with a map of the world, and many a late sleepless night had been spent among its pages; once blank, now filled to the brim with hand-written notes of her favourite titbits taken from her cultural textbooks. In a pocket of the inside cover were the letters her uncle used to send her about his travels, along with postcards from all the places he’d visited. All in all, it was her ultimate travel plan, down to a detailed year-long itinerary.

The letter in the inside cover was crumpled and the paper was thinning with age, but she pulled it out anyway.

Nina,

Be yourself.

It was the last letter her uncle had ever sent her. She didn’t know whether he was still traveling, or had found somewhere to settle down outside Pheras, but his words always followed her. Be yourself. She would. She had to.

After breakfast, she went for a walk down the promenade to clear her head.

The canals of Pheras City were long and winding, crystal clear and bordered by wide boulevards and gardens. Little pedestrian bridges dotted the length of the canals, high enough for people to row small boats beneath. The citizens of Pheras strolled under brightly coloured parasols that matched their clothing, the women in long dresses embroidered with elaborate patterns and designs.

All along the boulevards were carts selling sweet treats, flavoured ices, balloons, kites and all manner of toys and games. Local artists were everywhere, painting, drawing, playing instruments and quoting plays and poetry. How someone, anyone, could live in Pheras, the City of Culture, and think such studies were soft options had baffled Nina since her younger days. And yet somehow, her parents had managed it.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

A ways down the canal, there was a place where several of the city’s waterways met, forming a large pool. All around its edges were wading steps, shallow ledges for people to sit on and dip their feet into the cool water. Blankets and parasols were dotted around, as the citizens used the canal pool as a beach. Though their beachwear was as conservative as their day wear, covering everything up to the elbows and knees, the woman had no concerns about dropping their dresses and skirts to the bank, revealing their swimwear underneath, and diving in.

Though she’d walked these streets a hundred times before, to the point they were practically her own backyard, today she felt like an outsider, emotionally lost in a place that should be her home.

An explosion of sound made her look up. Directly across the way, a crowd of young children had rushed out from between a pair of tall buildings. Their clothes were scrappy and patched, and they too were in the process of throwing off their shoes for a swim.

There was a man with them, tall, with sun kissed skin and nearly shoulder length hair the colour of spun gold. His appearance was almost dazzling, the kind of beauty one didn’t usually see outside of the catwalks. Though compared to the rest of the city dwellers, he seemed underdressed. He wore the same tight leggings, and long boots as the other men, but he’d forgone the fancy cloaks and capes for a simple loose shirt that showed off a generous amount of bare toned chest.

There was something unnerving about him. He was far cleaner than the children he was minding, and always seemed to be ready with ice cream whenever one approached him. Surely these children couldn't be his own, they looked nothing like him, and there were so many. After a while, the children finished their swim and the man gathered the group up and started leading them away, back between the tall buildings.

She watched them, but red flags were going up in her mind. The children had looked happy and relatively healthy, but there was something incredibly suspicious about the man. He may have been underdressed as far as layers were concerned, but the high quality of his clothes was undeniable. How was it he could afford high fashion for himself, when the children in his care were almost in rags?

She looked around, but no one else at the canal cross seemed to have even noticed that he or the children had been there at all. She had no choice, the longer she waited, the further away they got, and if she was the only one to have seen, then she was the one who needed to do something.

She followed them as the man led his gaggle of excitable children down two narrow alleys until they reached a rosy coloured building with a big red front door. The tied back curtains in the windows of the upper floors had been mended several times and the windows themselves had been thrown open to tempt the cool breeze inside.

“Looks like we’re just in time,” said the man, his voice sounding sensuous, seemingly without him even meaning to.

The smell of a good home cooked meal was in the air, and filling the alley fast. The man opened the front door and watched as the children filed in. As the last one did, he looked up directly at where she was hiding behind a corner, and smiled right at her, before disappearing inside the building. Had he known she’d been following them the whole time? She edged forward, down the now empty street, towards the front door which had been left suspiciously open. On a brass nameplate next to it read the words:

Mother’s Home for Lost Children - All Welcome

A wave of calm came over her as she stood there on the door step. Everything was fine. Lunch was ready. Stepping through the front door, she found herself in a wide front hall, with a shelf along one wall filled with dozens of pairs of shoes. Two doors stood open on either side of the hall, leading to the front rooms of the building. Directly ahead, along the right wall was a thin staircase leading up and behind it was another open door.

Sounds of chattering children, and the smell of lunch, emanated from that direction. A long wooden table surrounded by mismatched chairs could be glimpsed through the doorway.

She hesitated to enter further into the children’s home. She was already trespassing, and the man may have smiled at her but he hadn’t invited her inside. But the smell was making her mouth water, and her stomach growl. Biting her lip, she approached the door, already formulating an excuse for her presence in her mind.

The kitchen room in the back of the house was long, the space mostly taken up by the wooden table. At least two dozen or more children, ranging in age from just toddlers to some older teens, were seated around it, passing each other bread and drinks. They laughed and joked; a ramshackle family made up of those who no longer had one of their own.

The blond man who had been with the children at the pool was reclined in a chair at one of the table's corners, his long legs resting on a frayed footstool. Taller than the chair, he was slouched, and staring at the ceiling with his neck resting on the chair’s back.

Up close, he wasn’t nearly as attractive as he had first appeared down by the canal. His golden hair was more greasy than shiny, and there were dark purple circles under his bloodshot blue eyes. There was a white stick hanging loosely from his chapped lips, and at first she thought he was smoking. The stick rolled from one side to the other with a flash of bright purple between his lips, and she realised he was actually sucking on a lollypop.

“You’ll ruin your dinner,” a feminine voice scolded him.

At the far end of the room, a short woman stood on a stool, her attention focused on the many pots and pans on the cooker before her. Her hair was a brilliant red, and tied back with a spotted scarf. There was a pleasant, curvy roundness to her, but one couldn't call her fat. Her skin was fair and slightly freckled, and when she turned to address one of the children helping her pass plates around, she spoke gently through lips painted bright red.

When she entered the room, the woman spoke again, and there was no doubt that it was she the woman was addressing.

“Take a seat dear,” she said, her voice sounding not just like a mother, but the mother of everyone who’d ever lived. It was a voice full of endless warmth and comfort. For Nina though, it sounded completely foreign. “Lunch is almost ready.”

“Pardon?” asked Nina, stumbling a little over her words. An invitation to a meal had been the last thing she’d been expecting.

“It’s lunchtime,” replied the woman. “Get these on the table will you, Vice?”

The blond man stood without a word, lollipop stick still clenched in pearly white teeth. He towered over the cooking woman and started transferring the dishes from the cooker to the table. The older children stood to help, then started serving their younger neighbours until everyone’s plate was full.

“What do you say?” asked Vice.

“Thank you, Mother!” chorused the children, before they tucked into their meal.

The woman stepped off her stool, and removed her apron, hanging it up next to the cooker. She smiled welcomingly at Nina as she approached her, all rosy cheeks and bright eyes.

“There’s plenty to go around, dear. Always a place for someone new.”

And so it was. The previously-full table now seemed to have a new place, with an empty red chair squeezed between the others.

“Go on dear,” the woman encouraged with a smile. Just being around her was making Nina feel comfortable. “What kind of a mother would I be if I picked which of my children got to eat and which didn’t? You’re in my house, you can have my lunch.”

The woman guided Nina to the free seat. As soon as she sat down, the children were passing her buttered rolls, the older ones chatting to her as though she’d been there all along.

In front of her, a delicious and nutritious spread had been laid out. Soft bread rolls, fresh salads, and centre place a massive cook pot filled to the brim with a hearty stew made with thick cuts of beef and bacon, perfectly cooked vegetables all tied together with creamy gravy. It was simple food, but it was the food of home. Whose home? Everyone’s home. Or so it felt, even though she had never eaten like this before. Any meal shared with her family had always felt awkwardly formal and tense.

The children around the table ate their fill from plates and bowls that never seemed to empty. No matter how many times voices cried for ‘seconds!’ there was always enough to go around.

After a while, the table began to empty. No goodbyes, no acknowledgment of leaving, a child would just smile contentedly, slide off their chair and wander away. A few footsteps could be heard heading upstairs, but most vanished as soon as they reached the front hall.

“Make sure they get home safely, won't you dear?” the woman asked. “And try not to take any detours on your way back?”

The man called Vice stood from his chair again. He looked tired, the circles under his eyes seeming more pronounced from behind his long fringe for some reason. When he raised his hand to take the finished stick from his mouth and toss it away, Nina caught the sight of several thin white scars up his inner wrist.

Blue eyes snapped to hers, as though he could sense her gaze. The man’s eyes swam with light, like the reflection on the bottom of a pool of water. She blinked and he was gone. She whirled around and found him, standing at the door, his back to her. His shoulders were tense, as though someone had seen something of him they shouldn’t have. Before she could say anything, he took two steps out into the front hall and vanished again.

“What is—” she began, her thoughts coming out in a rush, and she turned to the woman. “How did—? Is he a sorcerer? What kind of magic lets you just vanish?”

“Oh don’t mind him,” said the woman, already beginning to clear away the table. “He’s just making sure the little ones stay found on their way home.” She transferred the dirty dishes into a large wooden tub in the corner of the room, which was filling with hot soapy water that didn’t seem to be coming from anywhere. “So then, how was your lunch?”

“It was delicious,” she said, then asked the question that had been bothering her. “I don’t mean to be rude, I mean, I’m the one trespassing in your house but, who are you?”

Leaving the washing tub behind, which seemed to be doing its job without her, the woman sat down next to her. “Dear,” she said, gently taking Nina’s hand. “No amount of searching would have brought you to my door unless you were meant to be here. This is a home for the lost, whatever that might mean. People, young and old can be lost in different ways, sometimes for years sometimes for only a short while.”

“I just saw the children at the canal pool,” said Nina. “And well, I rather thought your friend was a bit suspicious.”

“Yes, he can appear that way,” said the woman with a laugh. “But you see, my dear, you would not have noticed them at all if you hadn’t needed to come here.”

Nina thought back to the other people walking the promenade and how none of them had noticed the children. But why did she need to come here?

“The answer is different for everyone,” said the woman, as though reading her mind. “But sometimes it’s just nice to be able to get away for a while, and be in a friendly place.” She released Nina’s hand and stood. “As long as you’re here, as long as you need to be here, then my doors are open. And if you ever have need again in the future, no matter where you might be, you will be able to find us.”

Nina blinked and was back at the canal pool. She spun around, but the way to the ally was now a solid wall of building. Looking around, she found the canal was deserted, the sky above already darkening to twilight. Just how long had she been having lunch at the strange children’s home?

When she returned home her mother was waiting for her, arms crossed over her chest. Before she could even open her mouth, her mother was speaking over her. “Your father is home,” she said stiffly. “He wants to see you.”