Chapter 19 — Family Troubles

Toren let out a long exasperated breath. “I already told you. I didn’t take your stuff, and I didn’t see who did. What happened is your own fault. If you hadn’t attacked me, I wouldn’t have needed to defend myself.”

“Pushing you out of the way is hardly an ‘attack’,” the [Haberdasher]—Warnel, according to the three ‘scouts’—scoffed, unimpressed and with a steely resolve that hadn’t been there during the foppish man’s prior red-faced impotence. The man took out a timepiece, opening it up to show the interior cover was painted with the likeness of a beautiful woman standing with two very pretty girls wearing fancy dresses and hats. “You cost me the money I needed to set up my shop. I’m not letting you leave until you make it up to me, my wife, and my daughters.”

The hells was this his problem?

Should he just punch the guy again? His eyes went to the tier-2 guard who was pretending to be watching elsewhere.

“Leeway was given because you were attacked first. Don’t expect it again,” the guard preempted as if he knew exactly what Toren was thinking. “A beast rages; a man takes responsibility for his actions.”

Ugh.

Getting on the wrong side of a tier-2 guy who just happened to be a guard for the local lord was the last thing he wanted right now. It would mean finding another town and giving up on the property he just used his rapidly dwindling funds to purchase the rights to.

And if the [Haberdasher] really did have his wife and daughters here with him, letting them end up in the tents would be… not pleasant. The man didn’t look that far into middle-age; he could guess that the daughters were still young enough that there was only one way that would go.

“And how do you expect me to do that, [Haberdasher]?” Toren wearily asked. “My enlistment bonus was taken by the [Official] back in Greenvale. I barely have enough to support myself.”

The fancy hat-wearing man was ready for the question and answered with seriousness, “You have a combat Profession, are strong enough to survive this place, and have purchased a stead. Take my family on as tenants and train my daughters to fight and work the land.”

Toren blinked. The heck?

The previously crazed lunatic suddenly wants him to train his fancy-dress-wearing daughters? Take them outside the safety of the walls? Live in the jungle?

Didn’t the man hate his guts? Was Warnel that terrified by what he’d seen of the town?

Then again, having workers to help with reclaiming the land, dealing with the infestation, and maintaining the property while he hunted and earned levels would make his effort more likely to succeed. Could he really bring this man’s wife and children into such a dangerous situation? The previous family working that land died.

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Could he trust them? Could they even do the work?

He looked the man over. The fine clothing wasn’t suitable for traversing the jungle and seemed more worn out than his initial impression. Any artisan or merchant enlisting and bringing his family to the colonies had to have been down on his luck and desperate.

What were the chances the man would finally catch a break via his enlistment bonus, only to lose it because he tried to bully his way past a level 1?

Toren shook his head in bemusement and snorted, “Is your [Luck] attribute actually worse than mine?”

No, that couldn’t be right. Judging by his clothes and manner, he must’ve been rather successful for a time.

At the [Haberdasher]’s grimace, the pieces of the man’s downfall fell into place for Toren. The success. The beautiful wife. The two perfect daughters….

“You used a luck treasure and traded your future luck to a fae…”

Warnel blanched, his face going from stubbornly resolute to panicked in an instant, the man’s hand raising as if to grab Toren’s arm but thinking better of it. “You can’t tell my wife! She doesn’t know…”

Seriously…? The guy really made himself a bad-luck attractor? Taking him on would be like inviting calamity into one’s home!

“Dad!” a girl called out and rushed over—a girl that could easily be an older version of one of the pair from the timepiece’s cover.

The [Haberdasher]’s eyes widened with worry as the distraught teen hugged her father as if clutching a lifeline. “Falma! What’s going on? Where are your mother and sister?”

The girl was tearing up and looked to spill out the details in a single breath, but her mouth clamped shut and her rapidly moistening eyes went to the guard standing nearby.

Warnel eyed Toren, not wanting to let him make use of the distraction to escape but unable to ignore his daughter’s desperation or the growing dread at what might have happened that couldn’t be said in front of a guard.

Toren sighed. Again. This was a prime chance to sneak away. The man had invited disaster and the price would be paid. But. Seeing the terrified girl who would suffer for her father’s stupidity there before him gave a face to that suffering, and it was clear the hat maker was far out of his depth.

“Why don’t we go look at the postings?” Toren suggested, standing up and motioning to a spot near the wall and away from others.

His speaking drew an evaluating look from the girl, who seemed to take in her father’s condition and the way her father was tensely watching Toren.

“Dad, what happened to your face?”

“Nothing to worry about. This man and I just had a bit of a…disagreement,” Warnel deflected, the last word almost growled. The hatter still nodded acceptance of the offer and motioned for Toren to go ahead, and with a hand against his daughter’s back, guided her to go along.

Falma continued glancing Toren’s way with suspicion but couldn’t hold back any longer once they were far enough away from any of the guards, squeaking out with as close to a whisper as the girl could manage, “Mom and Laiya were taken!”

“What!?” Warnel was less successful at keeping his voice quiet, and curious looks were directed their way.

“These mean men from the C-conclave of Shadows said Mom and Laiya have to work for them to earn their ‘protection’ tax to be protected while in town unless you bring them 500 silver rods, Dad!”

The more the words tumbled out from the daughter, the more color drained from the [Haberdasher]’s face until he looked on the verge of fainting. “Slow down, Falma. Bring who 500 silver rods?”

“The Conclave of Shadows,” the girl desperately repeated, grabbing at her father’s fancy coat. “They let me go so I could go get the money! They said if I went to the guards, I’d never see my family again! What do we do, Dad?”

500 silver rods… that was half the enlistment bonus. Toren doubted that amount was chosen at random. If he had to guess, this was what those dangerous chucklers were about, watching the new arrivals like wolves salivating over fat and unsuspecting prey.

“H-how long do we have?” Falma’s father asked, his voice barely more than a whisper—as if a man doomed by fate awaiting fate’s answer.

“‘Until the Phoenix crests’ they said…” Confusion showed on the girl’s face only to be replaced with dread realization. “Do we not have enough?”

There was no way the thieves left the hatter with that much.