Of course, Lucimia didn’t stop at one question. Seizing the moment, she asked if there were hands here that slipped like shadows between the stalls, fond of robbing and stealing.
The woman nodded at once, her head bobbing like a pecking sparrow. She said there was a small boy who liked to steal and snatch, though she’d only heard of him.
“I heard he’s faster than some great mages who use the Flight Spell!” Her face stretched wide, like a banner fluttering in a sudden gust.
“Faster than a Flight Spell?” Surprise pricked Lucimia like cold rain. She pressed on, voice steady as a drawn bowstring. “Does he leap from here to there in Instant Movement, or does he still move, just fast?”
“I… don’t know.” Her words faltered like a candle in wind. “I haven’t seen him or asked the details, sorry. But you can ask the innkeeper. He’s seen him.”
“It’s fine. Thank you.” Relief settled like a light shawl over Lucimia’s shoulders.
So, Shebelle hadn’t lied. Trust, thin as silk yet strong, held fast like a knot.
They walked on through the market street, feet tapping like raindrops on tile. Not far off, Lucimia spotted a ring-toss stall, prizes stacked like colorful towers.
It looked fun, bright as lacquered candy. But the thought of not even having a place to land made her chest tight, like a bird in a small cage. She skirted the stall and quickened her pace toward the end.
She wasn’t here to play. She had business to nail down, like stakes driven into dry earth.
They walked for a long while, like travelers following a pale road under a setting sun, and finally stepped out of the market to an inn at the far edge.
The inn wasn’t just big; its finish gleamed. Redwood panels glowed like evening embers. Vines were carved along the doorframe, and a neat row of flowers nodded outside.
You could tell this place had boomed before the plague, like a hive thick with bees. Now the hall lay empty, a dry pond with no ripples.
Only at the front desk sat a middle-aged man, worry clinging to him like a gray cloak. He looked like the owner.
Lucimia guessed the counter used to be manned by hired hands, not him, like a missing brick patched by the builder himself.
She thought it through, calm as a pond at dusk. Then she and Desty stepped in, their footfalls soft as dropped seeds.
When the man saw someone come in, his gloom blew off like a light cloud. A warm smile rose, bright as morning sun. “Ladies, do you need a room?”
He didn’t wait for Lucimia’s reply. His words flowed like a small river. “Single room, one silver per night. Double room, one silver fifty copper per night. Extras priced by need. Oh, right—”
Afraid the two windswept girls might slip away like birds, he hurried on. “This is already discounted because of the plague. Otherwise it’d be pricey. And hey, if you stay three nights straight, we include breakfast. Bread and grilled sausage. Sounds good, right? Our beds stay clean at all times, you can rest easy.”
He watched their faces like a tea master reading steam, trying to guess their choice.
Thought pressed down first, heavy as a winter quilt. Lucimia lowered her head and weighed the numbers like stones in her palm.
One silver a night was expensive for common folk, a coin that felt big as the moon. Not to her—she held more than a hundred gold—but still a measure to keep.
A tavern would take them for ten copper, cheap as simple bread. But taverns thumped and roared like drums. The downstairs was all drinkers, and the beds were muddy straw.
Most importantly, there was no hot water. The word itself felt like a firefly—small but bright.
If she wanted to wash, she’d have to haul a wooden bucket and queue, like a line of ants at a shared spring. It wasn’t like home, where her bath steamed like a quiet lake.
Speaking of water, a sigh passed through her chest like a faint breeze. Jaha Town fell short of the Town of Tranquility in one thing.
Under Alvis’s hand, the Town of Tranquility had laid down a proper sewage system, like veins under a city’s skin. Folks even had their own washrooms, water in the house like a tap to a stream.
Jaha Town had none of that. To draw water, you went to the public spout, buckets thumping in a patient line. No sewers. No hidden streams.
That was soil where plague could sprout, like weeds after rain.
Back to the point. Her focus snapped back like a taut thread.
The innkeeper saw Lucimia still silent. Words stuck to him like burrs as he searched for something to keep these rare customers.
He looked at the two girls, dust on their hems like road-ash, and a spark popped in his eyes. “Oh, right! We have hot water!”
Hot water? The phrase was a bell. Lucimia’s eyes lit up like lamps at dusk.
That was exactly what she needed, warm as sunlight on a cold morning.
Seeing her interest, the owner leaned in, voice smooth as poured tea. “I’ve run private water lines. Every room has a bath. That’s why merchants choose us.”
“Done.” Resolve clinked in her chest like a coin. Lucimia nodded hard, then glanced at Desty. “Any thoughts?”
“No… none. I’ll stay where you stay.” Desty’s voice was small, like a sparrow on a branch.
“Good.” Lucimia smiled, simple and clean as new snow.
With the decision made, the owner beamed, steady as a lantern. “Which room, and how many nights?”
Hmm… The question hovered like a moth. Lucimia blinked as she counted.
A single saved fifty copper, but that meant sharing a bed with Desty. Unless they took two singles, and that would be two silver.
A double was a better deal, and wider, like a field instead of a path.
She glanced back at Desty. The girl blinked blankly, eyes round as beads.
Forget sleeping with this fool. Annoyance pricked like a burr; she hadn’t apologized yet.
She needed the nudge—and a proper apology, clear as a washed stone.
“One double room. Four days.” Lucimia’s words fell like pegs into a beam.
“Great!” The owner sat up straight, spine like a drawn brush. “One double, four nights. That’s six silver total, with breakfast for all four mornings.”
He scratched with a quill across parchment, strokes neat as reeds. He asked their names, pressed a stamp like a red leaf, then pulled a key from a drawer and handed it to Lucimia.
“This is your key. Room 203.”
“No problem.” Lucimia took the key, the metal cool as a stream pebble, and paid six silver.
She paused, thought pooling like tea in a cup. Then she asked, voice calm as shade. “Boss, I heard you’ve seen the fast robber in town?”
He was counting the coins, fingers ticking like abacus beads. At her question, his head lifted, half curious, half puzzled, eyes glinting like fish. “I’ve seen him. What about it?”
“I want to know what he looks like. Where he usually shows up.” Her words came like beads on a string. “And how fast is he? Is it Instant Movement from here to there, or a moving blur with a track?”
“Whoa, whoa. One at a time.” He raised a palm, stopping her words like a gate halting a cart.
Lucimia closed her mouth, quiet as a standing stone.
The owner studied her, gaze weighing like scales. Was she robbed by that boy? Or sent from above to catch the cocky thief?
If so, shouldn’t she go to soldiers? Why ask me? Maybe it’s a secret sweep, like an owl at night?
She didn’t look grown, but maybe she was a prodigy, sharp as a young blade.
Oh. Cool. His mind spun a little superhero daydream, sparks popping like firecrackers.
He rubbed his chin and recalled, memories drifting like smoke. “The thief’s a boy, about your age. Short blond hair, and an ordinary build—neither thin nor fat. His face? No idea. He runs so fast you can’t see it at all.”
“As for where he shows up…” He scratched his head, fingers raking like a rake over dry soil. “If everyone knew, he wouldn’t be so hard to catch. So far, the soldiers haven’t caught him once.”
“And his speed…” He spread his hands, the words slippery as quicksilver. “I can’t say exactly. Just very fast—faster than horses and dogs. It’s not Instant Movement from one spot to another. He has a moving track. When he reaches the distance, a bunch of his images appear behind him.”
“Afterimages?” Lucimia’s voice was a flicker, like light on water.
“Not exactly.” He shook his head, slow as a pendulum. “It’s like a figure stamped where he was, a shadow printed on the spot. It hangs for a breath, then fades. And because of the speed, you still can’t see his face.”
