Phoenix

[Otto]

Open to Resolve. This thread occurs soon after the dissolution of the Coronian Empire, as Radasanth is rebuilding in the wake of a devastating dragon attack (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?28218-Tales-From-The-Day-of-the-Dragon).

Warning: this thread contains mature content.


You wouldn't find this bar on any map of Radasanth. It barely even qualified for a doorway, being so narrow that the patrons had to shuffle single file from the entrance to the counter. Presumably there was a kitchen out back, because something that - in a poor light - passed for food came out on occasion. It did so now; a knobbly, grizzled old barkeep emerged through the stiff curtain, with a steaming clay bowl of glop in each hand. Exactly what the stew was made from was hard to discern, since the establishment was cheap on lighting (the candles were sickly yellow tallow, and there was only one lamp reserved for the counter). It was clear that clientele didn't come for the cuisine or atmosphere. But the lack of both worked in conjunction with its mean premises: what this place offered was privacy.

The barkeep clonked the dishes down on a rickety round table, and immediately waddled back to the beer kegs. Two well wrapped-up men stared at him until he was safely beyond earshot. They stared at the bowls, but found the view to be disconcerting; they opted to eye each other up thoughtfully instead. It wasn't much of an improvement.

One, a skinny bald miser, broke first. "Alright," he finally said. "So I'm here. You obviously know my business... so what's yours?"

"I guess you could say I'm here to discuss exports." This fellow was more thick-set and bleak of face. He had a nasty scar running down across his lip, which always bared a portion of his gums to the air in a permanent snarl. Where his acquaintance slouched in the chair, this one sat ramrod straight.

"Exports of what, exactly? And why should I be interested?"

The larger man braved his soup. He gave his opinion of the food succinctly, in words that matched the seedy decor, then returned to the topic at hand. "The dragon attack's left you with a surplus. Can't be good for business, especially since no one's willing to part with their money at a time like this."

He was answered by a wary nod, but no more.

"I reckon I could take some off your hands," he continued. "No damaged goods, mind - but I bet those are the ones you'll want to keep. We just need you to get them out the city. We can handle things from there."

The bald man leaned forward, which caused candle light to dance greasily across the dome of his head. "What do you... no, I won't ask." He appeared thoughtful. "What payment are you offering?"

A pouch appeared on the table, and Split-Lip loosened the string around its neck. His hands were gnarled and stubby, and he was missing the ring and pinky finger on his left hand. The leather bag opened gently like a flower in the morn, at which point Baldy had to stifle a gasp. Even in the dirty light, he could make out hefty silver coins winking at him from the depths. He automatically reached out to inspect the contents - but the other man jerked the string tight and pulled his money away.

"Five denarii each, paid upon delivery," he reprimanded the skinny fellow. "You'll understand if we prefer to take precautions."

Baldy scowled. "Of course. How many do you want?"

Split-Lip tucked the purse somewhere safe, and smiled unpleasantly. Then he relaxed back into his seat.

"How many can you get?"

[Otto]

Otto had woken at first light. After three years in the army, it was a habit that he found hard to break. Only a week ago it would have been the start of an intense day spent doing drills in the garrison yard - but finally leaving the CAF changed all that (not to mention what the dragons had done to the city garrison). One thing he'd discovered recently was that too much spare time made him antsy. The other was that spending a lot of it with Resolve proved to be an enjoyable solution.

She was lying next to him in bed now, still asleep. Otto didn't trust himself to disentangle from the sheets without waking her, so he did his best to keep entertained for a while longer. She was on her side, facing away. Her black locks tumbled haphazardly onto the pillow in front of his face, not so long that they obscured the gentle arc of her neck. This curved sharply into pleasingly bare shoulders, and a soft, arching back the lustre of old amber. Then she disappeared beneath the sheets, but Otto could still appreciate the abundant swell of her hips under the covers.

While he was busy daydreaming, Resolve sighed and rolled back against him. Her eyelashes flickered, parted, and she stared bemusedly up at the ceiling. Then she frowned, and looked accusingly at Otto.

"I thought the bed felt hard," she murmured. "I'm guessing that's not a night stick you've smuggled under the sheets..."

Otto grinned back at her. "Could be. Find out?" he retorted, while running the back of a finger along her arm. Her skin was cool after a night exposed to the air, but despite the obvious bulge of muscle, felt even softer than the fine down mattress they were lying on.

Resolve snuggled closer so that her hands could make forays of her own. "That would be a feat, since you don't own one." She suddenly adopted a face of exaggerated thoughtfulness. "And one that flimsy isn't going to do you much good."

"Maybe it's not for me," Otto managed to say, a faraway look on his face.

"Ah, so it's a poor present! I pity the recipient... couldn't you get something sturdier?"

"You're doing plenty enough!" Otto gleefully roared. His hand stopped its gentle caress, and threw the obstructive bedsheets across the room. Then he seized Resolve under that attractive bulge he had been admiring earlier, and rolled the two of them around on the bed so that he had her firmly underneath. She giggled - until a calloused digit tickled its way down the sensitive bits of her chest. Laughter turned to a drawn-out gasp. Emboldened, Otto traced his way lower with the careful precision of a craftsman. One of Resolve's hands curled into the formidable bank of hair on Otto's chest, although the other kept at its task. Resolve opened her mouth again, and Otto met it with his own.

When their lips parted, Resolve was smiling again.

"Stiff as a poker!" she happily exclaimed.




* * *



They had breakfast some time later.

It was a simple affair, as supplies in the city were tight - but improving, now that Radasanthia's borders were open once again. They toasted some bread, adding to it a thin veneer of butter and half a poached egg apiece; Resolve had wanted to scramble them, but cream was scarce (although she still added a touch of parsley, salt, and pepper). Fried onion was added to the side, and after some intense deliberation, a rasher of bacon each. Resolve took charge of the preparations since she was by far the superior cook, but Otto did excel with a knife. He could put a jamón slicer to shame.

They sat down with it in front of Resolve's drawing room window, which overlooked the street below. This street being the part of town which included Moody's, there wasn't a whole lot to look at. Otto gave his tiny breakfast a mournful glance, before demolishing it with gusto.

"You'll choke," Resolve said, irritably.

"Sorry."

Otto slowed down, but not from anything so frivolous as fear of death. Resolve took great pride in her ability to cook, and it irked her to see her hard work disappear so quickly; Otto suspected that she thought he never even had a chance to taste it before it was gone.

Resolve paused in the act of nibbling at her toast to say, "Are you going up to the warehouse today?"

Otto nodded. "They've finished surveying the property, so I'll be meeting an agent there in an hour." 'They' meant the city planning department. In the chaos of the dragon attack, Radasanth had suffered many losses. As not everyone had made a will, the state had suddenly received a massive windfall of empty property - most of it burnt to the ground. "So much land, and no demand for it. I doubt I'd get this chance again."

"Well," Resolve said gently, "I think it's a great plan. Don't worry if the price is a little higher than you hope for. We can work it out."

Otto smiled at her.

"Are you checking up on the library later?" he asked.

[Resolve]

“Mm,” Resolve answered through the last of her tea. “Not so sure Luned really needs me to, with all those protections on the place… but I’ll humor her. And the garden probably needs attention, too.”

The mood fell solemn and Otto collected their dishes into a small pile. “Have you heard from them at all?”

The girl set down her cup and rose to retrieve a carefully folded piece of paper from the mantle, where it had been pinned under a vase of tulips so a breeze wouldn’t catch it. The stationery bore Bleddyn’s crest on the top left corner, and the creamy surface remained bare save a few scant lines of mixed penmanship. “Nothing new,” Resolve reported as she returned it to its home.

A pigeon returned Otto’s pensive stare from the other side of the window, then it fluttered away.



It didn’t feel much like spring in Radasanth. Much of the greenery along the main streets had gone up in flame on the Day of the Dragons, and so the change of seasons felt stunted as no amount of new warmth could coax those trees into life again. What little grass the urban environment allowed remained muddy and yellow from the homeless, who had built clusters of makeshift shanties anywhere and everywhere. And there they lived, days turning to weeks which were soon to become months, as they worked to rebuild their burnt and broken homes.

Refuse stung Resolve’s nose instead of pollen, inspiring her to walk even faster. The library sat less than two miles from her apartment above Moody’s, but what once was a zen little journey was now polluted –– both literally and figuratively –– by the poor state of the city. Chronicle’s efforts may have banished the last of the old government with the very best of intentions, but the new system struggled to get on its feet with the weight of this disaster to bear. Resolve didn’t have much of a mind for politics, but even she wondered if it would have been better to wait, not that Luned could have possibly known what catastrophe would follow so quickly.

But she wasn’t one of the representatives selected to occupy the old assembly hall, convening daily to argue over where to prioritize labor and how to allot raw materials and where on Althanas they’d find the money for all of these things. Right now, she just had to look out for herself, her friends… and the library.

It sat unsettlingly unchanged in a half-razed neighborhood. Its gray stone sat strong, confident, perhaps even arrogant amongst the ruins of its neighbors. The exorcist snuck around to the back, her sunset-hued tunic garish against the dreary facade as she found her way to the iron gate.

It was unlocked.

Resolve didn’t sense any intruders, but she slowed as she stalked through the stone passage and into the courtyard. Once she’d entered, she discovered nothing amiss regarding the library’s protections; the doors into the building proper remained firmly closed and undisturbed. But the garden, however, was another thing.

The Althanaeum’s courtyard had become an oasis of green in a desolate place, one they had greatly appreciated but apparently taken for granted. They’d grown complacent in knowing that whatever spells Bleddyn imbued it with kept it safe from even the mother dragon, herself. The girl’s jaw dropped in disbelief as her eyes took in the offense: still-green tomatoes nicked from the vine and herb garden shorn to the roots by some careless hand, her cherished parsley along with the rest. It wasn’t much, but these things were luxuries that made meager rations almost enjoyable, and to be able to share them with their friends had been a great source of morale. Even the tiny, new strawberries had been stolen from their nest, the one thing they’d decided to save. Otto had grand plans for them in particular –– an important gift –– and now they were gone.

“Gods damn it,” Resolve growled fiercely, fingernails pressing lines into her palms as she clenched her fists. Along with the curse, she unleashed her sixth sense, peeling back layers of time and impressions with her mind to find the culprits. That was the easy part: the break-in occurred mere hours ago, by a single trespasser. But that conclusion didn’t sit right; no one simply broke into the library, and something about the spiritual signature hit her as strangely familiar.

The exorcist had no choice but to investigate.

[Otto]

"Just over five thousand square feet, backing onto a laneway for waste disposal, and close to the main roads. Spacious cellar, plus loading bays with ready cart and waggon access, of course..."

Otto let the agent drone on. He himself was prowling around the yawning interior of the old warehouse, clambering over the collapsed roof and sullen ash bed. Comforting spring daylight suffused through the open space above their heads; still surrounded by four soot-coated stone walls, the place felt tranquil and welcoming despite its ruin. The other man did his best to follow Otto around, without slipping up on a loose shingle.

"There's a lot of work to do..." Otto mused.

The city agent, who had introduced himself as Paul, rolled his eyes. "There's a lot of work to do everywhere. This is no different. As you can see, the damage is superficial-"

Both at the same time, they looked up to the missing ceiling, then down at the carpet of debris.

"-the load-bearing sections are completely sound," Paul continued. "This wasn't hit directly by a dragon; the damage you see was simply from the subsequent fires. Completely reparable."

Otto nodded amiably. "Oh, with a lot of time and labour, sure enough."

"The stonework is evidently Old Radasanthian, so it's very good quality."

"Also, by the name," Otto interjected, "old."

"At least it's not Terian era," Paul muttered.

Otto laughed. "Wouldn't still be standing if it were!"

Paul threw up his hands in despair, which caused him to misbalance on a cracked tile. Otto casually caught the man before he could fall hard enough to take a shingle up the trousers, adjusted the agent's disheveled coat tight with a tug, then resumed nudging the ashes with a heavy boot. Paul coughed irritably and brushed some dust off his trouser hems; little pale clouds coiled up from the agent's slaps and Otto's questing toe.

"Well, if you don't like it, there are plenty of others who will snap up a warehouse like this..." Paul intoned.

But Otto shook his head. "Actually, no. We're in the middle of a residential district. If anyone wants a warehouse, they'll be looking to the docks, or one of the city gates, or by a market."

This area once had been one of those, in fact, before Radasanth grew and its borders expanded outwards. The former eastern city gate, the Aurora Foris, still existed as a monument just a minute's walk away from here. Even so, the property's location didn't make things entirely hopeless: they were still close to major roads, so access wasn't too much of an issue. And if he had to, Otto might be able to set up a portable forge for light work to take to market. It would get at least get him recognized.

He could tell that Paul had been sufficiently softened up. The agent wasn't going to fold completely, of course; real estate managers had to be made of pretty stern stuff, and know how to roll with a few punches. But Otto might be able to shave a little off the price now. No need to involve Resolve, either. He didn't have the cash, but he knew someone who did, and they owed him big time after a certain poorly-planned trip to Berevar. The orc gritted his teeth just remembering it. Never again would he go on any business ventures with Leopold Winchester; the man was a carefree fool with the gift of immortality, and (quite erroneously) took it for granted that everyone had the same blessings.

Paul sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Well, you've seen the property now. If you're still interested in buying, let's head back to the office and discuss-"

A cry from the empty doorway cut him short. "Otto! Otto, come quick!"

The two men whipped around to see a very short, rather wide boy come bumbling in. He had a large nose and formidable stubble despite his age, belying at least some dwarven heritage. Otto recognized him as Grumble, the kitchen hand at Moody's ale cellar. Judging by the stained apron that he wore, he had come straight from work.

Otto loped over. Bits of rubble scattered madly as he strode impatiently through the mounds. "What is it, Grumble?"

The lad took a gulp of air, and said, "It's Rosie. Blue's already run for the doc. Otto, she needs help!"

[Otto]

Dwarves are known for their surly persistence, but there was probably not a one who could keep up with a grey orc in full gait. Grumble was soon left behind.

Otto didn't have trouble getting back to the apartment block. When pedestrians see a six-foot juggernaut bearing down on them, they tend to shift as best they can. There were one or two yells of surprise which dwindled rapidly into the background. Otto even heard one man call for the guards; they probably thought the shaggy chap had stolen a handbag and was bolting for safety. Otto wasn't inclined to wait and see what any local authorities who turned up might think of this.

A mere two minutes later (far too long), Otto had reached the dank cobble road famous for Moody's Ale Cellar and various associated nightlife. The apartment Resolve shared with her friend Rosie was just next door. Otto bustled through the portal, pounded up the staircase to the first floor, and stomped his way through Rosie's unlocked door.

"Rosie?" he called out, scanning the sumptuous parlor. "Rosie, what-"

A short woman appeared from a back room, all shimmering auburn locks and figure-hugging dress (and figure featured fairly prominently). She also bore a finger pressed against her lips and a scolding frown. Otto was confused by this last touch, but at least he stopped rampaging. Rosie waited patiently while he traversed the thick Falerian rug towards her.

"Grumble said something about a doctor," he breathed, "and that you needed help...?"

Rosie shook her head. "Not for me."

A wave of panic squeezed at Otto's heart. "Rez?"

"No! No, Rez is fine," Rosie soothed him. "Well, last I saw her, anyway. It's, well... come and see. Just try and be quiet, please."

She led Otto through the doorway, withdrawing further into her abode. He hadn't been this far in before, and - no offense to the woman - had never made any plans to. The parlor with its museum-like display of personal treasures gave way to an almost equally spacious bedroom. A huge street-facing window allowed in a wealth of midday light, and set the brightly-coloured decor to life. There were more lush rugs warming the floor. There was a broad, plump bed surrounded by unlit incense sticks. There was a long mauve méridienne couch opposite the window. On the couch, was a young child.

Otto guessed she was about nine. Rosie had wrapped the girl in a blanket, save for the upper chest and above. The reason was plain: terrible burns had striped across her body and face, red and raw. She had a typically pale Coronian complexion where it wasn't a livid pink, frayed black hair, and was thin enough to use for toothpicks. Fresh linen and a pail of clean water lay next to the couch, signs that Rosie had taken to cleaning the wounds. The girl had her eyes closed, and she didn't stir when Otto and Rosie entered the room.

"Dearie, this is Otto," the woman softly intoned. "He's a friend, and... and he's here to help." She shot him a desperate look.

Otto remembered himself enough to mumble a 'hello'. The girl must have heard it because she drew further into herself, though she made no other concessions. Rosie swept over and sat by her on the couch, picked up a sodden fold of cloth, and began to dab at the burns again. Her guest whimpered slightly at the touch; Rosie hushed her in a comforting tone, and continued.

"I can't see," the girl said in a cracked voice.

"It's alright, sweetie," Rosie cooed. "The doctor will be here any moment to have a look at you. Chin up - you're doing so well. Would you like some more water?"

The thin little face hesitated, then nodded. Rosie gestured with a used cup for Otto to go through another door to the very rear of the apartment. Otto took the glass and went. He found a tiny kitchen there, presumably shrunk so as to allow more entertaining room in the rest of the home. There was a pump above a cistern there, which he used to fill the cup with freshly drawn water. He returned and gave it to the pair without a word, who received it without one either. Then he sat on the bed facing them, waited, and thought.

[Resolve]

Resolve's walk took her back toward Moody's: a wide, looping path through overcrowded neighborhoods, turning on its heel occasionally as if it lost its way. The spiritual trace she followed remained just out of her grasp, and she felt rather like a bloodhound on a vague trail that might diminish any second. Its journey had been polluted by all the others who'd passed through, leaving their own traces on the world, and the girl couldn't help but wonder if it would yield anything after all.

But it did. A few blocks from where she lived, within the clutches of one of Radasanth's poorer districts, she honed in on the origin of that signature. It resided in a cluster of others, bunkered down in an alleyway that had been converted into somewhat of a burrow of crates and tarps and haphazard stacks of bricks stolen from surrounding ruins. Resolve strolled right in.

They were children. As her pale eyes assessed their little troupe, she couldn't help but compare them to her own group of friends when she was about that age, all grime and mischief. The youngest couldn't have been more than six, but a couple were possibly as old as twelve, the rest falling somewhere in-between. They huddled in the far corner where she seemed to have interrupted them in the midst of some deliberation, the two tallest standing in front in practiced formation. She didn't recognize them as the urchins she knew from Moody's neighborhood before the disaster, and that realization hit her with a pang of concern.

"Hello," she greeted them with a friendly little smile. "Sorry to barge in, I just had some questions for one of you, if you don't mind."

"What about?" the eldest girl countered Resolve's diplomatic greeting, arms crossed over her chest. She wore an oversized leather vest over her dirty dress, belted around the waist with the remains of a bright scarf not unlike the Fallieni garb the exorcist boasted.

Resolve braced her hands on her hips, posture slack. "Thought I'd ask just how sour those strawberries were," she tossed back, "and maybe teach you a thing or two about gardening. Taking the roots with the basil wasn't the smartest move, if you want to keep your thieving habit sustainable."

At the sound of her voice, one of the younger children pushed to the front, a mussed mop of fire red hair blooming between the shoulders of his elder comrades. The protective girl glanced back, shrugged, and stepped aside to reveal a very freckled and very sheepish little face.

"Elis," Resolve gawked, unable to hide her surprise. "What are you doing here?"

He stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back. "I'm sorry about your garden, Rez," he mumbled. "Lune wasn't home, so I figured no one would miss a couple things…"

She shook her head dismissively in response; those precious strawberries had never seemed so insignificant. Resolve approached him, dropping to one knee as to even out their height, and she couldn't tell if his face was just sunburnt or if he really was that embarrassed. "Lune's in Salvar right now. What brings you to Radasanth?"

"Mum and Dad talk about visiting but they never do," Elis replied indignantly. "So I did."

Resolve couldn't help but smile for real at that. "You know, your brother Muir did the same thing some years back," she laughed. "Can't really blame you there… but this isn't a very good time for visiting. Your sister's busy, and the city's… well," she sighed. "How long have you been here?"

"Not long," Elis reassured her. "And it's alright, I made friends." He turned with a bright little smile, which put some ease into his companions. "That there's Molly, she's really smart. And that's Faraz, and Myrin, and this is Tubs, he knows all the best games."

"I see," Resolve nodded. "Pleasure to make your acquaintances."

The gang of dust bunnies greeted her back, in their own mix of cautious curiosity and youthful distrust. She was sorry to see the latter, though not surprised by it; she could only guess what number of them truly called this makeshift fortification they'd built home. The scraps of woolen blankets, old newspapers, and other castoffs that occupied the corners of their nest harshed the rosy memories she had of her own childhood friends who had it rougher than herself.

"Seeing as Lune isn't around, you're welcome to stay with me. I live nearby," Resolve explained, selecting her words carefully. "Maybe you and your friends would like to come over for supper? I've been saving the last bit of brown sugar for a special occasion."

Elis hesitated, then glanced back to Molly. "We were just playing a game, actually," the girl replied. "Where do you live? We can come by later."

Resolve took a moment to look over the rest of the gang. Molly's position of leadership pleased her in a strange sort of way; the girl had promise. Faraz was just a touch younger and skinnier, swarthy in contrast, and perhaps the most curious about this peculiar grownup. Myrin and Tubs were youngest, perhaps siblings, and most definitely half-Raiaeran with their startling sea green eyes. The exorcist made sure she got a thorough sense of all of them before rising to her feet and reaching into her pocket for a card.

"This is my address," she explained as she handed it to Elis. "Top floor above Moody's Ale Cellar, just a short walk away. Promise you'll come?"

He grinned. "Promise."

[Resolve]

Resolve's trip to the grocer produced rather sad results, but she was determined to make a feast of the root vegetables and herb scraps at her disposal. Perhaps she could ask Blue to lend her something from the Hyacinth's well-guarded galley for the special occasion –– she knew for a fact that they had at least a few skilled fishermen on crew. With an armful of carrots, she continued her familiar walk from the market to Moody's in a thoughtful pace, flipping through her mental encyclopedia of recipes.

To her surprise, she picked up the dwarf's astral signature from just a few blocks off, and it seemed hurried, at that. On top of this peculiarity, Resolve recognized a tagalong as Petru, a good friend of Luned's and well-trusted neighborhood doctor. She hadn't seem him since… "Shit."

Something was wrong.

The exorcist broke out at a sprint, closing the gap with an inhuman swiftness that caught the eye of several passers-by. One crone leaned out from the shade of her shelter to pull her young grandson in by the wrist. Resolve caught her glare and offered a halfhearted "sorry" as she skipped on by, around the corner, and down the street.

As she approached, she saw two familiar figures rush to the side entrance. Blue's stout, red-haired form opened the door for the taller fellow, who wore a clean suit and carried a leather surgeon's bag far too hefty for his spidery limbs. But in and up the stairs he flew, breathless and dedicated, to see the patient.

"Blue!" Resolve hollered, catching the dwarf just before the latch closed her out. "What's happened?"

Worry lines creased Blue's face as she glanced up and held the door once more. "Rosie found a bairn out on the street," she explained, her grimace obscured through the gentle curls of her beard. "Burned and blinded, thanks to some accident… or some scum."

"Gods," Resolve sighed, and she followed her up.

Otto hovered in the parlor of Rosie's flat, giving the doctor and woman space to tend to the poor child. The plush carpets felt strange and floaty under his boots, and the new rush of steps on the stairs were a welcome distraction. As Blue appeared in the doorway and Resolve popped up behind her, he drew an index finger to his lips. They both slowed, footsteps cautious as they entered and closed the door quietly behind them. Resolve deposited her groceries on a side table and a piteous wail resounded from the next room, inspiring every one of them to wince.

The orc met them near the threshold, speaking nearly in a whisper. "She panicked a bit when Petru got here," Otto explained with a frown. "Hopefully…"

The cries diminished into reluctant sobs, then a series of hiccups. The three clustered just outside the bedroom doorway to look in, where Blue peered on with an unbecoming sadness. Resolve wrapped an arm around Otto's waist and offered him a helpless little squeeze, which he returned with a tender hand on her shoulder.

Inside, Petru knelt on the floor in front of the injured girl, who resided in the warmth of Rosie's embrace. She'd cried away the last of her energy, and every hiccup inspired a whimper as her body tensed and strained her burns.

"Here," the young doctor spoke softly, reaching into his bag. "I have just the thing for that." Thin, brown fingers extracted something small and round and translucent gold. "Will you open your hand for me?"

Rosie sensed hesitation and interrupted with a gentle gasp. "Why, Petru, is that what I think it is?" Her smile reached her words, lacing them with delighted surprise. "And I thought Radasanth was fresh out of honey drops! Could that be the very last one?"

"Perhaps," he smiled back, "but sorry, it's for this young lady here. And I wonder, does she have a name?"

The draw of sweets was likely lost on this little girl, whose frame and predicament hinted at very real hunger. Finally, she relented, squeaking out another little hiccup as her fingers unraveled enough to accept Petru's gift. She popped it in her mouth and, as if by magic, her hiccups melted away. "Maisie," she finally muttered, and Rosie took her hand to offer an encouraging little squeeze.

Petru knew to tread carefully. "Maisie," he began slowly, "My name is Petru. I'm a doctor and I'd like to help you. But I also don't want to make you uncomfortable," he added. "If you truly want me to leave, just say so and I will. All right?"

Maisie's lips pursed as she puzzled this through. "Really?"

"Promise."

Her delicate brow furrowed as wheels turned, and after a long moment of deliberation, she decided to trust the doctor with the sweets. "I can't see," she mumbled. "Can you fix it?"

The room fell to silence, broken only by the soft clink of glass on glass as Petru fished through his bag. He extracted a pair of medicines, one for cleaning her burns, the other for soothing. Despite his diplomatic efforts thus far, he simply didn't have it in him to lie to the girl. "I'll try," he smiled again, and then he set to work.

[Otto]

Otto felt a light tug on his shirtsleeve. He looked down at Rosie, whom smiled sadly and gestured back towards the parlour. He preceded her out, followed silently by Resolve, and then the homeowner herself. She ushered them a little further on, until their toes were curling into the soft weave of a bright Fallien rug. The sun was still strong, so its brilliant reds and golds seemed almost to burn under the slab of light that slanted through the large windows. At other points, it hit the various display cases and their gleaming contents, so that dazzling scars of light also crosshatched the ceiling.

Rosie rubbed her hands across her biceps as though she were still cold. "I suppose you want to know what happened, exactly..."

Otto and Resolve nodded in unison. Rosie sighed.

"I saw Maisie stumbling around outside half an hour ago," she began, glancing towards the window. "I could tell something was wrong; she walked with her arms outstretched, and the burns... but she wasn't making any noise. No yells or shouts for help."

"Probably the shock," Otto interjected. "Whatever happened to her, it was dire. I doubt she was in much state to think."

Rosie nodded gently. "Yes. I sent Grumble running quick smart, then tackled Maisie. I led her up here easily enough, but it was hard work getting a peep from her. Not that I felt like pressing the issue just yet, in any case."

"She hasn't said anything?" Rez asked.

"Just that she's in pain and can't see."

Otto rocked gently back and forth on the balls of his feet. Resolve shot him a curious look; she knew by now that the idle motion and distant glaze over his eyes meant he was cogitating.

"You sent for me as well as the doctor," he remarked, apparently fixated by the bright dust motes floating before his face. "I suppose you would like me to investigate where the girl comes from, and how she received those injuries?"

He was answered by another wan smile from the woman. "Exactly so. She can stay here for a few days. I'd hold onto her longer, even, but..."

The three of them shared an awkward, but understanding silence. Rosie lived comfortably, but she was still a working woman - and the nature of her job simply made it inappropriate to house children in the same space. She had expenses. She couldn't put them off indefinitely.

"Maisie will be welcome to stay upstairs," Resolve put in. Now removed from earshot of the girl, Resolve's voice had a familiar edge of anger to it. Otto automatically clasped one of her hands in his own and gave it a gentle squeeze. "And of course we'll look into it."

Otto grinned sheepishly at Rosie. Well, the decision was now made for him.

All three turned gently at the faint click of the bedroom door opening. Petru eased himself out, though he had left his tools behind him in the room. The doctor offered them a nod before quietly stoppering the portal behind him, and walked smartly towards the group. His sensible shoes alternating between clicking softly against polished floorboards and scuffing silently upon thick rugs.

"She's sleeping, at last," Petru confided. "I gave her something to help with the pain - which is considerable - but it also makes her drowsy. That too is good, as she'll need plenty of rest."

"And her eyesight...?" Rosie asked. But she spoke in a defeated tone.

Petru shook his head. "I'm afraid there's no hope for that. She has been very badly burnt."

He sounded particularly agitated. Otto suspected something was troubling the man; something more than just witnessing the damage to Maisie. "The dragon attack was several weeks ago, and there's no hint of a fire nearby. Those wounds are fresh. Tell us: was this deliberate?"

"Almost certainly," the doctor warned. "I noticed some other injuries to the girl when I was administering to her. It seems that she was forcibly restrained while the burns were inflicted."

A small hiss escaped from between Rez's teeth. "Why?" she spat.

"That, I cannot say," Petru sighed.

Otto strolled over to the window, where he peered out to the dingy little street below. People didn't take too much pride in appearances around this part of town; dirt had been allowed to become ingrained in the stonework, last week's horse droppings were still mouldering in piles to the side of the road, and a growing collection of cracked brickwork and broken fencing remained unfixed on many properties. With Moody's Ale Cellar next door, frequent inputs of vomit were forming sedimentary layers on the sidewalk, too. Otto looked above all that to one of the many distant construction sites, this one sitting just out from the city centre. It was the CAF headquarters, a massive fort which had been devastated in the dragon attack. While it was being rebuilt, most of the city authorities now operated in the few surviving watch houses and from more temporary setups - all of which were overcrowded and pushed to capacity.

"I'll go talk to Orman's lot right now," he murmured.

Resolve nodded. "I can go with you-" she began, then stopped and cursed. "No, wait. Damnit. I'm expecting people in today..."

Otto raised a quizzical eyebrow, but he did refrain from saying this would be for the best. While his former squadmates could almost certainly make time for an old colleague, Rez's nosy presence might just antagonize them.

Resolve snapped her fingers and looked up. "I'll get things set up for Maisie while you're out," she decided. "Then perhaps Rosie and I can move her."

"Just be careful," Petru gently warned her. "Also, this may be important - try to avoid her coming into contact with too many people. There's something nasty sweeping through the city at this moment. We could be looking at another plague."

"I wouldn't be surprised, given people's living conditions at the moment," Otto grumbled. He rubbed his forehead with a despairing hand, and continued dejectedly, "As if we don't have enough to deal with right now!"

Petru apologized to the group and informed them that he had to depart; he had a large number of patients to tend to, and no doubt had several messages waiting for him at his practice. Rosie took him by the arm and led him to a table where they could settle the bill, then protested vehemently at Resolve and Otto's attempts to contribute. The couple then slipped away to the landing, where they shared a few tender words of disquiet at the day's turn of events. But Otto could tell, beneath Resolve's outwardly sad appearance, that red-hot rage they had seen earlier was boiling its way up to the surface.

Otto knew it well. He could feel it inside him, too.

[Otto]

"Eeyah, look who it is!" Carrin stepped back from the tent flap to give their guest space to move past. "Keeves, mash us up a brew."

Otto did his best to squeeze through the aperture without folding the field tent in on them all. The inside was more or less dry, with a rough bristle mat to take the worst of the mud off troopers' boots before they could track it over the mishmash collection of rugs inside. These had been kept a smart distance away from the firepit in the middle, over which sat a wrought-iron stand. A sallow-faced youth grumbled something to himself and moved a cast-iron kettle over the fire and brought out an array of chipped mugs. Other faces looked up at Otto from their rickety desks, highlighted in amber tones by an oil lamp at each. He nodded to them in turn.

"Ayup Fadime, Orlannes... Keeves," he finished grudgingly. "Where's Orman?"

The shaven-headed Falleni called Fadime shuffled some papers. "Officer's briefing. Might be back in half an hour."

The orc spied a water barrel sitting in the corner. He eased himself onto it, slightly wary of how the wood groaned underneath. Nonetheless, it took its new burden stoically. "Not sure I can wait that long. I just wanted to run something by you, really."

"Sure," Carrin said, returning to his desk. He wiped some ink off his fingers with a rag and picked up a quill. "What's up?"

"I was wondering if..." Otto shifted uncomfortably, considering how best to frame his query. "Well, have you seen any injured kids around the place?"

Carrin raised an eyebrow. "You're having a laugh, right? After what the dragons did to the city?"

"No, no, I mean more recently than that. Rosie found a girl wandering down the street. Some bastard's just put her eyes out and tried to light her up like a wick. A doctor's looked at her, and it looks pretty bad..." Otto couldn't help but notice the other begin to swap conspiratorial glances (except for Keeves, who was busy letting the tea stew to a foul tannin soup). "What? You have seen this before?"

"Not us, no," Orlannes replied. "But there's been word of something like that."

Oak slats groaned warningly as the orc leaned back and rubbed his eyes. Sounds filtered in from outside; the rhythmic ringing from a field forge, the screams of a happily enraged drill sergeant, the synchronized thump-thump of his terrified charges. The field outside had once been a park, but already the grass had been stomped into mud and restless dust choked the air, along with the smoke from innumerable campfires. There was a sharp tang of the stuff in here, but a thoughtfully-placed hole in the tent's apex did a lot to improve matters. Keeves stepped up and shoved a brown-stained mug at Otto; he took with a nod, sipped at the bitter draught, and made a face.

"Word of what?" he asked at length.



* * *


The final death toll of the dragon attack was still unknown. Entire families and networks were gone, and social records too. A lot of people had lost their kin; parents without children, children who had lost their parents. You saw the latter around quite a bit now. The luckier ones had found some job that netted them food and shelter of a sort. Some others made their living stealing what they could, but it was a tricky business when the few remaining supplies were guarded so carefully. For an unskilled thief just recently turned to a life of crime, the odds were not in their favour. So mostly they begged.

This attracted others, in the fullness of time. A single child might not net much, but shake down a heap of urchins and you could make yourself a tidy sum. But why kill the goose that lays the golden egg? You could leave them enough to get by, but keep coming back for more. Maybe you say it's for their own protection, that you're there to sort things out if they run into any trouble. And maybe you do. Or maybe you just make them too terrified of the consequences that they don't think of not paying up, or even of running away.

Life remained dangerous for a child on the street, even with the dragons gone.

And then, some self-imposed guardian had noticed a pattern. The healthy-looking kids weren't raking in so much cash, since people didn't spare so much pity for those who looked like they could take care of themselves. But the burned children, the disfigured ones - they got the best alms, the most coin. The children with the crippled legs, with their arms burned down to the bone. The blind children with the milky-white stares. It really to tugged on the old heart strings (and by consequence, the old purse strings as well).

The dragons had gone, at least for now. But with a touch of lamp oil, you didn't need one to replicate the effects...



* * *


Part way though Orlannes' account, Otto put his tea down. He felt sick enough already without the bitter black brew adding to his woes. "How long has this been going on?" he asked.

The half-elf shrugged.

"And what's being done, then?" Otto prodded. "Who's investigating?"

The others caught his dark tone, and exchanged another series of apprehensive looks. He clearly wasn't going to like the answer, which made him even angrier.

"Officially?" Carrin piped up. "No-one."

The orc pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. When he was done counting to ten, and was reasonably certain he wouldn't shout and punch the closest bit of furniture, he raised his head again and asked, "Why not?"

"Because there's nothing to go on, and no time to spare for it. Er, so the brass say," Carrin hastily amended. "We've brought one or two of the kids in, but they clam up. Far too terrified to spill the beans, and what can we do? Beat it out of them? Anyway, we're too busy chasing down looters and rationing out supplies, especially with the garrison burnt down and the CAF still in a shambles."

"Yeah," Otto conceded. "You and the rest of the city."

He'd avoided it, but Otto had almost said 'us'.

Carrin spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "I'm sorry, Otto," he muttered.

The orc nodded and stood up. Then he paused in thought for a moment. "Tell me, though," he said after a few seconds. "Supposing I do find out something about all this, can I count on you for help?"

"That's up to the lieutenant, of course," Fadime interjected.

"Of course."

He'd served under Lieutenant Orman for the better part of two years, and knew the woman well enough by now. She could be underhanded, devious, and possessed of a cunning head for politics. This had made her all the more effective when she had gone against the grain and confronted the colossal issue of CAF corruption, netting her a pretty sizable list of enemies up the food chain which she had still fended off with one hand while burrowing into all their dirty secrets with the other. It had been hell, she had known it was going to be hell, and she'd still gone ahead and done it. Orman was that thing which was all too rare after the short-lived Empire coalesced: a copper who gave a damn about the job.

He could count on them for help.