The Enchanter's Choice

2: In which a trick is thwarted...

Bells wanted to tap her feet on the scuffed wooden floors of the Wicked Wyvern.

Something, anything to relieve the pressure on her ankles after a day on her feet.

After escaping Provost's House, she'd sprinted across half the city to get back to the Wyvern and start her day's work. Mornings were spent on laundry which needed to be hung out to dry on the inn rooftop before serving lunch. Then it was back to the guest rooms to dust, scrub and mop.

The toe of her right boot lifted just off the ground, then stopped.

Better not.

Her beady eyed employer was the type of man who would try blame her for the damage then charge her for it. Anything to keep some of her hard-earned wage.

Bells shifted her weight onto the offending foot, stretching out her left ankle until only the tip of her toe was on the ground. The ache in that ankle subsided.

Mr. Reekley's eyes darted up, and Bells planted her foot firmly back down onto the ground. She met his eyes, forcing out a smile. His gaze darted away, back down to the open accounts book on his desk.

Her precious few daylight hours were slipping away, and Mr. Reekley knew it too. In fact, he counted on it. He counted the minutes of her time that he could waste before she walked away.

But he wasn't getting rid of her so easily. Mr. Reekley had cheated with that trick her once, and Bells wasn't going to let him do it again.

Six minutes passed, and Bells received no more attention than a furtive little look up. Eleven minutes, another glance. He was checking to see if she was still there, and his brow furrowed a little deeper each time he realised she was.

Bells glanced up at the clock. A full thirty-two minutes had passed since she had starting standing in front of Mr. Reekley's desk.

The clock read three-fourty-four, but it ran exactly sixteen—or was it seventeen now?— minutes late. One minute slower for every week past its recommended re-enchantment date.

Customers had complained, but Mr. Reekley had been as stingy as ever—"Highway robbers, the lot of them," he'd said of enchanters. "Charging so much to wave their hands for two seconds to re-enchant a clock. If anyone cares so much about a clock running a little slow, tell them to go stay in the Square."

Over the counter, Mr. Reekley's fingers gripped his pen tight, the nib on the brink of leaving inky gouges on the page.

He'd held out longer than he had the week before, but it wouldn't be long now.

Mr. Reekley slammed his ink pen down onto the page, its fountain nib spraying black droplets across the page. He cursed at it. "Pendragon," he snapped as he reached for a rag. "What do you want?"

She waited until he had mopped up the splashes of ink. "It's Sunday, Mr. Reekley."

He didn't look up. "I know what day it is, girl. What about it?"

"My wages are paid weekly on Sundays, sir."

"Can't you see I'm busy, girl," he said irritably. "Come back later."

Bells didn't budge. She knew his game. If she left now, then she'd never see the coin she was owed.

"I'd rather wait here, if it's all the same to you," she said, forcing another wide smile onto her face.

Mr. Reekley glared at her, and for a moment Bells thought that he was going to make her wait. Then with a grumble, he pulled a leather moneybag from inside a drawer.

He counted out five copper bits, slamming each on the table surface as he did so.

Bells waited.

"Well, are you going to take it?"

"My wage is six coppers a week."

Six copper bits was a pittance of a wage that no normal worker would accept, but Bells wasn't a normal worker and Mr. Reekley took advantage. Bells was a Pendragon from the slums, desperate for any paying job that would keep her out of the factories on the city fringe.

"All that food you take costs you a copper," said Mr. Reekley.

Her stomach dropped. Had he found out about her deal with Cook?

Bells' hands itched with the urge to smooth over the top of her satchel to hide the bump of the paper-wrapped package within. In exchange for running a few extra errands for Cook, he'd pack up the bits of bread too old or too burnt to serve for her to take.

"My meals are included in my contract," she said. "You agreed."

The innkeeper narrowed his eyes, and for a moment Bells thought that he might disagree. Then he reached into the moneybag, and pulled out one more copper bit.

"You'd rob me of every last dollar if you could, wouldn't you, Pendragon?" His lip curled over the last word— a surname she shared with every other child born into the city with no family.

His gaze moved meaningfully to her right hand, and Bells instinctively twitched her palm away, hiding the two black crosses which marred her olive skin.

Mr. Reekley smiled nastily. "Well, here you are. One more measly copper."

He slammed the copper bit down, then pressed his palm down over the coins. He flung them out towards the edge of the desk, and Bells leapt to catch them before they scattered all over the floor.

Her side crashed painfully into the corner of the front desk as her fingers scrambled around the rolling coins.

One, two, three...

Bells counted all six coins into her palm, then let out a sigh of relief. Her ordeal was over for the week.

After voicing her reluctant thanks, Bells hurried out the office and almost ran headfirst into Cook. She flushed with embarrassment— he must have heard everything. She ducked her head in a brief greeting, and moved to sidestep him when he put a hand on her shoulder.

"Careful, Bells," said Cook quietly. "You're getting too bold."

Too bold? For asking to be paid six copper bits for a week of labour?

Cook didn't understand, he wasn't a Pendragon from the slums. Cook was valuable to the Wyvern, unable to be replaced with the snap of a finger with hordes of willing workers.

Mr. Reekley didn't hold Cook's future in the palm of his hand.

"I'll be back before dinner," Bells muttered as she passed the bulky man.

He let her go without another word, but Bells could hear the meaning behind his words. Her days at the Wyvern were numbered.

As soon as the busy season was almost over, Mr. Reekley would replace her with another girl from the slums. Someone he could bully and intimidate into being cheated out of their rightful wage.

Bells refused to give in to bullies and and cheats, and this was the price she would pay for her pride.

Was it worth it? Had she been too headstrong? Should she have stomached the humiliation for a roof over her head and a steady wage? 

Bells wished that she knew.