The Orphan of Saint Olette

Seventeen

The two friends rose early the next morning, forgoing the oats gently stewing in the inn's kitchen in favour of what little they had left of the scones Shay had stolen. They both would have preferred a warming bowl of the porridge they had been offered, but the inn charged separately for food and they had spent every last penny Shay had earned just getting beds for the night. They had never needed to be aware of it before, but the two of them were starting to realise just how expensive the world was.

The duo had agreed to meet Shay just shy of the market at nine, and though Shay didn't own a watch they elected to trust his boasts that he had excellent time keeping skills.

Naturally, he was late.

The first thing they knew of Shay's arrival—almost an hour later—wasn't the man himself but a yelling in the distance. It hadn't concerned them at first, figuring it was someone else's business and they had no good reason to meddle in someone else's affairs, but as the volume of it increased and the voice began to sound closer, they had a sinking feeling that Shay had managed to get them into trouble already.

As they turned to trace the coming onslaught, someone or something ran past them in a blur, a shaky out of breath laugh following with it. It didn't take a genius to guess it was Shay, and hen faced with whatever scheme he had in mind this time, or the yelling, red faced man charging towards them, Aoife and Rin chose to turn tail and run after their new associate. Heaven forbid they should ever have an easy day in his company.

The trio didn't stop running until they were safely out of Honeywell, trading the tiny white cottages with their thatched roofs for a wide open field, the grass beneath them beginning to wilt in the winter chill. They were out of their breath, and their legs ached from the distance they had run, but as Shay sank to the ground, sprawled out on his back, the three of them all found themselves laughing anyway. They felt like children again, as if they had managed to escape from a scolding parent. In Shay's case, that wasn't entirely untrue.

Now that they were no longer in motion, Shay's state of undress became all too apparent. He hadn't been dressed all that finely in the first place, but he was lacking the shabby coat he'd donned back at his camp, and his shirt was left unbuttoned, the fabric gaping at his chest and revealing the briefest glimpses of discoloured skin. Only one side of his braces had been attached to the tin buttons on his trousers, and the other strap lay sprawled in the grass behind him. Rin, in all his wisdom, was starting to put two and two together, but Aoife was as clueless as she had been before. Forgive the girl her innocence, but she had never put much thought into bedding men, especially not as an unmarried woman.

Shay propped himself up on his elbows, a tear rolling down his cheek as he tried to quell his laughter. "Oh, that was too good," he murmured, huffing out another laugh. "Sorry I got us kicked outta Honeywell. It's not like we could've conned the place again, anyway."

"We couldn't?" Aoife questioned.

Shay shook his head. "No, dollface, they already know our faces. Unless you've got a beard stashed under that dress, there's no way we could've done it."

Aoife hadn't expected that. Call it naivety or ignorance, whichever you preferred, but she'd expected to procure more resources from Honeywell before they went on their way. Now they were penniless and without food or shelter, and the only settlement nearby that she knew of was the place they had just been run out of, courtesy of Shay's carelessness. As dreary and dismal as their situation looked, though, she had faith in her two companions, and she would trust them for as long as they gave her no reason not to. If Shay had everything at hand, she would just have to have faith in him that everything would work out okay.

Shay didn't lift himself from his spot on the ground, a thoughtful expression flashing across his features. He didn't know the South too well, having never left Olmaea before in his life, but he remembered hearing stories of a town on the coast. Karasti, he thought it was called, but he couldn't be certain. The place only seemed to be of note for the fact that an Oracle claimed to live there, and that had the sound of coins jingling through his head. Olmaea was rife with 'Oracles' who preyed on unsuspecting tourists and superstitious aristocrats with more money than sense. They boasted of prophetic visions and the power to cast or lift curses, but in reality were little more than economising women who wouldn't stoop as low as prostitution. Olmaea's Oracles were always clad in golden rings and necklaces, they dressed in colourful silks and could afford powder and rouge just like the upper class ladies. If Karasti had an Oracle, there would be money to steal, and plenty of it.