I stepped out of my room, still half-asleep, only to spot Elze in the courtyard behind the inn, already mid-kick. Her leg sliced the air with practiced ease, followed by a few fast punches. She moved like someone who'd already been up for hours.
"Wow," I said, rubbing my eyes. "And here I thought Linze was the responsible one."
Elze didn't miss a beat. She glanced my way mid-stretch and smirked. "Funny. I didn't know skeletons could talk this early."
"Sleep-deprived, not undead," I replied, stifling a yawn. "Though judging by how stiff I feel, I might qualify."
She rolled her shoulders and went back to her routine—jabs, kicks, stretches—focused but relaxed. Her ponytail swayed with each movement like it had its own rhythm. No doubt about it, she was a fighter.
"Funny. I did not peg you to be an early riser, either." Elze said, stance relaxed and breathing deep.
"Not exactly. Though I'll admit to being a heavy sleeper." I replied examining the backyard. There was a stoned well on a side and a small wooden hut in its proximity, a small bathhouse. On the other side was a green vegetable patch and trees served as natural fencing for the whole.
"Are the trees that mesmerizing?" Elze threw yet another punch in the air. Her form was solid and those punches even I could tell would hurt, a lot.
"Not as much as you." The trees commanded my focus more than our banter.
Elze snorted and didn't bother hiding the grin that crept up. "Careful. I might start charging for compliments."
"Please don't. Lest this peasant dies hungry."
Elze laughed—just a short burst. "You've got a sharp tongue for someone who looks like they lost a fight with a pillow."
"I'll have you know," I said, stretching my arms and grimacing, "that pillow was undefeated until I showed up."
"Judging by your hair, it still won."
I ran a hand through the mess and winced. "It has a mind of its own. Might be sentient."
Elze snorted and went back to shadowboxing. I leaned against the old well, watching her movements while my mind drifted to more serious concerns. Not breakfast. Not money. Not even magic.
Hygiene.
Yeah. Real heroic stuff.
Back home, I had access to all the modern wonders: toothbrushes, running water, deodorant that didn't smell like regret. Here? A stick and a bowl of freezing water. I'd already accepted that dental care in this world was somewhere between "experimental" and "wild guess." Which was exactly why I was keeping an eye out for a Neem tree.
Neem. Nature's toothbrush. Antibacterial, antifungal, bitter as betrayal, and an all-in-one solution for someone stranded in a medieval setting. I didn't expect this world to have mouthwash or floss, but was a humble neem tree too much to ask?
So far, the answer was yes.
I scanned the trees forming the natural fence at the edge of the backyard. Mostly common hardwoods, nothing that screamed miracle herb. No sign of neem—no jagged leaves, no bitter scent, no hope. Figures. I get isekai'd, and even nature decides to nerf me.
My gums weren't bleeding yet, but give it a few days of scrubbing with a twig dipped in mint-ash powder and I'd be halfway to a peasant dental horror story. Still, I didn't give up hope. Somewhere out there, maybe in a forest or a marketplace or an apothecary's stash, there had to be something similar. I'd just need to keep my eyes open. But for now a hot cup of salt water would be a good start. And lets hope chlorine will do its job. Apart from that, there are a million things that I have to figure out. Well it is early in the morning and I have time.
My mind made up, I pushed off the well and stretched my back. Everything popped. I winced. I miss my home already.
"Alright, warrior princess, I'm going in."
"Try not to trip over your pride," Elze called out without turning.
I stepped back into the inn, where the warmth of the hearth met the chill still clinging to my skin. The place was quiet—just creaking wood, faint kitchen noises, and the gentle hum of a world not yet in full motion. It was the kind of peace that felt like it could shatter with one badly timed sneeze.
I made my way to the shared washroom area, which was just a small room with a stone floor, a few hooks, and a wooden stool that looked like it owed someone money. Right, a bath. I would have taken one already if not for the cold well water and no spare clothes. Guess a proper one will have to wait.
I grabbed the pitcher and filled the basin. The water was cold enough to file a complaint about. I stared at it for a moment, like it might warm up out of guilt. It didn't.
Fine.
Steeling my nerves, and rolling up my sleeves, I splashed my face. Instant regret. It felt like I'd just headbutted winter. I gasped through it, teeth clenched, then grabbed the coarse cloth nearby and got to work—face, neck, arms, the works. I even braved the armpits and toes. Because no matter how bad things got, I refused to be that guy. The one who stinks up a room just by existing.
The cloth left behind the faint scent of woodsmoke, old soap, and some mystery ingredient I didn't want to think too hard about. Still, better than yesterday's sweat and despair.
Once done, I stood in front of the foggy mirror. My reflection looked like a guy caught between reincarnation and a rough nap. Hair still wild, eyes puffy, shirt clinging in odd places from the water splashes. Fashionably tragic.
Speaking of shirts...
I looked down at my clothes. My tunic had survived the night but was clinging to life. Wrinkled, collar strained, fabric crumpled like it was trying to disappear. My breeches weren't much better—creased in all the wrong places and hanging off my hips with the enthusiasm of a disgruntled intern. As for my undergarments… let's just say they had the elasticity of philosophical arguments.
I sighed, tugging the tunic back into place. "No choice. You're all I've got."
Grumbling quietly, I walked back toward my room and rifled through my satchel, hoping I'd forgotten about a spare set. Nope. Just some silver coins, a few bronze, and that lone gold piece gleaming like a smug trophy. I didn't want to break it unless absolutely necessary. It'd be like smashing a piggy bank to buy a stick of gum.
With my hygiene handled (barely) and my dignity hanging by a thread, my stomach finally reminded me that I was also broke and hungry.
Great.
Downstairs, the inn's common room was starting to fill with the faint scent of cooking. My stomach responded with an excited growl that I prayed no one else heard. Martha was by the hearth, stirring something in a pot, while a few other early risers trickled in, looking as groggy as I felt.
"Morning, lad," she called without turning. "You're looking... alert."
"That's just the cold water trying to murder me," I replied.
She chuckled and ladled some porridge into a bowl, sliding it across the counter. "Millet and honey. Bread's from yesterday, but still respectable."
I sat, spoon in hand. "At this point, if it's warm and edible, I'm sold."
The porridge was surprisingly good. Simple, sweet, warm—nothing fancy, but enough to remind me that life wasn't entirely awful. The bread was on the hard side of 'rustic,' but I didn't have the luxury of being picky.
Halfway through my meal, I felt a presence slide into the seat across from me. Elze again, now cleaned up, hair pulled back, a leather vest added over her shirt.
"You survived the bath," she said.
"Barely. I think I offended the water."
She grinned. "You clean up alright. Still look like a wizard's failed apprentice, but at least you don't smell like one."
"High praise," I said. "You flatter me."
We ate in relative silence for a bit, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the occasional clink of cutlery.
"I'm gonna need new clothes," I said eventually. "Before these disintegrate on me mid-conversation."
"You've got some coin, right?"
"A little. Enough to buy maybe one whole sock."
She snorted. "You want help?"
"I would appreciate it." I replied emptying my bowl.
"Really now? What happened to all the suspicion from yesterday. Because I distinctly remember someone saying they were raised to fear the free lunch." Sheesh that amount sarcasm could feed a family. But she's got a point. Yesterday's nerves were something else.
I leaned back, letting the empty bowl warm my hands. "Yeah, well," I said, "I've also been raised not to die of exposure in the street. Turns out practicality beats paranoia when your underwear starts to chafe."
Elze raised an eyebrow. "That's a visual I didn't need."
"And yet, you're welcome for it," I said, giving her my best deadpan look.
She stood, grabbing the last crust of bread from the basket. "Alright then, practical boy. Finish up and let's go before the market gets too crowded. Trust me, you don't want to buy underpants in a rush. Poor choices happen."
I grabbed my pouch, double-checked its contents—nine bronze, six silver, one smug gold—and followed her out into the daylight. The village was fully awake now. People moved between stalls, calling out prices, waving goods, and trying to catch the attention of anyone with coin and bad impulse control.
Elze strode ahead with the confidence of someone who'd navigated markets like this a hundred times. Her boots clicked against the stones, and her eyes scanned the stalls with a practiced sharpness, like she was sizing up opponents rather than shopping for tunics. I trailed behind, clutching my coin pouch, trying not to look like a lost puppy while dodging a kid who darted past with a stolen apple.
"Keep up, Ishant," Elze called over her shoulder, not slowing down. "You dawdle too long, and the good stuff's gone."
"I'm keeping up," I muttered, sidestepping a pile of what I hoped was just mud. "Just… taking in the sights."
She snorted, glancing back with a grin. "Sights, huh? You're staring at that fruit stall like it's a dragon hoard."
I shrugged, my stomach betraying me with a faint growl. "Can you blame me? Those apples look better than my breakfast."
Elze rolled her eyes but slowed her pace, letting me catch up. "Focus. Clothes first, snacks later. You don't want to be the guy whose breeches split in the middle of a deal."
"Point taken," I said, wincing at the mental image. "Lead the way, oh wise market guide."
She smirked and veered toward a stall draped with fabrics—tunics, cloaks, and trousers folded in neat stacks or hanging from wooden poles. The vendor, a wiry woman with a braid coiled like a crown, looked up from her sewing and gave us a quick once-over. Her eyes lingered on my wrinkled tunic, and I swear I saw a flicker of pity.
"Morning!" she chirped, setting her needle aside. "Looking for something sturdy, I wager? You've got the look of someone who's been on the road a bit too long."
"Understatement of the century," I said, offering a sheepish smile. "I need something that won't fall apart by tomorrow. And, uh, maybe doesn't cost a fortune."
Elze crossed her arms, leaning against a pole. "He's got coin, but he's stingy. Show us the practical stuff, Mira."
The vendor—Mira, apparently—chuckled, her hands already moving to pull out a few items. "Stingy is fine by me. I've got just the thing for a traveler like you. Linen tunic, reinforced seams, good for work or wandering. Breeches to match, and they won't sag like those… relics you're wearing."
I glanced down at my current outfit, which seemed to wilt under her scrutiny. "Relics is generous," I muttered.
Mira laid out a dark green tunic and a pair of charcoal breeches, both simple but well-made. The fabric felt thicker than my current rags, with stitching that looked like it could survive a tussle or two. She also tossed in a pair of undergarments—thankfully new—and a belt with a plain iron buckle.
"Try 'em on," she said, pointing to a curtained corner of the stall. "No sense buying what doesn't fit."
I hesitated, glancing at Elze, who just raised an eyebrow. "What, you need me to hold your hand? Go."
Grumbling, I ducked behind the curtain and swapped out my old clothes for the new set. The tunic fit snugly but not tight, the breeches sat comfortably at my hips, and the undergarments—well, let's just say they restored a bit of my dignity. I stepped out, smoothing the fabric, and caught Elze giving me an appraising look.
"Not bad," she said, tilting her head. "You almost look respectable. Almost."
"High praise," I said, mimicking her earlier tone. I turned to Mira. "How much?"
She tapped her chin, eyeing me like she was calculating my net worth. "For the lot—tunic, breeches, belt, and the unmentionables—let's say four silver and four bronze. Fair price for quality."
I winced internally. That was most of most of my silver and half my bronze, leaving me with just two silver, four bronze, and the gold coin I refused to touch. But the state of my old clothes wasn't exactly negotiable. I fished out the coins, counting them carefully under Mira's watchful gaze.
"Deal," I said, handing them over. "Throw in a spare tunic if I toss in an extra bronze?"
Mira laughed, a sharp, delighted sound. "You drive a hard bargain for a newbie. Fine, one spare tunic—gray, same make. But that's my limit."
She handed me the extra tunic, and I stuffed it into my satchel, feeling a mix of relief and mild panic. My coin pouch was noticeably lighter, and I hadn't even thought about food or future expenses. Fortune might favor me, but it sure didn't pay the bills.
Elze nudged my shoulder as we left the stall. "See? Told you I'd get you sorted. You're welcome."
"Yeah, yeah," I said, adjusting the satchel. "Thanks for the escort. Now I just need to figure out undergarments without breaking my gold coin."
She snorted, steering us toward a quieter corner of the market where the food stalls clustered. "You're gonna have to crack that thing eventually. Can't live on porridge forever."
"I'm holding out for a miracle," I said, half-joking. "Maybe I'll stumble into a treasure chest or a generous noble."
Elze shot me a sidelong glance, her smirk softening into something almost curious. "You're weirdly optimistic for a guy who looks like he's one bad day from sleeping in a ditch."
"Let's just say that I am blessed with good luck and fortune." I said with a knowing smile and tone.
"Whatever. Next is undergarments."
I raised an eyebrow, matching Elze's smirk with one of my own. "Undergarments, huh? You're really invested in my wardrobe choices."
Elze shrugged, her gloves creaking as she crossed her arms. "Call it self-preservation. I don't want to be standing next to you when those philosophical arguments you call underwear finally give up."
"Fair point," I conceded, chuckling despite myself. "Lead on, then. But if I end up spending my last bronze on socks, you're buying lunch."
She grinned, a spark of challenge in her green eyes. "Deal. But don't expect me to cover anything fancy."
We wove through the market's bustling heart, the air thick with the scents of fresh bread, roasted nuts, and something tangy I couldn't quite place. Vendors shouted over each other, their voices blending into a lively hum that made Reflet feel like it was holding its breath for something big. Elze moved while dodging a cart piled high with cabbages and giving a quick nod to a merchant who waved her way. She was clearly a regular here, which made me wonder just how long she and Linze had been in town.
She stopped at a smaller stall tucked between a spice vendor and a cart selling dubious-looking potions. The stall was modest, with neatly folded stacks of undergarments—linen, mostly, in shades of white and beige—displayed on a wooden table. The vendor, an older man with a face like weathered leather, was busy adjusting a pair of socks with the precision of a sculptor.
"Morning, Tobin," Elze said, her tone casual but warm. "Got anything for my friend here? He's in dire need of… let's call it foundational support."
I shot her a mock glare. "You're enjoying this way too much."
Tobin looked up, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he took in my newly acquired tunic and breeches. "Dire, eh? Well, young man, you've come to the right place. My goods are simple but sturdy—none of that flimsy nonsense you'd find in the capital."
I nodded, trying to project confidence despite feeling like a fish out of water. "Sturdy sounds good. I need a couple of pairs, maybe three. Nothing fancy, just… functional."
Tobin rubbed his chin, sizing me up. "Three pairs, functional. I've got just the thing. Linen, double-stitched, won't fray even if you're wrestling boars." He pulled out three pairs of undergarments, each folded with military precision, and set them on the table. "One silver, two bronze for the lot."
"How about one silver and four bronze, if you throw in a two pairs of socks."
Tobin's eyes narrowed, his weathered fingers pausing over the neatly folded undergarments as he considered my counteroffer. The market's clamor seemed to fade for a moment, the air between us thick with the unspoken dance of haggling. Elze, leaning against a nearby pole, raised an eyebrow, her smirk suggesting she was enjoying the show far too much.
"One silver and four bronze, with two pairs of socks?" Tobin repeated, his tone a mix of skepticism and amusement. "You drive a hard bargain, lad. Those socks are good wool, not some scratchy hemp. Keeps your feet warm even in a storm."
I held his gaze, keeping my expression earnest but relaxed, channeling every ounce of my blessed fortune into this moment. "I'm sure they're worth it," I said, letting a hint of a smile creep in. "But I'm a traveler on a tight budget. Help me out here, and I'll spread the word about your stall. Reflet's not my last stop, you know."
Elze snorted softly, muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like "smooth talker." Tobin, though, seemed to weigh my words, his eyes flicking to my new tunic and breeches as if assessing whether I was worth the deal.
Then, as if the universe itself nudged him, Tobin's face cracked into a grudging smile. "You've got a silver tongue, I'll give you that," he said, shaking his head. "Fine. One silver, four bronze for three pairs of undergarments and two pairs of wool socks. But don't go thinking I'm this soft with every wanderer who stumbles in."
"You're a lifesaver, Tobin," I said, fishing out the coins with a careful hand. The silver gleamed as I passed it over, along with four bronze coins that clinked softly in his palm. "I owe you one."
"You owe me a good word in the next town," Tobin replied, tossing the coins into a small wooden box with a practiced flick. He handed me the undergarments and two pairs of socks—thick, gray, and surprisingly soft to the touch. "These'll keep you from cursing the cold nights. Now, off with you before I change my mind."
Elze pushed off the pole, her grin wider now. "Not bad, Ishant. You haggled like you've been at it for years. Beginner's luck?"
I tucked the new items into my satchel, feeling the weight of my dwindling coin pouch but also a spark of satisfaction. "Let's just say fortune's been kind today," I said, echoing the knowing smile I'd given her earlier. The words felt truer than she could know—God's blessing was subtle, but moments like this, where a deal went my way against the odds, reminded me it was there.
"Kind, huh?" Elze said, leading us away from Tobin's stall and back into the market's flow. "Keep that fortune close, because you're gonna need it when Linze starts drilling you on the alphabet. She's patient, but she's relentless."
I chuckled, dodging a merchant waving a tray of skewered meat in my direction. "Noted. But if I can survive your market gauntlet, I think I can handle a few letters."
Elze shot me a mock glare, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward. "Big talk for a guy who almost lost a staring contest with a fruit stall. C'mon, let's grab something to eat before you waste your last coins on shiny trinkets."
As we left the stall, Elze gave me a sidelong glance. While I patted my satchel, the weight of the gold coin a faint reassurance. We headed toward the food stalls, where the tangy scent I'd noticed earlier grew stronger. It was coming from a cart where a woman was grilling skewers of meat over a small fire, the flames licking at the dripping fat. My stomach growled loud enough that Elze raised an eyebrow.
"Subtle," she said, smirking.
"I'm a growing boy," I shot back, eyeing the skewers. "What are those? They smell like heaven."
"Spiced venison," the vendor called, fanning the flames with a woven mat. "One bronze a skewer, four for five. Best in Reflet, and I don't lie."
I hesitated, my hand hovering over my coin pouch. Two bronze would leave me with just one silver, and I wasn't sure how far that would stretch. But the smell was relentless, and my stomach wasn't taking no for an answer. Just then I caught Elze, fishing out a couple of bronze coins from her own pouch. "My treat," she said, catching my surprised look. "Consider it payment for the entertainment. You're more fun to drag around than Linze—she'd be fussing over books by now."
"Gee, thanks," I said, accepting the skewer.
Elze nudged me. "Live a little, Ishant. You've got new clothes and a roof over your head. One skewer won't bankrupt you."
"Easy for you to say," I muttered, blowing over the skewer. The meat was hot, glistening with oil and flecked with herbs. I bit into it, and the flavor—savory, smoky, with a kick of spice—hit me like a revelation. For a moment, I forgot about my dwindling coins and the million things I still had to figure out.
"Worth it?" Elze asked, grabbing a skewer of her own and tossing the vendor another coin.
"Worth it," I said, savoring another bite. "If this is what Reflet's food is like, I might never leave."
Elze chewed thoughtfully, her eyes scanning the crowd with that same sharpness I'd noticed earlier. "So," she said between bites, "you're sticking around Reflet for a while, right? Learning to read, getting new clothes, probably charming half the vendors with that luck of yours."
I swallowed a mouthful of stew, considering her words. "That's the plan," I said. "Gotta start somewhere. Reading's first, then maybe figuring out how to feed this pouch."
She nodded, her expression softening slightly. "Not a bad start."
Elze wiped her hands, tossing the skewer's stick into a nearby bin. "Alright, charm boy, let's head back before Linze thinks we've run off to join a circus."
I grinned, finishing my skewer and falling into step beside her. "Circus might pay better, but I'll stick with you two for now."
The market's noise faded as we left, the weight of my new clothes and dwindling coins a quiet reminder of the day's small victories. Reflet's streets stretched ahead, and with Elze's steady stride beside me, the world felt just a little less daunting.
*********
The common room of the Silver Moon Inn was warm and dimly lit, the scent of fresh bread and stew mingling with the faint tang of woodsmoke from the hearth. The wooden floor creaked underfoot as I approached Martha, who stood behind the polished oak counter, her arms crossed and her sharp eyes glinting like a hawk's in the flickering candlelight. Her graying hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and her weathered face bore the lines of someone who'd seen every kind of traveler and heard every kind of excuse.
I slid into a worn stool at the counter, my damp hair still clinging to my neck from the bath, my freshly washed clothes hanging outside in the crisp evening air. The single gold coin in my pocket felt heavier than it should've as I set it on the table with a soft clink, its dull shine catching Martha's eye. Her gaze flicked from the coin to me, one brow arching as if she could already smell trouble brewing.
"Hey, Martha, can you cancel my previous arrangements for a new one?" I asked, keeping my tone light.
"What's this about?" Her voice was gruff, no-nonsense, as she leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing like she was sizing up a fox in her henhouse.
I flashed an easy smile, letting it linger as I nudged the gold coin a fraction closer to her. "I have a change of plans."
She didn't touch the coin, just stared at it, then back at me, her expression urging me to get to the point. The room was quiet save for the low murmur of a few patrons in the corner and the occasional pop of the fire.
"Change of plans, is it? Hoping to sleep in the barn?" Martha's tone was dry, her lips twitching as if she was half-amused, half-annoyed.
"No such thing, my dear innkeeper," I said, letting a playful familiarity creep into my voice, leaning forward on my elbows.
"Zip it," she snapped, her voice like a whip, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of exasperation rather than real anger.
"Alright, alright, no need to be angry." My smile didn't waver, though I raised my hands in mock surrender, leaning back slightly.
"I ain't, but I'll be if you don't tell me what scheme you're cooking." She tapped a finger on the counter, her patience thinning but her curiosity piqued.
I let the moment hang for a beat, then straightened, my tone shifting to something more businesslike. "Well, a night's stay is two bronze, correct?"
"Correct," she said, her eyes still locked on mine, waiting for the catch.
"Meals is two bronze a day?"
"Right." Her voice was steady, but there was a glint in her eye now, like she knew I was building to something and was already bracing herself for it.
"Here's the deal, refund my silver and I'll book a twenty five days of lodging and meals. Sounds good?"
Martha's eyes narrowed, her hawk-like gaze flicking between the gold coin glinting on the table and my carefully maintained smile. The common room of the Silver Moon Inn was quiet now, the midday bustle having settled into a lull, with only the faint crackle of the hearth and the occasional clink of a mug breaking the silence. Her hands, dusted with flour from whatever she'd been wrestling in the kitchen, rested on her hips as she leaned forward slightly, sizing me up like I was a puzzle with a few pieces missing.
"Twenty-five days, lodging and meals, for that gold coin?" she repeated, her tone laced with suspicion. "And you want me to refund your silver from the week you already booked? Lad, you're either bolder than you look or you've got no sense of how money works 'round here."
I held up my hands, palms out, trying to project innocence while my mind raced to keep the deal on track. That gold coin was my lifeline, and I was betting on my luck—and Martha's pragmatic streak—to make this work. "Hear me out, Martha. A gold coin's worth a hundred bronze, right? Two bronze a night, two bronze for meals, that's four bronze a day. Twenty-five days at four bronze comes to exactly one hundred bronze. You get the full gold upfront, no hassle, and I'm locked in as a paying guest for nearly a month. Steady business, no chasing me for coins every week."
She raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching like she was fighting a smirk. "And the silver refund? What's that about? Trying to squeeze me dry?"
"Not at all," I said, leaning forward slightly, my voice earnest. "I paid two silver for the week—twenty bronze last night, if my math's right. You refund that, and I hand over the gold for the full twenty-five days. It's a clean swap, and you're not out a single bronze. Plus, you've got me eating your stew and singing your praises to every traveler who passes through. I'm practically free advertising."
Martha snorted, crossing her arms. "Free advertising, he says. You've got a mouth on you, Ishant. I'll give you that." She tapped her foot, her eyes drifting back to the gold coin. It sat there, gleaming under the dim light of the inn, a silent promise of stability.
The currency of this world was rather simple. One gold is ten silvers or a hundred bronze. Gold was a large currency and won't see much use in everyday shopping. And breaking it would be stupid. Meanwhile silver and bronze are more useful in the short run--- which is the goal for now.
Martha clicked her tongue, eyeing the coin like it owed her rent. Then, with a sigh sharp enough to slice through raw dough, she reached under the counter and pulled out a small pouch. The jingle of coins inside was music to my ears.
"Fine," she muttered, counting out twenty bronze onto the counter with deliberate slowness. "But if you so much as spill a drop of stew or charm a barmaid into knocking over a chair, I'm charging you double next time."
"Noted," I said, scooping up the bronze and sliding the gold over like I was trading a poker chip for a palace.
Martha took it, bit down on it with theatrical suspicion, then tucked it into her apron like it was a newborn babe. "You're paid up through the next moon's turn. Don't come crying to me if you get tired of stew and hard bread."
"Wouldn't dream of it. Your stew's better than most confessions."
She snorted again, waving me off. "Go dry your hair before you catch cold and cost me more in medicine."
I slid off the stool, flashed her a grin, and turned toward the stairs. One gold lighter, but a month richer in food and shelter. Not bad for a single coin and a bit of fast talk.
Behind me, Martha grumbled something about "smooth-talking strays," but I caught the faintest curl of a smile at the edge of her mouth.
Victory.
***********
The common room of the Silver Moon Inn had quieted by midday. The morning bustle had faded into the low clink of mugs, the rustle of parchment, and the soft murmur of lingering patrons. A single candle flickered on the table in front of me, casting a warm glow over the rough wood where Linze had laid out her tools: a slate, a stub of chalk, and a thin book bound in worn leather. Her green eyes were sharp with focus, her braid neatly draped over one shoulder, glasses perched just right—she looked more like a seasoned scholar than someone who still blushed at compliments.
I shifted on the stool, the new tunic still stiff against my back, and tried to ignore the weight of my satchel at my feet. Inside were the scraps of my effort—rough sketches from the market, half-formed guesses at words like bronze or pair. So far, they'd led nowhere. Every sign I couldn't read, every word I stumbled over, was a chain dragging behind me. But Linze's offer to teach me was a lifeline, and I had no plans to waste it.
"All right, Ishant," she said gently, her voice steady as a spell's first syllable. "We'll start with the basics. There are twenty-eight letters in this script. Let's try the first five."
She drew a symbol on the slate—a sharp, angular mark, almost like a sideways arrow. "This is ah," she said, sounding it out slowly. "You'll find it in a lot of words. Ale, apple, ahl. Try it."
"Ah," I echoed, leaning forward. It didn't look like any letter I knew, but the sound landed in familiar territory. I flipped open my notebook and found a scribble I'd copied from a market stall—a similar arrow shape next to a number. "Wait. I saw this at Tobin's. Thought it meant bronze."
Linze tilted her head, examining the sketch. "Close. That's ah from ahl—it means price in one of the local dialects. You're already spotting patterns—that's a good instinct."
She smiled, surprised—but not patronizing. It was the kind of smile that said, You're not just keeping up—you're connecting dots I didn't expect.
"So I was wrong," I said, tapping the page with my quill, "but not completely off. If ahl means price, and there was a '3' next to it... maybe it meant 'three items,' not three coins. Tobin said 'three pairs,' not 'three bronze.' Damn, I was close."
Linze giggled, hiding it behind her hand. "You're already thinking like a scholar. Most wouldn't bother guessing."
I shrugged, cheeks warming despite myself. "Trying to make sense of this place before it eats me alive."
Next came beh—a curved line with a dot above it, like a comma with aspirations. I copied it down carefully, the quill scratching too loud against the page. My strokes looked like a drunk spider trying to draw cursive.
I glanced up. "I saw something like this at Mira's stall. Above the tunics."
She flipped through her book, fingers deft. "Let's see… Behla. That's tunic. You're right. Beh's the first letter."
"You're really observant, Ishant," she added, almost like she was trying not to be impressed.
"I'm just tired of asking people to read for me," I muttered. "Feels like crawling."
Her expression softened. She knew what I meant without me having to explain. That kind of understanding is rarer than gold in a place like this.
"It's hard starting over," she said quietly. "But most wouldn't even try."
We moved on. She guided my hand as I practiced ah and beh together. The chalk squeaked. My beh looked like it had been stepped on, but Linze nodded.
"Not bad for a first try. You'll get the hang of it."
"Natural is still a mile off," I said, rubbing my wrist. A distant memory surfaced—my sister teasing me about my handwriting. You're hopeless with a pen, Ishant. Stick to numbers. I used to laugh it off. Now it stung.
But it also lit a fire.
"Okay," I said, squaring my shoulders. "What's next?"
She smiled and drew a jagged line, like a tiny lightning bolt. "This is cah. In words like coin, cart—sometimes meat."
"Cah," I repeated, sketching it carefully. Then I frowned. "Hang on… the venison stall. There was a jagged mark above the price list. That wasn't coin, was it?"
Linze flipped again. "That was cahla. It means meat."
"Still a match," I muttered. "Another piece."
"You're doing what most people never do," Linze said, eyes shining. "You're learning from the world, not just the page."
We pushed through two more—dah and eh. My hand ached. My letters still wobbled like foals on ice. But the slate was filling up. And for once, it felt like progress, not just survival.
When we finally paused, Linze closed her book and smiled.
"You did great. Keep looking for symbols in town. We'll sort them out next time."
"Thanks," I said, meaning it. "You're a better teacher than I deserve."
I slid a bronze coin across the table. She hesitated, then accepted it with a nod.
"Same time tomorrow?" she asked.
"Wouldn't dream of missing it."
She left, and I stayed, flipping through my notes. Market signs. Inn registers. Apothecary labels. All of it locked behind symbols I didn't yet understand.
But now?
Now I had a key.
One stroke at a time, I'd crack this world open. And I'd start with its letters