Chapter 29.
I slammed the cores onto the counter with a thunk before immediately slightly panicking I might have damaged them. Mercifully, they looked fine.
The shopkeeper raised an intrigued eyebrow.
“Slime cores,” I smiled brightly.
“May I?” He hummed, motioning to them. I assumed he wanted to inspect them.
“Uh, sure,” I nodded.
He picked one up and held it up to the light, squinting at it intently. Probably using a skill. He hummed. “I’ll give you a shilling for each.”
I frowned. “You said 15 pence.”
He shrugged. “Prices fluctuate. Do you want the coin or not?”
Oh, that mother fucker. I assumed 15 pence was still below the usual price, and he offered even less. Obviously, I wasn’t some grizzled mercenary, and they probably had their own contacts for selling loot. He knew I was desperate. It was a dick move.
“No thanks then,” I smiled sharply, snatching the cores back.
That seemed to legitimately surprise him. I stomped back out onto the street without another word. I did need someone who wouldn’t ask questions, but I literally couldn’t afford to seek them for such a low price. At 15 pence each, I would still be very much short of what I needed.
Plus, the cores wouldn’t lose their value. Holding onto them until I found a more reasonable buyer would certainly work just fine. Even if it was another wrench in my plan.
I would have to ask the Tavern Crew. Considering they were returning from a slime hunt when I had met them, they would know a buyer. Or maybe the mercenary company did it for them.
I could check with the front desk lady, Galine, downstairs. She could probably tell me, though I had avoided trying to make too much of a presence known. Maybe it hadn’t mattered; it was just… somewhat impossible to know what to do.
This time, when I went to the market, I was ready. I had carried the empty sack one of the farmers had given me under my stub of what was left of my arm. I spent the last of the coin I had been given on ingredients for another stew, tucked everything in the sack, and carried it home with only minor difficulty.
The process was only a little smoother than last time. I did notice an improvement, even if just a small one. It was easier to haul a bucket of water up the stairs, easier to cut the vegetables with some degree of control. And so on.
By the time the evening rolled around, the stew was simmering for the Tavern Crew’s return. I wiped sweat from my brow. It had been the least I could do.
Candy was busy working on three more lesser slimes. I wasn’t quite sure how I would break the awkward news, but I needed the shillings. This was the only way I had to make money, but it was exactly like that thing online grifters always sold courses about, passive income.
I would need to figure out how to promptly increase that income. But the jury was still out on that one.
There was a knock at the door.
Delighted and excited, I hurried to open it. It wasn’t the Tavern Crew, it wasn’t anyone I had met before.
Standing awkwardly and clinging to the railing outside the door was an honest-to-god centaur. She towered over me, a giant squished into the small staircase.
She had long, wavy brown hair which matched the pinto white and brown pattern of her… horse coat. She was probably around my age, wore a simple tunic, and had a look of slight panic. I didn’t blame her; hooves on those wooden steps could not be secure. She looked totally frazzled.
As much as this was an unbelievable sight. I was getting used to those.
“Hi,” I muttered, shaking my head slightly to regain my composure.
“Hello,” she answered. “You’re Pamela, I take it?”
My paranoia seemed to catch up with me. Why was this person here? Who was this person? How did they find me and know my name?
“Who are you?” I asked. A question for a question.
“Galine,” she blinked, smiling awkwardly. “I’m the receptionist downstairs. I just wanted to check because… the Tavern Crew hasn’t checked in yet."
“Oh,” I relaxed slightly. “Yeah, they said they would be back for supper.”
“Oh yeah, so worries, I just thought I would check,” she retorted, too strained and tense for my liking.
“What?” I frowned. “Has something happened?”
“No, no,” she shook her head vehemently. “I just… wanted to check. We got a letter from Frida, is all.”
I stared at her, unease reblooming in my chest. “What did it say?” I demanded.
“Nothing, just an update on the monsters they had encountered and that they were making good time,” she smiled. “I really just came up to check if they were back yet.”
I frowned. Something wasn’t adding up. It wasn’t like there was a curfew; without standardized time, expectations would be even more lax. If everything was fine, why was someone who seemed utterly uncomfortable and a little terrified of the stairs climb all the way up them to knock on the door?
“If everything is fine,” I gritted out, “why are you so worried about them?”
Galine looked away, trying to gather her thoughts. Upon looking down, she snapped her attention back up. Definitely scared of heights. Not to stereotype, but horses weren’t exactly built for chaotic, precarious terrain.
“I’m not really supposed to discuss details,” she grimaced apologetically, awkwardly turning to go very, very carefully.
“Please,” I said, “they’re my friends too. Are you hungry? I just made stew.”
Galine clung to the railing for dear life as she seemed to consider going all the way back down. I wasn’t even sure she had really heard me until she finally nodded.
I stepped aside to allow her to enter, and she turned back around, tail swishing as she carefully maneuvered herself. Being half horse had to be a real pain, but I kept that to myself. I didn’t want to offend. I knew nothing about centaurs.
She stepped into the space, looking around with relieved curiosity as her hooves thunked against the wood. I gave her a friendly smile and got her a bowl of stew.
“I’ve not been in here since they moved in,” Galine murmured, taking the bowl of stew from me.
Ah… maybe I shouldn’t have let her in. Too late now. Galien didn’t sit or… anything, she just stood here, not even eating. Maybe I should have tried to make her more comfortable, but I was a tad distracted by worry. I spooned the stew into another bowl for me.
“So?” I asked, sitting on the bench. “What was in the letter?”
Galien sighed and walked over before slowly lowering herself to her knees to lie down. Or sit? Her horse half was lying down on its sternum anyway. I forced myself to stop staring.
“Good stew,” Galine murmured around a bite.
“Thanks,” I nodded. At a different time, I would have been delighted to hear it. Right now, she was just beating around the bush, and it only made me more nervous.
“The letter said they identified what’s been driving monsters down from the mountains,” Galine eventually continued. “Apparently, Petven was pretty confident it was a stormscale.”
“A dragon?” I asked, perking in excitement, but before remembering that would probably be really bad.
“Not a true dragon, fortunately, but… very dangerous,” Galine explained. “They’re massive and serpentine with six sets of legs and gnarly horns. They’re named after their ability to spit lightning and their durable scales. I was… just reading up on them.”
“Okay,” I nodded, taking a moment to process all of this. “So what's the problem?”
She shook her head. “There is no problem. Frida just mentioned they were going to try to ambush it and… I got worried, and I was hoping that they were home by now,” she groaned. “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how mercenaries are. But I promise there is no substantial reason to worry, I just… tend to overthink, I suppose,” she added sheepishly.
I nodded, feeling rather underwhelmed. Obviously, their work was dangerous, and I was definitely far more worried about them now, but… now all of this just felt like a big old mix-up. “And you came running up here just to check despite your fear of heights?”
Galine flushed with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I know it was silly. But sometimes they get back, and they don’t check in until they’re ready for the next job. It makes my job a bit of a nightmare and… well, I don’t know where they are.”
“That’s shitty,” I frowned.
Galine shrugged. “It's usually late, and they’re far from the only ones. But I finally worked up the courage to come all the way up today, so…” she cut herself off and ate more stew.
“Congrats,” I smiled sincerely. Maybe it wasn’t much in the grand scheme of things, but considering how scared she had seemed… it certainly wasn’t nothing.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, staring into her bowl.
“Can I ask something?” I ventured apologetically.
“Sure,” she sighed, not exactly seeming thrilled by the prospect.
“Why don’t they make wider stairs? I mean, I feel like I’m going to slip on them half the time, and I’m not… long like you,” I grimaced.
She blinked at me, then a smile crossed her features. I had pleasantly surprised her. Oh, that was a nice feeling. But then she huffed. “They’re not going to build a whole new staircase for my sake. I’m just a receptionist.”
“Right,” I nodded, squinting slightly. “But it just seems odd to me for everything to be based on human proportions if there are people who are clearly… built differently. I mean, I don’t know how Martrix reaches anything, and surely Kimrel hits his head on doorways constantly,” I chuckled.
Galine just stared at me with a puzzled frown.
Ah shit, yeah, in hindsight that was a totally bizarre thing to say if I had grown up in this world.
“I may… I’m an outworlder,” I admitted uncomfortably.