Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 152666 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 763(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 509(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152666 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 763(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 509(@300wpm)
When she was finished, she wrapped me in a soft linen and took my clothes to get laundered without asking. Wearing clothes from my cottage Weston had packed for me, I headed down to a hot breakfast and a half mug of ale. I’d purchased a full one, but it turned out I didn’t much like the stuff—much too strong. I let the grumpy-faced man with a red beard sitting at the table behind me have it, smiling as I did so.
His frown was pronounced.
“What’s in it?” he asked, and the barman with a round belly and dirty apron stopped what he was doing and looked over.
I lifted my eyebrows, looking into the ceramic mug. “Ale? The amber kind.”
“What else?”
I stared at him for a beat. “Hops? Barley? I’m not really sure how they make ale.”
“He’s asking if you put one of them snacks into his drink,” the bartender said in a booming voice, the tavern patrons going quiet and looking my way.
“Oh my— No,” I said, aghast. “No! Why would I do that? That’s absurd. Forget the fact that it is just wasting hard-earned coin, but a person should only consume that sort of product after careful contemplation. It’s not something you should just stumble into.”
No one so much as moved within the tavern, all still staring at me.
“I mean . . . here, I’ll show you it’s fine.” I grabbed the mug and took a swill, grimacing as the strong taste flooded my mouth. “Ugh. I’m sure this is a lovely brew, crafted with a lot of finesse and attention to detail, but gods slap me, it’s a bit tart, isn’t it? Very, very strong. I’m really not a fan of it. I’m more of a wine girl. Do you want it or not?”
Red Beard looked over at the barman for a beat before they both started laughing.
“Yeah, I’ll take it. No sense in wasting good ale.” He took the mug from me, tilting his head in thanks.
“Oh.” I chuckled, pointing at him. “You were joking about my putting stuff in your drink.”
His brow furrowed. “No, I wasn’t joking. Are you new here?”
My smile drifted away. “I’m just passing through. You weren’t joking? Do people actually do that?”
He shook his head as the bartender leaned his hands against the bar, watching us. Everyone else had gone back to their meals, chatting amongst themselves.
“You’d better watch yourself in this town, girl,” he said in a low tone. “They’ll hook you any way they can. Watch your back, too. Crime is on the rise. If you’re passing through, best get your business done and get gone.”
Unsettled, I grabbed my pack and headed out, vaguely recalling one of Weston’s biggest issues was innocent people getting hooked. It seemed totally farfetched to put it in a drink, though. Accidentally doing something one time shouldn’t create a dependency. I hadn’t ever heard of something with effects that quick.
Outside, the sunlight bounced off the clean cobblestones and highlighted the cute houses and little shops. Near the square I found the side street in question, my curiosity burning about what was being sold in the stall with the purple and black awning.
She’d never asked to use my design. She’d never mentioned it. I would’ve thought something like that might’ve come up in conversation. Oh hey, Aurelia, by the way, I’m using your art for my shop face. Isn’t that cool? We’re in this together!
I would’ve thought that was amazing. I would’ve felt even more connected to her and the job. Now I just felt dirty, hearing what people were saying and learning what I had. I was disgusted and wanted to prove everyone wrong. I didn’t want any of this to be true.
A few people gathered at the stand, all of them malnourished and unnaturally skinny, like they hadn’t been eating or taking care of themselves in months, maybe years. One of them walked away, opening the purple and black wrapper immediately and popping a bright pink item into his mouth.
I’d looked at all the names on the wrappers, none of which I used for the stuff I created. Happiness or Booster Pack or Dream Time, cutesy names with very little description of what they did.
Another person walked away, several items held tight in her hands as she scurried along. Yet another was arguing about the price and his lack of funds.
“Supply and demand,” the stall attendee told the man. “If you can’t afford it, buy one of these other, cheaper ones.”
“I don’t want any of those,” the man spat. “I want Dream Time! I have to have Dream Time!”
The layout of the stand was pristine, all the products were lined up neatly and displayed well with little cards at the front listing the names and prices. My eyes widened in shock as I looked at the numbers. Two products for a silver piece? That was as pricy as room and board. Each product cost way more than a hot bath and a warm meal, something all the people in that alleyway greatly needed.