Flexible Morals Ch. 04

Phyre nodded. "We could ask Niptri. All the miners work for Mr. Gilbride. Except, he won't be back until the evening."

"In that case, perhaps we should attempt a different path. I would imagine that the Solar didn't spend all of his time in Fissure at Mr. Gilbride's manor, if that was even where he stayed. Perhaps we should see if we can find where he slept at night."

"There are a few inns over on market street." Phyre pointed in that direction as if Drop would somehow be able to see.

"What's an in?"

"It's a place where you can rent a room to sleep in."

Drop croaked thoughtfully. "Doesn't sound very nice to me. So many people sleeping in the same beds. It must get rather dirty."

"I'm sure they clean it often enough." Though Phyre didn't argue about the overall niceness of the experience. She had never had to stay in one, having not travelled far enough from Fissure for there to be any need. Still, it didn't sound like such a place could ever hope to compare to the warm, cozy, comfort of home. And just like that, her throat clenched up and her stomach wracked in pain. "It's a bit early, but we could go there now," she said in an effort to distract.

===

Carved into an oval-shaped board above the entrance were the words The Cold Forge, written in common letters. It was much easier for Phyre to read due to the depth that the letters had. Her voice could easily trace each groove and discern the shape. But learning the establishment's name had never been much of a concern. It was the act of actually entering the place that troubled her. For a moment, she flashed her voice much louder than normal to peek beyond the vast, oaken double doors, together carved with a pair of crossed pickaxes. In the brief moment of vision that she acquired, she discovered the space immediately inside to be empty of people. Her nerves relaxed substantially at such a revelation. She had chosen to start with this place because it looked to be the least seedy of the selection that occupied market street. Able to stall no longer, Phyre muscled her way in.

There was a grate in the floor that Phyre guessed served as some sort of preliminary cleaning place, further to the mat beyond it, on which one would wipe one's shoes. Here, it covered a dirt and mud-filled pit into which the filth from outside was allowed to drain. Phyre could only imagine that such a setup had been made to keep any miners who might frequent the place from tracking bucket loads of grit inside the building. She passed over the hole and ground her shoes against the fibrous mat that preceded a short set of steps leading to the central room of the inn. As she had already gleamed, the place was empty. Tables, most of them with upside down chairs placed on top, were scattered around the floor. There was a big fireplace right in the center that had a gaping chimney over the top. Altogether, it looked rather like a forge that would elsewhere be used for smelting ores. Here, that was clearly not its intended purpose. With merely a passing glance, she could tell that heating such a fireplace hot enough to smelt ores would probably cause large sections of the inn to burn down, especially considering how some of the chairs were placed right next to the rim. No, this 'forge' was merely for show. Nothing like the radiating, glass furnace that had been in their old shop.

On the left side of the inn was a stairway that she could see led to a series of rooms on the second floor. At the far end was a long countertop with plenty of stools in front of it and several shelves of barrels behind. With a degree of apprehension, Phyre made her way across towards the bar, all the while sweeping her voice around. If the inn was open, someone had to be here and she wasn't about to let that someone creep up on her.

He was a very tall, burly looking man, common for an Earthborn. His race was clear immediately by the darker tone to his skin and the faint traces of green that ran through his brown hair. Presently, the man that Phyre had to guess was the innkeeper, was sampling his product in a room behind the bar. He jumped as she got closer to the counter, a half mouthful of brew spluttering from his lips as his ears perked up to listen for sounds, either her footfalls or her voice.

"Hello?" The man called. He set down his mug and moved for the adjoining door. His eyes fell upon Phyre immediately and his face flashed with surprise and curiosity. "Little early to be looking for a room, dotcha think? Little young too, I'd guess."

She chose not to hear any rudeness in those words. "I wanted to ask some questions."

The man frowned, then made a single, steady nod. He moved closer to his side of the counter, perched his hands atop it and nodded to the stool in front of him. "Have a seat then and ask away."

Despite her conflicting wishes, Phyre accepted the hospitality. "I'm looking for someone who might have stayed here."

"Right. Any clues on this someone?" the man asked with a faint hint of sarcasm.

"He's a Solar."

He nodded and gave a thoughtful rub of the gritty stubble stubble that occupied his chin and cheeks. "Well, I'll concede that you've narrowed it down. With a rough guess, I'd wager to having seen about two-hundred or so Solars in my time. Any Solar in particular that you're looking for? One with a name, perhaps?"

Growing weary of the man's less-than-subtle taunting, Phyre decided to dump the extent of her knowledge in one fell go. "I don't know his name but I know how he looks." She paused a moment to call up her memories of the Solar, speaking again just before the innkeeper could get his own words in. "His hair is about down to his shoulders and looks nice and neat. He, uh... he doesn't have a beard or a mustache or anything. I think he might have blue eyes... or green. Um, his skin looks really pale and he—"

"Okay, wait." The man held up a finger as he rubbed his eyes. "I'm gonna stop you there because what you're doing is describing just about every Solar that's ever walked through that door. I mean, blue eyes and fair skin? I suppose his hair was somewhere between white'n yellow'n he had a pair of suncrests in his palms too. You gotta help me here, something a little more distinguishing like a scar or a tattoo or a flattened down nose. Something that'd leave an impression, y'know?" Despite the harshness of his words, there was a pleading look in his eyes.

Phyre swept through her memories, encouraged by the man's expression, but there was nothing. The only view she had ever had of the Solar had been too brief and too faint to catch anything that would stick. She could scarcely even remember the larger things. She really had described the fundamental features of a Solar. It was like asking for a Vocal with no eyes or a Skytouched with a set of atohs on their back.

"Besides, hair changes. You can't rely on even the most defining of—"

"Wait," she said, taking her turn to interrupt. "He worked for Mr. Gilbride. He probably did, I mean. I'm sure he did."

The man's eyebrows rose. "Mr. Gilbride, hmm? Well, you could've mentioned that earlier. Certainly narrows things down a fair bit. And I'm guessing that you reckon he's real new in town if you're inquiring around here. So, we're after a Solar who's fresh into the Patab's employ. Probably not a guard since they have themselves a barracks to put up in. Not a Fissure guard, at least. Might be one'a Gilbride's private troupe."

"He might be a miner," Phyre suggested, spurred on by this sudden boon of progress.

The man stared off into space as he considered that possibility. "Mmm, no if he's got his hair as long as you say he probably doesn't work in the mines. I hear hair like that gets in the way and causes accidents and catches dirt like the mudtrap I got by the door."

"Maybe he ties it back when he goes underground."

"Yeah maybe. Although, that sounds as if it'd make the helmets a bit uncomfortable. Nah I figure he probably works on Gilbride's estate. The man's got a good deal of room for his servants too so it could be that he's staying there. Might be you're asking in the wrong place."

Phyre took a moment to consider that possibility. It didn't work. If the Solar had been staying in Mr. Gilbride's manor, he would surely have been caught along with the Skytouched. She was about to open her mouth and explain that line of reasoning when it occurred to her that doing so might not be so wise. Better not to let others know exactly who she was searching for and why. Such would only attract more questions than she could answer. "No, he definitely wasn't staying at the manor."

"Oh yeah? Whydjoo figure that?"

Phyre tore through her mind in a frantic, panicked search for something that would reason the innkeeper's question away. "Because he... because he's so new here. Would Mr. Gilbride would let someone stay in his house only a few days, at the most, after meeting him? Even if he is working there."

The innkeeper scratched his stubble some more. "Yeah, I suppose so. Those rich types get so protective of their stuff. Not that I can blame em. Big house like that, it's a wonder that everyone in it isn't nicking off with whatever's not tied down. Why do ya think he's so new in town, by the way? Seeing how you can't seem to give much of a physical description."

"Well, that's why. I only saw him once and never before that. Never around Fissure either."

"Right. So, a Solar who's only been in Fissure for a couple days. Works for the Patab and might be staying here?"

"Yes."

"Mhmm." More scratching of his chin. The sound it produced sounded a bit like sand being rubbed along a piece of wood. "Sorry, can't think of anyone like that. Trouble is, that Patab bit narrows it down to zero. I figure you'd probably have more luck over at Steelsmith's Landing up the street, seeing how it's closer to Gilbride's place."

"You're sure? Maybe he just came in here to eat but was staying somewhere else." It was a silly suggestion but Phyre didn't relish the possibility of having to go through this entire process again at another inn on market street, especially since they all looked to go downhill from here.

"Nah, that'd be odd to stay at one inn and eat at another, don'cha think?"

"Right." With some degree of reluctance, Phyre slid off her barstool and started her journey back through the inn. "Thanks anyway," she mumbled.

"Sorry I couldn't help, miss. Not a lot of the Patab's men come round here. We had a Vocal in this week that may've been working there, from what the other patrons let slip, but that's it."

Phyre froze and turned around, her brow furrowing. "A Vocal?" she asked. She hadn't seen any at Mr. Gilbride's manor.

"Yeah... Except..." This time it was the innkeepers brow that did the furrowing. He cupped a hand over his mouth and thought for a little while. "Except, come to think of it, I don't remember what his occumark was. He had a real dark cloak, almost black, and the hood was pulled pretty far down, couldn't see his face too well. Wasn't as far down as some of the other Vocals round here, though."

"That's him!" Phyre cried. The Solar outside her house, he had been wearing a dark cloak.

"You sure? He certainly seemed secretive enough to be a Vocal. Uh, no offense meant."

"Maybe you can't remember his occumark because he didn't have one." Phyre hurried back to the bar stool and repositioned herself atop it.

"Mhmm, I guess that could be it. The light in here's not great, I just figured it wasn't standing out too well against the black of his cloak."

"It's definitely him. Which room is he staying in?"

The innkeeper shrugged. "'Fraid you've missed him by a bit. He packed up and left, uh..." He began counting out days on his fingers backwards. "Yeah, four, maybe five, days ago."

Phyre counted back too. That put the date right around the time that her house had been burned down. With a sliver of dread, she started seeing the story. The Solar had come into Fissure, done his job then left without a word. Gone to the wind and Dawn knows where else. Please don't let it be that, she begged. "Did he leave anything behind like something that might say where he was going or where he had come from."

"Not that I recall. The room he stayed in's all cleaned out." Then the innkeeper's eyes slid into a squint. "Why are you looking for this man anyway?"

"Because, uh... I think he stole something from my family."

"Right, shouldn't you take that up with the guards, then?"

"But lots of the guards work for the Patab, and if this Solar works for the Patab too then they might not go after him."

The innkeeper rubbed his chin and nodded. "I suppose that could be a concern. But like I said, your man's probably gone by now, long on the road to some other place if he isn't living up at Gilbride's manor. I know what you said, but I reckon that you're best bet is up on that hill. Otherwise you're gonna have quite a task catching up with this guy."

"I know," she mumbled. So that was it, the Solar was gone. "Thanks again, I guess." For the second time, Phyre slid down from the bar stool and began her journey towards the inn's door. It seemed a longer distance than before.

"Good luck trying to find him, miss." There were no further clues from the innkeeper this time. He quickly moved back into the room behind the bar where he had earlier been sampling his ales.

Out on market street, Phyre made a left from the inn and walked along the structure until she came to an alleyway beside it. She entered, her feet squelching on the muddied ground that resulted from far poorer roadwork. Weeds were springing up in this free space, to feed on several piles of decaying refuse that folk had discarded here. The air tasted damp, earthy and rotten. She had only come in here to seek a private place for speaking with Drop. As if sensing this, the frog was already clambering to the lip of his pocket. She looked down at him and asked, "What should we do now?"

Drop's eyes were grim and his throat was pulsing with thought. "As much as it pains me to say it, girly, I think the innkeeper was right. It sounds as if the Solar is long gone."

"But there has to be some way to find out where he went."

"Well, granted, this would be an absolute last resort, but you could always wish for something like that."

Phyre wrung her hands. The thought of spending her one wish on something so seemingly trivial as finding out where the Solar had gone didn't appeal. Yet that very idea was now firmly lodged in her head. She tried to shake it free. There had to be a better way. "No, not yet."

"Of course, of course. As I said, only a last resort. My other idea, which I know will be, perhaps, just as unpleasant, is to go ask Mr. Gilbride. Maybe he knows something about where—"

"No, we're not going there either." Phyre thrust a finger towards the frog. She had absolutely no intention of going anywhere near Gilbride's manor, especially without Hatra to provide some degree of escort. There was no guarantee that the space within those walls was safe. "We'll go ask Hatra's husband and some of the other miners and maybe we'll visit the other inns but we're not seeing the Patab again."

"That will take days. Who knows how far away the Solar will be by then. Even if you manage to learn something, too much time will have passed for it to still be reliable."

"I don't care, we're not going back to Gilbride's manor."

For several moments, Phyre held her voice on Drop as he held his eyes on her. His gaze was tense, stoic and unrelenting. "I know you're afraid of venturing in there," he said at last.

"It's not that."

"There's nothing wrong with being afraid. I used to be afraid of loads of things. I still am, just not so much."

"I'm not afraid."

"You are, I can see it. But it's okay. Lots of people are afraid of things. You just have to be brave and that's acting despite being afraid."

"I told you, I'm not—" But as Phyre raised her voice, and her field of view along with it, she noticed something that stole her attention. Perhaps a dozen meters deeper into the alleyway sat a shape. A black and white shape. A cat.

"Hmm? What is it?" Drop asked when she didn't continue.

Phyre barely heard him, the entirety of her focus now devoted to the cat. There was something hauntingly peculiar about it. For a start, it sat rigidly still and simply stared at her. Constantly. Unwavering.

For the most part, it looked no different to an ordinary cat. Almost entirely clad in black fur except for a patch upon its face and the tip of its tail that presently lay wrapped around its legs. The white on its face turned to darkness again on the cat's nose and around its mouth and eyes.

Its eyes. There the normality ceased. Phyre's voice felt as though it swirled towards those blackened pools that were absent of even the slightest bit of color. Nothing but nightshade. A ceaseless void that stayed locked upon her occumarks.

"Phyre!? What's wrong?" Drop shouted and she realized that he had shouted several times already.

"There," she said simply as she pointed to the feline.

Drop hauled himself a little further up her pocket and twisted around, at last able to tell where her attention had gone now that it had been pointed out. He peered down the alleyway and immediately uttered a sharp croak. "Gah, not him."

"Who?" Phyre asked without her voice leaving the cat's eyes.

"The forest monster."

It took Phyre a second to recall the story. "But you said you'd made that up."

"It didn't sound like you were going to believe me either way," Drop hissed as his gaze maintained on the cat.

Phyre wondered for a moment if the furry creature might somehow be able to understand that they were talking about it. Any other cat and she wouldn't have thought such a thing, but this one seemed significantly more aware. "What's he want?" she asked herself as much as Drop.

"I don't know, maybe he— oh.."

As though reacting to Phyre's question, the cat stood up, curled around and began padding his way down the alley. Not even a whisper of sound followed his steps. His tail stood tall but crooked over sharply where the fur turned from black to white.

"Does he want me to follow?" Phyre asked, though she somehow knew the answer before Drop even said it.

"I think so."

She nodded. The cat had almost reached a turn in the alleyway and he looked intent on taking it.

Phyre stepped forwards and began to follow. Meanwhile, her senses told her to do the opposite. She suddenly recalled that famous saying, curiosity killed the cat. Did a similar saying exist for when a cat killed the curious?

"Are you sure it's safe?" Phyre asked as the cat curled around a bend in the alley. She maintained a good distance from it.

"Relatively sure. I managed to escape him, after all."

Echoing around the corner, Phyre's voice slowly lost sight of the cat. She tried to keep him in view but it was almost as if he just slipped away. She sent her voice out stronger, casting over rooftops, and found the feline much further ahead that she had expected him to be, though his pace hadn't changed.

"He's not as big as you made him out to be," Phyre remarked. She stepped around the first bend just as the cat made another turn up ahead. With her voice she could see that he would be emerging onto a street shortly. What might people think of him?

"Well that's easy for you to say, what with all your towering above things. I'm a whole world smaller than he is, aren't I," Drop finished with a deep ribbitt.

"I suppose so."

They were silent for several seconds before Drop made a slow croak. "I left some parts out of my story. You remember it, don't you?"

"Mhmm, what parts?"

Again the cat had managed to somehow slip from sight and again Phyre relocated it as she turned onto the final stretch of alleyway. She could see him padding purposefully along the rooftop to her right. How did he...? Phyre wondered briefly.