Phony Potions

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

A steady stream of people came and went through the doorway, many of them dressed similar to me, at least in the materials of their clothes. Splashes of red fabric, glints of semi-precious stone embellishments. A few sorcerers were visibly casting as they walked around. In general, they were Assistants, and then further down, their Assistants, in more worn out clothing. Those merchants and travelers not associated with sorcerers must be staying with families, or maybe there was another inn buried in the town that I had missed. It took me a few moments to summon the courage to enter. The building appeared like it might collapse at any moment, not from neglect but from sheer impossibility.

When I finally stepped through the threshold, the drama of the moment was ruined by getting bumped into by three busy Assistants with their noses in their scrolls. I was slammed into the doorframe painfully. They didn't even have the mind to apologize before they argued among themselves about whatever it was they were discussing. Rubbing my shoulder, I took a moment to get my bearings inside the inn.

The interior was surprisingly normal construction-wise. The bottom floor held a small lobby to check in. The desk was wooden, behind it, a shelf full of keys with tags. A pair of stairways were on either side of the desk. People were coming up and down both of them at whim, probably defeating the purpose of having two stairways to avoid people going in conflicting directions from meeting on the stairs. I'm sure at one time one stairwell had been used for up and the other down, but the harried clerks had no time to educate their many guests on which was which today.

Before the stairwells was the doorframe to a larger room. I was at the wrong angle to see in, but I heard the clinking of glasses at a bar and the sounds of a small kitchen, popping and sizzling. Chairs constantly scraped against the wooden floor and laughter of old friends reuniting and new friends meeting for the very first time punctuated a lower burbling wave of conversation. This was, plank by plank, a normal inn.

The only thing throwing me off was the smell. There was food, yes, but the constant reek of people was gone. In its place was an assault of odd perfumes, from flowery to sugary, and mild scents like fresh air in the forest. How did someone bottle the fleeting smell of tree leaves and sunshine and dark, untouched earth? I pulled my arms close to my body. I should have used some cologne before leaving my carriage this morning. I was probably the only one who smelled like sweat.

There were blood stains on my knees from crawling during the fight. With one tentative hand I reached up and touched my head. Flaking, dried blood came off on my fingers. Glancing around, I noticed the other Assistants were avoiding me. But... it wasn't disgust, but something else I often pretended to incite: pity. I fell into the role, shrinking smaller and more vulnerable as I got into line. The sooner I got up to a room the sooner I could clean up.

Being around and blending in with Assistants would make my act even more believable for the schmucks I sold to who had never seen a dash of magic before in their lives. There was more of a blob of people than a line directly in front of me. They were all wearing the same colors, outfits varied but also matching. Perhaps all Assistants to the same sorcerer? They were oddly subdued compared to the rambunctious, talkative crowd behind me. I listened closely, peering up to the one at the front.

"I demand better accommodation! This ramshackle room is an insult to offer to a Magester!" The sorcerer slammed his hand down on the table at front, the offending room key punctuating his outrage as it thunked.

"Enchanted One..." The clerk held out her hands consolingly. "... if you are a Magester—"

"If? IF?" The sorcerer roared. I heard a gag beside me. One of the color-coded Assistants leaned over and whispered in my ear.