Thunderlight

(Cont.) All of Your Dreams Have Come True

He's reluctant to leave the flowers in such a state, but there's not much else he can do. If he doesn't figure something out, they're gonna end up becoming mulch. As he makes his way to the town, he wonders what might help the flowers and how he'll know it will help. He's studied a lot of things in his life, but gardening didn't make the list. He'd never even seen a farm until he'd been to Lenny's house. Not that Lenny's family farm was much of a farm at all; it was more like dirt and dead plants.

Would Lenny know how to fix the flowers?

Mott shakes the thought from his head. It doesn't matter what Lenny does or does not know, this is his mess to fix. Besides, Lenny made it pretty clear a few days ago how he feels about Mott right now. He can't imagine seeing him would be much of a delight.

He hopes Lenny's okay, though. He hopes he's not working himself too hard. If Lenny thinks someone needs help, he's not gonna rest until it's done. Lenny's awfully stubborn; he might be as skinny as a twig, but he can be as immovable as a rock when he wants to be.

But that doesn't mean he's invincible—these past few weeks have been a glaring reminder of that. Watching Lenny struggle to recover shoved his vulnerability straight into Mott's face. Seeing Lenny's skin stripped raw and the tender flesh beneath it bared had reminded Mott not just how fragile Lenny is, but how weak he himself is. How inadequate he is.

It's nothing new, though. Isn't that what his father has been telling him all this time?

His thoughts spiral and consume him until he bumps into someone. He snaps back into awareness, realizing with a start that he's already wandered into town.

"Sorry," he says, to the person he ran into.

They whip around with a disgruntled scowl, probably about to chew him out, but then they see his face. Their eyes go wide and any argument they might've made dashes away. Pale and cowed, they mumble something before ducking their head and hurrying off. Mott watches them go, stunned and bewildered. What was that?

It takes him a moment to remember that's how people usually react when they get in a powerful noble's way—especially one who takes all their money no matter how poor they already are. Being an Alcott who collects heavy taxes is sure to garner that kind of response, so Mott's not entirely sure why he expected anything less. Maybe it's because he's spent so many months as a nobody that he forgot what it means to be a somebody.

This is what he's fought so hard to return to?

He tries to shake the encounter off as he ventures farther into the town, but the feeling lingers. It doesn't help that the townspeople eye him warily, their sharp gazes trained on him with barely veiled disgust and hatred. Yet, whenever he meets their gaze, their eyes fall to the dusty street. They're afraid of being singled out by him, he realizes. They're afraid of having even more of their livelihood stripped from them.

A sense of wrongness clings to his skin like something sticky and unpleasant. As he travels down a crooked dirt street and more eyes dart away from him, the feeling grows suffocating. Part of him wants to turn around and forget about the whole thing, but he knows he'll regret it if he does. So, he presses on.

A few blocks in, he finds himself at the crossing of a familiar street. This is where he was when he promised the town he'd lessen their taxes, using his power as an Alcott to grant him an audience with their lord. He sees the person Lenny fed that day, sitting in the same spot and looking more dejected than ever.

In a few short days, this part of town looks worse for wear. It's as if the whole place has been uprooted and left for dead, and now the people are abandoned to wilt and droop and drown.

They need money. They're going to die at this rate.

Mott doesn't know why the thought strikes him so suddenly, so viscerally, but it pierces him down to the marrow and shudders through his entire being. Perhaps it's because he knows he's responsible for what's happened here.

They need money. Mott doesn't have any of his own—but he knows someone who has an excess.

Without hesitation, he spins back to the estate and breaks into a sprint. A few townspeople jump at his sudden motion, staring with taut hesitance and confusion. He's aware of how bizarre he must look, racing through the streets without a clear reason, but he doesn't have the time to explain himself. He manages to dodge a rolling cart and shout an apology over his shoulder as he barrels past, but that's about it.

His legs pump more vigorously than he thought possible as his heart beats at twice the speed. He can get them money. He ruined things, made a mess of everything, and nearly taxed the life out of the town, but he can make it right again. He will make it right again.

He can save them.

Relief and excitement wash over him in waves, encouraging a burst of speed as he tears through the streets back to the estate. A wide grin stretches itself across his face and he finds himself laughing into the open air. He's sure he's gone mad off the euphoria coursing through him, because everything that was dull and bleak this morning is suddenly bright and full of possibility.

Bursting through the estate doors causes a teensy commotion. Tax collectors who had just come in from an abundant haul jump at the noise, startled. One of them drops their bag and coins scatter all across the floor.

"Pick that up!" Mott exclaims in a sing-song voice, chipper and bubbling as he races by.

The collectors exchange looks of fright, likely wondering if he's finally snapped. He doesn't deign them worthy of divulging his plan to, so he simply dashes to the collector's storage room to find what he's looking for. Lucky for him, it's right in the center of the room: a large, wooden cart equipped with leather straps—easy for a four-legged being to pull.

In no time at all, he straps himself in. Some bags of money from previous collections sit in the corner of the room, so Mott hauls them into the cart. Trotting back to the hall, he walks out just as the collectors finish picking up the last coin.

"Thanks!" He chirps, snatching the bags from them and tossing them in the back.

The collectors stare at him as he leaves, flabbergasted. When they eventually realize he's not coming back, one of them shouts, "Hey! Bring those back, they belong to Lord Alcott!"

"Nope, they sure don't!" He responds, a dumb grin still stretching across his face. "They belong to the people."

He can barely hear their vicious curses and complaints as he grows farther and farther from the estate. One of them threatens that Uncle Theobald will be hearing about the incident, but it only makes Mott's smile bigger. Knowing that hell will soon rain down on him can't dampen this mood.

Returning to town the second time is a bit harder with a heavy cart tied to him, but he makes good time. The sun is just beginning to set when he returns to where he and Lenny announced they'd be helping. He thought it would be fitting—returning to where it all began.