Expanded Horizons: Beyond the Blue

Heir to Nothing: Chapter One

 Vesselin sat at the edge of his bed with his arms crossed and an expression to match. The new head caretaker was way meaner than the old one; the old one at least let the kids have desert. This new one shouted at all the kids for asking, something about not having the money for it or whatever. How could they not have it now if they did before?

He suspected that she was taking it for herself, but he couldn't really prove it. No one took any of the kids seriously. To most people, they were just pitiful little objects, victims of a cruel world and lost to the wind. At least, that's how he heard the caretakers describe them.

Vesselin wasn't going to have this, though. He knew something was up, and tonight, he was going to go and find proof.

He slipped off the end of his bed and tiptoed through the common bedroom. A dozen other kids slept soundly in their beds, unaware of the shenanigans of the night. Vesselin had snuck around at night plenty of time before, but never before with such a sense of purpose. He had to sneak into the headmistress's office and get her records.

The city of Primo handed the orphanage a messy check and turned away from the issue, as if throwing in some money simply solved the problem like the flip of a switch. They had always dealt with the city's issues in that manner, though, almost like it was a cultural thing. Vesselin didn't care, though. He would find a real solution on his own.

Slowly, he cracked the door open to find a dark hallway and not a caretaker in sight. All three slept soundly with their actions. With a silent huff of defiance, Vesselin tiptoed onto the carpeted floor and started making his way down the hall to the stairwell. He had to tread carefully, as the next room over housed the caretakers so that they could come quickly to tend to the children.

Once past the room, Vesselin sped up and hopped lightly down the spiral stairs using the railing as support. At the base, he paused for a moment to listen; no indication that anyone had gotten up. So far, he had the green light to press forward and find evidence of the head caretaker's thefts.

He sped down the hall, landing heel first and rolling into his steps. With no lights on anywhere, he had to stick to the center of the hall and avoid any tables or decorations that he may catch on. With a few turns here and there, he made it to the main office and peaked inside.

A single candle sat on the desk, negligently alight and casting short shadows around the desk. The stark walls of the room reflected every bit of the light that did exist, though, and the room held an angry, orange glow on the brown wood of the floor and walls. Vesselin crept in one inch at a time, constantly looking back to make sure no one would come up behind him.

Once inside, he silently shut the door behind him and set out to search for his evidence. He didn't know what sorts of things might specifically sit around, like the actual labels on the items, but he knew it had to be a big notebook or ledger. Someplace where they could track all the expenses quickly and efficiently.

Vesselin checked on top of the desk, and under it, and inside it; he checked everywhere; but nothing seemed right. He could read, at least a little bit, and nothing with the right label or look stuck out to him.

Just when he was about to give up for the night, he realized the shelves behind the desk may have what he needed. He pulled the chair over to reach up to the top shelf first and go over the labels, and moved down with each group when he found nothing. He found what he wanted on the bottom shelf, tucked away into the corner, as if a hidden treasure.

"Gotcha," Vesselin whispered triumphantly.

He yanked the ledger out from the shelf and onto the floor where he could flip it open and find what he needed. Letters gave him trouble, yes, but numbers, he could understand. He flipped to the most recent entry toward the back of the used pages and looked at the numbers.

"Ah," he said, pointing his finger at a seemingly low number atop the page labeled "Total Budget".

Vesselin took his time figuring out what each item meant and how much money went to them, trying to create his own, better budget in his head. While he knew cheaper versions of things must exist, the quality of what they had begged to differ, and he couldn't think of a good way to repurpose any of the money.

"That... that doesn't make sense," he said.

Vesselin flipped the page back to see the previous day at the same expenses. If he wanted to see where the theft may be occurring, he knew he would have to go find the budgets from the old head caretaker and compare them. The budget accounted for all expenditures, and while numbers might be lied about, he knew he could find the proof if he had the old numbers.

When he opened up to older entries, though, he met with an unexpected conclusion; the old budgets were all higher. As he flipped through the pages, he found a gradually decreasing amount of money coming to the orphanage, as long-time donors disappeared and the city grants got steadily smaller over time.

"I... no, they wouldn't..."

Vesselin flipped back to the most recent change that also happened to be the most severe cut right around when the old head caretaker left. The numbers all sat there, but at the base of the page in the "notes" section, she had left a message for the new head caretaker. He struggled with it, but when he read it fully, the message resonated in his mind like a ceremonial gong.

The city has reduced the budget, citing our donors as the reason they can reallocate our money to other projects. I tried to stop them; truly, I did. But I am a lowly Spinster, at least to them.

I must leave, and find a way to raise more money for the children. I entrust the care of my precious little ones to you, Lilith; make sure they have what they need, however you can. I will do my best to bring in more revenue, or so help me Liberty, I shall die trying.

Godspeed to you.

Vesselin sat back and leaned on his hands to steady himself as tears began to flow from his eyes. He could not cry, not here, lest he be caught and punished. The head caretaker may have been mean, but she meant no harm. No, she was not the one stealing from them.

Eventually, Vesselin found the strength to stand and returned to his bed, quiet as a church mouse and slipped under the covers. He knew it would be the last time; he could not stay here. Tomorrow, he would leave and carve his own place out in the world, and leave the resources he used to take to spread to the others who needed them.