Page 104 of Into the Heartless Wood
But after a while she stops recounting every detail of her life and studies me. Her face softens. “You seem to have come upon a hard time, my dear. Do you have somewhere to stay in Breindal?”
I shake my head.
“You’ll be looking for work, then. You should try up at the palace—they’re always needing new servants. According to my sister, so many of the maids have gone to join the army, they’re shockingly short-staffed. Just mention Carys’s name at the door—that’s my sister—and tell them she’s sent you. They’re sure to hire you right away.” She pats my arm. “But I’ll let you sleep now.”
Her kindness humbles me. Tears prick hot in my eyes. “Thank you. For the advice. And the sandwich.”
She smiles. “Don’t mention it, my dear. Don’t mention it.” She goes back to her own seat.
I lean my head against the window, my eyes sliding shut.
The motion of the train lulls me to sleep.
When I wake, it’s pulling into the station.
The chaos of the city overwhelms me.
The noise, the press of people, thestench.
It is steeped in filth and smoke,
with buildings squeezed so tightly together they seem to leer over the street.
I am lost among them.
My companion from the train warned me that there would not be time to get to the palace tonight. She suggested I take a room at an inn until morning. She even gave me money for it.
I tried to refuse, but she just shook her head and folded my hands tightly around the coins. “You need them more than I do, dear.” Then she gave me careful, detailed directions, and we went our separate ways.
Even with her directions, I get lost.
I can read, thanks to Owen’s lessons on our hill, but I cannot make any sense of the street signs. And there is just so muchnoise.
I can hardly breathe.
But I stumble upon the inn at last, and hand over the coins to the woman in charge.
My head pounds and my feet hurt from my long walk on the hard stone streets.
She frowns at my lack of shoes, but ushers me up a creaking narrow stair to a little room on the top floor anyway.
She snaps: “Dinner’s downstairs,” and goes away again.
The room makes me panic even more than the crowded streets.
How do peopleliveshut indoors all the time?
How do they breathe?
At least there is a window. I figure out how to open it. I poke my head out into the night air. It is heavy with smoke and unpleasant smells, but it makes me feel a little easier.
My human body is too tired to go downstairs again. It drags me to the narrow bed.
I lay my head on the pillow, shut my eyes.
I sleep.
In the morning, the cross innkeeper begrudgingly gives me a bowl of something called porridge. It is sweet and good, but so hot it scalds my mouth.
