Riley stepped into a dimly lit entrance room that smelled slightly of old hearth smoke and something herbal she could not quite place. A wooden counter stood near the base of a staircase leading to the second floor. Behind it sat a woman who looked as though she had been carved from the same oak as the desk itself. Her hair was pulled back so tightly that it tugged the corners of her eyes, and her face wore an expression that hovered somewhere between boredom and mild irritation.

  The woman did not look up at first. Her quill scratched slowly across a ledger. Only when Riley approached the counter did the inn keeper lift her head with all the enthusiasm of someone experiencing her third annoyance of the evening.

  “Name?” the woman droned.

  The question caught her off guard. Riley — that was who she had been in her world, but was she still that same person here? She felt different, reshaped by her experiences, yet somehow unchanged at her core. The question was simple, but it carried the weight of who she chose to be. And though she hadn’t had a say in how she arrived in this place, she would not let it strip her of herself.

  “Riley,” she said at last.

  “How long are you staying?” The woman flipped a page without waiting for her answer.

  Riley hesitated. “I am not sure. How much is a room? I mean a bed. Just for the night.”

  The woman stopped writing. Her eyes sharpened and she finally looked Riley over properly, from the stick and bucket to the rope belt and travel stained clothes. “One copper for a bed in the bunk room, eight copper for a private room. Which will you be having.”

  “A bed please. For one night,” Riley replied.

  “Mmm.” The inn keeper made a low disapproving sound. “You pay upfront. And no trouble.”

  Riley blinked at the phrasing and wondered what she could possibly do that might qualify as “trouble”. She had nothing but a wooden bucket, a helmet, and a stick, none of which seemed conducive to mischief. She gave a small, hesitant nod, already suspecting that no warm breakfast or friendly morning greeting was coming with this stay.

  The inn keeper stared at her expectantly.

  Riley stared back, confused for a moment.

  “Well?” the woman snapped.

  The sharpness in her voice jerked Riley out of her dazed posture. She fumbled quickly for a coin and found the copper piece. It was warm from being held against her body during the long walk, and she placed it on the counter with more force than she intended.

  The inn keeper snatched it up and pointed vaguely toward the stairs. “Top of the stairs, first door on your right.”

  Riley nodded, grateful to move on from this unfriendly welcome.

  At the top of the staircase, she pushed open the door to her bunk room. It opened with ease and she slipped inside. The room was long and rectangular, lined with pairs of wooden bunk beds. She spotted an empty bunk. The frame creaked quietly under her as she climbed to the top.

  The mattress was thin and lumpy, but it was a mattress. It was a physical place that did not involve cold stone or improvised flooring. Her exhausted body wasn’t going to discriminate at this point.

  Riley pulled her hat down over her eyes and was asleep before she had time to even scan her surroundings.

  ***

  Morning filtered through the small window at the far end of the room. It took Riley a few moments to realize where she was. The warmth from her blanket and the elevated safety of the top bunk made her feel briefly cocooned. She stretched one leg, then the other, and winced as her muscles reminded her of the previous day’s long trek.

  She sat up carefully and looked around the room. Only half the beds were occupied. Several people slept heavily, clearly recovering from a night in the tavern. A few snored loudly enough that Riley wondered how she had slept through it.

  She slipped down to the floor, deliberately quiet, collected her belongings, and made her way toward the stairs.

  The inn’s common room was nearly silent at this hour. Soft rattling noises drifted from the kitchen, along with the dull clatter of pots. The front desk sat empty, the ledger from last night still open. Riley headed to the door, eager to get outside before she had to speak with anyone.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Her hand had just closed around the doorknob when a voice rose behind her.

  “First round of breakfast is ready and only one copper.”

  Riley nearly jumped out of her shoes. She spun around and found the inn keeper standing a few paces away. The woman looked her up and down with the same critical expression she had used the night before.

  “Bathing facilities are included,” the inn keeper added.

  She probably deserved that. She hadn’t had a proper bath since she arrived. She caught a whiff of herself and agreed that a few river scrubs hadn’t done much.

  .

  “Down the hall, first door on the left.” Having delivered her jab, the woman turned and walked back toward the kitchen.

  Riley considered continuing on her original course but the idea of cleanliness made her change direction.

  She followed the hallway until she found the door. The room behind it was much larger than she expected and blessedly private, with a wooden latch she could secure.

  She locked the door and stepped inside. The air smelled faintly of herbs and old soap, the kind of fragrance you’d expect from a medieval day spa. A large wooden bathing barrel sat against the wall with a suspended bucket hanging above it. She tapped the bucket with her stick and felt how heavy it was. It must have been filled earlier in the morning.

  The mechanism was simple. A rope connected to the bucket allowed her to tilt it and pour water into the half-barrel. She’d have to remember this design for her own renovations. “Pimp My Tower — next time on HGTV,” she laughed to herself.

  Near the small wooden sink hung another bucket containing round, oddly-shaped lumps of soap. She picked one up and inhaled deeply. It smelled earthy and floral, both familiar and new.

  With the door locked and no one else around, Riley stripped off her clothes and placed them neatly to the side.

  She pulled the rope gently to tilt the bucket and intended to wet her skin just enough to lather up. The cold water struck her body like a slap. She yelped a quick, involuntary scream that bounced off the wooden walls and probably shot straight into the hallway.

  She clapped her hands over her mouth but it was too late.

  A sharp knock rattled the door. “What is going on in there,” called the inn keeper.

  “Nothing. Just finishing up,” Riley called back.

  She stood there dripping and embarrassed, convinced the woman now thought someone was bathing a cat in the bath.

  She quickly scrubbed the dirt and sweat away, trying not to think about the cold water that awaited her for rinsing. She braced herself and pulled the rope again, the icy blast felt even worse than before. She cringed again.

  Once clean, she reached for the towel only to discover it was thin, rough, and barely absorbent. She dried off as best she could, pulled her clothes back on, and ran her fingers through her hair until it looked passably tidy.

  Another copper for breakfast felt like too much, so she escaped the inn the moment she felt presentable enough to avoid another inspection from the innkeeper. “Too bad there are no online review sites. Another five-star experience lost forever.”

  Outside, the morning air felt crisp. The market was already coming alive. Wooden tables lined the main street, each covered with cloth, baskets, crates, or metal trays. Merchants arranged goods while chatting with each other. Riley kept a safe distance at first, observing without drawing attention.

  Wheat lay in small bundles, wood stacked by size, stone arranged so neatly it resembled bricks.

  “Welcome to the market. What’s your interest this fine morning?” a man called, his voice rising like a circus master luring a crowd. “Freshly baked bread there, cart wheels to smooth your journey there, ore for smelting there…”

  Riley didn’t hear the rest. He’d said the magic word. Ore — exactly what she needed. She nodded her thanks and moved toward the table he had pointed out.

  The merchant turned around just as she approached the table. Riley froze. The woman towered over her, easily more than seven feet tall. Yet it wasn’t her size that struck Riley most, it was the muted green of her skin, a shade she had never seen on any person before. Her arms were thick with muscle and she moved heavy crates with ease while reorganizing her display. Even her clothing bore the mark of strength, seams thickened as if built to withstand her work.

  Riley stared, completely forgetting to pretend she belonged here. The green skinned woman noticed the attention. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she stared back. Riley jerked her gaze away and tried to focus on the ore instead.

  “Great,” Riley thought to herself. “Nothing like sitting down at the poker table with your shades sitting on your head and every tell already on display.”

  Intimidated and caught off guard, she switched to plan B. She decided to build up to the ore table and start with the other resources first. She skipped the wheat table because she could gather that herself. The wood at the next stall looked familiar enough, similar to what grew near the tower. There were stacks of cut boards that seemed ideal for building. Behind the table on a sturdy cart lay freshly chopped logs. She tried to imagine carrying any of it home but her practical brain reminded her that she only had two hands and neither of them wanted, or could, haul lumber over a twelve-hour walk.

  Stone was the next table. The merchant here had sorted the pieces into categories. Something that looked like brick. Another collection that might have been marble or maybe just polished river stones. Riley had no expertise to tell the difference. All she knew was that stone was heavy and the thought of carrying any meaningful amount home made her shoulders ache.

  The only thing really worth her breaking a sweat over was that ore. She had to fix her door and she couldn’t do that without ore.

  Reluctantly, with no real choice, she turned back toward the ore table. The giant woman still watched her with a steady, unreadable expression. Riley took a deep breath and tried to gather every ounce of courage she had left. She had no idea how this was going to go or what kind of person she would be dealing with.

  But she needed ore.

  And Rivermark was the only place she could get it.

  The green woman folded her arms as Riley approached, her gaze sharp and assessing.

  Riley stopped in front of the table and prepared to speak.

  She was about to get a crash course in negotiating when you’re outweighed, literally and figuratively.