Journey of Alexandria
Chapter 3
“Honestly, girl, you’d think a smart child like you would know better by now!”
The innkeeper’s wife huffed, bustling around the kitchens to my right as I nursed a badly scraped arm.
“Sorry.” I muttered, probing with gentle fingertips around the painful patch of skin.
With a sigh, the woman shuffled over and batted my hand away, pressing a cool cloth over it instead.
“Not as if it’s your fault.” She admitted, tired. “Just wish those hooligans could find something better to do than harass a young girl and her cat.”
Nodding in agreement, I winced as she pressed on a tender spot, grateful for the warm furry head that rubbed against my shoulder.
“I’m alright, Zilla.” I whispered, reaching up with my free hand to scratch behind the cat’s rounded ears.
“This time.” The woman warned, generously smoothing a cool, mint-smelling ointment over the torn skin. “God gave you legs for a reason, girl. You ought to use them more often.”
As she wrapped the bandages snugly in place, the door across the room swung open on squeaky hinges, letting in a rush of drunken laughter and cheering.
“Sorry, love, but ya need ta pick up the pace.” The innkeeper stated with his rough accent, gruff. “The dinner crowd is comin’ in.”
“You can tell them to just sit down and wait, Jonathon Harper!” His wife shot back, extremely upset. “They can eat on time when they stop mobbing our girl!”
“Aye, that they would...” Jonathon agreed, a sharp edge to his words now. “Don’t worry, love, I’ll tell ‘em.”
The hinges squeaked for a moment, and then heavy footsteps crossed the wooden floor before a large, calloused hand ruffled my choppy hair.
“Rest up, ya little anklebiter.” He grumbled. “I’ll take care of the tables.”
I was grateful; my legs were painfully bruised and sore from running, and my back was still healing from the most recent assault of rocks just two days before.
Once Jonathon left, the door swinging closed on all the noise, Mrs. Harper sighed and tied off the bandages.
“Head up to bed. I’ll bring you food in a little while.”
Shifting as Zilla climbed onto my shoulder, little pinpricks against my skin where her claws had taken hold, I nodded in agreement and hopped down from the chair.
Purposely ignoring the aches that traveled up my legs at the move, I walked ten paces to the right, reaching up with one hand and waving around until a rough rope bumped against my palm.
Taking hold, I pulled down with all my strength, stepping back as I heard wood scratch against wood and thump against the floor.
With practiced ease, I climb up the rickety ladder, reaching up to find the edge of the overhead hole before heaving myself up.
Zilla jumped off my arm as the trapdoor swung shut with a clatter, fluffy tail brushing against my chin before I straightened up.
Years of familiarity told me where everything was; five paces to my left was a rough wooden table with a jug of water, and six to the right was a stout set of drawers that held all my clothes.
Two steps back would be the wall, with a small window that was blocked off with thick wooden boards, and seven ahead was the bed, an old mattress and a pile of blankets where Zilla had likely hidden herself.
Shuffling across the uneven floorboards, I swept a hand over the rumpled sheets before sitting down, rubbing at the sore muscles along the back of my lower right leg.
Purring, Zilla pressed against my arm, whiskers tickling the inside of my elbow as she stepped onto my lap.
Carding through her fur from head to haunches, I sighed, sprawling back on the sheets and taking in the faint scent of flowers they had gained from being dried out in the back garden.
“Is it always going to be like this?”
Zilla shifted on my belly, tail twitching against my thigh as she meowed in reaction to my voice.
“I mean, if this is what my life is always going to be like, running and hiding and getting beaten…”
Frowning, I dug blunt fingernails into the soft undersides of my wrists.
“What’s the point of living, if that’s all I have?”
I jerked back when a soft paw batted at my nose, startled, and Zilla hissed lowly in an almost reprimanding way.
Laughing, I reached up to pet her rounded ears and smooth both hands down her back, unable to help a smile.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to get all moody.” I apologized, hugging the cat close as I rolled to curl up on one side. “I’m sure things will get better…”
Unbeknownst to me, plans were being made to allow for just that.
The innkeeper’s wife huffed, bustling around the kitchens to my right as I nursed a badly scraped arm.
“Sorry.” I muttered, probing with gentle fingertips around the painful patch of skin.
With a sigh, the woman shuffled over and batted my hand away, pressing a cool cloth over it instead.
“Not as if it’s your fault.” She admitted, tired. “Just wish those hooligans could find something better to do than harass a young girl and her cat.”
Nodding in agreement, I winced as she pressed on a tender spot, grateful for the warm furry head that rubbed against my shoulder.
“I’m alright, Zilla.” I whispered, reaching up with my free hand to scratch behind the cat’s rounded ears.
“This time.” The woman warned, generously smoothing a cool, mint-smelling ointment over the torn skin. “God gave you legs for a reason, girl. You ought to use them more often.”
As she wrapped the bandages snugly in place, the door across the room swung open on squeaky hinges, letting in a rush of drunken laughter and cheering.
“Sorry, love, but ya need ta pick up the pace.” The innkeeper stated with his rough accent, gruff. “The dinner crowd is comin’ in.”
“You can tell them to just sit down and wait, Jonathon Harper!” His wife shot back, extremely upset. “They can eat on time when they stop mobbing our girl!”
“Aye, that they would...” Jonathon agreed, a sharp edge to his words now. “Don’t worry, love, I’ll tell ‘em.”
The hinges squeaked for a moment, and then heavy footsteps crossed the wooden floor before a large, calloused hand ruffled my choppy hair.
“Rest up, ya little anklebiter.” He grumbled. “I’ll take care of the tables.”
I was grateful; my legs were painfully bruised and sore from running, and my back was still healing from the most recent assault of rocks just two days before.
Once Jonathon left, the door swinging closed on all the noise, Mrs. Harper sighed and tied off the bandages.
“Head up to bed. I’ll bring you food in a little while.”
Shifting as Zilla climbed onto my shoulder, little pinpricks against my skin where her claws had taken hold, I nodded in agreement and hopped down from the chair.
Purposely ignoring the aches that traveled up my legs at the move, I walked ten paces to the right, reaching up with one hand and waving around until a rough rope bumped against my palm.
Taking hold, I pulled down with all my strength, stepping back as I heard wood scratch against wood and thump against the floor.
With practiced ease, I climb up the rickety ladder, reaching up to find the edge of the overhead hole before heaving myself up.
Zilla jumped off my arm as the trapdoor swung shut with a clatter, fluffy tail brushing against my chin before I straightened up.
Years of familiarity told me where everything was; five paces to my left was a rough wooden table with a jug of water, and six to the right was a stout set of drawers that held all my clothes.
Two steps back would be the wall, with a small window that was blocked off with thick wooden boards, and seven ahead was the bed, an old mattress and a pile of blankets where Zilla had likely hidden herself.
Shuffling across the uneven floorboards, I swept a hand over the rumpled sheets before sitting down, rubbing at the sore muscles along the back of my lower right leg.
Purring, Zilla pressed against my arm, whiskers tickling the inside of my elbow as she stepped onto my lap.
Carding through her fur from head to haunches, I sighed, sprawling back on the sheets and taking in the faint scent of flowers they had gained from being dried out in the back garden.
“Is it always going to be like this?”
Zilla shifted on my belly, tail twitching against my thigh as she meowed in reaction to my voice.
“I mean, if this is what my life is always going to be like, running and hiding and getting beaten…”
Frowning, I dug blunt fingernails into the soft undersides of my wrists.
“What’s the point of living, if that’s all I have?”
I jerked back when a soft paw batted at my nose, startled, and Zilla hissed lowly in an almost reprimanding way.
Laughing, I reached up to pet her rounded ears and smooth both hands down her back, unable to help a smile.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to get all moody.” I apologized, hugging the cat close as I rolled to curl up on one side. “I’m sure things will get better…”
Unbeknownst to me, plans were being made to allow for just that.