For the rest of the market day, Faye hid from everyone. She had made her way back to the park area, or maybe it was a similar one… she had been rather hazy that first time she’d come here. But sitting amongst the trees and bushes there was a peaceful and rather private place to while away time and let herself calm down.

Walking away from that situation had been necessary. She did not suffer fools gladly, to say the least. The number of times she’d been dragged in front of a teacher for fighting was… too high.

Most of the time, it had led to conversations about how “young women shouldn’t fight” which would just make her more annoyed than whatever the original issue had been.

She expected it from teenage boys, they could be idiots sometimes, but from adults? Psh.

Faye lowered her head into her hands.

“I am not getting caught in that loop again.”

She had a tendency to get angry over things that had happened in the past. She knew it. But knowing about it didn’t always stop it from making her angry.

This time she cut it off before it could gather steam. There was no telling what that boy would do if she got truly angry around him. He seemed like one of the more dangerous ones.

The ones that relished the fight. Welcomed the challenge.

Dangerous because they didn’t always know when to back down. Seemed that this one had a guardian, though. Muir, he’d called him. The guardian was smart. Wasn’t letting the dog off the leash. The problem with people like that was that if you let go of the leash for even a moment…

She stood up. Her mind was circling the same things over and over. Without something else to focus on she was getting too distracted. Wrapping her sword in the blanket as carefully as she could, she wedged it between two of the tree trunks that were growing in a V shape. It wasn’t easy to see, so she felt safe leaving it there for a while.

On her wandering through the town, Faye found the pub that the first man had mentioned to her, that first night she had found herself in this town. Without anything else to do, she thought she could check it out inside. From how others had been treating her, there wasn’t a real hope that the proprietor would let her stay there without money.

She would see what they said anyway.

Externally, it was a small place and it evoked memories of every old-fashioned pub back home. Properly stout, wooden doors with a small window of glass. That glass was some of the only glass she’d actually seen in the town’s many buildings, a mark of wealth maybe? The shutters on the rest of the windows had been only half-latched so the low hubbub of noise that emanated from the pub was easy to hear.

Old-fashioned marketing at work, she supposed.

The sign over the door had the image of a mug of ale, complete with frothy head, painted on it. If there had once been words on the sign, there weren’t any now. Easy enough to meet with someone in the only pub in town though, she supposed.

The days here seemed to be the same length as at home. She hadn’t had the chance to ask anyone basic questions yet, though she wasn’t convinced that she wanted to at all. But whether it was five o’clock or seven o’clock, it didn’t matter. She saw folks heading into the pub anyway.

Seeing the small crowd making its way to the pub made her pause for a moment.

What was she doing? She had no money, no way to convince them she could even work for the food she wanted. It was a pointless trip.

She turned to go back to the park. At least there she wouldn’t be humiliated.

Of course, the world had other plans.

Her face smushed up against someone’s chest. It was uncomfortably musky, as if they hadn’t bathed properly in a day or two, and something else that she couldn’t pick out.

“Ugh, watch where you’re— it’s you! It’s always you. What are you doing?”

The young master’s face was calmer than it had been, but the clenched jaw told her that it wouldn’t remain that way for long.

“It doesn’t matter what you’re doing. I haven’t forgotten your insubordination. You should start to learn some manners. Apparently, no one has tried teaching you before.”

Glancing over his shoulder, Faye couldn’t see his manservant. There would be no rescue from other quarters this time.

Faye walked forward again so that she was almost close enough to kiss him. Invading his personal space like that would put him off balance; especially if his teenage looks translated to teenage hormones.

“I am ever so sorry,” she said, quietly. “I just don’t know what…”

In a flash of movement, she stepped forward with her right foot, hooking it around his left ankle. Then with a solid connection with her shoulder and arm, she pushed him.

By simply leaving her foot in place, and moving forward into the space he’d occupied, the young master fell flat on his rump. An expression of horror, embarrassment, and what was definitely the hints of rage set his face in a ridiculous rictus.

A second later, he had jumped back to his feet, but it wasn’t fast enough to prevent him from hitting the floor.

Laughter burst out around them. Faye looked about, warily, but the faces of mirth around her were genuine. Only the young master and Faye weren’t laughing.

Instead of saying, or doing, anything else, the teen walked away. His back was ramrod straight and his hands were clenched tightly into fists down by his sides. His boots struck the floor with military aggression, if not precision.

“That,” a man called, “was the funniest thing I think I’ve seen in weeks.” He shambled over, still wiping away tears from his guffawing laughter. “Oh, my belly hurts. I dare say that boy hasn’t had someone knock him on his arse like that in years.”

“I…” Faye began, but she didn’t really know what to say. She was embarrassed, truthfully. She hadn’t expected the audience’s reaction. She hadn’t counted on there being an audience.

“Especially from a young one like yerself,” the man continued. He looked at Faye, then burst into laughter again. “The look on his face!”

He put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her towards the pub door. “Come on, lass, I’ll buy you something to eat for that. Best entertainment for weeks, weeks!”

Surprised by the offer, but hardly fool enough to decline, Faye accepted him at his word and followed him inside.

The pub didn’t serve anything like the gastropubs of the UK would have, which was disappointing on the one hand and immensely better on the other.

Roasted vegetables, some kind of roasted meat, and gravy to accompany it all. It turns out that cooking could be just as delicious here as back home.

“No, seriously, the girl pushed that Rían over. Straight over.”

Her patron was howling with laughter again. Faye had to concentrate on not scowling at his antics. It was bad enough that he kept calling her a girl, but when he repeated the story of what happened outside the pub to everyone that would listen, and a fair few that weren’t listening, it was getting to the point that she wanted to shove his face through a pane of glass.

Shame that the only glass nearby was too small for his fat head.

“Oh, give over, man, you’ve not shut up in over an hour.”

Please listen to him.

Faye swallowed the last bite of her food and closed her eyes in contentment.

Tuning out the conversations around her, just letting the noise of people wash over her, with a full belly, surrounded by warmth, even the occasional jostle from someone further down the bench shifting position… all of it reminded Faye that there was a whole life she’d left behind.

She couldn’t even recall the moment it had happened, not really.

And now there was possibly no way to get back.

“What’s your name?”

Whoever was talking to her, they’d had to ask a few times to get her attention. She blinked and looked around, seeing a few people looking at her. Most of them held mugs of ale, and more than a few were smiling.

“I’m Faye,” she said, with a small smile. She wasn’t sure who’d asked, so she just acted like she was introducing herself to them all at once.

The person to her right rolled the sounds around. “Bit of a strange one, that. Not many from ‘round these parts called Faye. Where are you from?”

“Well, she’s not from far, not at such a low level.”

“Don’t look local.”

“Did you get lost, girl? Your parents will be worried about you.”

Faye nodded. “They are probably wondering where I am, when they’ll see me again, if they will see me again.”

“Well, where was it you’re from? Surely you can go back easy enough.”

“I’m from… far away. I’m not sure how far, to be honest.” She took a breath. “I don’t think I can get back. Maybe not ever.”

“Runnin’, then?” someone asked. Though, in some ways they were making a statement rather than asking. “Aye, we’ve had a few of those in town before.”

“They don’t last!”

“Hah, that they don’t, lad. That they don’t. Can’t stand it out here on the fringes with the rest of the real men, eh?”

“Why does the market only happen once every two years?” Faye asked. They were in a receptive mood. It might be the best chance for some basic information.

“If they came more often, they know we wouldn’t be able to pay their fuckin’ ridiculous prices.”

“Oi, language, man!”

“Sorry, but I agree with him, they are fucking ridiculous.”

“But if they’re only here once every two years, how do you survive the years between?” Faye asked.

They all laughed a little, as if she was missing something obvious.

“Just because the big caravan don’t come through don’t mean that smaller ones miss out on the chance.”

Ah, that makes more sense, she thought. If smaller groups of traders came through more regularly, they would deal with the bulk of mundane deliveries. I wonder if there’s a postal service here.

The talk around her had devolved into a kind of argument about how useless the traders were, or something similarly utterly unconnected to Faye. She made excuses and stepped out of the circle of tables and stools. They were a little too preoccupied to notice her disappearance.

Faye made her way over to the bar — made not from magnificent hardwood as she had expected, but from a giant slab of the dark grey granite-like stone she’d seen in the mountains. The bar had been polished to a sheen, so when she was standing next to it, she was able to see her reflection. The bags under her eyes were new, as was the rather sallow complexion and thin cheeks. Those few days on her own were still apparent.

“Ah, you. The infamous one who pushes over recently crested teenagers.”

She looked up, startled. The barkeeper cut a tall, thin figure whose clothes were very well kept, tailored to their frame, and clean. Their forearms were free, and a blue apron hanging in front of their rather polished outfit. They wouldn’t be out of place back home.

“Pardon? I uh, didn’t mean to—”

“Doesn’t matter what you meant to do, it’s what you did do that matters. Now, your order was paid for in advance, so don’t worry about it. Keep in mind in future that generally I’ll ask you for payment up front until you can prove you can pay reliably, then I will allow payment after service. Miss a single payment and it goes back to pre-purchase of food and drinks, I’m afraid. Understand?”

She just nodded.

“I was wonder—”

“Food every day from high sun, or noon as the locals call it. In the quiet hours, you’ll get what you’re given. Evening meal often has two options. Nights there’s cold food. And of course, we always have ales, porters, and a couple of wines in stock and on tap. I don’t serve uncrested alcohol though, not worth the headache.”

“You have porters?”

The barkeep’s eyebrow rose. It was perfectly styled, thick and dark, and made Faye think they’d spent a lot of time on their face.

“Yes, as I said, ales and porters are always on tap. They’re rather popular, and I go where the patrons suggest… most of the time. I have tried introducing some more exotic products to the population, but I’m afraid their palates are not up to the task. Tsk. And I won’t be serving you any, regardless, so don’t even think about it.”

It was Faye’s turn to raise an eyebrow.

“And why might that be?” she asked.

“Are you not listening to me? I don’t serve alcohol to uncrested folks. It’s just not worth the trouble. I’ve had four or five too many parents in here complaining about their little—”

“What does that even mean? I’m an adult. Believe me, I can handle a drink.”

The barkeep gave her a look. She wasn’t sure what they were trying to say with it, but she recognised that it was a look.

“What?”

“You may be physically advanced in years, yes, but mentally?”

“Are you really trying to say that I am developmentally a child?”

The barkeep shrugged. “The evidence stands before me.”

She couldn’t believe it. There were no words left in her mind. No retort.

What could she say to that?

Turning on the spot, she stalked out of the pub.