Thief of dargonhall chapter three

Thief of dargonhall chapter three

Chapter Three

There was only one orphanage in the Lower Quarter. Corain was saddened by this. The birth and death rate on the Lower Quarter were higher than in any other Quarter of the city, yet only one Orphanage stood in the narrow and crowded streets.

Once leaving the Upper Quarter, the change was sudden. It was like the shelves that the Sezawa family’s oldest maid wiped clean of dust; she always missed approximately half the surface, leaving a grey film of dust contradicting the cherry shine on the cleaned part of the wood.

Corain had spent the majority of his life drifting from corner to corner of the Upper Quarter, even spending a vast amount of time traveling the streets of the Merchants Quarters. He could get from the domed palace to the docks almost completely through back streets without being obstructive or getting lost—he could even go by different routes each time. There were City Guards that couldn’t even do that.

The Lower Quarter was dramatically different. Even knowing the plants and equations the city had been built around, Corain couldn’t so much as guess what streets might lead to each other. It wasn’t surprising to Corain in the least when he very quickly became lost. It was expected, given that the Lower Quarter had been constructed from a refugee camp. Before The Wall separated them, tents became taverns and homes, quickly diminishing the Zent Woods that had been home to the palace and huts that had, over almost countless hundreds of years, turned into stuffy and enclosing mansions. The Wall now separated these mansions from the aforementioned taverns and homes.

The second Corain realised he was lost in the Lower Quarter without a guard present and no one but Lady Madziel and a very unreliable wafer of a maid knowing where he had gone, his purls soared towards the heavens, almost to the point of palpitating his heart. Adrenaline rushed through him and his steps quickened.

Excitement. That was what it was. Pure, unrestrained excitement. It was caused by little more than cheap thrills. With the hood of his cloak pulled over his long blond hair, which was bound back at the crown of his skull with a thin, beaded sinew cord, he was passed by strangers who gave him no more than the curious glances any Detective would have gotten on the Lower Quarter. Detectives weren’t all too uncommon in the Lower Quarter, but blonds were. Blonds were becoming so much rarer in Dargonhall with the fresh wave of darker-skinned and haired immigrants that any blond on the Lower or Merchants Quarter eventually found themselves wed into one of the noble families.

Corain spent a good hour wandering muddy backstreets and cold alleyways before he came upon a market area. It smelled rotten, like overripe cabbage and decaying insects. It was the scent of unwashed people and untreated illness. The cold season was nearing its climax and Corain wondered how many more would die before the coming of the New Year.

“Excuse me Kind Lady,” Corain said gently and made a token half-bow to an elderly woman who was prudently picking through a stack of almost-bad-but-still-fresh-enough-to-sell-to-the-starving winter squash. The woman gave him a pointedly suspicious look, but it was to be expected with the way he was keeping his face shaded with his hood. Most who encountered him would probably assume he had stolen the silvery winter cloak and the brown hardened-leather boots.

“And what wud ye want, commin’ down ‘ere dress’d all fancy and such?” The elderly woman raised her eyebrows as if she were asking a dirty child who had gotten mud all over her favourite rug. Corain flashed a smile that was a touch out of place for the situation and ducked his head modestly.

“I seem to have gotten myself a touch lost. Perchance, could you point the way to the Dorwain Orphanage?” Corain produced a large silver coin with the image of Princess Freiha’s insignia printed on one side and the image of a large, snarling wolf on the other. Some thought the silver coins gave a pretty sinister appearance and Corain couldn’t argue with that in the least. “I would be much obliged to your kindness.”

“I’m sure ye would.” The woman extended her hand, and once the coin was safely in the center of her palm, she pointed towards one of the four roads leading out of the marked square, “That way an’ third street to yer left.” Then the woman turned away and ignored him as if he hadn’t been there in the first place.

Corain wasn’t too pleased with the old woman’s treatment but withdrew from the situation without any confrontation. If he had been an Inquisitor, he would have been treated with the greatest respect.

The orphanage was in shambles. It was holding together pretty well for a building as old as it was, but it was still in such a state that any architect would suggest tearing it down before even bothering with repairs. The front steps creaked under Corain’s weight as he headed up toward the front door and his foot went through one of the boards.

“Oh balls,” Corain swore softly as he yanked his foot out of the board, momentarily losing his balance and pin-wheeling before he could regain his composure. There was a quiet giggle from the Detective’s left, but when he turned, there was no one there. Corain padded off to the left and stuck his head around the corner. A young boy with jet black hair was standing behind the corner, one hand over his mouth in an attempt to stay silent and the other clutched around a porcelain doll so worn that its features were no longer distinguishable but for a lonely right eye. He gave the tall Noble an owlish look and hugged his ragged doll closer to his chest.

“Well, who might you be?”

The small child shook his head.

“No? Do you live here?”

The boy gave a short, indecisive nod.

“Tha’s Doll, he don’t talk,” a girl’s voice came from behind Corain. The Detective looked around and found a boyish child maybe a few years older than ‘Doll’ giving him a scornful look that could only have been bred by a life of unfair hardship. Her look held a knowledge in it that sent ice up Corain’s spine: she looked at him like an old widowed woman. “Wanna adopt him?” the girl said, somewhere lost between hope and disdain.

“I’m looking for Widow Dorwain. Is she in?” Corain changed the subject lightly and straightened up. The girl shrugged, moved past him, took Doll by the hand, and left. “That went well,” Corain sighed to himself as he headed back to the front of the orphanage and let himself into the building.

The interior was just as worn as the exterior. The paint on the walls didn’t appear to be any particular colour, but more a mixture of them all and then glazed over with a film of dust and dirt. It was fairly gross, and Corain made a mental note to keep from leaning on the walls. A floor board creaked under his weight just inside the entrance hall and he froze, sure that he was about to get another surprise in the form of another foot-through-floor experience. The planks held out, and he gave a rueful chuckle before continuing on. He paid little attention to the few children that peeked at him over a stair banister or from just inside a door frame but for a small wave and smile to the few that stayed in place long enough to make eye contact.

“Jaclyn! No biting! What have I told you about biting?” the voice of a woman chuckled from just inside a doorless doorway. Inside the room stood an older looking woman wearing a simple grey dress, and she appeared to be holding a baby.

“Knock knock?” Corain said and, when the woman turned around, was presented with the gloriously revolting sight of a woman past her prime with her chest exposed, an infant greedily sucking on one pink nipple. Corain, shocked nearly out of his wits, stared a second too long before he was able to cover his eyes. He turned and faced the other direction, but remained in the room. “Please, excuse my interruption and accept my apology!”

“Oh, stop being silly, Detective, turn ‘round, I’m jus’ feeding th’ child!” the woman, now assumed to be Widow Dorwain, scolded him lightly. Corain turned and trained his eyes on the woman’s face. Luckily for the squeamish Detective, Widow Dorwain was finished and soon had her dress secured and the child tucked into a blue-clothed crib.



The reports on the theft had said that there was little to no evidence linking any of the donated articles to Lady Madziel. Standing in the damp cellar where Widow Dorwain had left him a half hour before, Corain was confused and fretting. There was no reason for the orphanage to conceal any of the items or try to bribe anyone into keeping the origination of any of the items quiet: Since the objects in question had been donated to a charity, even if they were to be reclaimed by Lady Madziel, after a short investigation to make sure that Widow Dorwain hadn’t committed or hired someone to commit the theft, the charity would have been reimbursed the full price of the donation.

There was no reason Corain could fathom as to why the reports were so obviously wrong. Or as to why the only object Lady Madziel had expressed concern over being returned was the only object missing from the collection of stolen candlesticks, jewellery, silverware, and ornamental figures.