Dungeon Item Shop - Chapter 377

Fresh pops her head out of the hole in the ceiling, looking around the city.

She stops, a dozen pairs of eyes looking her way from all around herself. Slowly, Fresh’s eyes wander to the birds that have nested themselves on top of their roof. She yelps, ducking back down as the flock flies off, startled because of her sudden disturbance.

She blows her tongue, getting the feather stuck on it out of her mouth. “Jubilee!” she calls down from the tower to Jubilee, who was on their way downstairs to the library. “There are birds on our roof!”

Jubilee stares up at her from the staircase and then, without saying a word, walks away and down the stairs.

Fresh frowns, turning back the ceiling.

The birds, trapped inside of the shielding bubble around the city, have been rather confused for a while. At first, they had simply settled into the boughs of the world-tree, where they had hidden for the harshest parts of the winter. But now, given that the cold is starting to fade away and that the light of the sun seems to be shining through the shield more and more into the city, the poor creatures had tried to fly away, unsuccessfully bouncing into the shield by the hundreds. Eventually, they seem to have learned that they’re stuck inside and have now adapted, finding roosts on the roofs of houses and on the inner walls of the city.

Fresh slides the door to the ceiling back open, popping her head outside a second time to look. The birds are gone now.

Honestly, it’s a great view from up here. This is pretty high up, relatively speaking, so she can look all around the marketplace. But doing so isn’t really a joyful experience. It seems that the energy of the people really does seem to be running low. The once vibrant and bustling street market is now only sparsely trodden. The stalls that are still remaining open are full of tired faces and the merchants who do manage to have a little more energy try unsuccessfully to call in the few stragglers who are going through the market. People are running out of money, food and now, finally energy.

They’ve noticed it in their own business as well. Their number of customers has been dwindling for weeks. With every passing day come one or two faces fewer than each of the days before. There had been a short boom again, during the ‘Veli incident’, but after that, it all died down again.

Fresh sighs, swiping away some dirt from the rim of the opening. Times are tough.

“We’ll be fine,” says Jubilee. “We’re taken care of.”

“We are?” asks Fresh, looking at them. This is the first she’s heard of this.

Jubilee shakes their head, staring at her with a questioning look. “You do remember making the heating element for the forge, right?” they ask. “The orichalcum people? It was barely a week ago?”

“Oh, yeah,” says Fresh, her eyes wandering idly towards the ceiling. “Whatever happened with that?”

“What happened is that we’re taken care of,” says Jubilee, pouring themselves another cup of coughee. “Don’t worry about the details.”

“Jubilee?” asks Fresh. “Are we rich?”

Jubilee raises an eyebrow. “You do also remember us giving away a house back in the west, right?” they ask. “Literally only half a year ago?”

“Mm,” nods Fresh.

Jubilee holds their arms out to their sides, gesturing around at everything around them. Fresh supposes that is the summation of their answer to her question.

“Still,” says Basil. “There are many out there who are less fortunate than us.”

“’Fortune’ my ass,” barks Jubilee at the priestess. “We’ve been working our asses off for a year with about four days off in total!”

“Sure,” says Basil. “That’s true. But at the same time, we’re still lucky.”

“Fortune favors the bold,” says Shamrock, stirring a pot. Today, they’re having pudding.

“The farm is ready for a harvest,” says Basil. “I’d like to gather everything into a cart and bring it to the city to donate,” she explains. “Things are getting rough outside.”

Jubilee waves her off. “Donate?!” they bark, aghast. “Everything outside of these four walls is not our problem.”

“It will be,” replies Basil. “When people see how pudgy you’ve gotten and a mob forms in front of our door.”

“First of all, take a look in the mirror,” replies Jubilee. “You’re so wobbly, that I’m surprised Shamrock hasn’t made a move on you yet.” Basil clears her throat, glaring at Jubilee. “Secondly, we have an armed guard at the door, so, again, not our problem,” repeats Jubilee, leaning back on their chair.

“Surely you see the wisdom in having a kind reputation amongst the people?” asks Basil. “Especially now that things are going to get tight?” Basil shrugs. “It’s the same exact thing you wanted to do with Muldrich. How is this different?”

“You’re not wrong, but I’m still against it,” says Jubilee. “You don’t actually want to do it because it’s pragmatic, you just want to be nice and you’re using that as an excuse that I’ll buy,” they say, almost sounding disgusted by it.

“Did it work?” asks Basil.

Jubilee sighs. “Fine. Whatever. But I’m not helping.”

“That’s okay,” replies Basil. “It would be more surprising if you ever did do anything helpful.”

“Watch it, Basil.”

Fresh sips her coughee, smiling as she watches the two of them go at it again. Winter might be drawing to a close in some sense, but in reality, things are only going to get worse from here on out. The spring might be soon to come, but she has the feeling that the kind, gentle warmth and joy she felt a year ago, during her arrival here, will not be mirrored in the world she finds herself now passing through. So much has changed.

Fresh stares down at her cup, looking at the very long strands of hair that dangle down, hanging from her own face. Didn’t it used to be a richer shade of gold? She recalls getting excited about it. But now, looking at it, it looks as pale and sickly as her always cold and clammy skin does. Almost tending towards a tinge of green, in fact. She really does seem to be becoming physically more ‘witchy’ by the day.

The bags under her eyes are growing as well, but, on the bright side, next to them she sees the grooves of deep laugh-lines having been formed in such a short time.

Fresh sips her coughee. Maybe it’s not all so bad.