The girl who fell from the polar star - Side Story 2: Rye

“Phew, I’m tired . . .”

Sighing, Rye slumped over a table, paying no mind to the disgruntled cries of the remaining customers. Recently, Glenn’s General Store had been less a store and more a cesspool of Stock Company thugs, who patrolled the surroundings at night, slept in the morning, and dedicated the rest of their time to drowning in tears of falling stars mixed with alcohol. And they had the gall to complain that their duties prevented them from going to a real tavern. Mace Stock’s handpicked crew. What a joke. I can’t blame Stella for wanting a bodyguard of her own.

But even if Rye hated the idea of sharing a space with the likes of them, they hadn’t attempted any mischief so far. Rye knew why: the Stock Company couldn’t afford to offend Stella and lose the deal on that strange elixir of hers. These people wouldn’t think twice to hurt a child, but even they knew not to cross the line with Stella.

Still, I don’t get why the Stock Company is so tolerant—no, afraid?—of her. They’re a proud lot, but Stella talks down to Mace all the time and he just takes it. And Beck . . . well, he’s weird.

Beck was a former Stock Company grunt and (at least according to him) Stella’s first minion. Stella abused the man and treated him like garbage on a daily basis, but he never fought back. His . . . unusual fetishes alone couldn’t explain everything. Why did he become her servant in the first place? There must have been a reason.

 “Who is Stella, anyway?” Rye blurted out. “And why is she like that?”

“Sweetie, are you tired?” asked Marie. “Maybe you should go get some sleep. I’ll take care of the rest, don’t worry.”

“Ah, no, sorry. I’ll help. What’s left there to do?”

“The men helped me do the washing, so now we just need some fresh water from the well.”

“Fresh water, huh. All right, I guess. I’ll take care of it in a few. It’s not like I have anything better to do.”

“Oh, sweetie, don’t worry. Look, the store is almost empty now. No one will miss me if I’m just gone for a few moments.”

After the thief’s break-in the other day, Stella had declared that, from that day on, the thugs were to look after themselves. They’d tried to argue, of course, but only to be completely and utterly silenced by one of Stella’s intense glares. What they’d done—choosing drink over duty, putting Stella at risk—was inexcusable in the eyes of the Company. By all rights, they should have been severely punished; instead, they’d gotten away with a demotion, and were now being run ragged by the new thugs sent to replace them.

“But you know what I really don’t get?” said Rye. “What kind of general store sells drinks and meals and literally nothing else? What makes us different from a restaurant or a tavern?”

“It’s true that we have precious little variety in the way of wares,” said Marie. “I’ve been meaning to ask Miss Stella if we can’t do something about that. This store is her family’s legacy, after all; it deserves better.”

“You don’t have to care, you know.” Rye looked up at Marie with wonder. Marie had come into Stella’s care as a slave, just like Rye, yet she’d never said a word of complaint about it. She’s so mature. This lousy town doesn’t deserve her.

“It’s all I can do, child. You know, when we left that cage, I was expecting the worst. I wouldn’t have dared to dream of this. We’ve been quite blessed.”

“I know, it’s just . . . I can’t help being a little stubborn. I’m not used to being a slave.”

“I don’t think Miss Stella sees you that way. If she did, she wouldn’t let you address her without a title.”

“I . . . guess you’re right.”

Other slave owners would never allow such blatant insolence. Stella was surprisingly lenient; she’d demanded to be recognized as their owner, but only in a vague sense, with no concern for the specifics. As Beck could attest, though, her leniency didn’t extend to slackers and troublemakers.

“Then maybe you should repay her in earnest hard work,” said Marie. “She’ll pay you for your efforts, after all, and she’s agreed to release you in ten years’ time.”

Rye paused. “You’re right. I’m all sweaty, so I’ll just go change first and get to work.”

“Thank you, sweetie. Oh, this takes me back . . .” Marie returned to her work with a smile on her lips. There were customers to serve, and meals to prepare.

Rye watched her for a few moments, then slowly rose from her seat and headed out back, making sure to kick the thugs she found lying down on the way. Make yourselves at home, why won’t you, she thought, annoyed. You think this is an inn?

Rye arrived at the room she shared with Marie. According to Stella, it was the store’s staff bedroom. Years of neglect had turned it into a warehouse of sorts; it had taken them a lot of work to clear out all the empty boxes and unsold wares, but now it was clean enough to live in.

Rye sighed. “The place still kinda stinks, though. Our work here’s not done yet.”

The walls and floor were stained and moldy, giving the place a faint, but unpleasant, musty smell. Nothing a good scrubbing can’t fix.

Rye slipped into her brand-new clothes. A supple shirt, trousers, and underwear—boy’s clothes. The disguise wouldn’t work forever, but it would serve for now.

She washed her face, scraping the bottom of the water jug, and steeled herself to go to the well. I’ll need to make a few trips. Guess I can get some of the guards to help.

On her way to the back entrance, Rye stumbled upon two doors. One led to Stella’s room, a perfectly ordinary room where she spent her nights with Clever, her weird talking bird. Rye had entered it before, when Stella had been unconscious in bed after her trauma. She’d seen nothing interesting except Stella’s Magic Crystal, glowing with purple light. Rye had touched the thing before out of curiosity, but it had felt almost as if her strength was leaving her, so she’d released it almost immediately. No doubt it was a sorcerer’s instrument, not meant for human hands.

The other door, however, was only formerly a door. Beyond this now uncrossable barrier lay Stella’s parents’ room, and walking past it always sent shivers down Rye’s spine.

It was shut, bolted, latched, padlocked, nailed with sturdy boards, the windows sealed shut with metal plates. Stella would do anything, no matter how unreasonable, to conceal this place from prying eyes. Once, a drunken sot—one of the regulars—had tried to get inside as a joke, and Stella had chased him down the hallway like a raging bull. He’d lost her without much effort, of course, only to be caught by Clever. Rye didn’t know what became of the man after that—she never asked—but certainly nothing good.

For someone who never showed her feelings and didn’t like talking about herself—because, according to her, there was “little value in that”—Stella got visibly distressed at the slightest mention of this room. And so Rye had stopped asking about it.

In a moment of weakness, Stella had revealed that she used to sleep in this room with her parents. And also that they’d almost killed her before hanging themselves. Rye believed her; it was hard not to, seeing the way she got when she was talking about it. The events of that night must have marked her deeply.

Rye stood in front of the door, studying it. She saw nothing, heard nothing; her senses were unable to pierce the barrier and reach inside.

What would I have done, in her situation?

Stella’s parents had chosen to die to escape their debt. Stella had survived, all alone, with the memory of being betrayed by the ones she trusted.

Rye’s parents had died trying to save her. Rye had tried to escape with a group of refugees, but she was caught by bandits and sold as a slave.

. . . I don’t know what to make of it.

Rye’s parents had wanted her to live, and with that knowledge she’d found the courage to face life’s trials. Even in slavery, she’d never allowed herself to give up, facing each new day head-on. But Stella’s parents had wanted her to die. If Rye were her, she had no doubt she’d have followed them into their graves. Why cling to life under such circumstances?

Yet she’s still clinging. She’s sad—she must be—but she’s still here, dealing with the Company’s goons all on her own. How can she be so strong?

A hint of jealousy. But only a hint. More than jealous, Rye felt sad. She still remembered that first night, the night Stella had cried, her impassive face overflowing with tears. Rye had the impression she’d gotten a glimpse of the real Stella that night.

She shook her head. The water. I can’t let Marie down. She left the sealed door behind her. When was it going to be reopened? She needs time for her wound to heal, she thought, but maybe she’d rather hide it away forever.

Rye approached a group of loitering thugs and called out to one of them. “Hey, I’m going to the well. Give me a hand.”

“ ’Scuse me?” he said. “Is that your idea of customer service? The nerve . . .”

As if you have anything better to do. Burglaries didn’t happen in broad daylight. Anyone willing to target the store at this hour would be either too drunk to know what they were doing or relying on some rival gang’s protection.

“You’ve got plenty of nerve yourself, drinking at this time of day. C’mon, you’re not doing anything.”

“That’s ’cause I’m on my break.”

“Your break? Then why’re you still here?”

“What, you want me to haul ass to headquarters every time I get five minutes free? I got everything I need right here—grub, and a place to sleep. This is heaven.”

“Then at least help me make your heaven a better place, why won’t you?”

“I’m not in the mood, kid. Bugger off.”

“Fine, I’ll bugger off. I’ll bugger off to tell Stella that you’re not helping Marie with her chores.” These men wouldn’t take orders so easily, but Rye intended to use them, like Stella had told her to.

“Wait, now, that’s low! Look, Mace keeps that impertinent little—Ahem. He keeps Stella close, but she ain’t all she makes herself out to be. She messes with me, I’m gonna show her who’s boss.”

These thugs made dozens of empty threats like this every day. The few who acted on them either moved up the ladder or died.

“Sweet,” said Rye, smiling. “More leverage.”

The thug laughed nervously. “I was joking, all right. Just joking. You want water? You’ll be swimming in it before you can say ‘blackmail.’ Right, men?”

The others stared back incredulously. “What, you dragging us into it too?!”

“You bet I am. We’re the Glenn Store Protection Squad, and we stick together! A damn hole in the ground’s got nothing on us!”

After handing each man a wooden pail, Rye led the way to the well under the scalding autumn sun, which was much hotter than it had any right to be at this time of year.

The group was sloshing back to the store when they passed by another group of thugs who decided to poke fun at their brothers.

“If it isn’t the Knights of the Pail and their little prince! Try not to have too much fun, boys—you’re supposed to be working!”

“Goddammit, stop laughing! It’s gonna be you in our place one of these days! Imma break your teeth once this is over!”

“Ooo, he’s pissed. C’mon, now, don’t be like that. There’s tears of falling stars for everyone. Work hard for us, eh?”

“You piece of shit—You’ll get your turn, just you wait! That brat Stella may be half dead, but she’s got the devil in her eyes!”

Rye’s pail thugs spat to the side, but didn’t abandon their duty, no doubt fearing Stella’s glare and Mace’s retribution.

He’s got a point, though. Stella’s color is really unhealthy, and I swear the other day she was so pale her skin actually looked kind of dark—but her eyes do burn with a strange fire.

With her fair skin and silver hair, Stella could easily pass for a doll if she lay perfectly still—as she had when Rye had visited her in bed the other day. Stella’s pearly white skin had betrayed no sign of blood. It reeked of death. Rye had to hear her heartbeat to convince herself that she was actually alive.

However, while Stella’s body was frail, her spirit was anything but. She exercised every morning, did her magic training every afternoon, and checked up on the store and the Stock Company thugs in between. Some days, like today, she also had business to conduct elsewhere. Her morning one-hour walks used to leave her puffing like a bellows, but now she did her best to act fine. To “save face,” according to her. It was a new thing she did, apparently.

“Still, why does she blow through life like that?” Rye mumbled.

“Huh? You say something, kid?”

“I’m wondering about Stella. She just lives her life like she’s in a rush, you know. Ah, what am I thinking. Of course you don’t.” Rye sighed, wondering why she’d bothered to bring it up.

“. . . Y’know, I was thinking the same thing. That brat blazes through life like she can’t stand still. Well, you ask me, one o’ these days she’s gonna sprint those little legs of hers right into her grave.”

Stella was blessed with an immense determination and cursed with a body unable to keep up with it. A strong soul in a weak vessel. What that meant was, whenever something managed to break her emotionally, it broke her physically as well. That was hardly how humans were supposed to work.

“So I’m not imagining things . . .”

Well, she can die all she wants, Rye told herself, but not just yet. I need the money she promised me before I go free.

The thug sneered. “Not my problem anyhow, but it’s the Company’s problem, so you better look after her all right. For your own sake, I mean, ’cause I could care less!” He turned away.

“What, are you trying to act concerned? Because I’m not falling for it.”

“Good. You shouldn’t listen to what we say anyway. We’re the dregs of society—we gave up on life long ago, and now all we care about is having a good time. It feels good, giving up, but once you do there’s no turning back. My advice, kid? You live smart, if you don’t wanna end up like us.”

“Who are you to give life advice?” Rye frowned.

She picked up the pace. He knows nothing. He’s just a thug. Maybe he hadn’t chosen this life, though; maybe none of them had. Maybe they’d turned to crime as a result of abject poverty. Did that justify preying on those weaker than them? I don’t know, but I don’t think it does.

But if that was the “wrong” way to live, was living the “right” way worth the effort? Would some unknown savior recognize your kindness and compassion and magically whisk you away from this ruthless world? Rye doubted it. No one had come for her.

“There are no gods,” Stella had said. She’s right. If God existed, He would have saved Mom and Dad. He would never have allowed His faithful servants to suffer what they did. Her mother especially—it had been the second great tragedy of her life, after what happened at the former kingdom. Rye’s great-grandfather had apparently been a general of note there, until he was executed for crimes he didn’t commit. That first time, her mother had escaped the aftermath all by herself. But the second tragedy had claimed her life.

Wallowing in despair will do me no good. That’s not what Stella would do.

No—Stella would take action. After all, she hated nothing more than wasting time. But Stella wouldn’t lift a finger in the name of greater good, or for the sake of others. Rye could almost see her perfectly straight face and hear her voice as she asked: “Why would I waste my time with that?”

In the end, she thought, sighing somberly, it’s up to me to make a change.

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Source: https://ncode.syosetu.com/n4468cs/18/