Tidebreaker
Bertrand Colt โ

8
The morning sun broke through a hazy sky, casting golden light over the bustling streets of Cersizon. Elowen Bramble walked briskly beside me, giving a tour of the town. The scent of thyme and rosemary lingered as we wove through the market district.
โHave ye thought on work yet?โ she asked.
โIโve tried,โ I admitted, dodging a cart piled with sacks of grain, โbut no oneโs keen on hiring a stranger.โ
She hummed thoughtfully. โMayhap I know someone who could help.โ She grabs your hand and pulls you along.
โWhere are we headed?โ I asked.
โTo see Bertram,โ she said. โHe runs the messenger service near the cooperโs yard.โ
I frowned. โI donโt exactly have experience delivering messages.โ
โNay, but Bertramโs desperate for hands,โ she quipped. โSpeak true, and ye might find favor.โ
We rounded a narrow street lined with stone buildings until we reached a modest structure markedby a swinging sign bearing a wax-sealed letter.
Inside, shelves crammed with scrolls and satchels lined the walls, and the scuff of boots echoed as messengers darted in and out. The scent of parchment and wax lingered in the air. Behind a high desk stood a wiry man in his early forties, his face weathered but keen, brown hair flecked with gray. Ink stained his fingers as he scribbled into a ledger.
He glanced up, eyes narrowing as they landed on her. โAh, the Bramble lass,โ he said gruffly. โCome to stir trouble, have ye?โ
โNay, I bring ye a runner,โ she said with a grin, nodding toward me.
Bertramโs gaze sharpened. โThis one?โ He snorted. โGreen as spring grass. Cersizonโs a maze, and one wrong turnโll see ye in a ditch.โ
Elowen rolls her eyes, leaning on the counter. โYeโve been whininโ for weeks about needinโ more hands.โ
He huffed, rubbing the back of his neck. โFine. Trial run.โ Bertram grunted. โYe can start on the morrow.โ