A delicious smell of meat awoke Arthur from his light sleep. Reflecting back, he realized the last time he had eaten was the lunch the day before. After a night of running for his life, he was utterly exhausted. Straightening the crumpled blanket, he opened the door. This room originally belonged to Little Ford, but since the Ford Town guard had to keep watch and conduct inspections in Green Village, Little Ford had to stay on the front line.
In the living room, an elderly woman was bringing plates of meat pies and oat bread to the table. She was Old Ford's wife, and Arthur always referred to her as Mrs. Ford.
"You're awake; did you sleep well?" Mrs. Ford greeted Arthur with a warm smile, inviting him to sit down and handing him a few pieces of meat pie. "It was a dreadful night last night, wasn't it?" Mrs. Ford didn't start eating herself but looked at Arthur for a moment. His face still bore traces of tears—left over from his crying in his sleep the night before.
"I'm sorry to trouble you," Arthur murmured, taking a small bite of the meat pie and bowing slightly. His father had taught him to repay even small kindnesses with large gestures, and he had already made up his mind to remember the Ford family's kindness.
After a brief silence, Arthur nibbled at one piece of pie but couldn't bring himself to eat more. He helped Mrs. Ford clean up, then sat in a small wooden chair off to one side of the living room. He felt lost, unsure what to do. The task his father had entrusted to him was completed, and he had no home to return to. He wanted to avenge the villagers of Green Village, but he had no way of doing so. He felt like an empty puppet, sitting and staring blankly.
Mrs. Ford, having tidied up, brought two cups of barley tea and sat down across from him, exchanging a few pleasantries. She was careful not to ask about Green Village. When Little Ford had brought Arthur back last night, he had looked almost like a corpse. Mrs. Ford had helped wipe his face, fed him water, and brought him to the room. Later, worrying about him, she had approached his room and heard his quiet sobs through the door.
What this child had endured was beyond her comprehension.
She didn't know how much time had passed when she heard five chimes from the direction of the town entrance—Ford Town's way of letting its residents know the time. In a small town like this, a mechanical clock was rare. It was already eleven in the morning.
The door suddenly opened, and Little Ford entered, carrying a longbow. His eyes were bloodshot from a sleepless night, but his mood seemed unaffected.
"Arthur, come with me." Without further explanation, Little Ford grabbed Arthur's arm, only pausing to say goodbye to Mrs. Ford. At midday, the townspeople were bustling about. The central square was lively, with vendors selling food and daily goods. In a corner, shirtless men were loudly hawking their iron goods.
The two made their way through the crowd and entered the post office. Inside, Old Ford was once again facing the telegraph machine, apparently tinkering with something. But this time, there were two men in black-and-white uniforms in the center of the room.
One, standing on the left, wore a tall white fur hat and a black jumpsuit with white trim, giving him the appearance of a large penguin with a feathered cap. The man on the right, in addition to the penguin uniform, wore a light blue fur hat, marking a difference in their ranks.
Arthur looked back and forth between the white and blue penguins, unable to think of anything to say.
"Ahem…" The white penguin pretended to cough, breaking the silence. "Are you the survivor of Green Village?"
Survivor. Arthur took a deep breath. Until just now, he'd been holding onto a sliver of hope that his parents and the villagers might still be alive. Little Ford tightened his grip on Arthur's hand and added, "The guard went to search Green Village last night. Aside from a few burning houses, there was no one left."
Arthur bit his lip and then glanced at the two men in penguin uniforms. "Who are these gentlemen?"
"They're Enforcers. The captain of Squad One from Brighton City, Dodge, at your service." "And Vice Captain Josh, at your service," said the two men as they removed their hats and bowed to Arthur.
"They're here because I contacted them, child," Old Ford stood up, prompting Dodge and Josh to quickly step to the side and stand at attention. Old Ford ignored them, took Arthur's hand, and led him to the telegraph machine. "Arthur, you must understand the situation. Those people in black robes want you dead, though I don't know their identity or their reasons. I'm too old for promises, child. I just want a peaceful life in this town."
Old Ford took a sealed letter from the telegraph machine's table. Though the envelope was unchanged, the contents were completely different. "I don't know who warned your father, but it wasn't Viscount Bailey. Take this letter and go with these two Enforcers to Brighton City. The damned orcs will think twice before making trouble in one of the human Five Great Cities."
He ruffled Arthur's hair and tucked the letter into his waistband; Arthur's mother had sewn his clothes, and he had no concept of pockets.
"I won't impose on you any longer, Old Ford. If I stay here, those people in black robes will surely return." Arthur took a few steps back and solemnly bowed toward Old Ford and Little Ford. "I, Arthur Hebrew, will never forget your kindness."
Old Ford forced a smile and asked Little Ford to get Arthur some provisions for the journey. Once he saw Little Ford and Arthur disappear through the post office door, Old Ford's expression hardened.
"Dodge."
"Yes, former Captain Ford."
"Look after the boy on the way."
"No problem, former captain. If he is truly the last of that family, we Enforcers have a duty to escort him to safety."
Old Ford snorted and waved them off. When he sat back down to use the telegraph, shadows began to stir in the corner. A snake-faced orc emerged from the darkness. "Do you know those orcs?" Old Ford asked, resting his hand on the telegraph machine, eyeing the creature with caution.
The snake-faced orc found a spot to sit cross-legged and didn't answer right away. Reaching for a nearby letter, he sliced it open with a flick of his finger. Old Ford muttered something under his breath, snatching the letter away.
"Touch another of my letters, and I'll skin you," he snapped.
The snake-faced orc made a few mock apologetic noises and flicked his hand to avoid Old Ford's piercing stare, though it was no use. "Come now, former captain, don't be so hot-tempered, or you might get one of those human diseases—what do they call it? Right, a stroke."
Ignoring the orc's goading, Old Ford let out a scoff and sat back at the telegraph. "Did you drive them off?"
"No, they left on their own. I just watched them go."
"Something feels wrong. Those orcs wouldn't back down so easily." He dismissed the orc with a wave. "Go on, leave Ford Town."
"And if I refuse? I'm an orc, too, after all."
"Then you can go join our old comrades." Old Ford's voice was steady. For him, the orc's threat was as laughable as a child claiming they could hunt a bear.
"Only joking…" The snake-faced orc melted back into the shadows, but his voice lingered. "But, former captain, remember that case from seven years ago… you can't escape it."
The post office fell into dead silence. Old Ford rubbed his beer belly, staring at the telegraph machine. A newly received paper lay there, bearing a symbol he had last seen seven years ago. It was a chaotic arrangement of lines that, when viewed from a distance, formed an inverted pentagram. Reaching into a pile of letters, he took out a box, opened the rusty lock, and pulled out a uniform. It was black with white trim, the uniform of an Enforcer captain.
"Forgive me, Hebrew," he muttered.