3 Chapter 3

The day progressed much as Trixie expected. As they filed into the decaying entryway of the institution, hey had their work cards stamped, one of the ways the instructors kept attendance. Until an orphan either aged out of the system, were able to purchase land, obtained an apprenticeship, or became adopted they were required to be at the institution to "study" and work from dawn until dusk.

At sixteen with her next birthday not far on the horizon, Trixie had about three more years before she was supposed to "graduate," however she and the orc brothers who, were only maybe a year older, were already receiving threatening "reminders" from the matrons that they would soon be sent away from the orphanage if they weren't able to leave on their own. It wasn't too much of a surprise, she and her group were quite detested and they probably hoped the younger kids under her would toe the line in her absence.

After attendance, the three hundred or so children from various orphanages in the district were ushered along a questionable path of burst pipes illuminated in the lurid glow of broken lanterns to a cavernous room with rickety bleachers.

For the first several hours of the day, the orphans were required to study basic language and arithmetic. The instructor—a self-important old blowhard whose name Trixie couldn't ever be bothered to remember—would lecture for ten to twenty-five minutes on average depending out how lazy he felt versus how much he wanted to listen to the sound of his own voice. At the conclusion of the lecture, math and writing drills would be distributed.

There was no accommodation for age or talent. Every student was expected to complete the same work at the same difficulty within the same timeframe. The only allowance they gave the youngest children in the throng was the tutelage of the older students who were required to aid them once their own work was finished. It was meant to induce stress and it would have… if it wasn't a well-known fact they dumped the drill sheets into the fire pit as soon as they finished gathering them.

The lecture was short that day, much to Trixie's relief. She didn't have the patience to listen to the instructor's pointless prattle, and the sooner she could help the others with the day's lessons, the sooner she could get to important work.

"Boss twix?" Ripley and a few of the other younger children had snuck over to her as soon as the instructor had finished handing out their work, "What does this even say?"

"Let's take a look," Trixie glanced down at her own paper and frowned. She wasn't sure what she was looking at, but none of the symbols were even remotely familiar. She couldn't even tell if she was looking at letters or numbers.

"What the fuck?" Rathus stared at his sheets in confusion. There was a low murmur as the rest voiced their own confusion and disbelief. The lecture had been hazy, but Trixie was pretty sure there had been no mention of whatever they were looking at.

"Hey, I think these are rune charts," Titus perked up, "but I can't really tell what type they are. These are all much more advance than the ones I know."

"Why did they give us these?" Trixie whipped the paper back and forth, hoping but not expecting to make some sense of what she was looking at. "What are we even supposed to do with them? Do you write sentences with runes or something?"

"I don't think so," Titus shrugged. "Like I said, I barely know the basics at the moment. I know if you place the right ones together, it'll alter their intended effects. Some of the more powerful mages and alchemist will stack them for spells or tonics to create very specific effects."

"Wanna bet these are recycled from a different facility because they ran out of paper?" Trixie scoffed. "Whatever."

She was in something of a hurry, but it was still important that the children learned to at least read. It was pretty typical of their overseers to be lazy, cheap, and useless overall, but this mess was on an entirely new level of incompetence. Grumbling under her breath, Trixie shifted through the paper trying to find a blank section. Of course, the indecipherable symbols were printed on both sides of every sheet they'd been given. With a growl, she crumpled the sheet and chucked it on the floor in frustration.

"You going to be ok there Trix?" Rathus gently place a hand on her shoulder as she proceeded to stomp on the paper wad and curse.

"Just dandy," She snapped, launching the remains of the sheet with her tail in the direction of their instructor. Of course it fell short, but imagining it bouncing off his bald head helped her feel a little better.

"Tell you what, I'll work with the kids," Rathus soothed. "We'll work through counting and the alphabet. Maybe find a surface to practice writing things. That work?"

"Yeah," Trixie let out a breath and turned to face him. "That will have to do. I'll go see if I can wrangle up some useable paper…"

"Don't worry about it," Rathus shook his head. "I know you got other projects, may as well go get a head start on things. Kids could probably use an easy day anyway."

"Alright, then it's time I get going," Trixie sighed and gave him a grateful smile. "I'll check in at the midday meal to see how everyone is doing."

"See ya boss," He gave a nod and adjusted himself so she could slip away behind him without notice.

Not for the first time, she marveled at the many applicable uses for her tail. It was a huge help as she employed her typical escape route, which involved climbing down the bleachers before she slunk out the door. No one was at the door to watch it, nor were the halls monitored. Most places beyond the classrooms in the main hall on the ground floor were dangerous to traverse, so the instructors tended to stick within their class rooms.

Once she was clear of the room, Trixie ducked into a hallway that was partially blocked by rubble, then followed it around several bends to a loose brick wall. The area looked far more treacherous than it was, the unstable portions having already collapsed, so not many were willing to wander down it casually which made it a good spot to conduct business.

Carefully moving a few bricks, Trixie fished out a small tin box with a slot cut into the top. Retrieving a hair pin from behind her ear, she picked the homemade lock, opened the box, and began inspecting the day's requests. As usual, there were a lot, but only a handful were worth taking on.

"And, of course, there's dozens of requests to rough up Hilda," Trixie shook her head. "They can keep dreaming."

With at least a dozen of the most capable fighters in the institution at her side, Hilda was arguably the most powerful pure-blooded orphan within the facility. Even without her honor guard, as a nine tailed fox she was a force to be reckoned with on her own. If that weren't enough, unlike the rest of the orphans at the institute, she had a wealth of resources at her disposal.

Prior to their deaths, her parents were wealthy merchants with high renown. After their deaths, she had been left to her uncle. Trixie didn't know the specifics, and she wasn't interested in digging through Hilda's personal life to learn them, but from what she gathered Hilda had elected to enter the institution of her own volition. It was her goal to become a top professional courtesan, and for some reason she had decided Honey Pot was essential to her goals. Trixie knew she was still on good terms with her uncle, he'd visit often, sometimes as frequently as weekly, and bring all sorts of gifts for her. It went without saying, Trixie preferred to avoid actions that might provoke her.

Setting those to the side, she inspected the rest of her requests. There were a few courier requests, a handful of assignments to rough up or damage a rival or problem, and there were even some small heists. She pulled a few whose pay she felt wasn't worth the effort to fulfill them and added them to the discard pile. The rest she stuffed in a pocket before she replaced the drop box and bricks. Once she was satisfied everything was properly secured, she destroyed the discarded requests and hurried off to complete her first job.