The Wandering Inn_Volume 1

by Pirateaba

  So believe this: I am an [Emperor]. I should start acting like one rather than worrying about what it means.

  What should I do, then? What would an [Emperor] do? I think for a while as I continue my slow amble through the forest.

  “I am an [Emperor]. Ergo, everything I want to do is what an [Emperor] would do. There are no wrong choices.”

  But are there even more right ones? I remember studying Charlemagne’s history. The man was an imperialist; as far as I can recall he was more or less personally involved in wars of conquest. And yet, he also instituted huge reforms across his empire.

  So did Norton, at least in theory. He wanted to abolish Congress to safeguard his empire, and rumors have it that he actually stood in front of a mob to protect Chinese immigrants during race riots. Regardless of whether that’s historically true or not, an [Emperor] has a duty to his empire and those he rules over. He keeps them safe, protects them; makes them better.

  I would like to do the same for Durene. If she is my one subject, then what can I do for her? I walk and think, and only stop when I notice Durene not-so-subtly trying to shadow me in the forest. She really can’t hide at all. But she does care, which is why I like her.

  I do like her a lot. I just wish she’d tell me everything.

  Day 14

  What would any good [Emperor] do? What would any sensible person do when finding themselves in another world, much less a game world? Today I asked Durene countless questions about Riverfarm and the world. I’d asked her a lot before, but today I compiled it all together in my head.

  “So you’ve never really gone further than a few miles outside of the village?”

  “No. Never.”

  Durene and I sit together, sipping from some home-brewed mint tea. It’s quite strong since we’re using actual mint steeped in hot water. It’s a shame we can’t add some honey or sugar, but Durene has neither.

  She’s not rich. That much is clear, although I have to dance around the topic a bit.

  “So you earn a few coins from selling your crops and animals now and then. But you’ve never gone with the trading cart to town?”

  “No.”

  She shifts in her seat and slurps from her tea. She’s uncomfortable. I sigh.

  “You know, Durene. I don’t really care if you’re a bit different from other people. You’re a nice young woman; regardless of who you are, I won’t judge you.”

  Silence. Then, her deep voice quavers.

  “Do you—? Did someone—?”

  “No. But I am smart enough to know you’re hiding something. But I won’t ask until you’re ready. I do hope you know you can trust me, though.”

  “I do. I do! It’s just—”

  It sounds like she’s on the verge of tears. I reach out and touch her mug instead of her fingers. Durene laughs as I make a face and find her huge hand.

  “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere. Now, tell me. What’s it like living here? Do you ever see any monsters?”

  “Well…”

  Monsters. I can’t even imagine what one of them would be like. According to Durene, they’re not that bad around here. Goblins are the only real nuisance, and the village immediately sends for adventurers to root them out if they’re spotted nearby.

  But—yeah, there is a huge difference in the amount of danger people in this world have to live with. I might worry about bears in parts of the world, or muggers, or war, but never horrible little green creatures with teeth like knives.

  God, they sound creepy.

  “It’s bad when Goblins come. Everyone has to give money to raise a bounty on them, but it always takes the adventurers a few weeks to arrive, and I don’t know what we’d do if a Goblin Chieftain ever showed up.”

  Goblins are apparently a bigger threat in the north part of Izril than they are the south. It’s about population density, or so I’m guessing. Humans occupy more of the north than the south which belongs to Drakes and Gnolls and something called the Antinium. So monsters accordingly spring up more near the north since there’s more to eat. Odd; I would have expected them to be more plentiful in places where Humans are less common, but then, these monsters aren’t prey, but our predators.

  Riverfarm isn’t that far north—it’s decently far away from the High Passes—a huge mountain range similar to the Himalayas which divide the continent in two. Apparently the biggest city close to us is Invrisil; the city of adventurers, so named because they have the largest population of adventurers active and retired on the continent.

  “They’ve got Gold-rank teams there. You can even find Named Adventurers passing through sometimes! And they say the markets are filled with magical items and wondrous things, like the parts of dead monsters and rare gems and artifacts.”

  Durene’s voice is filled with wonder as she describes the city. I have to confess, the image sways me as well. Of course, the adventurers that Riverfarm can afford are a far cry from those elites.

  All of the villagers, including Durene, are frankly poor. Durene is especially poor, but the villagers aren’t exactly rolling in wealth either. They earn a few gold coins every year when the weather is good and the crops are plentiful. At best. During the worst times they’re subsistence farmers, or they’re starving.

  “Folks save their coins. Mister Prost saves all his coins for instance; he only spends money when he has to buy new tools or fix his wagon. He’s going to have to buy a new plow horse soon; I help out, but Evera—the horse—is old. And they want to start raising pigs, but that’s an investment, and they could always use more coin to fix up the house…”

  “Is anyone rich in your village? The [Blacksmith]?”

  “Not really. He doesn’t have that many levels and you know, he’s still a [Farmer] as well. There’s another [Blacksmith] in town that has more levels. Occasionally some people from other villages come by with work, but never for more than a few silver coins at best.”

  “It sounds like your village does fairly well for itself.”

  “Some years. Last year was okay, but the year before that was hungry. If we have a bad harvest or if winter comes early, it’s very hard. The villagers do their best, but sometimes bad things happen. And ever since they took me in—”

  She breaks off. I think I understand this bit. Durene is huge. She’s not necessarily fat; she doesn’t let me touch her, but I know that she can move about with surprising speed, faster than I can. So she’s probably not fat, but she is big. She eats roughly four times what I do every meal, at least.

  “I try to help out a lot. But I can only pull and lift stuff. I don’t have any Skills.”

  “You said you were a Level 6 [Farmer], didn’t you?”

  “Yes. I’m not too low-level for my age—some people are around Level 15, but I didn’t even apprentice and I taught myself so I leveled up slower.”

  “What about your father? Your mother? What did they do when you were growing up?”

  Durene hesitates. I wait in silence, the empty cup of mint tea in my hands, shedding the last vestiges of warmth. Then her voice mumbles.

  “Mom died when I was four. I never met my dad. He’s dead too.”

  Day 16

  I think Durene is still depressed after our last conversation. We don’t talk much—that is to say, not about important things. I spend most of the time helping Durene finish up her harvesting. Most of her plants are fully grown, and we pull up several pumpkins today.

  She wants to get ready for the winter, although it feels perfectly fine to me right now. Then again, I don’t know this world so weather could change a lot quicker around here.

  I also sense that Durene is wrestling with something in her head, most likely whether to tell me about her past. It feels like it’s on the tip of her tongue sometimes when she pauses in talking with me.

  But not yet. I abide. I’ve learned patience, and in the meantime I can teach Durene some things.

  “So, your heart sends blood across the rest of your body. From your head t
o your toes. So you could lose an arm or a leg if you made sure to stop the blood loss, but your heart is essential.”

  Durene scratches at her head.

  “But doesn’t the heart get tired? I get tired from walking all day. How can a heart keep beating all the time?”

  I grin.

  “It’s the strongest muscle in our bodies. And it does get tired. People have heart attacks—times where the heart stops—as they get older. There’s a reason we can’t live forever; our bodies start breaking down as things stop working.”

  “Oh. That makes sense.”

  “I don’t know how old people get in this world, but the oldest people from my world are around a hundred years old. Rarely more than that.”

  “A hundred? That’s a lot! Old man Schnel died when he was 62, and he was old.”

  “Well, some things affect how old you’ll grow. Some of it is just chance or your body, but what you eat, how you live—all of that can affect your health. Like food. Remember what I said about a balanced meal?”

  “Um…”

  It’s fun teaching Durene the basics of biology, science, and so on. I didn’t really feel like math was that important and her speaking skills are good—she can’t write though, and I can’t help her with that.

  No one taught her. But I will. Not everything will be necessarily that practical, but I hope some of it will help. Durene drinks down all of my lessons like a sponge as we harvest and cook. Helping her grow is something that makes me happy. It’s what an [Emperor] would do. What I will do.

  Day 17

  More harvesting. Apparently, the other villagers are also making their last harvests of the season. They might get one more yield from their crops, but maybe not. We’re storing a lot of Durene’s goods in the cellar.

  …I had no idea her house had a cellar, but she has a rather large root cellar outside! That’s one of the things that blows me away; I would have never guessed there was a trapdoor right over there.

  Day 19

  I leveled up last night! I am now a Level 2 [Emperor]. What triggered the change? Durene has no idea, but I think I know. She’s my subject. Teaching her and tending to this small cottage which I claimed as my own is the same as improving my empire, all of it in fact. It’s all about perception. Perhaps there is a limit to how much exp I’d get this way, but for now I’ll take what I can get.

  No idea what the extra level will do for me, though. I haven’t gotten any skills and still haven’t figured out the [Aura of the Emperor] yet.

  Hmm…

  Day 20

  I wake up when I hear the oddest sound. Footsteps; Durene’s. Crunching.

  Now, footsteps are generally easy for me. I can tell some people apart by how they walk. There’s a tempo to their pace, and of course weight makes their footsteps sound different too. Durene is clearly distinct.

  But what is she stepping on? It can’t be what I think it is.

  “Snow?”

  It is snow! Apparently the entire world decided to up and change as I slept. Durene tells me the Winter Sprites must have brought snow to the region, which makes me wonder if she doesn’t understand how the weather works.

  But no—apparently in this world, weird dancing lights known as Winter Sprites can manipulate the weather. They’re also a bit of a hazard, according to Durene. They’ll throw snow at you if you bother them or play tricks.

  That doesn’t quite make sense, but the important thing is clear: it’s winter. And oh boy, it’s cold!

  I help Durene strike some sparks into the fireplace of her cottage. She had to run outside for some firewood early in the morning.

  “I usually keep a pile inside, but I forgot to this year. The wood’s a bit wet, but I think it’ll light.”

  Durene sneezes after she says this. She sounds cold. And there’s an unpleasant amount of chill in her house without a roaring fire in her fireplace. I said her home was cozy, but it’s apparent that Durene could use a better house, like the ones in the village perhaps.

  Frustrating. That’s what it is. I help make a thick soup while Durene clears snow, brings in chopped firewood and so on, and we have a hearty meal. But I can’t help but feel like I am a drag now that snow is making it practically impossible for me to find my way around outside.

  It takes a while for the fire to start, but once it does we’re warm again. Durene claims she can chop enough wood for the winter and she’s hopeful about food—she says she had a good harvest, but this is living closer to the edge than I’d like. There are no supermarkets here.

  At least we have some winter clothes. The villagers sent some clothes up with Prosts’s wife, Yesel. She came by around midday, with some coats and other garments for me. Good thing too—I was getting tired of my one set of clothes.

  Etiquette demands we offer her something to eat and some of the now wonderfully warm mint tea. I chat with Yesel; she’s quite happy to chatter on with me while Durene listens. It’s very nice, but I sense the way she talks to Durene. And the way she hints to me.

  “We’d be happy to put you up in our home for a few days. Just until the first chill goes away. The children could squeeze together in one room I’m sure.”

  She’s not even really hinting. She’s flat out telling me she wants me to go back with her into the village. And Durene’s clearly unhappy about it, but she doesn’t want to object.

  I sip my tea calmly. What’s the best answer here? Well, clearly: no.

  “I’m sorry Miss Yesel, but Durene’s made such a nice place for me—we just got the second cot set up. I’d love to join you for a meal or two later, but for now I feel I should stay here. I’d hate to be out on the road in my condition, you know.”

  “Oh yes. I’ve made a good spot for myself, Miss Yesel. And I can get everything Laken needs here—”

  “I’m sure you have, Durene.”

  Yesel interrupts Durene politely. I get the feeling she’s not actually smiling, but her tone sounds friendly as she reaches out to touch my hand. I jerk and she takes her hand back. I hate it when people touch me without warning me.

  “Do excuse me. But I’m sure we could get Durene to pull the wagon if you don’t want to walk. It would only be a few minutes’ trip.”

  So polite. So friendly. I can feel the invisible looks she’s giving Durene. My skin prickles, but I smile in her direction.

  “Nevertheless, I’d truly hate to take over your rooms. Kids should have a lot of space, and I wouldn’t want to cramp you all.”

  Now she’s hesitating. I know for a fact that my poker face is perfect; but she can’t quite tell if I’m innocently being obtuse or refusing her. Now she takes a different tact.

  “Well—the Beetrs have also said they’d be delighted if you came over for dinner. And they have an empty room after their daughter sadly passed away last summer. You could join them. What do you think?”

  “Mm…well…”

  “It would be so much larger than here. I know Durene has done her best, but isn’t this a tiny bit too small for two people?”

  “I—I could sleep outside! Or in the root cellar. I’m fine with—”

  “I actually like the closeness, in fact.”

  This time it’s my turn to interrupt Durene. I smile placidly, although I’m getting more and more annoyed by the second. I can sense Yesel reacting across the table.

  “I think I’m fine, I really am, Miss Yesel. Durene is an excellent hostess. She’s helped me out immeasurably and I have every confidence that she will continue to do so.”

  Durene’s silent, possibly embarrassed, and Yesel is quiet. Then she speaks to Durene directly.

  “Durene? Why don’t you go fetch us some more firewood? I’m sure Mister Laken is feeling quite chilly.”

  I bite my lip as Durene rises without a word to do as Yesel says. Mister Laken is feeling fine, thanks. And Durene shouldn’t have to obey someone else’s order in her own home.

  But because Yesel is giving us a gift and because I don’t have the full
picture—not yet—I listen. Yesel leans forwards to talk to me as I hear Durene moving about outside.

  “Durene is a good child, Mister Laken. Sometimes. But we put her out here so she wouldn’t cause trouble if—has she told you what she is?”

  “No. I believe she will tell me when she feels comfortable.”

  “Yes, but—I think you don’t quite understand what the problem is.”

  I raise one eyebrow.

  “Problem? I haven’t had a problem with Durene, Miss Yesel. Unless you think otherwise?”

  “No…”

  She says it, clearly meaning the opposite. I hear a slurp, and then her voice again.

  “But some of us in the village—Durene was wonderfully good about taking you in, but she’s not someone that should be kept cooped up with you—with someone like you—all winter. It would be better for everyone if you stayed in the village. We’d love to have you.”

  And I’d probably hate it there. I listen to Durene lifting something with a grunt, and then shake my head.

  “I have no problems with Durene, Miss Yesel. I will stay here.”

  Now frustration enters the other woman’s voice.

  “I really don’t think that’s wise. Durene is—”

  “—Is Durene. I think that’s what you meant to say, Miss Yesel. Please don’t say anything else. I prefer to let people keep their secrets.”

  “But—!”

  This has gone on long enough. I stand up.

  “Good day, Miss Yesel. Thank you for the clothes.”

  There’s not much she can say after that. I practically chase her out, and Durene, covered in snow and bewildered, barely gets to say goodbye.

  Okay, maybe it was rude to bundle the woman off so fast, but she was being incredibly rude. I know Durene has a secret, but why wouldn’t they trust her with me? I’ve slept under her roof for over two weeks now without a problem.

  It’s cozy and warm in Durene’s cottage after Yesel leaves. I’m perfectly content, and Durene is almost pathetically relieved that I’m staying. She keeps chattering nervously about everything but what that conversation meant.