by Arthur Stone
“Greedy bastards.”
“Greedy, yes,” Beko agreed. “And they take what’s mine, too. All the time.”
He gave me another askance look of suspicion.
I shook my head to assuage his recurring fears.
“You see that I’m not taking anything from you, right? In fact, I’m sharing with you the little lard that I have. Once the lard and the bread are gone, who’s going to feed me? You?”
“I would feed you because you’re kind. But I don’t have anything.”
“What do you eat, then?”
“They give me work every morning. If I do the work, they feed me. Not lard, but porridge.”
“Do they pay you for the work?”
“They give porridge. In the morning and in the evening. But not during the day.”
“I see.”
“But sometimes they don’t give porridge, and then I go to sleep hungry. Like today. I did the work, but they took it away. So I brought nothing back. And they say no work, no porridge. But now I’m full. Not a lot of lard, but it was tasty.” With that, Beko stared pointedly at the pouch that held the remaining chunk.
“We should save it,” I replied to his wordless suggestion. “If we don’t get any food tomorrow, we’ll end up hungry. Who took your food?”
“The Carps.”
I recalled the conversation with the fort’s management, but still thought to ask the foolish question.
“You were robbed by fish?”
“Not fish. They’re the local boys. Bad boys. Satat, Jakos and Tashi. Little Tatai has been hanging with them lately, too. They’re called the Carps because they clean the nets of grass and garbage. They dry the nets, too. Satat, Jakos, Tashi and little Tatai. They also clean the fish sometimes. But they don’t catch fish. The grownups do that. The grownups don’t hassle me. They can call me names and smack me around sometimes, but they don’t beat me like the Carps do. And when the Carps are pissed, they take everything.”
Beko pointed to his left eye. Swollen and black, it made for a vivid demonstration.
“What kind of work do they give you?” I kept questioning him.
“All kinds of work. Yesterday I was helping to water the gardens.”
“There are gardens here?”
“There are. If you go down, you’ll see beds of plants. Small beds. With stones around them.”
“I see. And they gave you porridge for that?”
“They did. And the day before yesterday, Old Megaera gave me an onion. Not very big, but juicy and almost free of rot. And today she said to pick wild leeks. I picked lots, but the Carps took my basket when I came back up.”
“Did you at least put up a fight?”
Beko lowered his head. “No. There are three of them—four now with Little Tatai. I’m lucky they didn’t beat me too bad.”
“What about running away or taking another road?”
“There’s only one path leading up. And I can’t run fast. Satat is almost at the sixth degree of enlightenment, no way I can escape him.”
“Any idea where they’ll send us tomorrow?”
“More wild leek picking, I guess,” Beko conjectured. “The caravan brought barrels of lard. And lard is tastier with leeks than without.”
“What’s the point taking the leeks from you?” I asked, puzzled. “You got the job, not them.”
“Old Megaera gives me the job. Or Rukko the Lame. But the Carps take the leeks to Fatso Oren at the inn. And he pays them with tasty food. Not porridge.”
“So they’re profiting from you while you go hungry?”
“Yes. They do it all the time now. Always taking what’s mine. Everyone wants to take what’s mine.” Beko glared at me yet again, but instantly averted his eyes, looking guiltily. He didn’t have a problem with me, but old habits die hard.
“And food at the inn is tasty, you say?”
“Smells soooo tasty...” Beko nearly sobbed. Fatso Oren is a bad man. But he’s got lots of food. And all of it tasty.”
“So, tomorrow we will both pick wild leek,” I declared.
“You’ll get beaten, too. We both will. And they’ll take everything again.”
“No, Beko, they won’t. Because now there are two of us.”
“So what? They can rob both of us as easily as one.”
“No, they can’t. You know how things work around here. Therein lies your strength. But my strength lies in keeping what I’ve earned.”
“They don’t ask for it or anything. They just take.”
“Even if they succeed, I’m going to put them on my blacklist.”
“What’s that?” Beko looked intrigued.
“Magic. My magic. My people’s magic. Everyone who gets on my blacklist dies. Sooner or later.”
“You’re a mage?” the ghoul inquired warily.
“Not quite. But my magic works. Don’t worry, it’ll be fine.”
I wasn’t going to clarify that, as of today, of all the people on my blacklist, death had only gotten to Treya.
Or that my so-called mother hadn’t died by my hand.
There was no reason for my modest army to be privy to such demoralizing details. Tomorrow we were going into battle, so it would behoove us to keep up morale.
“What is your degree of enlightenment, Beko?”
“Third.”
“And you’re an omega, I assume?”
“Yes. They say I’m a weak omega. I don’t understand what it is. Nobody wants to teach me.”
“It’s all right, I’ll teach you. How old are you?”
“I don’t know. This winter Megaera said that I must be over fifteen.”
“No kidding! You’re big, then.”
“Satat is bigger. He’s fifteen, too, but taller than me. And stronger.”
“That’s fine. The bigger they are, the harder they fall.”
“You think Satat will fall? Why? I’ve never even seen him stumble!”
“Uh, never mind. It’s just an expression where I come from. Anyway, let’s get to bed or we won’t be rested tomorrow.”
“Let’s. I wish I’d been asleep long ago. When you sleep, you don’t feel hungry.”
Chapter 15
Knife with a Surprise
No Stat Changes
Come morning, the only signs of the storm raging through the night were puddles of mud. The sky was blue and clear, the rising sun unblurred against the horizon.
We breakfasted on modest portions of bread and lard before setting out in search of work. Beko brought me to an elderly woman who issued us a basket, shaking her head as she informed us that the basket had been returned to her yesterday by Little Tatai, empty of everything but the scent of wild leeks. She had deduced the rest. Still, if we could try our best to make sure the spoils of the day end up with her and not with Fatso Oren, she would appreciate it, and so would the miners. Otherwise, they would be once again deprived of the tasty seasoning in their pottage.
Despite her namesake from my former life—a wicked fury from Greek myths—Megaera ended up being a kind and pleasant lady. So kind, in fact, that she gave us each a portion of yesterday’s barley porridge. It was revolting to the taste, but our team needed energy, so we thanked her profusely for her generosity.
Then Beko led me to the passage in the main wall. It was closed for the night by an iron lattice gate, but wide open in the light of day. Downhill, dozens of tiny vegetable gardens painted green every square foot of flat surface. And further down, at the foot of the mountain, a raised awning provided cover for drying nets. Seeing as the locals dealing with farming and fishing were constantly running inside and out, keeping a guard detail in charge of closing and opening the gate would be a waste of resources.
As we descended the meandering path, I tried to commit to memory every possible detail for analysis. The gardens were unimpressive, at least when compared to Teshimi’s handiwork. The Crow Clan’s late harvester would plan out every inch of soil, resulting in perfectly neat and delicate patches,
whereas these were a mess of greenery and easy-to-grow tubers. Just about anyone could grow such plants, no special skills required. Heck, even I would manage it with some basic instruction. The gardens were tended to exclusively by women of varying ages. A pair of the younger ones passed by us, Dutch hoes at the ready.
Down below, a fishing boat was being pulled ashore as a couple of men were moving towards us, carrying a basket without visible effort.
As we passed by, I glanced inside. That explains it. I was disappointed to see maybe fifteen-twenty pounds of fish. The fort housed several hundred people, young and old—no way such hauls would be enough to feed them all.
Upon our arrived, a short sandy-haired fella turned away from the banked boat.
“Where are the Carps?”
“I don’t know...” Beko replied, his voice trembling.
The very mention of his nemeses had him reeling.
“Chaos take them!” the lad boomed, frowning. “The nets need cleaning. We’re catching nothing but weeds today, barely any fish.”
“Perhaps tomorrow there’ll be a better haul,” I suggested politely.
“Why would it be better? Ain’t nothing but juvenile kote swarming the waters. They avoid our nets and scare away all the regular fish. And you can’t even take a dip in the deeper parts cause of those beasts... Are you done wasting my time now or have you got more suggestions? Scram!”
I grumbled under my breath as we turned to go.
“Not the friendliest type.”
“That’s Romris. He’s always angry. And Satat’s cousin,” Beko explained warily. “If anyone hurts Satat, he runs and tattles to his cousin right away.”
“So if we give Satat a thrashing, we’ll have this shorty to deal with?”
“Uh-huh. They’ll take everything again. But I won’t let them! Not this time! It’s mine! Mine!”
“I’m starting to wonder what it is you’re hiding from them with such vigor,” I chuckled, but seeing Beko immediately tense up, rushed to reassure him. “Relax, I’m just kidding. Even if you’re hiding the emperor’s own crown in your trousers, that’s your business.”
“Are you sure you’re not trying to take mine in exchange for the lard?” Beko inquired, still wary.
“No. Whatever you’re hiding, it is clearly more valuable than my lard. But let’s get down to business.”
“What business?” the ghoul looked puzzled.
“Wild leek. Where is it?”
“It grows further down, where the ground is pebbled. It grows quickly. We need to pick young stalks only. The youngest. Those are soft. Old ones are tough and don’t smell as good. And the taste is so bitter, it hurts. Not even pigs eat them. The young ones are bitter, too, but you can chew them, at least. I snack on them while picking.”
“You use your bare hands?”
Beko opened his palms, streaked with cuts.
“That’s what wild leek does.”
“Why use your hands?” I asked, incredulous. “You should use a knife.”
“I should use a knife,” Beko agreed. “But I don’t have one.”
“You managed to slice lard at night without one. Couldn’t you think of something similar?”
“Splinters can’t cut leek. Even the young stalks are too tough for that. And the old ones you can use as hanging rope. Rogalos used one last year to hang himself, right from the fishing awning. Picked some wild leeks, made a noose, and strung himself up. They found him with a crow perched on his head. It was pretty.”
“You have an odd sense of beauty, bud. Why did he hang himself? Was he testing the strength of the stalks or something?”
“Why test? He knew it would hold him. Everyone knows. His wife had given birth to a redheaded baby with a square jaw. The same one as Fiery Pag. Rogalos went to beat up Pag, but Pag beat him up instead. So Rogalos came down the mountain and hanged himself. He was always strange.”
“Strange indeed,” I agreed, stopping and taking a seat on the ground, fatigue catching up to me.
“Why are you sitting?” Beko asked, surprised. “The wild leek is further ahead.”
“You said the ground gets pebbly there, right?”
“Right.”
“Well, I need big rocks. We need them.”
“Why do we need rocks.”
“To make knives out of them.”
“Knives? How can you make knives out of rock?”
“They won’t be top-notch by any means, but it beats cutting your hands on grass your cuckolds use to kill themselves. Look for rocks like this one.”
“Why like this?”
“Because it’s the right kind. Our ancestors used rocks very much like this one to fashion knives and axes.”
“Really? Nobody ever told me that,” Beko said, incredulous.
“There’s lots of stuff you weren’t told. Be happy that you’re on my team, now you’ll get to learn all sorts of interesting things. By the way, can you read?”
“Read?!” Beko exclaimed in a tone suggesting I had just asked him if he could fly to the Moon without a spaceship or a spacesuit.
I sighed. “Quite a severe case. Treatment will take a while.”
* * *
You have crafted a knife with a flint blade and a handle of interwoven wild leek stalks.
You receive:
Lesser Symbol of Chi x2
Personal Attribute Embodiment, Strength x1
Personal Talent Mark, Novice Stonecutter x1
I stared at the message from ORDER, befuddled, then looked back to the culprit of this new development.
Calling this wretchedness a knife would be as accurate as dubbing a ragged felt boot Cinderella’s glass slipper. The blade was more of a wedge, pricked out of flint with nothing short of monumental effort. Ugly as it was, it had taken smashing several blocks, the exertion pushing me to the brink of consciousness, resulting in only one fragment suitable for my plan. I chipped away at one end, shaping it into a handle, then wrapped it with knotted wild leek stalks. The plants resembled onion shoots, only bigger, some towering over three feet. And the older the shoot, the stronger the veins. Impossible to tear with bare hands, those had to be sawed with rocks.
And here was the end result. An absurd parody on a knife with a three-inch blade. The rock’s natural quality granted it decent sharpness, but hardly razor-like. Using it to cut old wild leek stalks wouldn’t be easy.
But it wasn’t the knife that was the cause of my befuddlement. It was the way the higher forces of Rock had reacted to this pitiful forgery.
They had bestowed upon me the honor of recognizing my mastery, deeming this travesty an act of craftsmanship. Renowned artisans received chi and other boons for crafting masterpieces, so how did I get several prizes for this wretched thing?
And what was I supposed to do now?
At least that much was clear: find more rocks to sculpt.
I handed the knife to Beko.
“Here.”
“For me?”
“For you. It’s your knife now, so take good care of it.”
The present literally vanished from my hand given the speed with which Beko snatched it from me.
Glancing behind him furtively, my companion declared in a tone of unctuous triumph.
“Mine!”
“It’s yours, it’s yours,” I assured him. “Start cutting stalks with it while I make another one like it for myself. Two knives for two workers.”
Armed with experience, I focused my attention on selecting the most irregularly shaped pieces of flint, as those had a higher probability of breaking into the shape of shard I needed. Finding the right combination of shape and size was a challenge, and it took another half-hour before I ended up with a workable billet. Not as good as the first, but not terrible, either. There wasn’t any time to spare on further experiments.
It took another half-hour to finish the job, and now my hand held a new knife. Perhaps a third of an inch shorter than Beko’s, but with a more comfortable grip and a
better aesthetic. A troglodyte like myself crafting such an item ought to fetch a reward at least as good as the first iteration had merited.
Only the Order thoroughly ignored my feat of labor. No hint of a reward—not even an empty congratulatory message.
My swirling thoughts were starting to arrive at an ingenious answer, but I lacked evidence to be certain of it.
