by Arthur Stone
“What did that forest that attacked you look like?”
Beko shook his head. “It was very dark, and filled with the cries of suffering men and women. Mom told me to run into the forest. All of the kids ran that way. I had just been roused from bed, so my head was muddled. The moon shone in the sky, and something was burning behind me. I saw the forest, a wall of darkness, the children running towards it. And then—it seemed to step towards us. I don’t know how. Some kind of magic. But it looked just like that: the forest moved. Everyone kept running towards the trees, as if they hadn’t seen what I had. Perhaps they hadn’t. I could see better in the dark than they could. I knew I could not run that way. It was a trap, and they were all running straight into it. So I fled the other way—not directly back the way I had come, but up the side of a hill that was nearly devoid of trees. The isolated oaks and ashes could not be properly called a forest, and I wanted to stay away from anything properly called a forest. After all, the woods had changed somehow. I was the only one whom the people from the trading post found alive. The rest were dead. Or missing. The forest took the children. Every place in this land has its masters. Every place belongs to someone. Now, the Stone is an exception. This is a special island, they say. Whoever owns the right-hand shore decided to reclaim what was his. That was the end of my outpost. And my mother. And the man who had stood in for my father.”
“I’m sorry, Beko.”
“What for?”
“That I reminded you of all of this.”
“That’s not your fault. You need to know, and to know all of it. After all—you live here now.”
“So as I understand it, things like this don’t happen very often here. Two dead is a serious event. As you said, the people are worried.”
“Of course they are. No one is eager to lose their skin, so many are terrified. And to the masters of this part of the world, we are less significant than roaches in the basement. They might notice us, they might not. The roaches may not know about us, and we might not know about them. But they will realize our presence at some point. And we will learn of the masters of these lands at some point. Such as now, for example. Wild Wood is scary enough without masters. So many dangers dwell here. The neighbors had a baby that got eaten by ratwolves. They become deadly in the winter—even for adults, never mind babies. Another neighbor went out to check some traps and was never seen again. He just disappeared. We searched for him for many days, but found no trace. “The forest took him,” as they say. That kind of things happens in Wild Wood all the time. Even here, on the right bank of the Blackriver, terrors abound. Travelers in the forest can run into some of its many goblins. Or a troll. Or other things, worse things, things that must not be named. On the left bank, though, the situation is much worse. Death dwells there. There used to be villages over there, too. Even small towns, many years ago. None of those who lived across the river live anymore. Only here, near the Stone, is there some measure of peace and safety to be had. As long as you don’t venture too far north, away from it. Up there, everything is perilous. The Emperor of Pain is our enemy, yes, but he is our enemy. He is a foreigner to Wild Wood. When is the last time you saw roaches try to negotiate with the owners of their basement? They’re just roaches. Like us. And so, he also fears the forest, and wants to take the Stone for his own. This has long been a wood of war. I don’t even know when it started. But it will continue, tomorrow and beyond.”
“So what’s going to happen?”
“Did you hear the clang of metal from behind the central storehouse? That was Ash assembling his guards and his hunters. Tomorrow, they set out for the left bank. They’ll patrol around for a while and find no one, and then they’ll return here. This trading post doesn’t have the strength to actually catch any of our enemies. Even before—when we had more men—such an attempt wouldn’t have worked.”
“Why do we have fewer men now?” I wondered.
“Because this trading post doesn’t make much money. The merchants want more, and more, for the same price. So they’re trying to cut their costs and spend less on us—meaning they do not send new fighting forces our way. They send, instead, lousy workers. Lousy workers who do lousy work. That reduces the trading post’s output, of course. Yes, the land is wealthy here, with spices all around and in great quantities. But Ash only sends a few varieties of them down south. We lack workers with the necessary skills to acquire the rest.”
“Hmm. A vicious cycle of greed,” I agreed. “They cut labor costs, and then the cheap laborers produce much less. So they try to save more by sending cheaper workers still. A descending spiral.”
Beko nodded. “That’s why Ash is so harsh with everyone. The hands of thieves—those who take for themselves rather than for the trading post—must be broken if this place is to endure. Many of the workers sent our way are dishonest people. They’re given the option to either sign a work contract here or to go to jail. Those are the worst workers of all. Either they break contract, or they outright steal.”
“Our contract is a basket of fish per day,” I replied, “and they don’t pay us anything.”
“They give us a place to live,” Beko observed, “and the food is pretty good. We should be thankful.”
“I wonder how much they demand from everyone else?”
Beko shrugged. “Depends. They don’t rob us here, you know. We get paid. Anything more than the basket that’s in our contract earns us money.”
“Uh-huh, in squares, which aren’t real money.”
“Who cares, as long as they can buy anything that you can find here? If you head south, you can find a place to exchange them for ‘real’ coins. What’s that you’re drawing? I can’t make sense of it.”
“Blueprints.”
“What’s that?”
“A very accurate drawing of some project.”
“What’s the project?”
“Something fancy that’ll help us catch more fish. I need to go talk to the blacksmith and the carpenter to get the parts made. If we make some money tomorrow, it might be enough to pay them, but I really don’t know how much they’ll want.”
“I got some squares today. If you want them, they’re yours,” Beko offered.
I shook my head. “I don’t want you to go hungry come winter. You need to save up while you can.”
“I’ll die here if I’m all alone,” the ghoul said somberly, “and you’re not like the others. You’re weak, but you’re smart. And you’re the only one who treats me well. No one else does. Even my mother always yelled at me. You don’t do that. Plus, you’ve spent a lot of money on my account already, so if you need these squares, take them. Both you and I need this fishing invention of yours.”
After a moment’s pause, I nodded. “Fine. But once this invention is complete, we’re going to buy you some decent clothes. You’re a winner, and no winner should have to walk around in rags like that.”
“No, they shouldn’t. I do need clothes, a set that’s truly my own. But your machine comes first.”
I wasn’t about to tell him that the invention was not entirely my own. To be precise, it wasn’t my own at all. But no one here would begrudge me the violation of intellectual property rights. I was certain the contraption would be a novelty here, in the world of Rock.
Plus, my blueprint drawing efforts—as I made and rejected one copy after another—had already earned me 9 personal talent marks as Novice Calligrapher. I doubted these were of much value, but I could always convert them into chi symbols later, if I desired.
By the end, I had drawings that looked enough like blueprints. I believed them sufficient for the artisans to make the parts I needed. As long as they had the necessary tools and materials. I’d seen how well the local blacksmith worked. He could make this with his eyes closed.
It was best to go put in the orders right now. Even if they named a high price, it wouldn’t necessarily delay me. Perhaps I could get them to agree to start for an advance. Between us, Beko and I had a decent handf
ul of squares saved up.
Once darkness finally put an end to this day, I would set to teaching the ghoul reading, writing, and math. I had given my word, after all. Promises are sacred things.
Chapter 26
A Tale of Two Craftsmen
No Stat Changes
I loved the efficiency of the specialists in this world. As long as your specifications were given correctly and with local customs accounted for—and as long as you were working with genuine specialists, not scammers.
I knew how to draw up the blueprints correctly. I had to admit that the mother of this body which had become mine had indeed been a versatile individual. She had been capable in numerous fields. Sadly, there were some things she could never understand, and thus due to her aggressive despotism, we lost craftsmen of rare talent from our region.
Such as Teshimi.
Who could have thought that the peculiarities of constructing a mill, installing simple equipment meant to transfer torque to the millstone, would serve me so well years down the road? The blacksmith and carpenter chuckled at the scratches I had made on the scrap of bark with my sharp piece of flint. I quickly corrected each item they complained about. Then, the task was clear. Only details remained—including which materials to use.
Raw materials were a mess in the world of Rock. The periodic table was useless here. There were elements analogous to those from my past life, yes: copper, iron, gold, sulfur, and so on. But I wasn’t sure they actually had the same properties. There were many other materials here which I had never heard of before. Still others existed even though they were only discovered on Earth way past the medieval times.
Not that I was complaining. They would be very useful. Tempered steel able to smash rocks without losing its edge was always valuable. Many other unusual elements and compounds existed with remarkable properties—but when their prices were mentioned, my stomach turned.
Overpriced, to be sure.
“Yes, this gear’s teeth are ingeniously arranged, and it only weights a few grams—but 25 squares each?!” My negotiating tactics failed to dent the price. Still, that gear was exactly what I needed. Glitterbronze had the properties I required.
A composite stick of bamboo from the south reinforced with strong tape cost another 20. A small fortune. I thought I caught in the tone of the man, as he quoted this price, a small degree of astonishment at his own arrogance. Yet he held on to this price tighter than a drowning man grasping at flotsam.
More materials than these two were needed, of course. I needed miniature bearings, strong rings, screws and bolts with nuts, a handle, custom concave plates for the assembled body, and a small arch—all to specification. The arch had to be polished so thoroughly as to put mirror manufacturers to shame. Each part had to be able to support sufficient load without compromise.
Neither the blacksmith nor the carpenter understood what exactly I was trying to create. They were simply creating parts. This was excellent, as I did not want copies of my invention to proliferate across the land.
It became soon apparent that my design needed some modifications. The blacksmith was, alas, far from an omniscient metallurgist. Several delicate parts would benefit from a jeweler on the project, but no jeweler was present at the trading post. So I needed to increase the dimensions of certain parts so they were not too small for my team—which made them unable to fit together with others. By the end, I had to redraw every piece except the core part ordered from the carpenter. This gave me +2 personal talent marks as Calligrapher. After all of this, I went to bed—there was no time to study with Beko, as drafting and redrafting occupied me until the darkness in the sky was complete.
We made up for the lost time in the morning, after breakfast. I was determined to wait at the post until the order was completed. Also, I informed both craftsmen that the sooner they completed their tasks, the sooner they would receive the balance of payment. Thanks to my reputation as a matchless murderer of kotes, I managed to negotiate good payment terms by promising everyone involved a healthy bonus of fish. Yet still, none of them would take kindly to an extended delay in payment. Both the blacksmith and the carpenter desired to get their squares as quickly as possible.
Beko’s mind was exhausted as I persistently plunged knowledge into it. My mind turned towards the upcoming bouts of sparring. I felt wonderful, now. My disease had retreated into memory. A weakness still hindered my legs, but I doubted that it would last for long.
The tiny son of the blacksmith appeared at just the right moment, announcing that everything was ready. We would have to wait another day for Beko to pound me into the dirt over and over. The ghoul now realized that the thirst for knowledge was much more exciting than the actual process of obtaining it. I doubted he would spare me during our physical training.
His eyes glittered maliciously at me. Like all of the natives, he did have an intuitive understanding of the basics of mathematics. Without such an understanding, after all, one’s control over the numbers awarded by the ORDER was poor. Yet attempting to teach Beko anything beyond the basics felt like slamming my fist repeatedly into an impenetrable skull. Sometimes, I made rude comments to this effect.
I would have to acquire talents as a Teacher. Otherwise, I feared what might happen to me if Beko caught me alone. The man’s strange appearance could not be the only reason for the moniker of “ghoul.”
There was doubtless some more sinister reason, too.
After collecting the assortment of parts large and small, we set to work. We brought the baskets along, too. I still did not know for sure whether my idea would work. If it failed, I would have to fish using the old methods. We had a trading post quota to fill, and a significant debt to repay. I could repay it right now—but I would have to sell a bunch of ORDER items, which was undesirable.
Assembling the numerous parts took us half an hour. Everything fit and seemed to function—except that the line running to the handle didn’t have enough slack. After connecting the two completed halves of the device together, I secured them and began winding up the line. I didn’t have much to work with. A kote tore off a piece of line, and another portion, we had to cut up and discard when it became hopelessly entangled in the machine.
The ORDER made no reaction to my inventive activity. Creating something useless in the world of Rock was possible but was not rewarded. I had to prove that this contraption was not meaningless, and that I was not trying to cheat the system.
The best way to do that was to look for larger prey. I was not ready to go after the monstrous kotes yet. Only once I had developed my character more sufficiently would I attempt that again. My last swim and lost tackle in Blackriver had convinced me of that.
Reaching the tip of the sandbar, I used my talent several times to convince myself that no overly large kotes were nearby. I spent a good deal of Shadow doing so; I very much did not want to blow my first attempt.
How the ORDER would react to this event was unknown.
As I examined the water, I chose suitable quarry. A solitary fish had set an ambush, lying behind a small rock at the bottom of the river, about a hundred feet from shore. It was no small swimmer, but neither was it a monster. Twenty pounds, by my estimate. Earlier that morning, I would have been unable to reach it, but now I had some options.
The first cast failed. I felt like I was swinging not a fishing rod but a leaden shovel. The second cast also failed. The third hit home.
The spoonbait shuddered from the attack a mere second after it hit the water. The first pulled viciously, forcing me to step forward into the shallows, but its weight was not enough to defeat me.
Pulling it up to the surface was the hardest part. From experience, I knew that a hooked kote’s speed and struggle could drop markedly as soon as it hit the air. Unless it jumped out of the water on its own volition, its will to fight still strong.
I forced it to come up. This was easier now that I could wind the cord up, using the 5-foot reinforced fishing rod. It was rough and heavy,
yes, but long and flexible enough to dramatically extend my own fishing capabilities.
And it didn’t mutilate my palms like the line had previously. Gloves had removed all feeling and feedback from the process, so we had needed to catch only the smallest specimens or risk ruined hands early in the day.
You have caught a kote by an unknown method, while making use of a known method. You have dealt significant damage to the kote. You have dealt fatal damage to the kote. The kote is dead. You have defeated the kote (2nd Degree).
