Control Comes from Within

I got up the next morning, wide awake as soon as I opened my eyes. As I did a few morning stretches to loosen up my muscles, I made a mental note to buy a notebook or journal, so I could write down all the questions I had and would most certainly have in the future. I also needed to buy some new clothes, and food, and a lot of other things, which brought me to my biggest hurdle:

Money.

I had very little cash on hand after reserving a room and luckily some complimentary meals for the next two weeks. So at least I was covered on that front for a while.

Probably another of Khime’s ‘motivation’ tactics. Stingy old man, only giving me enough for a few days.

But, no matter what, I needed a job, no, a steady wage, to be able to afford a somewhat decent lifestyle in this city before I could join the academy.

There’s probably an admission fee for the academy, isn’t there. Better to factor that in too. And if I need to buy supplies, that’ll set me back even more. I’m assuming magic items are more expensive than non-magic ones. Heh, it’s funny how quickly circumstances change. If this were before, I would have waited until the last minute before doing anything. Now I’m actually…eager?...to do things right away. Might as well get started then.

With a vague plan in mind to secure employment, I tied my black robe around the filthy jeans and t-shirt I was wearing, grabbed my rucksack, and headed down to the inn’s ground floor, locking my room as I left.

I didn’t see the woman from last night, who I assumed was the owner, but there were a couple of people, who seemed like employees, wiping down tables and chairs. I approached the bar in the back, hoping to get a quick meal before I left.

The person behind the bar counter, a middle-aged man, noticed me and turned to ask me, “Good morning. What can I do for you?”

“Can I get the…morning meal…and whatever juice you’ve got. And some water.” I didn’t want to say breakfast, and not have them understand it. This whole translation thing still felt wonky to me, presenting yet another set of questions I couldn’t have answered. Also, I wasn’t totally sure exactly what kind of juice was being served.

“Sure, just place your key on the counter,” he said as he took out what looked like his own key, hung on a string around his neck.

I placed my key on the counter, straight-faced like I knew what was going on, and waited. After a few seconds, the part of the counter where my room key was placed started glowing faintly, like a backlit LED keyboard. Then a couple lines of text, which I couldn’t read, appeared next to them.

Wait, I couldn’t read them?

Why isn’t the translation ability or spell working? Didn’t Khime say I would be able to understand everything that people…said…motherfu-

“Enchantment must be low on stones. Alright, looks like you’re good for two weeks with basic meals. Let me just do - that,” he tapped his own key against mine, then a symbol on the text changed, “and you’ll get your meal in a bit.” He tucked his key back under his shirt and went to one of the back rooms, presumably the kitchen.

I carefully controlled my expression throughout the process, only widening my eyes a bit at the glowing, but otherwise I thought I had progressed immensely over the course of a few days in not looking like a total idiot when it came to new things. At this point, it was just more motivation for me to learn about the common practices here.

Within five minutes, the server came back out with a tray, a plate and two cups on it, everything wooden. He placed it on the counter, unloading the dishes in front of me. “One morning set of meat and greens, one water, one fresh eetle juice.”

Really, eetle juice? There’s no way this will work…

“Eetle juice, eetle juice, eetle juice.” I whispered.

Nothing happened.

I waited a couple seconds, looked around, and still nothing. Really, what was I expecting? Should I be relieved or worried that nothing happened? And what does it say about me that a part of me expected something to pop out?

The server just looked at me, a professional smile still on his face. “Thanks for this,” I said. I was about to tip him out of habit, when I remembered my dwindling funds, and the warning I got last night from the owner’s welcome speech.

Curious, I just decided to ask the server, as I figured this had to be something harmless.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why can’t I tip you?” I asked him.

“Ah, that rule. The owner believes that tipping is an unhealthy practice, only encouraged by cheap and predatory merchants who would rather profit than ensure their workers get paid properly. It reflects poorly on her ability and reputation when one of her workers receives a tip, as it implies she is either unwilling or unable to do so herself, both of which are undesirable outcomes for her and this establishment.” The waiter was thorough in his explanation, and the logic made perfect sense to me. I was a total advocate for abolishing tipping practices back home. At least here I wouldn’t be guilted into giving up more of my pitifully low reserves.

“Well, thanks for the service, anyways.” I replied. He nodded at the compliment, the small professional smile still on his face.

“Of course. I’ll just be in the back room if you need anything else. Or you can call any of the other staff. I’ll leave you to your meal, then.” He nodded his head once more, then left to the back room again, other workers taking his place behind the bar counter.

The meal itself was fine. The meat tasted similar to chicken, and the ‘greens’ were a mix of vegetables, some kind of cousin to broccoli, and an almost yellowish asparagus. The eetle juice was a knock-off version of coffee, and the water was as normal as could be.

Fed and ready to start the day, I got up to start looking for a job, deciding to start with the owner of the inn. Of course, I hadn’t seen her yet, so maybe she hadn’t gotten up or maybe she wouldn’t be here today. I just went to the next possible person: one of the workers. I looked at the bar again, to ask whoever was back there.

A really young kid popped up, cleaning the counter that was nearly at the height of his forehead. He had to stand on a stool to reach the area furthest away from him. He couldn’t have been more than five or six years old. Then I remembered the time difference. One year here was nearly twice as long as what I was used to, so this kid must have been younger than I originally thought. I guess technically he was the same age no matter what, but –

He noticed me looking at him, put away the cleaning rag, and asked in an adorable attempt at professionalism, “What do you need from me, mister?”

“Hey, kid, how are you working here? I mean, how are you allowed to work here?” I asked, curiosity and a hint of concern creeping into my tone. This seemed like child labor, something that definitely irked me, if not outright crossed my bottom line, and I got a little pissed off at the owner who seemed like a decent enough lady, if slightly imposing.

He just looked at me and said, “My sister helped me. She said the pay was decent for the conditions listed.”

Listed?

“Listed where?” I asked.

“At the…Workman’s Society. She said the task was safe, paid well, and would let me get experience,” he replied.

“Workman’s Society? What’s that?” I asked again.

This time, I knew I messed up because the kid, as all kids were prone to doing, spoke with brutal, unfiltered honesty. His face lit up and he smiled the innocent smile that kids everywhere had when they were showing off.

“Mister, you’re from a village or something, right? That’s why you don’t know, right? My mommy said only villagers and idiots don’t know about the Workman’s Society. Wait, are you a villager? Or are you an idiot? You don’t seem like an idiot, but I’ve never met one. Or a villager. Mommy said villagers don’t come to cities too much. She also said…”

As he kept parroting what his mother told him about villagers and idiots, I was trying damn hard not to reveal how mortifyingly embarrassed I was. It was probably best if I just played along until I could get some form of answer from him. Despite the awkwardness, I tried to push through and interrupted his rant.

“Kid, kid! Look, you’re right, I’m a villager, okay? Just, don’t tell anyone. Can you just tell me about this Workman’s Society?” I decided it was better to be thought of as a villager than an idiot, although my own idiocy was a matter of contention.

His eyes widened and his smile grew even wider, a pure thing that I honestly couldn’t get mad at because he didn’t even know what he was saying…I hoped. He looked at me like a rare animal in a zoo, something exotic and foreign, which to be fair, I was.

“Sure, mister! Mommy is always telling me it’s better to help people than hurt. Or the you-know-what's will come.” He whispered as he said that last sentence, like it was expected that even villagers should know what he was referencing. I actually had a good idea what he was talking about, so I just nodded along, a somber look on my face to match his serious tone.

Oh, he’s probably talking about the voranders. Do people not say their name out loud, or is it just kids? Does saying their name out loud actually attract them? I don’t think that was the case for the attack last night. Besides, how would that even work?....Right, magic.

“So, first of all, where is this Society place? What does it look like?” I asked him, trying to lighten the mood.

“Oh, it’s near the center of the city. Just walk down the main road and it’s the big shiny yellow building. Lots of people know where it is. They come and go every day, sometimes a lot of times in one day.” He replied.

“And how does it work? I mean, how did you end up working here?” I asked again.

“Um, I didn’t do anything, but my sister helped me get signed up. She used a big word. Reg…reg…reg-something,” he muttered.

“Registered?” I offered.

“Yeah! That!” The kid’s face lit up again in recognition as he continued his speech. “She said that to be able to accept tasks, you need to be regi-starred. The people there ask you a lot of questions about yourself, kind of like you mister! Only they ask what is your name, how old are you, and a bunch of other ones. I think my sister said that if I want to do harder tasks, I need to take a test, but I didn’t need to do that for this task. Then after you answer their question, they give you a magic card! Look, this is mine!”

He pulled out what looked like a metal credit card with softened and rounded edges. On it was a picture of his face, a goofy smile plastered on top, and a bunch of other things, but again, I couldn’t read them. The text was glowing faintly, again. I assumed it worked like a driver’s license or identification card, something noting down his personal details.

I handed it back to him, and smiled. “That’s cool. Hopefully, I can get mine today too.” I said.

“You can! They always let people join! That’s their saying, their um, what word was it? Mono…mollo…motto! Yeah, motto! Their motto is something, I don’t remember, but my sister said it means anyone can join!” Excitement and eagerness once again shone on his little chubby face.

“Mister, you could just go there and ask them yourself. They talked to me and told me everything when I asked them questions. Oh, are you scared? Is it because you’re alone? It’s okay, they’re really friendly, they even gave me some sweets at the end! My mommy says too many sweets are bad for me, but after dinner my sister always says sweets go to a different stomach, so I just gave them to her! She likes sweets a lot, but she can’t eat them too much. You know, because mommy told her not to. My mommy and big sister always fight over sweets too, but I don’t get it. Do you get it? Does your mommy like sweets too, but say they’re bad for you? Hey mister? Mister?”

I didn’t hear his tirade on sweets, tuning it out. I was taken aback and just stopped when he asked if I was scared because I was alone.

Wisdom from the mouths of babes.

The kid’s words resonated with me. Deeply.

I was scared. And I was alone. More than I’d care to admit. More than I’d let myself admit. More than I could accept.

I thought I had a better handle on this, dammit.

It seems my late-night meditation was a little less effective in calming me down than I thought.

Maybe the kid’s right. Maybe I am an idiot after all.

That was the whole point of this, wasn’t it? To stop being an idiot? And money and a job were the first step on resolving that particular recurring issue. I just took a deep breath in and out, and tried to calm down. It worked a little. Enough for me to notice the kid looking at me and asking me something.

“Sorry, kid, what did you say? I didn’t hear you.”

“....I asked if you wanted me or my mommy to come with you. We can do it later or tomorrow, just not right now since everyone is working. Even daddy works now too! He wasn’t working for a while, but now he is again! He hurt himself working and had to stop for a while, but now he’s better! He even said it was the best thing that happened since he could play with me and mommy more! He plays with me in the morning, but he plays with mommy at night. And he’s always smiling and laughing a lot. I like it when daddy is laughing, because then mommy is laughing too, and sometimes they both play with me, so then I laugh! My sister doesn’t smile or laugh as much, even when someone is playing with her, but mommy said that happens sometimes to girls. I asked her how come, but she just laughed a lot and wouldn’t tell me. Daddy and sister don’t play with each other a lot because they both work, but that’s when mommy teaches me things! She teaches me about the numbers, and letters, and Mother’s Breath, and that’s when she teached, I mean, taught, she taught me about villagers! She said some villages don’t even have names! I asked her how come, and she said ....”

The kid rambled on for a while longer, and I let him, knowing that at this point, trying to stop him was a futile effort. It was honestly nice just to unwind a bit from the stress that my life had become and listen to him.

Kids. They really do make you smile without trying.

How long will that innocence last until the world beats it out of him?

The errant thought was so loud, I turned my head side to side, thinking someone whispered it in my ear. I didn’t think that. Where did that even come from? That was just…spooky. Another deep breath in and out didn’t help dispel that feeling. I can only think of one other distraction from feeling anything: work.

I got to my feet, intent on leaving. I interrupted the kid’s tangent on…something, and said my goodbyes. “Alright, kid, thanks for everything. You’ve been really helpful. I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Oh! Are you going to the Workman’s Society now, mister?” I nodded my assent, and he smiled again. Seriously, the kid had a good heart.

“You never told me your name, kid. What is it?” He might be good-hearted, but I got the feeling he was a bit young to be well-versed in subtlety or implicit questions.

“My name’s Gillen, mister. What’s yours?” He said.

I sighed internally this time, ready for the shock.

“My name’s Rhaaj.” I said reluctantly.

“Rhaaj? Isn’t that one of those, um, working animals? Mommy said that animals are okay to be -” He was interrupted by a head from the kitchen poking out.

“Gill, we need you in the kitchen now.” One of the other workers said.

“Okay, uncle! I’m coming! Bye, mister Rhaaj, I have to go do my work now! I hope you do whatever it is you want!” Gillen said.

I waved goodbye to him, watching him trundle along to the kitchen. I was a little inclined to speak to his parents, as they seemed like good people, if a little desperate to earn money that they sent their son to work while so young. But my anxiety held me back.

Well, that aside, I felt I was informed enough to go to this Workman’s Society and at least try to apply for a job there.

Shit, is reading one of the qualifications to work? It shouldn’t be, right?