Moving Up in the World

The wagon rumbled along the cobblestones, the wide street alive to greet it in the late afternoon. Contrasted to the dull pallor of the forest and outer walls, paper decorations covered storefronts and the stalls of street vendors. Yellow and blue did seem to be the overarching theme, matching the banners hanging from the walls.

Olaric sat contemplatively silent from his perch on the front of his wagon, Oliver rode on in the back, somewhat shell-shocked at the gate interaction. He didn’t get much of a look outside the wagon, only a narrow view through the opening on each side, too cautious to exit for the moment. Enough, though, to tell the city was alive with activity. People dressed in simple clothes, hauling bags of produce or pushing wooden approximations of wheelbarrows around the carriages and wagons making their way down the main road.

Oliver didn’t get time to linger on any particular detail as they continued along the thoroughfare a fair way into the city. They passed dense constructions, reminiscent of old German houses, until they slowed. They reached a large building, one that exuded wealth in its showy stone exterior, accentuated by it’s engraved ornamentations and varnished wooden trims. It crowded the eye where it sat between smaller buildings on the main road.

The entrance, a large set of doors twice as high as a person, set ajar for the near constant traffic passing through. A stylised engraving of a chest full of gold prominently displayed above them.

The wagon made its way down the side of the building in a proprietary driveway which led to a large lot, filled with other wagons. Olaric stepped down from the front of the wagon spryly for his age as the driver began tying up the horses and getting organised. The security detail had split off when entering the city.

Rounding the back of the wagon, Olaric’s wizened eyes found Oliver. “Well, I would like to preface that my impression of you isn’t consistent with that of an enemy to the Empire.”

Oliver paused for a second, then replied. “Yes, I’m glad you think so.”

Olaric kept standing there.

Oliver shifted awkwardly. Where is this going? “Er….”

“Which is why I didn’t immediately hand you over to the guards, however I would rather not risk further association. Our business is at an end.”

“Hey, wait a minute. You’re not going to help me anymore?” Oliver was incredulous. “I don’t have anywhere to stay! I don’t know anything about the city! What am I supposed to do?”

Olaric’s expression softened a bit, but he clearly wasn’t going to change his mind. “Go find an inn, you have some coin for it. Go ask around the Scholarium for people who might know you in the morning. You will figure something out. I’m afraid I have other business. Farewell, Oliver.” And with a stony expression, he walked through one of the back entrances to the large building.

At the end of the day, business was the same in any world, a cold game of calculated risks.

Oliver, slightly shocked and upset at the merchant's change in demeanour, started walking mechanically out of the wagon parking lot, desecrated backpack in his arms.

Entering the main street again, Oliver didn’t feel much of a sense of wonder or excitement as he might have assumed he would. Actually being in an unknown place, with the wind in your face and the knowledge that you were all you had to rely on. He simply felt alone.

Of course, horse-drawn carts and the lack of artificial materials were interesting, but ultimately a city was a city– bustling with people getting where they needed to go. He was more occupied with thoughts of gaining some stability and maybe a quick way home if possible.

“Quit gawking in the middle of the street!” a passerby shoved Oliver, pushing him to the ground. He sprung back up nearly as fast, but the perpetrator was already lost in the crowd.

“Bastard.” He glared at everyone who looked at him after that. Oliver was of a mind to organise somewhere to rest, he’d had a long day, even if he slept for part of it.

Not one for shyness or inaction, but not smiling, he stopped the next person he saw. “Hey, miss, any chance you could recommend a place to sleep for the night?”

The woman slowed as Oliver called out to her.

“-Oh, yes? Sorry, what was that?”

She fluttered her eyes at the strange man with oddly intricate clothes, particularly the unique bag he held. He transitioned from carrying it to hugging it, trying to conceal the zipper.

She lifted her arms out of her cloak, adjusting her leather armguards.

Oliver rephrased. “Places to sleep for the night?”

The brown haired woman warrior looked him up and down. “Not interested.”

Oliver paused, then bristled, “You’re also not my type.”

The woman’s face quirked. “Just recommendations then? I assume you have coin to spend?” He looked wealthy at the very least. Unusual shoes.

Oliver frowned. “The cheaper the better.”

Scandalously amused, the woman told him of a common retreat often used by adventurers and the like.

—

Oliver slinked through the unfamiliar streets with exhaustion in his legs until he’d come to a sandwiched double story building. Flaking yellow paint coated the wooden exterior. A sign hung into the street.

He muttered, “Explorer’s Rest, I better get a damn rest…” and went inside. The light from the front windows filtered down the long wooden room, spotted with simple tables, chairs, and a bar. Quiet at this time of day.

A portly woman sporting an apron called from behind said bar; “Mara. Innkeeper. What can I do for you?”

“Just a room. Thanks.”

“Two silver and five copper a night.”

Oliver put down three silver and got change.

Mara, searching for a key, continued. “You can have the second room on the right, just up the stairs. Be out by midday.”

He took the key, squeezed past a huge muscleman heading down the stairs, and after locking the door behind him, dropped his bag before collapsing on the stiff bed in the windowless room.

—

In the morning, Oliver was sitting in the common room of the establishment, feeling at his bruises and injuries as he absently dipped bread into the mysterious breakfast soup. There was him, one other patron, and the innkeeper awake. The bed wasn’t so comfortable as to allow for a good sleep-in. The sun was barely up.

As he worked through his meal, a thought occurred to him.

“... Hey, uhh– innkeep, know much about the restrictions at the gate?”

Innkeeper Mara looked up from where she was leaning on the inside of the small bar. “The name was Mara. I’m not too familiar, just some checks or something.”

“I ‘eard som’thin ‘bout it!” The other patron, a grisly fellow, piped up from across the room.

Oliver raised an eyebrow, “What’s it you heard?”

The grisly man smiled cruelly, “Fella’s gotta eat, trav’ler.”

Oliver tsked, “How much, then?”

The broker held his cup in his fingertips, turning it. “Depends, ‘ow much ya wanna know?”

“Whatever there is to tell.”

“Hoho, alright moneybags, three gold.”

Oliver winced.

“Thought not. HA!” The broker slapped his knee.

Oliver glanced over for the innkeeper’s reaction, but she was neutrally polishing a glass. Oh, of course, she’s hosting the guy. He sighed, “Could you tell me anything for…” He thought about the little amount of money he had, “Two- no, three silver.”

The man actually looked concerned.

“Forget it.” Oliver pushed his chair back, went upstairs to get his bag, and exited the building.

—

I have… Enough money for a couple days, no friends, and no home.

Without anything else of substance to do, Oliver started heading back to the gate to find out what he wanted to know. Partly since the information broker had spurned him. If he wanted it done, he’d do it himself.

He tripped and nearly dropped his backpack, which he had to hold in both arms to prevent anything modern from showing. Maybe I should look for a replacement along the way.

Walking the streets, he felt itchy and unclean. There hadn’t exactly been a bath at the inn he’d stayed at. One of a few modern conveniences he was already missing.

The city was actually quite nice. Generally clean. You could have fooled Oliver that he was just in a culturally preserved German town or something, were it not for all the people actually wearing tunics and leading horses. He also hadn’t been to Germany.

The houses were all built on stone foundation, upper floors supported by wooden lattices. Many were built shoulder to shoulder, but some had thin alleyways leading to other streets or small courtyards.

He kept walking until coming to a more commercial looking street. Already bustling in the early morning as these people went about their lives.

Awkwardly strutting with his bag along the lines of stalls and shops selling anything from jewellery to vegetables, he eventually came to a clothing store.

The door opened with a chime. Oliver didn’t hesitate to steam through, he checked the items on offer, found no bag, and asked the young shopkeeper.

“Hey, looking for a bag, got any?”

A teenage boy looked up with annoyance, which quickly turned into a salesman’s smile. “No, we primarily do clothing, we’re known for our hats. There’s a sale actually, only 10 copper for any two items!”

Oliver spoke quickly. “Not really looking for a hat right now thanks, know where I can get a bag?”

The teenager lost his salesman facade, and spoke tiredly. “Just go a bit further down the street in that direction, plenty of satchels and the like on display.” He raised his voice as Oliver was already halfway out the door. “Just remember here for when you need a hat!”

Oliver continued walking down the street and sure enough found leather belt pouches and shoulder satchels. He went up to a stall with decent looking bags hanging from various wooden holders. The stall attendant was a stout and gruff man with a full wiry black beard and stained apron.

“This. How much?” Oliver pointed up at one of the nicer satchels, black, varnished, with fine buckles holding it firmly closed. Nicer than ones from home to be honest. The man looked Oliver up and down, and grunted.

“Huurgh, my best work, 10 silver.”

Oliver’s eyes bulged. “Er. How about this one?” A decidedly less intricate brown satchel with a single buckle - which was still very functional, if less impressive.

“Six silver.”

Damn, I guess this stuff comes at a premium?

Well, Oliver wasn’t really keen to settle for less, the worse looking shoulder satchels didn’t look like they would accommodate his laptop. He tried haggling.

Oliver clasped his hands, “Could you do four silver?”

The shopkeeper sighed, then languidly replied, denying the challenge. “The materials themselves cost four silver, I already sell these at a low price.”

Oliver tsked. The shopkeeper looked askance, but continued in good faith.

“I’ll tell you what, the price is still six silver, but take this belt, since it’s just lying around and nobody needs it except probably you.” Oliver’s tunic was not secured around the waist like most others walking around, he didn’t see that as a problem, but maybe it was strange? He shrugged.

Free is free.

“I… I guess that will be acceptable.” He handed over the coins and pulled the satchel over his shoulder, still holding his backpack in his other arm. He was poor now, down to 2 silver and 5 copper. That was concerning.

He hurried down the street until he found one of the more secluded alleyways to transfer his belongings into the satchel. The laptop was pretty snug, which was what he was aiming for, but he was relieved he was able to eyeball the size. He secured the belt and attached the coin pouch from Olaric to it. He kept his phone in his pocket though, hidden away under the hem of his tunic.

He folded up his backpack and stored it with his laptop, he could probably harvest the zipper or something.

Now more properly equipped, and less conspicuous, he made headway for the gate he had entered through. Entering the wide thoroughfare which began at the gate, he noticed a crowd to the left of it. Out the front of a building built into the wall.

Something must be happening.

Interested, Oliver pushed his way through the gathering, and he was just in time.

The woman had blonde hair, wore a bright yellow plastic raincoat, and had clearly been roughing it for a short while, not too different from how Oliver looked before he changed clothes. He smiled, he wasn’t alone!

She was crying.

A guardsman pushed her into a kneeling position, “BY ORDER OF THE EMPIRE, YOU ARE SENTENCED TO DEATH.”

Her head left her body.