Forced to Enjoy a Vacation

"Oh, what a beautiful morning. Good morning, dear Aunt Susan."

Annan stood in the sunlight and bowed to Aunt Susan as she worked in the yard.

"Why is he talking like that?" Aunt Susan immediately demanded of Martin, who stood beside Annan. "What have you taught him?"

"I haven't taught him anything!"

Martin turned to Annan. "None of us talks like that."

"Of course, my friend." Annan imitated the bard's tone and choice of words from the night before. "I simply couldn't help but marvel: Aunt Susan, your beauty is like a rose beaded with dew in the dawn."

"I told you, nobody talks—"

"Martin! We must respect Annan's family traditions!" Aunt Susan's glare sent a chill down Martin's spine. She turned back to Annan, her voice gentle again. "Dear Annan, you do whatever you like."

"Thank you, kind Aunt Susan."

In high spirits, Aunt Susan went into the kitchen to heat up the pumpkin pie they had brought home the night before.

Annan ate little of the pie. As he tore up some black bread and dropped it into his rice soup, he asked, "Does pumpkin pie taste better when you didn't earn it?"

"It's good! Really good!" Martin declared, stuffing more into his mouth.

After breakfast, Annan and Martin went back to chopping firewood and taking it to the market to sell. Annan was gradually getting used to the physical work.

Annan offered to carry some of Martin's load, but Martin refused, saying it was easy for him. He launched into a boast about his days as a miner.

"When I was mining in... I used a... loaded with... a hundred pounds..."

As expected, his account was peppered with terms Annan had never heard before.

At the bustling market, Martin hawked the firewood while Annan wandered among the stalls, talking to vendors to practice speaking.

"How much is the shirt?"

He only ever asked, though, and never bought anything. Sometimes he pointed at written words and asked what they meant, earning a few odd looks.

Annan didn't care what the locals thought of him. He was unlikely to have anything to do with them in the future. By the time he returned to Martin, all the firewood was sold, and Martin was waiting for him.

On the way back, they passed a library. It was baffling that such a remote town even had one. Martin said an old man had insisted on building it, though it barely had any visitors.

A library was a lovely idea, but in a town where fewer than one percent of people could read, all it did was give the townsfolk a chance to think, My town has a library! and passing merchants a reason to marvel, A library in a poor place like this?

As Martin chattered beside him, Annan suddenly spotted a familiar figure entering a bookstore.

Their boss, Faster, was burly and rough, and the rapier at his waist never left his side. He didn't seem like a man who enjoyed reading.

Martin missed their boss entirely. He was watching a young woman choose clothes in the window of a shop across the street.

They returned to Aunt Susan's house. Over the next few days, little changed in Annan's life, except that he learned more and more of the Common Tongue from the bard.

Amid the bard's soft lute music, Annan began his work on the seventh day.

There were few customers that day. In the relative quiet, the bard's voice carried clearly, interrupted only by Martin muttering, "No food to take home today."

Faster leaned against a wooden post beside the counter, looking as much like a guard as a boss. Annan, Martin, and Evelyn gathered behind the counter, only stirring when a customer arrived or left.

"Annan."

Mr. Faster pushed a glass of fruit juice toward him and pointed to the noblewoman sitting in the same seat as last time. "Take this over."

Resigned to becoming a joke again, Annan picked up the glass and went to her table. He armed himself with flowery words. "Beautiful lady, may you have a lovely evening."

"You think I'm still a young lady?" As expected, she teased him.

But Annan had worked hard these past few days.

"Your beauty and fair complexion are like..." Annan searched through the words he had picked up from the bard. "A flower bud yet to bloom."

The lady gave a flirtatious chuckle, her ample chest rising and falling. Annan kept his gaze firmly on her narrow eyes.

As a reward for his compliment—and for not letting his eyes wander—the noblewoman produced a coin. Something soft and something hard landed in Annan's hand at the same time.

A silver coin worth a week's wages glinted coldly in the lamplight.

There weren't many wealthy people in town.

Drunks wouldn't waste money on anything but beer. Annan had quickly realized that the "tips" Mr. Faster had promised were a trap. In nearly six months of working there, Martin had received less than the price of a glass of rye liquor in tips.

"Your generosity is as pure as a lily."

There were no secrets in the tavern. Annan returned to the counter amid whistles and hoots.

Knock, knock—

Mr. Faster rapped on the counter and swept his gaze across the tavern. The rowdy customers shut their mouths. Then he said to Annan in a low voice, "Listen, kid. I'm your boss, and Lady Fine Wine is your boss's boss."

"Did I do something wrong?" Annan thought his compliment might have crossed a line.

"What I mean is..." Mr. Faster gave him a knowing smile. "If you've really got what it takes, why not try becoming the boss's husband?"

Before long, midnight came, and soothing lute music filled the tavern.

"Evelyn, a glass of rye liquor, please."

Lady Fine Wine had left long ago. As usual, Annan sought out the bard for a lesson over a glass of the cheapest beer.

Today, though, Annan wanted to learn more. He asked about magic.

"You want to become a mage?"

"Of course."

The bard looked Annan over. If Martin had asked him that, he would have told him to get lost.

"To become a mage, you first need to have your aptitude tested. That costs one Gold Narl."

One Gold Narl was generally worth a steady hundred silver coins, or ten thousand copper coins.

Annan now had one silver coin and thirteen copper coins.

He was only 98.87% of the way from affording an aptitude test.

At midnight, the Dawn Tavern closed.

Mr. Faster returned to Evelyn, who was wiping down the counter with a rag, and handed out the week's wages. Annan and Martin received one silver coin and seventy copper coins between them. Evelyn received one silver coin and fifty copper coins.

"Why does Evelyn get more than the two of us put together?" It was the first time Martin had seen her wages.

"How about I give you fifty copper coins and you give me seventy? Why do you think those drunks ask Evelyn to bring their drinks?"

Martin understood Mr. Faster's point faster than he ever had before.

Once the wages were paid, Mr. Faster unbuckled his rapier and tossed it onto the counter. "Clean up properly. You don't need to come in tomorrow."

Martin and Evelyn were used to this.

"Are you going into the city again, boss?" Evelyn picked up the Rapier and wiped its blade with the rag she had just used on the counter.

"Yeah. I'll be back in seven days, as usual." Faster tossed the bard a money pouch that jingled pleasantly.

"Rotten luck. I can feel my career's about to change again," the bard complained.

Annan didn't want to face it. Just when he needed money most, he was temporarily out of work.