ILIAS VAN PAYNE

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Another week of travelling brought us back to Rockbell. One must leave the main road and follow a beaten path that leads to the mining town. There were two other normal towns about an hour or so from here but since this place was a detour from the main road, it was the perfect environment to prevent us from having parties in taverns.

That, along with it being relatively closer to Gilead, must’ve been the reason why Camaro went out of his way to spend the night there.

The coal dust in the air still made it painful to breathe so we ended up staying in the same inn we stayed at last time.

“Oh, it’s you people again,” the innkeeper said, exhaling a puff of smoke. “Where are the rest of your friends?”

“We headed our separate ways,” Camaro said.

“How many rooms will it be this time?”

“Four rooms. My soldiers will pair up and the kid and I’ll take separate rooms.”

The innkeeper had us sign in a book and handed us keys. “I’ll give you the same rooms as last time.”

“I’m surprised you remembered us, Sir,” I said.

“Of course. There were no new faces since you last came here. Your faces are easy to remember because of that.” He pointed his pipe at Corporal Rudolf. “Even someone with a boring face like you.”

“I don’t think I got your name last time.”

The innkeeper emptied the ashes from his pipe. “Everyone calls me Old Man Marcel.”

“Is there an explanation for why this town is so gloomy?” Camaro asked. “When we pass through towns, people would greet soldiers but we don’t get so much as a glance when we passed through.”

“We don’t like the military. I put up with you lot because I own an inn.”

“Even the soldiers here? Even your Colonel?”

“Especially them.”

“I’m not going to hold you against your right to your own opinion, but may I ask you why?”

“What’s your rank, soldier?”

“Colonel. I’m in jurisdiction of Gilead. A farming village a day’s ride from here.”

“You were headed to the Capital last time. What was that for?”

“Well, it’s that time of the year when military officials in jurisdiction of settlements have to hand in their yearly report.”

“Our colonel simply mails it.”

“Most officials don’t mail it because it could get lost. Or worse: tampered with. I usually have Corporal Rudolf over here take it to the Capital, but this year is different.”

“And why here? There are two better towns to stay at.”

“It’s closer to Gilead and there aren’t many outsiders these five can party with. I don’t want them getting hungover. It cost us a day’s ride last time.”

After unpacking, Old Man Marcel suggested the tavern across the street his wife owned. The last time we were here, we arrived at dusk and left at dawn so there was no time for sightseeing. Since there was an hour of sun left, I decided to take a stroll, but not without Camaro summoning a Marching Doll to accompany me because he didn’t like the way the townsfolk stared at us.

This would just draw more attention.

Rockbell was an antique town that was known for its export of coal. All of the buildings and houses were made out of wood, crates were littered throughout the streets, and everything was aged in black dust. The quarry that was this town’s source of income was colonized by a large brick building. The plumes of smoke rising from its chimneys cast shadows that dominated the western side of town.

I was shot a lot of stares when I made my way around Rockbell. It may have been because I was an out-of-towner, but I had a nagging suspicion it was because of the Doll accompanying me.

Just before I went into the tavern Old Man Marcel suggested, I went into the alleyway beside it.

“Stay here,” I told the Doll, but it continued to follow me despite my order.

I think Camaro can sense if this thing gets destroyed. Doing that will just cause a ruckus.

“Whatever,” I told myself.

When stepping out of the alleyway, I ended up bumping into a kid my age. He was wearing large overalls and oversized boots. His entire body, clothes, and hair were covered in coal dust. Though his goggles did their job of keeping his eyes clean.

“Sorry about that,” the kid said, dusting off my clothes. “Hey, I haven’t seen you here before. You’re an outsider, aren’t you?” He grabbed my hand and shook it. “My name’s Porco—”

He backed away when the Marching Doll came by my side—I could see why. The Doll’s stare was rather monstrous and the muzzle of flesh around its sharpened teeth scared even me.

Why did the colonel’s parents have to make them this terrifying?

“Don’t worry. It won’t hurt you,” I reassured. “He’s my… companion.”

“Companion?”

“Yeah. I ran into him when he was injured. I formed a contract saying I’ll heal it if he acts as my guard.”

“What’s a contract?”

The fact that not all kids knew the specifics in jynx had totally slipped my mind. Not everyone was as lucky as me.

“Porco, do you work for the mines?”

He scruffed his hair. “The dust give it away? By the way, if you’re an outsider, stay at the inn my dad owns. It’s far from the quarry so you’ll breathe in less of the dust.”

“That means your Old Man Marcel’s kid. Don’t worry, we already booked rooms at your father’s inn. In fact, I was just on my way to your tavern.”

It wasn’t nighttime yet, but the tavern was way quieter than a normal tavern should be. The Marching Doll had death stares shot at it, but for some reason, it felt like this mood was rather normal for the townsfolk.

Why is this place so somber?

The Marching Doll and I sat at a corner table waiting for Porco to finish his bath. He was a much better-looking boy when he returned. His clothes were rather neat and the goggles he rested on his forehead helped keep his brown hair from covering his eyes. The only thing he couldn’t really remove was his smell as there was still a faint scent of earth, coal, and dust emitting from his body.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

“I’m underage, but do you think I can get a mug of ale?” I asked.

“That’s no problem.” He left and returned with two. “We don’t really care about kids drinking as long as we can take it.”

I drank half of the mug. “This is your home so I don’t want to sound like I’m being harsh, but why is this place so devoid of life? To be honest, I can find more cheer in a graveyard.”

“It’s just… Rockbell is a hard place to live in right now. Us citizens don’t make enough money and we’re barely making ends meet.”

“What do you mean by that? This is a mining town—you should be doing economically better than nearby towns. Hell, this place should be making more money than my home village of Gilead.”

“It was like that a couple of years ago. But then Colonel Armstrong got jurisdiction of this town and everything went downhill from there.”

“Is that why everyone hates the military?”

Porco slammed a fist onto the table. “The military is the reason why this town is like this. The colonel came from a rich family and offered to buy the mine in exchange for upgrading its equipment and promising to expand on our exports.”

“Did he keep that promise?”

“He did. He used his wealth and made this place an investment—an investment where only he got the profit. Since Armstrong was the owner of the mines, he began deducting everyone’s salary and raising our taxes. We’re barely scraping by.”

“When you said you work down the mines, it’s to help out, right?”

“Pa runs the inn but we get no visitors. Only the people who come take the coal away rent out rooms. Ma takes care of the tavern.”

“I really can’t imagine working at the mines.”

“This is life for us.” Porco downed his mug. “So, what brings you to Rockbell?”

Porco was no different from any other kid. He was lively, admired his parents, helped around, and was overall curious. When I talked about everything regarding jynx and how I went to the Capital to take the State Jynxist Exam, he respectfully kept his mouth shut and listened, only talking when he had questions.

The boy wanted to start a merchant company and dreamt of owning a web of buildings in different settlements and teams of peddlers whose job was to go from town to town trading. He’d been saving the money his parents gave him to buy his own carriage and mount, but was forced to contribute it for food.

Porco’s dreams were being crushed by a corrupt leader who swore to protect him.

“Why don’t you try contacting the Capital?” I asked. “I’ve met King Arthureus and this is something he’ll take seriously.”

“We did, but Armstrong checks the contents of our letters.”

“What about asking for help from nearby towns?”

“They’re in Armstrong’s pockets. He’s giving them money in exchange for their silence.”

“Why don’t you ask outsiders to ask for help?”

“We have, but Armstrong always bribes them. And it always works. It’s like once they have money, they do everything in their power to make sure no word of this place gets out. The promises they make are always meaningless.”

“Why don’t one of you ride out to the Capital?”

“We’ll get hunted down and brought back. And for every day one of us has escaped, Armstrong will cut our salary in half.”

“Why don’t you—”

“I appreciate your suggestions, Ilias. But we’ve done everything that’s in your head and everything you haven’t come up with.”

“How about I help this town?”

Porco laughed at that thought. “Many travellers that have come here said that. None of them have kept their word.”

A person in charge of a settlement should be protecting its citizens, not taking advantage of them. I’ll let Camaro know so he can contact General Clegane once we’ve made it back home.

“So, Ilias, you said you passed the exam. You’re too young so I doubt it. Do you have any proof?”

I placed my pocket watch on the table. Porco inspected the intricately made watch, opening it to find my name and title engrained on the silver.

“You really did pass.”

“I understand why you would be skeptical. We’re the same age after all. Speaking of age, I’m the youngest—”

The ringing of a bell permeated throughout the town as if summoning its people. The tolling was a great disturbance to the already somber mood. The patrons of the tavern grumbled, chugging their drinks and hurriedly eating their meals. They left coins on the table before heading to the origin of the noise.

“What is it this time?” one complained.

“I swear to the gods, I will kill that man myself,” cursed another.

Porco’s mother rushed around the tavern collecting the money.

“What do the bells mean?” I asked.

“It means the colonel wants to make an announcement.” Porco slid my mug closer to me, urging me to finish my drink. “Let’s go. Attendance is mandatory.”

Just as Porco, his mother, and I prepared to leave the tavern, the Marching Doll that had been accompanying me crumbled to dust.

Old Man Marcel must’ve explained the situation to Camaro and them.

We followed the traffic of disgruntled townsfolk into the town square. From my guess, around five thousand people were gathered around the stage. About thirty of the town's soldiers were lined up on the platform, another seventy were around it with a wall of shields, and forty were on watch towers and roofs with pistols in their hands.

“How often does this happen?” I asked.

“Every couple of months.”

I glanced around and found Camaro and his unit accompanied by Old Man Marcel approaching from where we had been. They were all out of their armoured uniforms and were wearing civilian clothes.

I waved at them. “Col—Uncle, over here!”

Camaro patted me on the shoulder. “Good call. Are you okay? I hope I unsummoned the Doll in time.”

“Yeah, I did get a lot of weird stares before that though.”

Old Man Marcel patted his son on the head just as Colonel Armstrong appeared on the stage. His presence brought a vengeful silence.

“My friends, I’m glad you all came here tonight for I have wonderful news to share with you.” Armstrong had a smug look on his face. “We have discovered another vein of caves in the quarries, one that goes fifty feet deeper than our lowest mine. I’m glad to announce to you that we will be starting an operation to turn these caves into new mines. However, the operation is costly and I have made the difficult decision to raise your taxes to fund this new project.”

“To hell with that!” one of the miners said. “The mines we have are more than enough to support this town. It’ll take years for them to run dry!”

Armstrong ignored the numerous protests. “Because there will be more mines, the current workers we have are not enough. Colonel Baegan from the next town over has been kind enough to lend us two hundred additional miners to work in them. Because of this, I will need to cut all of your salaries by ten percent to afford the extra manpower.”

That comment caused an even bigger uproar.

“The only miners that should be working in those mines should be the ones who live here! Tell Colonel Baegan to keep his two hundred men.”

“Yeah!” another agreed. “We’ll work longer hours if you need to. One of us is worth ten of them!”

“I’m afraid that won’t do,” Colonel Armstrong said. “You are all already overworked. I don’t need burnt-out miners.”

By this point, the entire crowd was growing anxious. If Armstrong didn’t choose his next words carefully, a revolt could start. But before the arguing among the people grew too loudly, one of the soldiers on the roofs fired a warning shot into the air.

The blast radiated into the town square, summoning back the silence.

“I thank you all for your cooperation in this matter,” Colonel Armstrong said. “That’s all I wanted to say.”

All five thousand of the town’s residents stood in the town square talking to each other. They were discussing what their next moves should be. But it was evident they had lost all hope.

Our little group rendezvoused at the tavern.

“That slimy worm,” Old Man Marcel cursed. “Always with his dirty tricks! We’ll have even less now.”

“How much money are you making?” Camaro asked.

“With the new deductions and taxes? That’s seven silver coins a month.”

“A month? That’s not a livable income even for a week.”

“This is our reality, Colonel.”

“Colonel?” Porco gritted his teeth. “You’re part of the military?”

“Yes, but not here. We’re simply passing through.”

“It doesn’t matter if you’re passing through. You’re part of the very system that’s taking advantage of us.”

“I will help you. I will report this as soon as we leave tomorrow.”

“Yeah. That’s what they all say. I’ve heard those words hundreds of times. Yet where is the help they promised? What makes you any different? Armstrong will know about you soon and he will invite you to his mansion. You will forget about us the moment you head there.”

“I won’t,” Camaro said. “I’m a member of the military that has promised to protect the people. I can reassure you that I’ll report this to someone who’ll do something about it.”

“We don’t want reassurance. We just want to have our town back.”

Camaro shook his head. “If living here is such hell, why don’t you just leave? If all of you do, Armstrong wouldn’t be able to punish anyone. Just go live elsewhere and get other jobs.”

“You outsiders don’t get it,” Old Man Marcel said. “This place and the mines are our very identities. We were born in this town, we’ll live in this town, and we’ll die in this town.”