Chapter 7: Gold (coppers and silvers), [Skill]s, and Bar Graphs

“How much?”

“Honestly?” The young elf behind the counter of the tailor shop smiled to take some of the coming sting away. “It might be wise to pay the extra for the [clean]ing enchantment.”

“Huff. Probably the self-charging one, too.”

“Probably.”

I could see her smile trying to broaden, and how hard she was trying to hold it back. There must be some commission shenanigan going on under the pleasant, slightly flirty expression. Not too heavy on the flirtation, it was only a couple of gold extra. Not that I had any extra gold. Like so many other things in life, it paid to give a little more upfront to save coin later down the road. The problem was, of course, that you had to have the extra to fork out. I debated if Tess might be willing to cover more of the rent this month. Wow, deja vu! I was just thinking about Carmen, and how they used to pick up the tab for our group. The night we’d been taken, I remember having a similar thought. Except I had been thinking about bumming cash from Dad for the rent.

Going down that rabbit hole wasn’t going to get me anywhere.

“Pfff,” my second sigh of the conversation. “Yeah, go ahead. Give me the self-charging [clean].”

Tess would be alright with it, I think. Of my two robes, the good one was barely presentable. The other was a total loss from my rather, let us say, enthusiastic, ink infusion. Personal breakthrough aside, I was happy Master Alric hadn’t decided to charge me for the damages and loss.

Man, I’m sick of always being behind the curve when it comes to money. My place as a [Scrivener] would arguably be more profitable than a city [courier], once I was able to take on some side jobs. It was expected of most apprentices to earn some extra coin this way. Technically, it wasn’t allowed. Most Masters tended to turn a blind eye to it, as long as we replaced the majority of supplies used. We did get some leeway. It helped them justify the low stipend given out to us. Kind of like waitresses and bartenders and their ilk, getting paid a ridiculously low wage and having to rely on their tips to survive. Not the best policy to my thinking. Goes against my ‘a little more up front’ argument.

“Excellent, young Master.”

Young Master my Lilly-white a…Ahem. Definitely a commission-based flirtation.

“Sure.” I was a tad surly. When I began counting out handfuls of copper and silver coins—mostly copper—instead of actual gold, I could see her smile beginning to crumble a tad. It started at the eyes, then the corners began a gradual sag.

“One apprentice robe,” (what happened to Master?) “and the enchantment. Come back next week, we’ll get you all set then.” A clear dismissal.

I had a week of dingy robes ahead. I added spray-on deodorant to my list of pending inventions. I left “Harmsson & Tak; *enchanted tailors*”, and headed home to our little apartment. I guess I’d have breakfast for dinner. Yay, gray gruel. We always bought the rolled oats in bulk.

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Tess agreed to cover me, and I vowed to push myself in training. Reaching the point where Master Alric had enough faith in me to progress from making ink to inking scrolls. I needed to prove myself after yesterday’s fiasco. True to the vow, I had Tess play alarm for me again. Today was Four-day, only three left before the deadline. Alric and I got the day started at the same time. Neither of us brought up what had happened, leaving us short on ink. He went to his prep, and I double-timed it to mixing a carafe’s worth of common ink. I was confident of the 'common' part now. Or [average], according to the [System] in my head.

I discovered another drop-down menu last night. I don’t remember a *ding* this time or any floating dialog boxes. There was no way I could have not felt what I affectionately called the ‘brain hug’. Was that only for spells? No, the [mini-map] had been accompanied by one. It was the first one, in fact. When I explored the menu, it held [skill]s. Begging for my attention, [craft ink; average] was glowing. There above it was [craft ink; poor]. This one was grayed out. So, deduction ensued. Average was new, poor old. Following that trail, I must have earned the lesser one back when I started with Master Alric.

On top of the list of [skill]s, was [translation; superior]. No deduction was needed to figure out that was how we seemed to share a language with the elves. We had known there was some sort of inherent tech that allowed it. We were so frazzled in those first days, we didn’t have the energy to dwell on how we could suddenly understand and be understood by what amounted to an alien race. It always sounded like English to us, and only if we concentrated were we able to realize we weren't speaking it. We were in desperate need, so no questions were asked. There was no worry-free time to perform a deep dive into our new [System] interface. There was an incomplete feel to the [System] at first, too. A beta version quality. I suspect there was a learning algorithm involved. The [System] felt more awake, now.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

So, the *ding* wasn’t a new feature. That meant [skill]s either wasn’t as important as the others (yeah, that’s a no), or the *ding* feature had evolved after [Skill]s and before [mini-map]. Since [translation; superior] was first on the list, and it had been the first thing we’d used, meant [skill]s had been initiated before we left the flying saucer (it will forever be a saucer in my mind, not even the truth can change that) and set foot on Planet EH-103 (figure out a real name, damn you!). The five of us, when we’d all still been around, had woken up one day in the purest agony any of us had ever felt. That’s when we lost Nicki. No, it was Ricki. I remembered, OK?

My ‘brain hug’ quip didn’t sound so funny, anymore.

That was the first initiation of our [System] implants. [Skill]s could’ve been lost to the furor. Blinding, nerve-rending pain would do that to a person. My brain tingled in remembrance. Was there such a thing as cerebral neuropathy? Maybe a *ding* had played for [skill]s. It wouldn’t have been hard to go unnoticed.

The case of the mysterious missing *ding*: Solved.

(Needed to lighten it up a touch. My brain was starting to sweat.)

Time to rein in the distractions of my brilliance. I gathered material, using the HUD overlay like always. Ground, burnt gryphon bones, boiled linseed oil, etc., etc., mixing carafe, grab the mortar and pestle from its place of honor, and yadayada. I placed it all together on my second-hand, mannequin-legged workstation. Then, I mentally poked the [skill]s drop-down and selected [ink; common]. What happened next was either exhilarating or horrifying. Both, in equal parts. It was great!

My body took on a life of its own. Limbs reached and hands grabbed, combining with the repositioning of feet and twisting at the waist. (Mixing of tenses and stylings of text. Deal!) It all moved in sync, with no need for conscious manipulation. I watched in first person POV, a large batch of [ink; common] filling the carafe and replacing what I’d ruined before. It was a wild ride.

Done, I had control of my body again. I leaned in to study the results, letting my HUD overlay spell out the quality.

*[Scrivener]’s !nk, common quality, 473 ml.

Crafted by Jasper Bookmyer, Apprentice.

Bonded by Alric Tavoryn, Ma$ter.*

Nice. Yes, the Orcs used metric measurement. It made more sense, scientifically. Easier to use, and more accurate. It was no secret why it was used by virtually every country on Earth. Unfortunately, I was from the one country that didn’t. But--a big score for us Earthly neophytes--the elves used their own version of the imperial system. Makes sense, for me, in a world that developed down a different path than that of a techno-centric one. Base ten may be more practical, but the first person to need a specific measurement would've used something like, say, their foot. A medieval/fantasy culture had no real reason to deviate from this. That was a sticky point for me in most fantasy novels, and I have read a lot of them. Picked it up from dear ol’ Dad. I always made sure to never say anything of this sort when I attended writing conferences, especially online ones. The international and, yuck, practical crowds would have lynched me. My secret, nobody will ever know.

Distractions. Again. I wonder, do the [healer]s here have a version of Ritalin?

The giddiness wore off fast, my energy levels crashing. Oh, this sucks. I felt more tired than I had any right to. Way more tired than I normally was after making a batch. It seemed the shortcut was easier, faster, and quality guaranteed. Then it knocked me on my butt. I sat down, the hard stool under me a blessing. I rarely used the thing, it was uncomfortable, and Master Alric was the type to eschew sitting for anyone under him. A common archetype for bosses the world—galaxy? Universe?—over.

Was the trade-off worth it? In this case, that was a resounding Yes. We were behind schedule. It was my fault, and though my Master had not, yet, taken me to task about it. The thought that he valued my learning a new technique over the possibility of losing coin, warmed my soul.

“Book?”

Master Alric came up behind me. I couldn’t decipher his tone. Was I about to be racked over the coals for my screw-up? My soul lost a little of its warmth. Or was it my use of the frowned-upon stool? Why was it even here if not to use, was my thought.

“Did you just make this?” he picked up the carafe, using his senses to inspect it. “Common quality, even.”

“Yes, Master.” I sounded like I was addressing a Sith Lord, for Christ’s sake. I’d need to find the local equivalent of the curse if I wanted to fit in.

He looked at the enchanted sand-timer sitting on a shelf above my station. “That was, considerably, faster than your norm.”

Can I mix Wars and Trek, going for the Vulcan eyebrow lift? Master Alric had it down to perfection.

I checked my digital display. Fast? Using [ink; common] had cut the time to less than half!

“I found my groove, sir.”

He looked confused at the slang for half a second (fitting right in!), then dismissed it. “Yes, routines can have that effect. I trust you understand the reason for a traditional apprenticeship, now?”

“I do, Master,” I replied. “After yesterday, I see more of the reasons behind what you have taught me.” Butter makes it better.

“Are you ready to try the infusion, again, Book?”

“I think I am, Master.” I rallied, pulling all the energy I could muster to the fore. “I really think I am.”

Wouldn’t it be cool if there were health, [mana], and energy bar graphs like in video games?

*Ding*