Antica initially stood in place, before she stepped further in, her mask-obscured eyes scanning the details of this room—her newly given room, to be precise.

It was quite spacious despite being compact, with a large window to the right and a desk to go along. The bed at the center was rather sized, as if designed to accommodate not one but two…maybe three…individuals; it seemed to be surrounded by some kind of…transparent yet obscuring curtains or ‘canopies’ or…things of that sort. There were, of course, two side-tables or ‘nightstands’ flanking each side, affixed atop which were two already active oil-lamps of sorts, quite bright, illuminating the room.

Certainly, this chamber was in quite the contrast to that Coastfield bedroom she had largely known for the last year. The floor was rather…shiny and marbly too…

“Well, now, here you are” Colonel Faulkner, holding one of the two entry doors open, spoke from behind; “This is one of this compound’s dedicated visitor rooms, one of the higher qualitied ones typically reserved for high officers and their maidens, ambassadors and their wives, or whomever else of warrant—of course, since we are expecting none of such, you are free to use.”

“Em…” Antica had been in this denizen place for long enough to be able to inferentially know that…this was perhaps far too flashy… “That is very…courteous?” She turned herself around and glanced; “Perhaps too much of the courtesy…” She was frank.

“Hm. Yes, well… Ensuring your comfort is to absolute part is an obligation of mine, as your overseeing officer.” Faulkner just said; “Although, rather so conveniently, this room happens to be the closest to my office. And I do expect you at my office by daybreak. No sooner. No Later. For that will likely be the only time I will be able to…happen another chat.”

Antica promptly sighed; “Of course, it is understood…” This was by no means a so-called ‘vacation’ after all… It was very obvious even beforehand that the colonel was going to be making use of her for…however long these ‘talks’ with the Bureau ultimately drag out.

“Now then,” Faulkner continued on, his voice signally impending finish, “You will find little amenities in this chamber, admittedly… And, just to say, I advise you do not leave this chamber for this night and that you do not speak with anyone else who inquires or knocks besides me or the stationed man at your door—of which there shall be one present at all hours and to whom you may levy any inquiries or requests.” His voice was intentionally casual; “You should doubtlessly catch your sleep.”

“It is understood…” Antica just plainly acknowledged, her mind having processed the first and last parts of his words…before abruptly, « Mané, quid diçhas? » Finally realizing what he had just said in the middle, her attention came snapping to him.

“Fret not, these are just precautions for now. Anyway, good night to you. I now have many other matters to be attended to.” Without any additional elaboration, Colonel Faulkner just flatly left.

Yet Antica, wanting additional clarification, tried to pursue, only for that still open door to be immediately blocked by another spontaneously appearing figure, who had been standing on standby to the right of the door’s other side this whole time.

“Sorry, madam. You are not to exit this chamber before daybreak. Colonel’s orders.” the soldier, staring somewhat strictly, thus spoke…rather fluently too. “This is nothing personal, to clarify. It is just… A mutual adjustment is required.” he thus clarified; “I or one of my men shall remain at the other side of this door. If it is absolutely necessary for you to leave, such as…attending your needs, we will escort you—and I will ensure only the most dignified and respectful are assigned, of course.”

“It is understood…” Antica…just acknowledged, backing away from the door. That soldier had been accompanying them when the colonel guided way; now she knew why…

“Knock if you need to request anything or communicate with the colonel.” The soldier thus quietly shut the door.

Antica sighed, turning herself around… Being under guarded surveillance was not something she was disclosed at any point in advance, nor something she had…necessarily agreed to. Indeed, the boundary between ‘guest’ and ‘prisoner’ seemed rather arbitrary in this moment. Nevertheless, the colonel must have his reasons; therefore, she will continue to provide her compliance.

Contemplatively gazing around, she thus promptly began to…explore, in effect, this chamber of hers.

There was a closet space located to the left of the bed’s position, within which was… Well, nothing—obviously. It was not as spacious with respect to the rest of this room and…compared to her Coastfield closet space. The two nightstands flanking the bed had two drawers; however, the drawers had nothing within them besides a couple of preset books of sorts… Considering what her mind had recently been submitted to, she was in no mood for any more of the denizen’s so-called ‘readings’…

These inspected, she turned her attention to that desk directly in front of that large window.

There was a preset quill pen atop the desk and relevant ink alongside a stack of blank papers—likely meant for communication or ‘letters’. The bottom cabinet of this desk also had extra papers, ink, and such; although, the two side drawers were empty. There was an additional oil-lamp atop this desk as well, but it was presently off; this one seemed portable too, as opposed to the other two. The chair that went along with this desk was also rather… cushioned and soft… Interesting.

Hm… Antica remained at this desk, feeling that chair as she stared… She had not really written anything or practiced any of those skills in…quite the some time. In fact, she had largely forgone all of her former associate’s reading and writing exercises since that day she never returned. However, those recent mind-searing readings had abundantly demonstrated that…such was perhaps a mistake on her part.

Indeed, reading, writing, and speaking were ultimately separate linguistic processes even if closely related, and she had evidently neglected the former two compared to the latter. She ought to…start rectifying that, consequently.

« …mox nec núc… » Not now, however… Another time.

Instead, backing away from the desk, she continued to explore and look around. Indeed, considering the fact that she was effectively being kept under secluded supervision, unconscious preconditioned instincts necessitated some…searching. Although, it was well obvious that the technological capabilities of even that Far Western continent did not have any…additional methods of surveillance.

This all finally concluded, she naturally rendezvoused back to her starting position, standing as if on standby, cogitating and just…contemplating on what to do now…

Truly, what a long and tiresome day this one had been… From that confrontation with Novea, to her partial wandering about this city, to meeting the colonel and of the implications thereof, to her return back and then her other return back, to those readings and theories of ‘yokes’ or whatever… Truly, so much was squeezed in such little time. It would have been impossible to conceive in any other interval of her long…long life that she could become so drained from things so penultimately trivial and so ultimately mundane.

Indeed, drained… She was quite drained.

“Hm…” Antica approached the bed, analyzing as she stroked the canopy. It was slightly transparent, though not completely; it seemed largely obscuring… Hm… Convenient, for many obvious reasons; the glow of one’s ignited eyes was not necessarily potently piercing or strongly bright, after all.

Hm… She then felt the bed’s beddings—sheets and blanket… « Quam Softissima… » Huh. Soft… It was so very…soft; she had not even the descriptors for this…exact sensation and texture… So smooth and silky and…

Categorically Far Western…

Indeed… Truly, the more time seemed to pass, the more she herself could actually…understand…what the locals always meant whenever they would simply describe something as ‘Far Western’. Different shades of denizen were nevertheless…different shades, she was long coming to realize; she was coming to comprehend… Although, conversely, different shades of denizen were, nevertheless, still denizen…

Regardless, « Hehm… » She continued to stare, as if contemplating… Would she even wake up at the required time? Hmm…Well, there was only one method to conduct this testing experiment.

Antica shut off one of the oil-lamps and dimmed the other, before taking off her butterfly masquerade, placing it on the nightstand; she then quickly stripped herself of her attire, primitive revolver and associated holster, and her carry satchel, organizing each into that closet space so that her attire obscured the latter two before shutting that closet closed. Fully dimming the other oil-lamp, she promptly hopped right into that bed, into which she quite literally sank.

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

« Oké, papae vidatùr… » Almost immediately, the effects were stark. This was…a bed utterly alien to the one she had in Coastfield… Indeed, in this moment, it was as if she could now all so suddenly grasp the definitional distinctions between an ‘adequate enough’ bed and…whatever this was…

Indeed, as if a fly trapped in a web, she could no longer move at all. There was nothing functionally wrong with her muscles or nerves, yet she remained thoroughly paralyzed, nevertheless.

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“Ah. There you are, de Relevancia. I have been waiting…” Colonel Faulkner so immediately greeted upon Antica’ entry into his office once again, the escorting soldier shutting the door behind; “You are perhaps a tad too tardy, and therefore this will limit our chat greatly…”

Indeed, Antica’s so-called experiment had yielded rather…predicable results. Granted, she had actually awoken somewhat timely… It was just…actually getting out of that bed that proved to be…a task far greater in difficulty than she could have reasonably presumed prior.

But I am here, nevertheless.” she nevertheless frankly replied, standing before his desk with attent, her hair still somewhat messy.

“That you are, indeed…” Wasting no time, the colonel thus immediately showed her something he was dangling in his hand, being held from its top leafy pedicle. “Tell me, if you will, do you know what this is?”

Great… She had just arrived, and he was already interrogating her. Frankly, Antica’s mind was still throbbing from that entrapping sleep. Nevertheless, with aching mask-obscured eyes, she peered at that which was being casually dangled in sight.

“Ehm…” She analytically inspected… A rather…pinkly…magenta…reddish…fleshy thing with…weird seeds or grainy-like…other things… Well, it was obviously some kind of vegetation… “A fruit…?” And it seemed the colonel had quite the bowl of these ‘fruits’, sitting at the center of his desk as if there for demonstration rather than consumption.

“Hm.” Faulkner straightened his sitting posture, not aloof to the fact that Antica had to take genuine moment to answer his rhetorical question… “And here I believed everyone had seen a strawberry at least once in their life…” he merely remarked; “But, yes… A fruit, but not just any kind of fruit nor any kind of strawberry, But rather, these are Strawberry’s strawberries…”

“I see…” Antica just acknowledged, withdrawing her peer from the strawberry.

“And these strawberries are…one of a kind, unique to here and only here—uncultivable literally anywhere else, and believe me, we tried to grow these elsewhere.” he thus explained; “These are unlike anything found elsewhere, comparable to the exotics of Greenfield. Their sweetness and soury flavor, their texture and juice…” He proceeded to demonstrate by taking a large bite from the strawberry in his hand, its…mushy flesh and blood-like goopy juices…spraying about, as if a helpless creature being torn apart…

« Ehc… » Quite frankly, Antica could not identify any of the appeal… In fact, she nearly grimaced within her flat-affect.

The colonel nevertheless let out quite the pleasured grunts, perhaps exaggeratively so; “Truly, these are almost orgasmic… It is said women can become quite addicted to these…” he remarked as he consumed, chewing and slurping—a precise noise she did not necessarily fancy, but nevertheless tolerated

Fully devoured, he then tossed the leafy pedicle aside before taking another strawberry, repeating his consumptive process of juice-bleeding chewing. This unnecessarily continued longer than necessary.

Finally finishing, Colonel Faulkner then took the whole bowl into hand, extended it out to her in offering; “Try one.” he simply spoke; “Nothing nefarious. It is just one of those things that must be experienced to truly grasp the significance.”

“Uhm…” Yet… Antica stared at the bowl…as if seeing beings begging to be freed than things to eat… “No…” She respectfully but frankly declined… “I give thanks, but I do not want one…” Even if she did want one—which she absolutely did not—, she would not even be able to eat or…digest it without risking…complications…that were best to be avoided.

“Hm.” Without protest, Faulkner simply withdrew his offering, placing the bowl back onto his desk. “Well, at any rate, such is what most would see these as… Unique fruits and berries…” he began to say, pressing his chin against his interlocked hands; “But do you want to know what I see?”

“…let me guess: something that is not simply the fruits…” Antica more muttered aloud than replied.

“Profit.” Indeed, thus not simply a ‘fruit’. “See, these strawberries have always existed here as part of the natural scape, being only cultivated limitedly—a novelty that was known regionally to here and only here. This was the state of affair which persisted up until not that long ago…” he remarked; “It was not capable of major export… Do you know why that was so?”

“These fruits cannot be taken far without them rotting; they stay fresh for not that long.” Antica swiftly answered; it was obvious, even to the likes of her.

“Myes. Precisely.” Faulkner continued on; “Freshness is key, and nothing besides grain, rice, and anything dried and salted—things made to be preserved at the cost of taste and pleasantry—were capable of meaningful commercial export… Yet, nowadays, you will find produce from Greenfield being traded in markets as far as Rainbow… Do you know what changed?”

“…what changed?” Antica simply followed his flow, having realized by now he was asking these without necessarily an expectation of an answer.

Colonel Faulkner leaned himself forward; “Well… A few terribly thought-out policies happened in a certain arcane institution, and suddenly thrusted upon this land were girls and ladies with quite the marketable talents and who were desperately looking to make coin…”

“Freelancers…” Antica immediately recalled; “They began to sell their magics for coin, no?”

“Myes.” Colonel Faulkner thus myesed; “And these modern freelancer mages have demonstrated to both the sorcerers of our mainland and the magicians of this land that things such as ‘ice magic’, or ‘cyromancy’ as we know it as, have far greater potential in its application than merely a sanctimonious rite to be segregated to academic circles and insular practice exclusively…”

“I see…” She immediately connected; “Ice magic, it is used to transport the perishables through long distances, then?” Essentially an arcane and person-sourced…improvised refrigeration… Right, she recalled Blue mentioning that she had worked as a so-called ‘freezer’ at some point. Hm… Rather smart, indeed, even if still inferior to a dedicated refrigeration storage unit.

“Fruits, vegetables, even raw fresh meats, as well as many kinds of fragile produce… It is truly difficult to describe the extent of how the simple application of ice magic has revolutionized the shipping of perhaps the most always-in-demand commodities: food, and especially novelty foods.” Faulkner went on; “And, of course, the added ability to ship lucrative high-demand consumables at ranges once thought inconceivable has certainly come to the great benefit of this company’s profit margins; although, as with time’s before, we are still constricted to continental distribution and exports to the nearby island colonies, not necessarily yet to the mainland in any mass-scale—there are limits.”

“Because ice magic is the product of a person and their spells; this inherently limits the mass applicability.” Antica began to remark; “Perishables most of the time require a constant temperature to preserve maximally, but the freelancer only has finite mana, and so cannot be constantly casting their magic; the persons must be cycled. And the more things that are transported would require more space and therefore a larger area needing to be kept cold, requiring more ice mages, of which there is also the finite number.”

“As deductive as you were the day before, certainly…” Faulkner merely mumbled; “However, that is a very native application of ice magic… Our application transcends merely making an ice mage cast an ambient cold spell in the back of a wagon for twelve hours—at least, when we are directly doing the transportation.” he thus stated; “No, we have always had methods for refrigeration even before the advent of freelancers…”

Oh, so the locals did have a word for that, then?

“Ice itself has been utilized for centuries, and we have only improved since then. The Company considers it more practical to contract native mages to freeze seawater in mass so that we may either use the ice blocks ourselves or…export them as commodities of the ice trade.” Colonel Faulkner explained; “Of course, their ambient magic is practical in maintaining the ice in transit, as well as replenishing them.”

Huh. Interesting… Although, such did not disqualify the principal limitation.

“Though, you are correct about the main constraint. Freelancers are pricier these days and there are not yet enough for industrial application; though, I should stress our limiting curse has always been insulated storage and ship design… Would that we had the proper ships and enough ice mages for cheap to allow export across the Great Ocean at scales much larger than what this company is presently operating with…” The colonel promptly ahemed; “However, that is a completely separate matter. I did not bring this up to discuss the ice trade, but rather…this trade”—his finger tapped at the bowl—“Because of the locally revolutionized transportation of perishables, these strawberries, unparalleled in all qualities, have become extremely lucrative…”

Hmm… Antica began to recall… “You mentioned yesterday that… Uhm…” She needed to… “They focus too much on these strawberries, no? Instead of…the other…things, or…?” Frankly, her attention during his opening so-called ‘chat’ the day before was…perhaps not as optimal as it should have been, in retrospect.

“Myes. What had once been a typical feudalistic agrarian economy relying on serfs who toiled fields of grain had long transformed into a feudalistic plantation economy of serfs toiling fields of strawberries.” He effectively confirmed; “There is an almost uncountable supply of these things now, not helped by their resilience to dry periods. This on its own would not be a problem, especially for domestic consumption for these strawberries were never a novelty to Strawberriens; if anything, it would be the opposite. But there is a problem.”

He was being intentionally vague, Antica muttered in mind.

“Doubtlessly, what that is, is fairly obvious from yesterday’s lengthy chat. However, be that as it may, I nonetheless want you to go around this city; the markets, the day-to-day activities, and such. No need to travel too far, and in fact you should not travel away from headquarters’ periphery. But that is, we shall say, your assignment.” Colonel Faulkner stated, issuing in effect.

“So, then, that means that I am free to leave, on my own?” Indeed, considering she was evidently unable to do so the entirety of last night.

“Myes. Well, it is still rather early in the morning. And, besides, last night was just…a procedural precaution…” Faulkner replied; “I just need you to spend some time outside with this little assignment—three, maybe four hours maximum. I should have everything sorted out by your return so that…you should have more liberties throughout your stay.”

Ah… “I see… So, the truth is that you want me to leave because my being here would make this ‘sorting out’ of these things…more problematic?” Antica deduced.

Faulkner leaned back with some revealing guilt; “Problematic, not necessary… However, as it seems to be, it is…trickier to have such a woman stay over with such allowed privilege when one is being…incredibly vague and unspecific of the whys’ details other than it being a military matter, to say it the least.” he simply remarked with a tacit shrug. “Regardless, you are to go out, wander as you did yesterday, and observe; I want to know what you see. That is all.” Antica was thus dismissed.