“That’s not fair!” Shouted Segni, “I’ve spend hours enduring lectures, years putting up with work and now you’re going to let him have a shot at it?”

My jaw stiffened as Pliny smiled, and replied.

“Of course, young chief to be. With all those hours of study, you should have nothing to worry about, should you? This should be easy for you.”

Pliny cleared his throat, and addressed us both.

“There are three main qualities that Empri instills in its students. First, is the ability to learn, or reading. With reading comes the second quality, which is knowledge. And only through those comes stewardship, which is the only quality that truly matters. The first two are but tools to attain the third. As such, there will be three questions for this test, three questions that must be answered correctly, one for each of the qualities. Do you understand?”

Together, Segni and I nodded, and the chief’s eyes narrowed.

“Question one will be on reading. I will spell a word, and you will tell me what it is, which should be simple for anyone accomplished in the field. For you, Segni, what does L-E-S-S-O-N spell?”

Segni thought for a minute, his eyes closed and mouth working to sound out the letters.

“Less!” He shouted, and a wry smile formed across Pliny’s mouth.

“Close, but not quite.” He said, “Lesson, Segni, it spells lesson.”

“Close enough to count,” Said the chief in a low voice, and Pliny continued.

“Now you, Horatius I believe, here is your word: O-P-P-O-R-T-U-N-I-T-Y.”

From behind in the crowd, I heard Nean shout out, his voice nearly cutting off Pliny’s.

“It spells stupid gardener!”

Chuckles sounded from the crowd, the vast majority of which did not have the means to tell if he was correct, and I waited for them to quiet down to whispers.

“Opportunity!” I said, my voice near a shout, “It spells opportunity!”

“Indeed,” Said Pliny, and tilted his head as he looked into my eyes, his expression as curious as the chief’s was red, the whispers in the crowd dying to surprised silence, “Precisely. Next, a question regarding history and knowledge. Segni, I shall allow you to go first due to your hard work in schooling. Before The Hand of God, how many people inhabited the ship?”

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

Segni smiled, and stuck his chest out, speaking the answer, “More!”

“Is that your answer?” Asked Pliny.

“Yes, my answer is more!”

“Technically, I suppose,” Replied Pliny, “Though I was looking for something more precise. Horatius?”

“Twenty five thousand.” I answered, and the curiosity in Pliny’s eyes increased as his pupils dilated.

“Precisely, again.” He said, studying me, though I held his gaze and did not move, “How strange, how curious. Now for the final question, on stewardship, should the Hand of God strike again, how should we be prepared for it?”

“It won’t strike again.” Spat Segni, and his father nodded.

“Food and water stores,” I answered, “Enough to get us through disaster and to recover. Spread around the ship in case one area is impacted.”

“Correct,” Said Pliny, “Three for three, with no marks off.”

“For both candidates,” Said the chief, and a frown formed on Pliny’s face.

“Well,” He said, turning to face the chief, “Based upon the integrity of both answers-”

“Three out of three for both.” Repeated the chief, his voice rising, “Both. My son, and this, this imposter. Integrity, Pliny? You want integrity? I’ll show youintegrity. One last test, one more to determine the true winner, and to out the obvious cheating that is occurring. A pen, and paper, now.”

From the crowd, one of the attendants to the chief rushed forward, carrying the materials. And the chief marked the paper, writing letters big enough for the crowd to see, and displaying it.

“Horatius, it is enough that you have embarassed my family. It is enough that you have mocked our rituals and tests. Should you admit that you are cheating now, should you admit guilt, I will spare you any punishment.”

“I’m not cheating!” I answered, the fists at my side tightening.

“Then what does this spell?” Asked the chief, and brandished the sheet.

The letters danced in front of me, letters that I had never studied by sight, but only heard. Blood rushed to my cheeks as I stared, praying for a revelation, praying for a miracle.

“Go on,” Said the chief, “Show us how you are worthy to be Historian. What does it spell?”

“I- I don’t know.” I answered, tears forming near my eyes, “I can’t read it, I can only-”

“By his own admission then, he can’t read,” Said the chief, and turned to where Segni already bounced on the balls of his feet with anticipation, “Now, Segni, what does this spell?”

“Sheep!” His son cried out, his voice echoing.

“Ship. Precisely.” Said his father, and walked to the table that held the awards for each of the vocations, picking up a pen and cherry tomato. He placed the pen in his son’s hand, holding it high.

“Welcome,” he said, and the crowd cheered, “Welcome, to our new historian.”

And walking to me, he took the cherry tomato, and crushed it above my head such that the pulp fell into my hair, and the juice dripped down my face.

“And welcome,” He hissed, “Welcome, to our new gardener, whose position will start in one year. Until then, he will be punished for cheating, and will be obligated to fulfill any of the ships hauling and porter needs. Now go, Horatius, your job has begun.”

His finger extended to the door, and I left, Nean’s voice trailing behind me as dropped of tomato juice dripped to the floor.

“Thought he could be a historian. Not even fit for a gardener.” And turning back, I saw Skip nodding, the crowd laughing, and my father turned away.