She checked the timepiece embedded in the claw-spur of her left, upper forewing with a sense of heady anticipation -- yes, time to get started. It wasn't really very civilized of her, but, like all members of her species, she derived substantial enjoyment from playing with her prey. It was a genetically hardwired trait, and there was nothing to be done about it. Eating one's students was, unfortunately, out of the question in such a civilized culture. However, mildly terrorizing them on occasion was the prerogative of professors throughout the 'verses, and she intended to make use of it.
After walking into the lecture hall, she fluttered her 80 centimeter body up onto her perch-lectern. The movement attracted the attention of the students who were still standing, and they scrambled to sit/perch/recline, whichever their species preferred.
"I'm Professor Ptica, and hmmm...let's see." She reached up and increased the dampening effect of the noise limiter covering her mouthparts. That first phrase had caused a few empty desks to vibrate a centimeter or so across the floor.
"Is that better?"
Seeing relieved faces, she continued, "I'm not going to waste your time, and I don't expect you to waste mine either. Many of you have no idea what Applied Sociology VII is and don't care. You're here because it has been decreed by those on high (meaning the Curriculum Committee of this institution) that all beings studying for any advanced degree in this university must take this course...and pass it.
"My requirements of you are simple. You don't even need to read the textbook if you don't wish to. All examination questions will be taken from the presentations in class. Don't think that you can write this course off entirely though. In order to pass, you must score at least 80% on EVERY test. I don't mean an average score, I mean a minimum score. Retests are allowed, once."
Ptica smiled to herself as she saw the horrified looks on the faces of the students who'd thought that they'd be able to put in only minimal effort and "get by" since this course wasn't part of their majors.
"Don't look so shocked. You're all enrolled in the doctoral programs here, and should know the requirements. Once you pass this course, you'll need scores of at least 90% in all future classes you take, regardless of whatever department you're in, if you want to graduate. This university is one of the most prestigious in this part of our multiverse cluster. You either work hard or you get out. Each graduate represents us and reflects on how well we did our jobs. We expect you to do yours as well."
She shook herself gently to settle her feathers and concluded with, "I'll reiterate. Everything you need to know to pass this course will be made perfectly clear in my presentations, all of which will be video simulations created by the university for this course 170 years ago. These simulated characters will go through their lives in a virtual city where many cultures interacted. Where better to study the impact of various societies on each other than in an international trading hub?
"The actors hired to voice these roles were all superb. Even the children with speaking roles were extensively screened. Feel free to enjoy what you watch too, as long as you remember to study the meaning of each scene.
"That being said, the premise they came up with to explain the existence of The City is an incredibly stupid one from my point of view, but that's all it is, my point of view. Yours may differ. If so, don't tell me. I'm not interested.
"During the course, don't bother asking me questions outside of class. If you don't understand my presentations, you're in the wrong university. However, if any students have questions for me at the end of the year, meaning AFTER the course has been concluded, my office hours are obtainable through whatever device you use to access the university databases. At that time, I'll be pleased to answer any and all questions that you might still have. Otherwise don't waste my time or yours. I know I already said that, but it's worth repeating.
"Oh, and one last thing. A number of terms used herein are modern semi-equivalents and not at all consistent with the time periods in which the presentations are based. However, the course designers were much too lazy to take the time to present you with the actual words from two different dialects of ancient Italian and then translate for you. You're going to have to live with the idea of sweat pants, t-shirts, holograms, and such, even though none of them existed during the time periods of these constructions, which are equivalent to their 7th and 14th centuries.
"We shall begin with events that took place in the latter period."
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Friday September 14 in The Year 719 After the Founding
Immediately upon hearing the bells marking the time as 6:30 p.m., units of the Guard and the City Militia began herding tourists and pilgrims who were in The City to celebrate the Festa toward their inns. Those native to The City needed no such prompting and began heading home.
At precisely 6:53, the bell in the clock tower at the Ducal Residence chimed once as a final warning. The noise level rose briefly as slamming shutters and running feet became the predominate sounds. Had one been so inclined, and willing to brave the danger, there was some amusement to be had from looking down at the sight of various well-to-do matrons, who had dawdled too long at one shop or another, hiking up their skirts and outrunning their maids as they sprinted for home.
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Master Merchant Aldus Ringvold had pushed the mule train a bit harder than usual in order to make up the time they'd lost from having to detour around a bridge damaged by a landslide. Fortunately, at least for the human members of the party, they'd arrived with nearly two hours to spare and had managed to get all their goods into the warded storage bins in the sheds and then get the mules bedded down. They'd finished just 10 minutes earlier.
He'd been born in The City, and his homecoming, while uncelebrated, was still comforting, since he spent most of the year on the road. Like all children born here, with the exception of the few who had stronger abilities, he'd not manifested his power until shortly before he reached puberty. Also like most others, his talent was so trivial as to be unremarkable. When he was little he'd had a powerful envy of those with a useful skill, like the MacOwen twins and their ability to always know exactly what time it was.
But, as he grew toward adulthood, his "useless" talent had unexpectedly turned out to be a significant asset. His northlands ancestry had given him extremely fair skin and hair so blond that it was almost white Thus, when he'd decided to become a merchant, his total immunity to the ravages of the sun went from something of negligible worth to something envied by his compatriots. He never burned, he never tanned, and he'd never developed any of those strange skin growths that were so common among those who labored outdoors. He also never bragged to anyone about it. Rather, his response, if someone brought it up, was more of a "how about that?" Though his talent gave him one less thing to worry about, in his line of work there were still worries aplenty that kept him from getting a swelled head.
He was somewhat smaller than average, but he was heavily muscled, almost as much as a smith. It had come in handy in his younger years when other boys, suffering from an excess of hormones, had tried to show off by beating him up. Nobody had tried more than once unless they were drunk. Nowadays everyone pretty much left him alone, which suited him just fine.
Having completed stowing his goods and overseeing the care of the mules, he glanced up at the mantle clock as he entered the taproom of the Mule's Tale Inn and nodded. It was 6:51. Just nine minutes to go.
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
Ringvold, who for reasons he'd never explained to anyone went by his surname, had planned to relax over a mug of the excellent local ale. Indeed he would have been, except that he was listening, with mounting exasperation, to a tirade from his new journeyman trainee Mario Brown.
At 16 he was two years younger than was usual for one newly promoted to journeyman, but he was that good. Unfortunately he still had a 16 year old's attitude toward the world. It probably didn't help that he was a good 10 centimeters taller than Ringvold and hadn't yet learned that your size had nothing to do with your worth.
"Let me tell you Master Ringvold, this is all nothing but claptrap designed to make more money for the cab companies. I mean -- that law prohibiting inns for travelers with animals from being anywhere inside the city walls is insane. Who does that? I'll tell you who, no other city in Europe, that's who! Either you exhaust yourself hiking up and down the hill to do your business, or you pay a cabbie to take you. Then, if you've bought much of anything for resale, you have to pay for the ride back down as well. Anywhere else you could pick a centrally located inn and simply walk wherever you need to go and take a donkey or mule with you to carry what you've bought."
Having heard it all before, too many times, Ringvold limited himself to a nod. No use in getting angry with the lad. He'd straighten out...eventually. Aldus had spent most of the last 14 years introducing new employees to the ins and outs of the various cities where The Company did business, and they all said something like what Mario had when they came to The City of The Bells for the first time. Mario had taken a deep breath, presumably so he could continue with his complaints, when the sound of a single bell chime was heard reverberating through the room.
Immediately the inn staff, even the cooks and servers, dropped whatever they were doing and trotted over to the windows. The sound of shutters being pulled closed and latched in place filled the room. Mario turned to Ringvold in astonishment, likely wanting an explanation. However, his attention was once more drawn to the windows when it became evident that the staff weren't finished yet. Teams of three were hanging thick pads of cloth over each window and, surprisingly, even the door. Two were lifting and one was guiding loops sewn into the tops and sides of the pads over large hooks affixed above and to the edges of the openings.
Mario could tell by the practiced ease with which they accomplished their tasks that they had done this many times in the past. It seemed only moments before they were done and resumed their normal activities, picking up from where they'd left off as if nothing had happened.
Chuckling as Mario turned back with a questioning look, Ringvold admitted to himself that it was rather unfair of him to never tell the newbies about the particulars of this city. But, if he had, it would have spoiled all the fun of watching them. However that was that and this was this.
He pinned Mario to his chair with a fierce stare. "When we visit the merchants in town tomorrow, there's one thing that you MUST NOT DO. I don't care if you have to put both your hands over your mouth, but, whatever you do, you are not to say a single word about how thick the walls of the buildings are. And don't even think about asking why there are two doors for each doorway and multiple panes of glass in the windows. There isn't anyone in The City who hasn't heard it from the tourists hundreds, if not thousands of times, and it sets their teeth on edge.
"Let me remind you, if the person you're trying to do business with is, shall we say, 'irritated', you're not going to get a good price, never mind whether you're buying or selling. And if we end up paying too much or selling too low because you couldn't keep your mouth shut, the difference is coming out of your wages. You understand?"
Mario swallowed and nodded hastily. "Yes sir, ah, no sir...I mean.... I'm not sure what I mean. I understand what you don't want me to say, but I have no idea why...Sir...."
Ringvold finally did snicker out loud, after which he decided to let Mario off the hook. He'd put him in his place, relatively gently, and that was his primary concern. These newly promoted male journeymen always tended to be on the cocky side. Personally, he much preferred working with the new females. They never suffered from testosterone poisoning and actually listened as he shared the experience he'd gained from 17 years of working for The Company.
He stroked his chin thoughtfully. Now that he thought about it, he supposed that it was their willingness to learn and disinclination to butt heads with others of a similar rank that had resulted in most of the mid and upper management positions in The Company being held by women.
He glanced at the clock again. "Well, my young friend. You have the advantage of being here at the beginning of this month's Festa, so the reason for what I just told you will become perfectly clear in the very near future."
As he was speaking, he reached out an arm and scooped two sets of oversized earmuffs out of a large basket being carried between the tables by one of the servers. He tossed one to Mario and said, "Put it on. We only have a bit over a minute left."
Any response that Mario made was inaudible as total silence descended upon his now muffled ears. Even so Ringvold put his hands over the muffs and pressed gently to make sure that the edges were completely sealed against his skull. Mario quickly copied his action, though he looked even more puzzled than he had before.
A few seconds later the world ended. At least Mario thought that was what was happening. The building began to shake, and the shaking was accompanied by a sound. He really couldn't describe it. "Noise" was too small a word. "Cacophany" came closer, but he found that wanting too. Finally he settled on "calamitous." Even that was a pale reflection of what he wanted to name what he was experiencing, but he lacked the vocabulary to express it any better.
An endless time later it stopped. He looked at the clock on the mantle and saw that the eternity that had just passed had, in reality, lasted exactly five minutes. Other than a faint ringing in his ears, Mario felt reasonably whole. He tried to stand up and stretch, but his legs had no strength.
Ringvold smiled at him. "Just wait a bit boy. Things will be straightened out soon enough."
Shortly two servers passed by. The first collected the earmuffs, and the second put a slightly steaming mug of something that smelled of herbs and bitterness in front of each of them.
"Choke it down boy. It's the only thing that's ever been found to aid in recovery."
Saying that, RIngvold drained his mug in one continuous action then bit into the tiny pastry that a third server had left at each of their elbows. Mario copied his action, almost gagging on the heavy taste of the drink. He grabbed frantically at the pastry and popped it into his mouth. He was instantly, blissfully relieved of much of the bitterness left behind by the drink.
Ringvold nodded, apparently to himself. "Even after almost 500 years, only the Fukui family has perfected a pastry that kills most of the taste of the herbs. You should be grateful to our host." He turned and bowed in the direction of a sturdy, but somehow very attractive, woman who was the innkeeper. She smiled slightly and nodded back, then turned to continue what she had been doing.
"The Fukuis charge twice what any other patisserie does but she," he pointed with his chin at the innkeeper, "is smart enough to know that it's the little things that enhance your reputation and business. The extra expense is miniscule in comparison to that."
Seeing that Mario was still a bit shaky he added, "Just sit there a while. You should be feeling back to normal in a few minutes."
Mario nodded dumbly. As he looked around the room, he noticed something odd. "Master Ringvold, why aren't any of the staff here affected? They all seem to have their full strength." He pointed toward the window, where the padding was efficiently being taken down and carted off, presumably to a storage area.
"Well boy, nobody is entirely sure why it happened, but it's fairly certain that a strong resistance has been bred into those born in The City. It stays with them if they live here most of the year. There is a downside though. Even after nearly 600 years of exposure, their miscarriage rate is still about 20% higher than elsewhere in northern Italy. Oddly enough, even from the beginning, all the animals hereabouts have been entirely immune."
As Ringvold was speaking, Mario began tapping the side of his head, like someone would if their ears were ringing. Nodding to himself, he then gave himself a serious clout.
"Whatever was that for boy? Are you ill?"
"No Master, it's not that. I was disrespectful toward you earlier, and I behaved like an idiot. As I'm no longer an apprentice you're not allowed to hit me, but I deserved to be hit. So I did it myself."
He smiled crookedly. "This way nobody can complain about you abusing a journeyman."
Aldus nodded his understanding. Perhaps this one would be worth the effort after all.
Shortly thereafter the server brought their dinners to them. When they were almost finished, Mario asked, "Master, if you please, tell me about what happened. As it stands, things are about as clear as mud."
Ringvold chewed slowly, savoring his final bit of chop, then nodded. Good conversation always enlivened a meal, especially if he were the one talking and there was an attentive audience.