Jon and Fuss had woken up early, put on the plain clothes they'd gotten the night before, and headed out after eating breakfast. It was still dark, but the port was starting to wake up. The day before there had been so many people, so much newness, that Jon hadn't looked at the details. He hadn't really seen what was around him.
People. Garbage. Poverty.
It was a city, the type of place Jon had always tried to avoid because it always seemed to be filled with strangers. In a city, you didn't know the cashiers name or the best Mexican food restaurant. People didn't wave or smile, they didn't care, and Jon did. And when he did, people stared at him grimly, and that was before he was blue...
In a city people didn't trust you -
"Excuse me?" Jon called to a man who hurried away. And Jon wasn't the only person avoided, there were beggars out as well, calling out, just like Jon, hopelessly out of work because nobody would speak to them.
"It's sad, Fuss." Jon said, "And even they seem afraid of us."
Fuss said.
"I don't think it's because we're strong, buddy." Jon shook his head, "And getting work is going to be a lot harder than we thought."
"You're right, it is a problem, but this one's our problem. And Eli is right, too, I would pay for somebody to solve it, but it defeats the purpose, you know? We're supposed to be making money, not - oh, shoot!"
Jon jumped, kicking his legs up - as a rat darted across their path. Fuss lunged at the threat, but it was quick.
"Ick." Jon shuddered, "That's the third one, no wonder there's so many dang cats around here."
"Ha, no Fuss. Cat's aren't really a problem, especially not when rats are around." Jon gave Fuss's mane a guilty glance, "They solve that problem, a lot of people even like them. But you're right, there's just way too many."
Of course that made Jon shudder again, because they'd only seen a few rats. But there were cats absolutely everywhere. In the alleys, on the roofs - crossing the streets or just lounging about. And not one of them appeared particularly hungry.
"Yeah, that's a problem. Are you thinking we should open a food stand? Like a taco truck. There's a lot of people selling food so they must be making money, though I'm not sure if anybody will buy from us."
"Starve the cats, so they'll leave? Oh, you mean kill the rats? Wait, you think Eli was serious?" Jon laughed nervously, "I thought it was another one of his bad jokes he's been trying to make lately, it's hard to tell...I guess we better check, if that was really Eli giving us advice we have to take it seriously, even if we don't like it."
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Elijah woke on a soft feather mattress with a big, long yawn. Even though the sun was just rising, Jon's side of the bed was empty, already made up. And Elijah was all alone. Gloriously alone.
"Elijah the Wise, if ever the name was deserved, be it this today. Could this plan gone any better?"
With Jon occupied, not only was Elijah free to pursue his own passions, but he'd maneuvered it so that he'd be helping Jon at the same time!
"Brilliant! You're absolutely brilliant." Elijah said to his reflection, admiring his freshly laundered suit, his smoothly shaved face, "You brilliant, beautiful bastard."
And Jon needed help, needed to understand, because his Destiny was literally Ignorance! And Elijah knew exactly why - Jon had been born into money. And that substantial wealth had always been a barrier that prevented Jon from understanding how the world truly worked - how difficult it was for most people - just to survive.
Jon had never had to climb that ladder to success, where everybody above you was kicking you back down, everybody below holding you back, and Elijah? He'd started at the very bottom, hell! He'd practically started in the basement!
And yet that same affluence is what had made Jon so special, so incredibly innocent, because unasked - Jon had reached a hand out to Elijah in friendship, and then began to pull Elijah up that impossible ladder. He pulled until Elijah was Jon's equal, both in wealth and status, and Jon didn't stop there. Once Elijah had 'made it'? Jon started to push. He pushed Elijah up and up, never asking for anything in return, all while giving that same friendship and support, his personality unchanged.
And Elijah wanted Jon to understand just how huge - how incredible, what he'd done was. That's what this whole thing was about!
Elijah would take Jon the ignoramus, who had no clue as to how the Real(m), the world, worked - and he'd put him on a Throne. The head of a Kingdom. He would raise Jon up from rags to royalty, far higher than Elijah desired to go - Just as Jon had done for Elijah back home...starting right after breakfast.
The food was a delightful sourdough loaf, whipped butter and honey spread across it. A slab of smoked ham and fresh fruit deftly cut into stars and coins just waiting for a taste. Elijah savored every bite before taking a calming breath as he finished his tea, then headed out to make money - more money than Jon was likely to see this entire month. And Elijah would do it before lunch.
And then Elijah would celebrate. He would indulge his truest pleasure absolutely guilt free. Elijah would go to the Library.
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"You were right, Fuss! There's a bounty and everything, and even if it's not much?" Jon laughed, making his voice sound like Eli's. "'No job is too small if it results in a useful skill', right!?"
"Thank's Fuss, but I'm supposed to tell you that. And you better be watching my back while I work, since you don't have thumbs."
Jon held up his hands in victory, gloating as he wiggled his thumbs back and forth as Fuss barked, telling Jon what he could do with those thumbs as they searched out a quiet alley to begin work.
"Saw, hammer, metal cutters and pliers." Jon said laying them out, "And plenty of wire, springs, wood, and sheet metal, I think we're set, Fuss."
Jon began sawing the wooden board into inch thick rectangles - about the size of his hand. He made ten, then twenty, not bothering to measure. Once he had a nice pile he started to bend the metal wire, using the wood as a guide - it wasn't hard, he just had to remember how it -
"Hey, now." A voice interrupted, causing Jon to fumble, *Snap*.
"Ouch!"
"Ruff
"Sorry, sorry." The whistling warble of a voice called. It was an older man a couple yards deeper in the alley dressed in rough, stained clothes. A beggar. Had he been there the whole time?
"It's an Ability, as to why you didn't notice me? Saves a fair bit of hassle when most folk don't know you're there. You can call me Whistler, most do." Whistler explained before gesturing at what Jon was working on, "And it looks like you could use a hand?"
The man pushed back messy, greasy gray hair with a wrinkled hand, his missing teeth causing each word to whistle past his scruffy beard as he spoke.
Whistler took a step closer, "I can saw wood and bend some wire; it wouldn't cost ya more than say a drink? Nothing like an ale after a hard bit of work, I say, or even a whiskey? Boy, I can't remember the last time I had so much as a taste of whiskey." The man's whistling voice held a hopeful longing, even as his nose began to grow.
Alcoholic.
And Jon felt bad for the man, wan with yellowed eyes and skin, mostly skin and bones. And Jon felt he owed the man an explanation as to why he couldn't afford to help him out.
"I don't havre much money to spare right now, I spent almost everything on these tools and supplies to build some traps, you see we're trying to kill the rats."
"And shoo away the cats." Jon agreed.
"Traps? Is that what they are?" Whistler asked, coming a bit closer and looking at the rectangular wood, the shaped wire in Jon's hands with a frown, "Cats? Are you sure you couldn't spare just an iron bit?"
Whistler had picked up the trap and his trembling hands caused the cut square metal trigger and the wire to rattle almost mournfully, the withdrawals causing his entire body to shudder.
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
And Jon didn't know what to say, but that was okay; as a boy he'd been told over and over what to do:
> 'Smile Jon.' The stranger said as he held up his camera, 'Tilt your head. Open your eyes, wider, wider - oh, so innocent, so - oh, yes...yes... now Smile.'
>
> *Snap*
Whistler saw Jon's expression, quickly dropping the trap and taking a few hurried steps back, and wouldn't it have been better? If Jon's smile had always been this scary, for him to be born ugly and blue? Nobody would have wanted his picture, or more from him.
"I...I'm..." Whistler stared at Jon as though surprised, or perhaps he saw something deeper, beyond Jon's appearance and got a small glimpse of that past, because he didn't flee as Jon had expected, "I need a drink."
It was a plea. Spoken in desperation, and Jon felt his resolve begin to crumble. Because as Whistler looked down at Jon, where he crouched next to Fuss - the man's eyes were filled with empathy. And for as rough as his life had obviously gone, he still found compassion for Jon, still found a moment of concern - for Jon.
"Here's a bit." Jon said, wanting to get those invasive eyes away from him, he reached into his coin pouch and removed a squashed piece of iron, the lowest valued currency, and held it up.
Whistler gave Jon a last look, then snatched the coin and fled.
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"Elijah." He announced his presence, entering the sales side of a workshop, a brief glance taking in the displays and merchandise. Bolts and screws, adhesives, nails, a long list of alloys by weight. Wood by the inch and the foot, custom cut or in bulk. But Elijah wasn't here to buy. "I have some skill in artifice, and I'm new to the Port - looking for contract employment that is mutually profitable, my primary skill set leans toward industrial applications and I'm capable of unsupervised work of some complexity."
The woman, who stood behind the counter waiting to help customers examined Elijah head to toe, she was well presented and professional, her eyes discerning before they flashed in decision. She pushed one button amongst many at the left of her workspace, and nodded, "Corbyn will be with you shortly." Then she turned her attention to a customer to transact his business.
A minute later Corbyn entered from a side door. Elijah made note of his shrewd, impatient expression, his glasses and their intricately engraved frames that had the lenses glowing softly, a decorative etching stylus absently rolled and manipulated by well muscled, but manicured hands. The man's educated demeanor and comportment, a cross between an electrician and a concert pianist, was only curious to a person that didn't understand the nuances of artifice.
"Elijah is looking for contract work, I was thinking of the Bradyn Manse project?" The woman explained, and Elijah could tell from her spitfire tone that Corbyn did not enjoy interruption. Good.
Corbyn only glanced at Elijah, then frowned in dismissal along with some frustration aimed at his employee. But Elijah was moving to a slate board, snatching a chalk stick in one hand, the other swiped away a price list for small cores to make room for a demonstration:
"A fire suppression system." Elijah spoke as he worked, his hand dancing across the board, not sketching a rune overlay, but instead a list of numbers, boxes - variables like building size, ambient mana, and material prices he pulled quickly from the room around him - he didn't turn, but Elijah didn't hear the door Corbyn had entered from - open, or close, either.
Finally Elijah graphed out his equation, freehand and rough, but where all the lines intersected - the most important place to Corbyn, the spot on the graph that represented the highest profit. Elijah circled it before placing the chalk down and headed toward the door.
"Commission. I get half of whatever profit I increase a project by. Consider it, while I introduce myself to the other -"
"Done." Corbyn said, not surprising Elijah at all. The man made a flicking motion and Elijah caught the heavy coin out of the air. Gold. "Your advance. When can you start?"
"Tomorrow." Elijah said, reclaiming his cane, filling his voice with all the dignity and pride that he'd just earned, "Today is Library Day." Then he nodded politely and walked out.
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A dead rat lay pinned by a trigged trap in the back of the alley. It had only been there for two minutes; long enough for Jon to walk away, to start assembling another.
*Snap*
"Already, Fuss?" Jon said with a jump at the sound, as he got up to approach the trap, "Maybe it broke, maybe it's a misfire - Oh, oh, no."
Jon stared down. Fuss stared down.
"Is it even a rat? I think it's a monster, Fuss. I think this is a monster."
"I don't know, Fuss. Are you sure this was what Eli meant? I mean - maybe we should have thought this through..."
It wasn't just how filthy the rat was, or even the creepy, claw like nails, or the scraggly, wiry whiskers. It was the absolute size of the rat! Big as a beer bottle!
"I mean, we only get one iron bit for five tails, and that's twenty five tails just for one copper. I know there's no job too small, but..."
"Really, Fuss? Talk about a hypocrite, I don't see you running over to cut its tail off, you know that's how we prove we killed it, we have to turn them in!"
"Fine!" Jon huffed, puffing his chest out, "I'm a man, I'm not afraid of...many things."
Jon hurried back and grabbed his metal cutters, then returned to slowly, carefully extend the snips out in front of him. He lined the blades up to the base of the huge, dirty rats tail and - it twitched!
"Ahhh!" Jon shouted, throwing the shears down and jumping back, slapping and brushing at his arms, his legs, his hair, trying to get rid of the sensation of the disgusting rat tail slapping his hand!
"Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope!" Jon shouted as he paced, shuddering, with Fuss just behind him, howling. When he finally returned to the trap, it was with a very different expression...
"Does this even give us a Skill, Fuss? Does it? Is there a Tail Cutting Skill, do you think? That doesn't sound right to me, Tail Lopper? I don't think so..."
"Wouldn't Eli be mad? Us wasting time cutting tails when we could actually be gaining valuable Skills cutting wood? Or bending wire? Remember, there's no job too small if it results in a useful Skill. That's an 'if' Fuss, and it's a big if, if you ask me."
"And don't forget about Whistler. He was practically begging for a way to earn some money, and wasn't he happy after getting that bit? Don't you think he'd like to earn just a few more?"
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Elijah carefully made his way through the Port and unfortunately found himself in some of the poorer, filthier parts of the city on his stroll to the library. It was an unwanted reminder of his childhood.
Seeing the Beggars with their dead eyed gazes, their zombie like shuffling as they moved from one hopeless place to the next as they wasted their existence, or they twitched on a street corner, the victim of some mental disease of substance. It had frightened Elijah as a child, and it disgusted him today.
But the true fear he harbored was deeper, and it wasn't the beggars, it was the gangs. The dangerous men played dice, threw bones. And it didn't matter if the Port's gangs wore bright colors, or didn't listen to blaring music or have guns hidden amongst baggy clothes. They were still arrogant cowards, lazy in their confidence of overwhelming numbers, ready to pounce and punish the innocent over a trifle, ready to take what another had earned fairly for themselves.
Or worse.
Elijah could still feel that cold metal. How he'd been forced, as part of their hazing, as part of their fun. He would never get the taste of that shame from his mouth. He didn't even fight back. He just obeyed. Had he even tried to run, surrounded and alone, afraid? Would he have gotten away, was he just a coward?
His heart was hammering, his hand white knuckled on his cane - he was Elijah the Wise, now! That was all in the past, that feeling of helplessness, that victimhood.
Yet it still took everything not to sprint, to hide his discomfort as he kept walking, his head high, his cane tapping steadily on the street in a patient rhythm until he was finally safe again, back in the nicer part of the port. Private guards were visible protecting store fronts, or nicer apartments, Peoples clothing were clean and their faces washed, their expressions dignified and decent.
And then he could see it, his destination right ahead like a beacon of hope.
The Library.
And he looked up at the structure that was so much more then a church to him, ornate and vaulted, fluting architecture, smooth stones jointed together so perfectly and massive double doors at the top of a grand staircase that had him humming, climbing up to his heaven.
*Thunk-Thunk*
Elijah knocked on the giant door, and a moment later a section of it opened with a silent whisper. A young man with an expression both bookish and keen emerged, looked at Elijah before giving him a welcoming nod and a gesture to enter.
And wasn't the inside even grander? The polished marble floor reflected soft and natural light, plush overstuffed leather seating sprawled out in quiet nooks, tall shelves creating pockets of privacy like a maze - of books.
So many books, organized and neat, their covers clean and maintained - filling the room with a smell found nowhere else, parchment and refinement, self-mastery and improvement. It was as enchanting and magical as any other wonder the Real(m) held - this house of knowledge.
"Welcome to the Library. I'm Gunther, how may I be of service to you...?" There was a pause from the soft voice, and Elijah realized the youth was waiting for a title to address him with, his posture still in a half bow.
"Please, just Elijah is adequate. I'm seeking access to the library." Elijah explained, trying not to sound rushed as he stared at the ripe shelves.
The lack of a title obviously surprised his greeter, who rose from his bow, voice unsure, "Temporary memberships are offered to those without an introduction by a member of good standing, unfortunately they are five silver a month Mr. Elijah. There is a quarterly social taking place in a few weeks -"
Exorbitant, an amount an average family could save in a year. A good year.
Yet Elijah merely placed his gold coin on the counter, enjoying the surprised expression it brought. Next to it, Elijah placed a silver coin, pushing it toward Gunther with one finger.
"I may be in need of some assistance as I'm woefully unfamiliar with a few categories of my intended research. If you are able to rescue me from the difficulty of digging though useless tombs and unreliable sources, I couldn't be more grateful."
"Sire." Gunther gushed in thanks, his lips tugging into a smile as his hand hovered hungrily over the silver piece, "I'd be pleased to provide whatever assistance I can to your satisfaction, no payment is necessary..."
"Please, call me Elijah, I insist - we are but comrades in this house of knowledge, are we not, Gunther?"
Who nodded hesitantly, seemingly unused to being treated so agreeably.
"And I also insist you take this small token of my appreciation, and more; should you be able to expedite and satisfy my search. You appear competent, something I am sorely missing in my life at the moment, while coins I have plenty."
Gunther beamed, making the coin disappear in his breast pocket, then hurried off with Elijah's gold to make change. He returned out of breath, with fifteen polished silver pieces that he handed over.
Gunther then led Elijah to a private nook that was comfortably decorated as any Gentleman's Den, a single pleasing chair that reclined beneath an adjustable core-light lamp at its center, various other comforts within arms reach, "May I take your coat, Elijah? And what sort of information are you seeking?"
"Certainly," Elijah said, resting his cane on the recliner and unbuttoning his jacket, "Let's start with, say - a condensed history of the Shattered Empire focusing on the last century. A summary of, say, the top fifty Noble Houses, who they are, their assets and interests, nothing tawdry. Maps, both political and natural, skimp on anything overly detailed, I'm looking for mostly big picture at this time, and then...something funny."
"Something funny?" Gunther asked, ready to dart off, but suddenly thrown by this request.
"Yes." Elijah nodded as he leaned back in his recliner, feeling more like his true self by the second, "Jokes, stories, a primer on humor if you have one - but anything will do as long as it's funny." And wasn't comedy - wasn't humor, just another body of knowledge to be researched and understood? To be mastered? All Elijah had to do was study and he'd no longer be a victim of his Destiny, once more Elijah would be its driver.
"Knock knock." Elijah whispered, "Who's there? It's Elijah. Elijah who? Elijah the Wise!"