“Not this again…”

“Huh?” The old man shouted as old men do, “Did you say somethin’, little girl?”

“You summoned me. And I’m no little girl!” Cira rebuked.

“No, I called the owner of that fancy boat. So, who the hell’re you?” The man was genuinely confused, leaned back in his chair, mouth hung open.

“The owner of that fancy boat,” She sighed, “But you’re probably looking for my father. He’s dead.”

“Huh?” Shock apparent on his face, “That sonofabitch is dead?! No!”

His large, leathery fists slammed the desk, knocking a picture frame over, far more upset than Cira anticipated.

“Were you two close…?” There’s no way it’s going to happen this often, is it?

“Nope, barely knew him. Got him to do some work for me long ago. Built that there elevator, in fact. Said he was experimentin’ with a new design. She’s a real beaut’ ain’t she?” His smile was broad and sincere now.

“Um, sure is…” World’s most talented moron isn’t far off, “So, what did you try to summon my father for, then?”

“What else? Work. But now I’m screwed! I been hopin’ he’d drop outta the sky for years and now what am I supposed to do?! This damn rock is doomed! Friggin’ Earth Vein bastards.”

“Well,” Cira accelerated her thought process (not really) to contemplate her next move, using all the context clues available to discern whether it was worth speaking up here. A process she would later need to fine-tune as she arrived at an answer she would quite immediately regret, “I’m a sorcerer… Does that help?”

“Huh?!” He pounded the desk and used the last of his youth to stand up in the blink of an eye, “There’s no way. Impossible! How old could you even be, girl?”

“Fifteen or twenty by now, but why does that matter? I assure you I’m a sorcerer.”

Seasons were scarce up here, so you either kept track of the days or stopped caring.

“But yer a girl, don’t that make you a sorceress?”

“My father was a sorcerer, so I’m a sorcerer, dammit! Do you need help or not?” She was full of sighs tonight.

“Ah, sorry ‘bout that,” He stood from his desk, straightening out his suit and extending a hand, “You can call me Pappy. I do need yer help if yer willin’, but how long will you be in town?”

Usually the words that precede extensive promise of work. Cira’s mood upturned for but a moment and she spoke proudly, puffing out her chest, “I have neither schedule nor destination.” Famous last words.

“That’s great!” He caught Cira off guard by grabbing her hand with both of his and shaking them vigorously. This man strikes like a toad, came to mind before he continued, “Where to begin is the real question. Biggest problem if ya’ think about it is the food. Ain’t been growin’ right fer a few years now.”

“Okay… You live on an island made entirely of salt. I would imagine you’d have trouble growing crops.”

“Guh, don’t give me that look! We been growin’ food here since I was born! Only the last five years or so they started goin’ downhill. This year’s hardly gonna make it if we’re lucky.”

Cira had seen plants that need very little water before, so it wasn’t too far-fetched, “But don’t you have agricultural experts?”

“Psh, whatever the hell that is. We got farmers. But they can’t figure it out. Never seen anything like it.” He motioned to a chair next to Cira, sitting back in his own seat.

“Why not just import food? I thought some big company took over the place.” You have miners living on and mining a giant salt rock, shipping off island size loads to sell, you supply them with food, right?

“Spend a few days ‘round the city, kid, I think you’ll understand why we don’t just buy everything. Earth Vein don’t supply us with nothin’.” She didn’t like the sound of these guys. To her knowledge money begets vile minds and vice versa, so these conditions didn’t give her the best first impression of this Gandeux Group.

“Cira, not kid. I can’t promise anything until I inspect the crops, perhaps in the morning, if you would have someone show me to it,” He nodded, “But I’m getting the impression there’s more?”

“Right you are. Trouble down in the pits. Every few months another shaft floods out,” His voice fell, “We keep losin’ good men.”

“Do you know what’s causing it? Why now?”

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

“’Course. Spring’s been sinkin’ since anyone can remember. Wears the salt right down.” It begged the question of how the island came to be in the first place, but who knows what the place looked like long ago. The island’s water source, known commonly as the spring or more academically, the aquos, had been constantly eroding the island since conceivably forever. Currently resting about halfway down the rock.

There had been efforts to redirect and contain its flow with canals, but they were constructed from steel and had to be kept up on and patched regularly, else they leak and spill where they shouldn’t, eventually burrowing silently into staffed passageways. Of course, more resilient materials would be too expensive to use here as Pappy passionately explained, “I swear those bastards pushed us outta the Archipellergo to get ready for the day them jackals bought us out.”

“Ahem, about the canals,” Cira tapped her fingers on the chair’s arm, “Why didn’t they just redirect it to spill into the sky?”

“Salt nymphs,” he said simply. Cira cast an inquisitive look, “They produce the purest salt on the rock, but they need water. These days they’re almost all at the bottom. All our bangin’ around pushed ‘em down over the years.”

“Hm.” She hadn’t seen a ‘nymph’ before but suspected it would be similar to something she had seen, “Sounds like I’ll have to look into that, but I might be able to help with the canals.”

Salt fell under the domain of geomancy, but making salt canals wouldn’t help. She’d need to actually get down there to find a solution, though studying new creatures was another hobby of Cira’s. The depths had her interest. “Is that it?” She asked.

“I wish.” He said with a tired sigh.

Cira tentatively asked, “What’s next…?”

“Salt nymphs,” He said simply. Cira cast an inquisitive—

“Wait, what?”

“They been actin’ wild. Migratin’ with no warning fer no reason to places ain’t got no water. They move around time to time when we abandon one tunnel fer the next, but it’s always a trickle. It’s like some o’ them’ve just gone mad.”

“You don’t think the floods have anything to do with it?”

“Think I’m stupid girl?” Pappy scoffed, “We got people on the bottom levels that sweep up the prima salt. They let us around ‘em if you don’t pull anything funny but they don’t like large groups. No floods down there yet, thank the clouds.”

Salt nymphs were docile creatures, so it begged the question, “What happens when they go mad? Do they attack the miner’s?”

“That’s not it,” He shook his head, “If they can attack I ain’t seen it. Just bein’ around ‘em you need to wear a lotta gear. Suits, masks, breathin’ tank. The whole caboodle. Throw a swarm of ‘em down the only way out in a cave full o’ my guys and ya’ got a big ol’ funeral on yer hands.”

Pappy rested his head on his hand and sighed. It was easy to tell how he got so many wrinkles after spending just five minutes talking to him. Part of Cira’s stomach was starting to hurt from the casually monumental problems with which this island was afflicted, but the other part was hungry for a fresh challenge.

“I’ll be honest, this sounds like a whole lot.” She complained, “I don’t mean to offend, but how do you intend to compensate me for all this? Work like this I suppose I can only take treasure—oh, or money.”

Expensive work could not usually be paid in food, though she appreciated when it was complimentary. Pappy assuaged her concerns, “Don’t worry ‘bout that. We got plenty o’ money. Well Earth Vein does, but I can pay you with it so long’s you get the work done before they come back for the monthly audit.”

“I only work on two conditions.” Cira possessed no concept of worth in these skies, so avoided the subject of values, raising a finger, “One, the agreed upon pay may not be rescinded. In this case I will do what I can and leave before this ‘audit’ thing, and you will pay me for what I do complete. Is that agreeable?”

“Seems fair to me,” His lips curled up and he subtly clenched his fist, but there was one more condition to clear before all his problems were solved, “What’s the other?”

“I reserve the right to quit at any time for any reason and you will do nothing about it.”

“Hah!” Cira startled as his hand came down on the desk, “I like you, girl. You got gumption. But yer pops had a third condition, ya’ know.”

“Oh?” She was unaware, eyeing him dubiously “And what would that be?”

His grin now bore teeth and he let out a chuckle, “Maybe I’ll tell you later, kid. Ain’t nothin’ free on this rock.”

Another deep sigh later, “Well, then, where can I find a place to lodge tonight? It was a long walk here.” Telekinesising herself over would technically work, but it would take hours with frequent breaks. It consumed an egregious amount of mana—her ‘pops’ said she was doing it wrong.

“Oh, I ain’t done yet, sit yerself back on down.”

Her eyebrows raised, “You’ve got famine, flooding, swarms of nymphs… What’s next? A plague?”

Pappy’s expression grew dark, “You guessed it…”

“Why hasn’t everyone just given up on the place?”

“Too much salt, not enough money. Would if they could.”

“Right, that was insensitive. Sorry… Tell me about the plague.” Healing a gash across the chest—possible with quick response time. Healing a severed arm, not so simple for those that don’t call themself Gazen. Cira could and has dealt with disease and various illnesses, but that did not mean she could cure all diseases, which she once learned the hard way.

Rashes, desiccation, and severe respiratory issues befell many of the residents of Fount Salt, seemingly at random. The first patient appeared four years ago and was one of the farmers’ wives. “Everybody wears the right gear down in the mines anyhow, the Gandeux don’t let ‘em skip out on that.”

Five points for Gandeux Group. “Are there no commonalities between those afflicted?”

“Not a one. Doesn’t matter where you work or what you eat. Babies and old men die. Men and women. If you can figure it out yer a saint. Earth Vein sent a healer down last year but he was stumped. Never heard another peep about it from up the noose neither.”

“How is this not your biggest problem?”

“Even sick folk gotta eat.” Old man’s got me there. He just shrugged, “Guess it’s a wash.”

Cira hadn’t landed on such a troublesome island in ages. Nobody wanted to be around calamities and plagues, but she couldn’t just leave it alone, hassle be damned. She was raised better than that. Sorcery was a gift, not a right. Gifts were not to be coveted. Should you find yourself in a position to help the helpless and refuse, you were not worthy of that gift.

“I wanted to get some sleep, but I’m going to need to see that infirmary.”

“What, now?” The befuddled overseer asked.

“Yes, now.” With stern tone and incredulous visage, “You tell me there’s a plague throughout the city and you expect me to go by some snacks at the corner and call it a night like I planned?”

And here I thought I was going to be repairing light fixtures…