Luka held a “U” shaped section of log flume “track” in the air, inspecting the curved bottom. The section of track was waterproof, and essentially an elongated curving trough. But importantly, the log vehicle needed to glide through the track without scraping the bottom. The easiest solution would be to simply make the track deep enough. But, with a lack of materials, Luka had to get creative.

Technically, the log would only need a few centimeters of clearance to successfully glide through the water. But with the weight of riders, it was unlikely that approach would work. Instead, Luka decided to angle the vehicle in a similar shape as the track. Buoyancy wasn’t something he often thought of while designing bombs on Earth, but he did assist with a few submarine blueprints over the years.

Unfortunately, the physics behind submarines wasn’t quite as applicable in this situation as Luka wanted. But luckily, he knew of something that was: block coefficient—the identifying ratio of water displacement to volume. There were nuances, of course, like the term technically requiring a rectangle, but Luka ignored all of that in favor of what he remembered. The shape most effective for a ship to maximize buoyancy was a cigar bottom with a fluted sidewall.

Luckily for Luka, all his worries about the log flume’s shape were unfounded. As it turned out, the troughs were deep enough—he had enough wood for the track.

“Working hard?”

Luka turned, finding the elderly mayor, Tram. She looked like a raisin, if raisins were speared with bone-piercings and tattooed like a prison gang member.

He made a face and ignored her question, instead asking, “I heard you were in Sneerhome blackmailing a group of criminals.”

Briefly, he wondered about her tattoo and the local gang’s connection but brushed it off once he remembered Tram was an orc. Tattoos were very common fashion here. Case in point Eve—with her little bird tattoos.

“Calling it blackmail is hardly fair,” Tram said as if her words were perfectly normal. “Think of it as dragging a wayward teenage villager back to the village by the ear.”

“Wouldn’t he come back on his own—”

“The kid’s ego is massive. Without a little force, he’d live in that gutter he called home until he dropped dead. No, Barns needed a little tough love, as far as I’m concerned.”

“And he got it?” Luka asked.

Tram had a twinkle in her eye. “Him and his ‘gang’ start working here in a few days. The great big bad Batty Barns will be a security guard for the time being. If it turns out he sucks at the job, then we’ll find something else for him.”

She then paused, a thought washing through her mind. She bit her lip and added, “Unless… unless you have an issue with him. Some of the others expressed their hesitance to bring a criminal into our workforce here at the park, and so far, I’ve told them all off. Barns is one of us, even if he fell off the path.”

“But you’ll kick him out if I say so?” Luka asked, not fully understanding.

Tram stared at the ground as she spoke. “I’m not a perfect person. I’ve made mistakes, even though I act like I’m infallible. But even I can see hiring a criminal is… a risk. Call me sentimental or blinded, but I believe in this village and every son and daughter it produces.”

“And you want me, a relative outsider, to tell you you’re wrong—if it comes to that.”

She meekly nodded. “I’ll believe your words on the matter. You hold a level of objectiveness that the others simply don’t.”

Luka shrugged. “I don’t have the history or context.”

“Not yet—but you will.”

“Alright, Tram. I can do that for you.” He pointed to the log flume track. As they spoke, sections of track floated through the air, mounting themselves on the foundation columns. The outline of the ride was more or less finished. “What do you think of the new ride?”

“Looks… hilly?”

Luka watched as the mayor’s eyes traced the lift hills and the drops. There were three in total, each of varying size and steepness.

If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

“I’m excited about it,” he said. “Maybe because I was sleep-deprived at the time, but when we worked on Rogue Wave, I couldn’t appreciate the design and craft. Working on this, however, has been an eye opener for what future attractions can and will be.”

Tram patted him softly on the back. “I’m glad, then. You know what’s a real ‘eye opener’ in my mind? That you asked a god for help, and he told you ‘later.’”

Luka smirked. “God Neb reminds me of you, actually. I get the feeling the pair of you would get along rather well.”

“If you remember, I’m married, and God Neb is a god!”

He rolled his eyes. “That wasn’t what I meant, and you know it.”

Chuckling to herself, Tram nodded towards his ring. “You know, I was gone for a day, and I came back and you’ve got a priceless ring on, spoke to another god, and even managed to increase profits despite the park buying massive amounts of materials.”

Luka rolled the dull metal around his finger. “What can I say? Things just fall into my lap.”

Tram shook her head. “No—no they don’t. Do you think the gods would be interested in you if World Walker Park was a bust on day one?”

“I get where you’re going with this, but I haven’t really done much. I built a few things and introduced a few concepts. Nothing special.”

“’Nothing special,’ you say.” Tram pointed backward toward the park. “How do you explain all of that, then?”

Luka knew what she was hinting at instantly: the smiles. Just about everyone—guests, villagers, men, women, and children—were smiling. They walked around eating greasy foods and sipping on foaming mead. They laughed and joked and gawked at underwater illusions. Parents created memories with their children, while children had the time of their lives running from attraction to attraction.

But maybe most importantly, the villagers smiled and interacted with guests—their lives rekindled for the first time since the mine accident.

“Who cares if you ‘didn’t actually do that much’ because you’ve already done more for us than not.”

Luka didn’t know what to say. Maybe he’d done good, maybe not. The smiling faces and laughter was… something, but not something he was comfortable in measuring success with. Silence stretched before he asked, “Have you seen Sol?”

“I have,” Tram said with a sigh. “My trip to Sneerhome wasn’t only to drag Barns back. I also visited the Guilds and vouched for you.”

“My person?”

“Sol’s been trying to petition the Guilds to allow you a high access membership. Before you asked, I was never interested in the mage portion of the Guilds, so I don’t know everything the membership has to offer. But I do know you’ll have access to more glyphs than that tome Sol gave you a week ago.”

Luka frowned. “That tome held like hundreds of glyphs. How many more could I need?”

Tram adopted a smirk. “Oh, you sweet innocent child. You have no idea what kinds of magics are locked away by the Guilds.”

He wasn’t impressed. “Uh-huh.”

“Does Earth have the concept of adaptive space?” When Luka didn’t respond right away, the mayor continued, “Adaptive space is the making and usage of spatial magics to ‘adapt’ a space into something unnatural. Or at least, unnatural except in magic.”

“Spatial magic,” Luka said the words like a skeptic. “Don’t tell me there are glyphs that make the insides of buildings larger while keeping the outside the same size.”

That same accursed smirk found its way onto Tram’s face again. “So innocent, so sweet. Size adapting space glyphs are just the start of what Sol is trying to get you access to.”

He sighed. “And you had to vouch for me?”

“Well, you didn’t exactly have a teacher, master, or boss to offer a reference in my stead. So, I filled in as… let’s just say, a technical advisor.”

Luka didn’t hide his eye roll. “Sol should’ve just asked Tippy for the reference. I bet she would’ve shown up in person to vouch for me.”

“Goddess Tippy,” Tram corrected. “And it would be a cold day in the village before Sol went to the gods for anything. They aren’t exactly in her good graces anymore, as far as she’s concerned.”

The mine, Luka reminded himself. Sol must’ve prayed for help and was ignored.

“But yes,” the mayor said with her thumb jutted behind her, “I have seen Sol. She’s just over there, chowing down on a smashburger. Let her eat lunch before you start hounding her with magical questions—she’s rather tired from all the arguing, I’m sure.”

Luka nodded along but paused at the word ‘arguing.’ “Wait, what do you mean?”

The elder once again adopted the smirk. “For the past few days, our resident mystic has been holding her own in front of the upper echelons of the Guilds. Think of it as a court with one side explaining why a man from another world should have access to secrets while the other much larger side says ‘no’ in a thousand different ways. Eventually, one side must cave, and let’s just say it wasn’t Sol’s side.”

“So, you’re saying I should thank her?”

Tram snorted. “What do you think?”

Luka rolled his artifact ring around his finger. “Would a present suffice?”