13 – A Backwater Town, Full of Backwater People

“Utter incompetence,” Mick Carthain spat onto the stone floor as he ran a manicured hand through thinning hair just on the verge of gray. His nasally voice made even more so from the tight perpetual sneer. “Complete and utter incompetence; how difficult is it to send a requisition to one of the largest cities in over two hundred langs?!”

“Not very difficult sir, you are absolutely correct,” the dark-haired woman–likely in her late twenties– replied. Her hands sat folded against the rough sage fabric of her dress as she stood, her eyes focused on the familiar shape of the short, overweight man’s barely scuffed leather shoes.

“So tell me then, Myra.” Mick held out the empty wine bottle, the early afternoon sunlight glinting off the glass. “Why do I find myself with not even half a glass of wine remaining? Or did we forget that a small taste of luxury is one of the only items that keep me sane amidst the people of this backwater town?!”

“No, of course not, sir.” Myra worked to keep her voice from trembling. “The requisition was made with plenty of time for the, very necessary, supplies to arrive; I approved the order myself.”

“So why do we find ourselves having this oh-so-stimulating conversation? Pray tell.”

Myra shuffled her feet, switching her gaze to Mick’s other shoe. “There have been reports of more monsters than usual on the road from Meridia. A forward messenger arrived just this morning informing me that they lost three of their refined guards, but that the current caravan has only been delayed by a day and should be arriving…” she lowered her voice. “This time tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Tomorrow?! What am I supposed to drink until then? Surely you don’t expect a man of my stature, a guild administrator, to be reduced to consuming the grain swill made in some back-alley copper pot? Surely that wasn’t your plan, correct?”

“No, no, absolutely not! I was just on my way to, personally, vi– visit each of the taverns to retrieve a suitable replacement. Obviously, not as fine as you deserve, but something suitable nonetheless.”

“Not using official funds I hope.”

Myra’s mouth twitched down, almost imperceptibly. “Absolutely not; the auditors would never stand for it. It was my responsibility, and of course it would be my… my pleasure to procure it with personal funds. I… I will have something for you within two turns.”

“See to it you do.”

Seeing her opportunity, the olive skinned, dark-haired woman turned to go.

“Oh, and Myra.”

She paused, squeezing her eyes shut before slowly shifting back to face the small man, a thin smile fixed on her face. “Yes, sir? Is there anything else?”

Mick hurled the almost empty wine bottle across the room, smashing it against the thick stone wall, barely missing the ornate glass of one of the west-facing windows. “There seems to have been a spill; do clean it up before you go.” He whirled, striding over to the fine leather chair on the other side of the room, picking up a sheaf of papers.

“Of course, it would be my pleasure.” She hurried over to the small closet in the corner, quickly grabbing a long-handled broom and a flat, metal pan, as well as one of the several white cloths from a woven basket.

Several moments of brushing and scrubbing later, she had replaced the broom and, once again, moved towards the door, the stained cloth and broken glass resting in a pile atop the metal pan.

From the chair, Mick pulled a small round device from his pocket, a tiny black stone sticking out of it. “Two turns, Myra.”

“Certainly sir, it is my top priority.” Before waiting for a reply, she pulled open the thick oak door and stepped out, closing it softly behind her.

In the open-air hallway, Myra leaned against the hard, cool stone of the wall, eyes closed. Warm sunlight bathed her face, streaming through one of the intricate arched openings that overlooked the lower courtyard of the guild office. She let out a slow, long breath, “Just, breathe.” She thought of her mother, her brother’s family, the smiling face of her golden-haired niece. She thought of the kinds of accidents that could befall them; other spills of an angry administrator. She glanced at the pointed shard of a broken bottle, resting on her tray. “Just breathe.” She righted herself, set her face in what she hoped was a determined, thoughtful expression, and moved down the hall to dispose of the mess.

“Where are you off to, Myra?” A beautiful woman walking next to a gruff leathery-skinned man asked. Her voice was high and sharp, full of condescension.

“Oh, hello, I mean good morning, Violet. Just on an errand for Mr. Carthain.” Myra did not make eye contact.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Well you better be getting along little mouse, we wouldn’t want to keep you from your very important duties.”

Just breathe. “Thank you, Violet. Good morning.”

Behind her, a loud knock carried down the open-air hallway as Violet and her companion paused at Mick’s door.

“Just moment!” Back in the Florn guild administrator’s office, Mick stared out the window at the denizens below. “Utter incompetence,” he muttered. Glancing down, he continued reviewing the papers that laid out the official regional rates for guild sponsored bounties. He set the sheet down, replacing it with another that showed the current outstanding contracts for the area, muttering to himself. “Patrol, patrol, mining scout, patrol, brood hunting, patrol.” He sighed, reaching absentmindedly for a glass on the side table, his hand moving through empty air. He scowled at the spot. “VEK! Three rutting seasons in this gods forsaken excuse for a town!” Gritting his teeth, he took several quick, calming breaths. “Perspective, Mick. Patience.”

A knock sounded a second time.

He would bear it. What was a few seasons of discomfort compared the power that awaited him upon his elevation in Meridia. He would take the outskirts post, he would wait on the edge of the wilds. Something interesting would happen eventually–he glanced at the Bastion game board laid out on a nearby table–and then he would make his move. “Utter incompetence. Come in!”

—

“Ok, the more I think about it, the more questions I have.” Ren said. The small group had spent the last several hours following In’dala back to one of the main paths through the woods. The bald Kanati woman—now off scouting the road ahead—apparently had some magical sense of direction that basically made it impossible for her to get lost, though the details were still hazy; she had not shared much even after the previous evening and morning’s events.