In doing nothing, Maran’s soul ached in a way that it had never ached before. She sat on that stool, because that is that the meister ordered, and she sat with that pain, because that was her discipline, but she did not like that pain. All she wanted to do was work and make the pain go away.
At the end of her shift, Maran left the forge and threw herself at her garden. That night, she slept restlessly. Her energy kept her tossing and turning.
The next day, she returned to her stool. The moment that she saw it, she despised it. It was her prison. It was her punishment for existence. Stur was a Reckoner and he was determined to start reckoning with her.
The drifters had no idea what to make of Maran. However, no matter how curious they became, none would approach her. If Stur did not like her, then none of them was willing to cross Stur. Each of them had been beaten by a roasting spit and did not want to get beaten again.
The roasting pits themselves were deep, chimney-like areas made of fitted stone. Multiple levels of bars ran across the coals, attached to chains, which connected to fans. The hot air rising through the coal turned the fans, making the spits turn of their own accord. Maran found this mechanism exceedingly clever.
All sorts of meats roasted on the spits. The majority of meat was beef and pork, but they also had chicken, goat, horse, and dog. Interestingly, the horse meat never included bones.
According to the staff, if something could be roasted in those pits, it was roasted in those pits. They only creature that they dare not roast was the griffin, for that would be an offense to the Emperor, or would be an offense to him if there really were an Emperor.
Once the meat was done, servers took the spits and carried them around the dining rooms, carving off what the workers wanted. Some items were too large to serve that way, so large chunks were hacked off then sent around on smaller spits.
When they were done, Maran still sat.
Kommissars
Freifrau Quema rushed over to the roasting pits in a near panic. She grabbed Maran by the arm and pulled her off the stool. “I need her,” she said, dragging Maran through the kitchen in a near panic. What could possibly be wrong?
“I’m going to kill Stur,” she muttered, “He’s gone too far.”
Once inside Freifrau Quema’s office, the Freifrau calculated added numbers on her counting board, followed by counting out a big pile of silver coins. “This is your pay so far, plus your overtime. You missed your half-day off. You get the rest of today off starting right now. Be back tomorrow.”
The size of her pay stunned Maran. The silver felt scintillating in her hands.
“Put that in your apron,” ordered Quema impatiently. A knock came at the door as Maran dumped the money in.
Whoever knocked did not wait. An armored dwarf protector opened the door, then announced, “Kommissar Steingraf Jasper.”
The bottom of Maran’s stomach plummeted to her feet. The Kommissars had caught up with her.
Jasper strutted boldly, with road-worn boots and cold steel eyes, like a bull looking to gore anything. He sat down behind Quema’s desk. With a wave, the Kommissar commanded, “You may bow.”
Maran bowed hurriedly. Quema gave the least bow possible.
Jasper spoke, “Good morning, Freifrau Quema. You know me. My associate is Kommissar Protector Flint. We have a few questions for you that you will answer both promptly and directly.”
Quema scowled. Maran found it amazing that the woman could show such little respect to Kommissars.
Jasper began. “Maran of the Loam, I have a few questions for you. Will you answer them?”
The fear continued welling higher. “Yes, sir. I will answer.”
Jasper tapped his armored thigh with a ting. “The Contract says that you should be paid yesterday, on Nomostag. Have you been paid? Have you been compensated for long hours?”
The inquiry relieved Maran. “Yes, sir. I have been paid. The money is in my apron.”
“Show it to me. It better not be script.”
Maran showed the silver.
Steingraf Jasper nodded, continuing his inquisition. “You get a half-day off per week. Have you been given a day off?”
“I was just about to take my day off when you arrived, sir.”
“Acceptable. May I see your work permit?”
“Sir, I don’t need a work permit. I am on Loam lands. This land was granted by Emperor Thule. The Ironmongers rent this land from our king. Loam do not need work permits on Loam land.”
Steingraf Jasper frowned. “That is an obscure point, but you are correct. I had not realized this particular implication. That is all that I need from you. You are done.”
Jasper now changed his focus. “Dear Freifrau Quema, I am disappointed in you. Others can claim ignorance of the regulations, but not you. It is your duty to enact these, and you should refresh the regulations in your heart and mind. Remember, these regulations are not merely rules to be obeyed. The regulations are embodiments of our ideals. It is our own personal duty to strive for those ideals.
“Are we not all dwarves of the same Union? Are we not all Axiomites, who believe that law is the basis of all civilization? Are we not a people of laws? Can we be happy without rules, laws, or traditions? The pleasure of a rule lies in obeisance, not in rebellion.
“We all obey the law, whether we are Hadean, Radsfjorden, Farsund, or Agslavit. When a dwarf violates those laws, he strikes a blow at the casons of our civilization. Those foundations may be strong, but enough blows will surely reduce it to rubble, collapsing our great civilization down upon us. To cheat another dwarf is to say that you know better than those wise dwarves who made the law, and that is hubris. When you follow a rule, you honor those elder dwarves who dedicated their lives to creating our laws and directives.
“Note that the subject of our laws is not our concern. The laws covers the worthy and the unworthy alike. For example, this cockroach correctly noted that she complies with the law. As disagreeable as I find that fact, my pleasure is in enforcing the law, not in expressing my well justified contempt for her people.
“I also remind you that there are proper and well-known ways around these laws which you should use in your favor, most especially excluding cockroaches from your employment rolls. Hire drifters instead. By hiring drifters, you not only save dwarves from working in unclean positions, you free yourself from the laws that govern dwarves. I suggest that you review that practice and remind yourself of its advantages.
“I also remind you that sooner or later, presumably sooner, my mother will succumb to her sickness. I will return to the Ironmongers and win the election, and then there will be a reckoning. Let us hope that you are not among the reckoned. Keep that in mind as you make your decision.”
Quema grew red, but she held her tongue.
Kommissar Jasper turned towards Maran again, “Cockroach, I do not know why you are here in this house. You have every reason to work against this guild. The day will come when I learn the truth, then I will sentence you for your crimes. As of now, let me discourage you from your intentions. Do not do this. Abandon your vile plans. Leave this place. Go back to your farm. Milk your cows. Bear your babies. The affairs of this guild are not yours. This house brought misery to you before and it will bring misery again.”
Kommissar Jasper stood, then strode across the room, closely followed by his single protector who slammed the door behind him.
With the great tension gone, Quema turned away from Maran. “Get out! Take your leave.”
On Maran's arrival back home, she got immediately hustled out by Altyn. “Osei is in town. He’s been waiting for you. Head down to the docks.”
When Maran found Osei’s boat, he greeted her with a smile and wide-open arms, bread, and salt. “Hello, my friend. I am glad to find you well. Please board my boat and enjoy my hospitality.”
Maran made a small leap onto the deck. Her weight shifted the boat, giving her that unwanted and alien sensation of rising and falling. “I had
forgotten this,” Maran said, holding onto Osei.
“You will forget this again, my friend. Come, enter my home and be welcome.”
They both crawled into that tent that served as Osei’s house. The sun warmed the air inside to a mild swelter. Osei closed the flaps against the breeze, leaving the tent lit only by darts of light slipping through the seams.
Maran said, “Osei, I’ve been having bad dreams…”
Osei held up his hand. “First, we must play host and guest. Never begin with business. For you, I have cold mint tea and stale biscuits. Alas, I am not the cook that you are. Of note are the cinnamon and the honey. They were a gift from Delaram. I told her that it was not necessary, but she insisted. I brought some other gifts down as well.”
“How is she doing?”
“Del is in fine spirits. Your family sends their love, which is to say that they send you food. All these sacks and bundles here are for you. I will have them delivered. It is a small thing, a trifle, so do not argue.”
“Any news?”
“The crop blight continues unabated, a curse upon us all. Some think that you will soon fix that. Why do they think that?”
“Because I’m a wayfarer. We go out into the world, then we return, and it becomes our job to fix the hard problems. Some problems are so difficult that no wayfarer has ever solved them, but we keep trying. It’s also our job to find out new things and find new opportunities. That’s why we go into the world.”
Osei took out a few strips of jerky, put them into a bowl, then pushed the bowl outside the flap. “That bowl is for the spirits. Fresh meat is best, but if they are friendly, they won’t be offended. They will stop at the doorway and eat the jerky rather than enter. That is very important, as we will soon expose ourselves to danger.”
As Maran munched, Osei continued speaking. “Altyn sent me a short note describing your condition. She is a strange bird, that Altyn. She dances with a grace unknown to most mortals. She sings beautifully, but only to herself. She plays the flute as fluidly as other people can talk. In all these things, she is beautiful, yet somehow she turns all these beauties into tedious facts. Facts and beauty are not the same thing. One does not lead to the other. Today, we concern ourselves with beauty.”
Osei brought out a shallow ceramic bowl, pourin water into it.
“This is water. Water takes us places. Row in a boat, and soon you find yourself somewhere else. If you stop rowing, there are currents. If you wish, you may row until you reach Endhaven, for all water goes to Endhaven. Water connects all the world with itself. We are bound to one world in water, below us, around us, and above us. Water is the foundation of the world.
“Dive beneath the water, and you find yourself in another world that you could not see from above. For you, it is invisible because you see reflections of your world on the surface. It is a strange world at first, but soon you learn to swim and follow its rules.
“Getting into the water from the air can be hard, for water is overwhelming. Many hesitate at the water’s edge. Will you plunge in or will you wade in? Either way, you submerge and cannot breathe. You might stay longer beneath the water, but first you must learn to hold your breath. You must prepare before you enter the water.”
The water in the bowl showed no ripples, rising and falling as the boat moved.
“Let us try a little test. Look into this bowl. It is nothing special. The vessel is unimportant. The water is unimportant. The reflections are unimportant. Notice the clarity. Let your eyes drift, seeing what they see.”
Maran stared for a while, but nothing happened. She shook her head.
Osei said, “Come, I shall take you somewhere. The simplest and hardest of all places to go is Endhaven, the land of all final things. Look back into the water.” Osei held out his hand, and Maran took it.
Maran looked into the water again, letting her eyes drift, seeing the seabed beneath her feet amid tideless waters, neither warm nor cold. No creatures scuttled there. No plant grew. No breeze blew inland. As far as she could see in every direction, she saw naught but water. Looking up one more time, she now saw the large island before her, rising to a mountain, and Maran knew in her heart that in that mountain was a lake, and in that lake the dead rested.
Osei squeezed Maran’s hand. “We are here, but we are not here. You will have been here, but not been here. We ourselves are yet in my boat, staring at the water. Yet, some people here can see us and interact with us. Others cannot. Most dreamworlds are like this. However, no other dreamworld is like Endhaven. You can actually travel to this place. You need only intend to travel here, and you will travel here. Anyone can. Some do. The sick, the dying, the mortally wounded, they sometimes come here to die. Some come here to climb the mountain seeking power, seeking the Ancient One. No matter who they are, when they are done, they return to the place where they began. Those are the strange rules of this place.”
Osei looked up, and they returned. Maran blinked, her world unexpectedly dark despite the sun outside. Osei responded in silence, pouring them more mint tea.
“Those dreamworlds are like water. They are strange and mysterious. Most importantly, they are places with rules. Once you learn that, then those worlds open up to you.
“Where I come from, pearls grew on the seabed. Some dwarves, Vitreans, women like you, overcame their fear of the water. They tied chains to themselves then threw themselves off boats, letting themselves sink deep into the water. There, they would hold their breaths for long times. Eventually, their companions would haul them back up to the surface. That is how they retrieved pearls.
“My second lesson to you is this: the dreamworlds are not safe. There is no guarantee of anything when you go there. However, and this should be noted, if you endure trials, then the rewards can be exceptional. In your case, the danger that you face is your nightmares, and the pearl that you seek is peace in your heart.”
“This can really help my nightmares?”
“It can.” Osei held up his finger, “I will now try to take you to the Steel City. That is a far more difficult journey and I may not succeed. We must tread carefully.”
Once again they stared into the waters, but this time nothing happened.
Osei laughed. “I am not very good at this, I confess, yet I know of no one who is any better. Much of this tradition is lost. Some of its secrets I have deduced, but those are not very special secrets. Perhaps, one day, I shall find secrets worth knowing.
“Now go home and practice what you can, my friend. You may see things, or you may not. Do not expect too much. When I come this way again, we shall work on this more. Perhaps by the autumn, you may be ready for more serious studies.”
Osei put her ashore.
Maran returned home. She would liked to have practice her new skill, but the house simply needed too much work. Altyn never cleaned nor swept, and there was now a day’s worth of grime on the floors.
“What did Osei show you?” asked Altyn.
“He showed me things about water.”
“Ah,” noted Altyn, “His gnostic poppycock. Was any of it useful?”
“No, it was just odd. I’m not sure what to make of it.”
“Well, aside from him, I don’t know who could help. Let me think about this some more. In the meantime, be useful and make dinner.”
By the time that Maran tended her garden, the hour was quite late. Her chores completed, she crawled into bed.
Dreaming, Maran found herself walking down a busy sidewalk. Everything seemed normal and everyday. People walked in each direction. The cars passed along thick and heavy. Shops with great glass windows displayed their wares to groups of shoppers did not stop. Men stood in the intersections, blowing their whistles, saying who could walk and who could drive.
Maran walked with the crowd from intersection to intersection, barely noticing. She walked when the man said to walk and stopped when the man said to stop. Others walked and stopped as they pleased, dashing between cars or slipping through gap
s. It occurred to Maran that she had no idea where she was going, but she really had to get there before she was late.
Occasionally, Maran examined a sign, but the closer she looked, the less sense the sign made. What appeared as plain writing quickly devolved into gibberish.
The city felt familiar enough. At least, it felt familiar enough even as it felt different. She was downtown where the parking meters lived. She could easily get a cab uptown, or walk a few blocks over to the rougher neighborhoods. She had a house over there which once belonged to her grandfather, or father, or something like that, and it was still filled with his things. She liked looking through his things, like the watches and chains and pens that he kept in drawers.
Maran stopped to look in a shop windows. They sold guns. Some looked new and some looked old, although most looked futuristic and violent. Some looked like the guns that she had seen before. Maran looked closer. These guns in particular looked exactly like the guns that the Gate Guard carried. They even carried the same maker mark.
The surprise jostled Maran’s senses. She sat there dreaming knowing that she was dreaming, knowing that she could now do as she wished in this dream. Even as she tried to enter the gun shop, her own alertness woke her up.
The Evening Shift
In the morning, Maran reported back to the roasting pits. The day passed slowly.
When evening came, a unfamiliar meister with a broken face stomped up to her, spitting through the side of his mouth. “I'm Meister Volkenrod. I run the night shift. Most of my crew's out sick. You work for me tonight. We have a party. Here’s the menu.”
Maran looked at the paper and gasped. “These are all Loam dishes. Who wants this? When do they want this?”
“Strikke wants this as soon as possible. Party starts in an hour or so.”
“An hour or so? I’ll do the best that I can, but I’ll need free rein on this. I just can’t deliver this as ordered. We don’t have half this stuff anyway.”
Weeds Among Stone (Jura City Book 1) Page 10