by JM Coombs
"Oh, she does not." Richard patted his miniature trunk. "Nothing against heavy work, of course — good honest way to make a living — did it myself for the last three years, but I don't need the money just now. You know that. If the worse comes to the worst, I will just hole myself up somewhere and read for the next week." He slumped. "Having no wood to work with sucks."
Elizabeth nodded slowly. "Maybe your mystery post will have something for you to do?"
"Maybe."
The two of them made the short journey across the street to the building signed with a letter-holding dolphin, entered, and walked up to the lone counter.
"I'm here to pick up some post," Richard said to the woman behind the counter, placing the note he'd received on the desk.
She picked up the note. "Richard Struggle?"
"Yes."
The woman leaned backwards and shouted to someone apparently hidden around the back. "Oi! Charles! The guy is here!"
There was the sound of clattering round the back and an interested face popped around the corner. "You Richard Struggle?" the face, which presumably belonged to Charles, asked.
"Yes."
The face lit up and the body it was attached to ambled around the corner holding a thick stack of envelopes.
Richard goggled at the sheer number. "Those can't all be for me?"
Charles nodded quickly. "Man, they sure are. Carried most of them myself."
"You're a dolphin whisperer?" Elizabeth asked.
"Sure am, beautiful."
Elizabeth pinned Charles with an icy glare.
The man looked away hastily.
"But," Richard looked down at the letters again. "Who'd be writing to me?"
Charles turned back to him and grinned. "Fans, of course."
"Fans?"
"Sure — you know — of your memory diary."
Richard froze.
Elizabeth shot him a curious look.
Richard looked at Charles nonplused. "But I only stored one memory."
"Yeah, but man it was a good one, wasn't it? Wouldn't mind one of those trunks myself. And there's this big-shot memory diarist over westwards. He did a review of it in his own memory diary. That's how I found it. You're crystal ball famous, man."
Crystal ball famous. Richard slowly took the pile from Charles, ripped open the first letter and read.
Richard Struggle.
Best hero prep memory I've ever seen! I feel our new civilisation has a much better chance with people like you ready to fight the good fight. Thank you.
- Mary Trilly Goodwill
(PS. How much do you sell those trunks for?)
Richard stared.
"Well," Charles said, backing up a step, glancing cautiously towards Elizabeth, and giving Richard a short wave, "pleasure to meet you, Mister Struggle. If you ever need anything be sure to look me up, yes?"
Richard's head shot up.
"I'll be here for another couple days before—"
"—Could you take me to the next island heading East?" Richard cut in.
Charles paused in mid-offer. "Err…" he suddenly looked apologetic. "Sorry, man, I'd really like to, but the rules say I can't carry people on routes that the boats take, or while I'm carrying post, or all kinds of other times."
Damn.
"Man, I'm really sorry."
Richard shrugged it off. "Don't worry about it."
Charles nodded. "See ya round. Got to be off delivering more notes now."
Richard nodded and together he and Elizabeth sat down in one of the many seats in the post office.
"I can't believe so many people wrote to you," Elizabeth said.
"I can't believe so many people watched that memory," Richard countered. He ripped open another letter and read.
Dear Mister Richard Struggle,
I came across your hero prep after watching a review of it on Nathan Rodhall's Big Fat Hero memory diary. I was just wondering if you have any advice for someone thinking of doing the whole hero adventuring thing? I have some skill as a hops thumb, but I know that's not necessarily the best magic for someone wanting to be a hero. I also have…
Richard blinked. Someone wanted his advice?
"Richard…"
Richard looked up from the paper.
Elizabeth looked like she was debating whether to ask something or not. Eventually she asked, "Your name is just Richard Struggle, right? No middle name?"
Richard looked at her in confusion for a moment before amused understanding dawned. "Would you like to use my crystal ball?" he asked, fighting every instinct in his body not to tease the hell out of her.
Clearly something in his mental state had shown on his face though, because Elizabeth looked away before primly saying, "If it wouldn't be too much trouble."
Richard reached into his side-trunk, found the crystal ball, handed it to her, and, while she put her hand onto it and made herself comfortable, he continued to read.
Some time later, Elizabeth 'woke up'. "Wow," she said. "I know you said you were prepared, but that was something else." The way she looked at him had changed again. Less feigned disinterest, slightly more respect.
Richard smiled sheepishly. It was hard to say it was nothing when you had an opened pile of letters in front of you saying it wasn't.
"Well, now what?" Elizabeth asked.
Richard carefully put the open letters into his side-trunk. "Go get an early lunch?"
Elizabeth thought for a second. "Brunch?" she asked.
"Brunch," Richard agreed.
They got two steps out of the post office when a sudden commotion from the sheriff's office across the street caused them to pause.
The same woman Richard had seen working with Mister Offwood — she of the sharp knife and exhausted look — stumbled out of the tower door as though firmly pushed. "Bastards!" she shouted at the closed door. "Coincidence save us from you!" She then wadded up a sheet of paper that looked identical to the many job ads from the hero board and chucked it at the door. She then turned around and stormed off in the direction of the market.
"I wonder what that was about," Richard said.
Elizabeth shrugged. "No idea. Brunch?"
But Richard had already started walking over to where the wadded up paper ball lay next to the shut door. He snatched it up and un-scrunched it. He then walked back to Elizabeth who was waiting with her hands on her hips, and read.
Discrete Hero needed.
Reward payable on completion of task.
Please help.
- Julie Cooper (45 Main Street - Room 204 - After market)
Richard smiled a grim smile and handed the note to Elizabeth. "That sounds like a real cry for help."
Elizabeth read the note cautiously. "You don't think this has anything to do with Mister Offwood, do you?"
"Maybe."
"And you're going to insist on finding out, aren't you?"
Richard nodded.
They found the woman, presumably Julie Cooper, bent over a bowl of stew and sitting at one of the metal benches outside where they'd eaten the previous evening. Richard sat down opposite the woman while Elizabeth went to get two more bowls. "Julie Cooper? The wood carver who works with Mister Offwood?" he asked.
The woman looked up. Her face spoke of a tale of toil and frustration bordering on hopelessness. "You're the trunk maker from before," she said.
Richard laid the wanted ad down in front of her. "I am."
Caution flashed in her eyes as they travelled between the paper and his face.
"I'm also working towards my first prophecy," he said.
She snorted and gave him a tired gaze. "You should just get out as quickly as you can. You're not like those skill-less kids who call themselves heroes. You're in danger more than most."
Elizabeth returned with two bowls of stew for each of them.
Richard frowned. "What from?"
Julie leaned forward. "From them," the wood carver said.
"Who is them?" Richard asked
as Elizabeth sat down.
Julie's voice dropped so low Richard and Elizabeth had to lean forward themselves to hear.
"The island is run by this group of people who all know each other and who got hold of all the rights the council gave out for the land."
"What, like a cartel?" Elizabeth asked.
"Yeah,"—Julie nodded—"One of them. Anyway, everyone knows that once the great migration is over this place is going to become a ghost town, so they're doing everything in their power to squeeze everything they can out of the people travelling through while they can."
"That explains the high food prices," Elizabeth whispered.
Richard stayed silent and listened.
"Yeah, but it's not all they do. A few of them like to watch out for people with useful skills, trap them on the island, and force them to make stuff for them at a pittance."
Elizabeth's eyes widened "How do they do that?"
Richard growled as something clicked into place. "They control the tickets off the island. That's why that fuck at the docks uses a lottery instead of a waiting list. So he can rig it."
Julie nodded. "Probably yeah, although no one can prove it. They also look for people with lots of money and then keep them here to drain them of as much of that money as they can in hiked up food prices and the like."
Another bulb went off inside Richard's head. That had to be why they delayed his departure date until next week. Word must have gotten to them when he sold the cigarettes. "Is that what happened to you?" he asked.
Julie shook her head. "No. I stupidly took the same deal Mister Offwood offered you yesterday. He makes it so I have just enough money to eat, but not enough to save up for a ticket off the island. And the lottery hasn't given me a ticket in all the time I've been here."
"How long have you been here?"
Julie's expression darkened even further. "Eight months."
Richard's mind blanked. Eight months. This woman had been trapped here for eight whole months.
"And I'm far from the only one. I know a couple dozen others in the same situation as me, all working for Mister Offwood or one of his friends."
A couple dozen. Richard frowned. "Couldn't you find a wood supply of your own and break Mister Offwood's monopoly? Then you could control your own business."
Julie shook her head. "We've tried. The sea traders deal exclusively through the dock, which is controlled by the cartel. You can't get a spot in the market without the cartel's approval, and people from Earth never bring any raw wood with them."
"Couldn't you grow some yourself? Find a willing tree thumb and—"
But Julie continued to shake her head. "No. I'm an oak thumb myself. All the land is controlled by the cartel. All of it. You try to grow anything on it without permission and they'll just take it. Have you noticed that there isn't a single tree on this side of the island?"
Richard and Elizabeth nodded.
"Yeah, that's why," Julie finished.
"And you can't go to the other side of the island for wood…" Elizabeth continued.
Julie snorted again. "Not unless you want a four pronged spear through you. Every so often some bright spark gets the idea to travel into the council preserve. They're always found."
Richard was deep in thought. "If someone could get you the wood, could you build a boat?"
Julie blinked. "Myself? No. I'm a wood carver not a boat builder. All of us who are trapped here together, maybe…" She slowly shook her head. "But you'd have to use the dockyard to build something that big, and the cartel controls that."
"And the sheriff won't help? I saw you being thrown out of there just a little while ago."
Julie shook her head again. "He's in deep with them," she said. "Corrupt fuck," she muttered, not quite under her breath.
Suddenly a large round figure loomed over them and a cheerful voice said, "Lunch time's over, Julie. C'mon, chop, chop."
A flash of fear pierced through Julie's haggard expression. She dropped her spoon in the now empty pewter bowl with a clink, and hastily got to her feet.
Richard couldn't help shoot Mister Offwood a glare.
"Oh, hello Richard," Mister Offwood said. "You thought any more about my offer?"
Richard looked towards Julie who was shooting him a tired, pleading look that clearly indicated she didn't want trouble. He turned back to Mister Offwood and, as politely as he could, said, "No, not yet, I'm fairly sure I know what I'm going to do, but thank you anyway."
Mister Offwood chuckled and slapped him on the back. "Well, the offer is still open whenever you want."
Mister Offwood and Julie walked away.
Richard watched them go and shivered. "That could have been me."
Elizabeth nodded slowly.
Later that afternoon, Richard sat atop a large rock overlooking the town. He'd gone walking up Main Street, just to see how far it would take him, and the answer was, all the way up to the mountain quarry. All around him, elementals of all kinds went about their business, pulling their own special element straight out of the mountain rock, liquifying and pouring it into moulds, and then solidifying it into beams or blocks for transport down to the town.
A small cart full of some unidentified silvery type metal trundled past him on a miniature gravity assisted railway. A railway, unsurprisingly, made out of wood.
He picked up a nearby pebble and chucked it down the mountain side, watching it tumble and skid until it came to a halt at the edge of a field of wheat — a field of wheat in which a number of wheat thumbs were busy encouraging the crop to golden and ripen in the hot tropical sun. It looked like a race to get the harvest in before it started rotting — just like the race to strip every traveller of every coin they had before they left the island and probably never returned.
"Still thinking?"
Richard started. He looked up and saw Elizabeth had followed him. "Yeah," he said.
"What are you thinking?" she asked.
"I think it's bullshit!"
Elizabeth hesitated for a moment before sitting down on one of the other rocks near his own.
Richard continued. "It's just so frustrating that people would do something like that. This isn't the system making people do bad things, this is just pure greed."
A stray strand of hair from Elizabeth's sensible pony-tail fell over her face. She drew it behind her ear. "You do seem to be the trusting sort, so I can understand why you'd be frustrated by it — but at least they can only be trapped here for another two years at most."
"Yeah." Richard sighed. "I guess that's true. As much as it sucks, it's not as though their lives are in danger or anything like that. I suppose they can live with it." He chose to ignore her insinuation that he was too trusting.
Silence settled on the two of them.
Somewhere nearby a seabird cried out.
"By the way," Elizabeth said, "what was in that book that started glowing on the way here?"
Richard's eyebrows rose. "Oh, that. That was a message from my thought to be dead mum saying I should travel north."
Elizabeth looked at him blankly. "Why?"
"Don't know. She didn't say. Just said there were 'interesting things' going on up there."
"Are you going to go?"
Richard shook his head. "I'm grateful to her for reaching out to me when she did and giving me my blood bound spell." He patted the trunk by his side. "But I've got things to do in the East."
Elizabeth nodded slowly. "It's probably just as well. I've heard there's nothing up north except rocks and wrecks anyway."
Richard stilled. For the longest time he didn't move or say anything.
"Richard?"
Still Richard didn't move.
"Richard? Are you okay?"
Richard turned to Elizabeth. "Say that again."
"Umm, 'Richard, are you okay.'"
"No, not that bit — the bit from before."
Elizabeth hesitated before repeating, "I've heard there's nothing up north except rocks and wre
cks anyway?"
Richard Struggle grinned.
CHAPTER SIX
A Space to Hold Two Dozen Dreams
Miss Helen Pathways filed away a report of petty theft in the sheriff's filling cabinet. It was important she got it right. The sheriff was a demanding boss and didn't take well to things not being exactly as he liked them. Helen looked up from her task just as the office door opened and a good looking young man entered. Her appreciative eye traversed the triangle from his waist to his shoulders before fixing on his face. The face smiled at her. She suddenly found herself wishing she'd paid more attention to her hair that morning. "Can I help you?" she asked.
"Yes," the young man said. "I was wondering what laws the council might have put in place regarding salvaging from wrecks."
Helen blinked. "I don't think we have any laws for that yet." Understanding dawned. "Oh, you must be thinking of the boat that ran aground on the small island out near the council preserve." She waved a dismissive hand. "Don't bother with it."
The young man looked disappointed. "Oh?"
Helen hastened to explain. "There's nothing there now, you see. They already took anything that was worth anything. It'll all be just rotten timber."
The young man's face lit up again. "But the wood is available?"
Helen couldn't for the life of her imagine why anyone would want such low quality wood, but… "Yes, until the council makes a law about it and so long as you don't go into the council preserve."
The young man smiled at her again.
Charles Moore sat in an aluminium deck-chair, overlooking the warm blue sea, and sipped from a small tankard of stripe. This was the life. Thank Coincidence he'd chosen to be a dolphin whisperer all those years ago. It had merely seemed like a cool thing to be at the time, but now that he'd hit twenty-five and completed his fifth and final whisperer ritual, it was his ticket to see as much of Creakylid as he could deliver post to, all at the council's expense, and unlike Earth, he didn't have to hide what he was here. Being able to turn into a dolphin was still new and exciting and he loved it.
A shadow blocked out his sun.
"Charles?"
He recognised that voice. "Hey, man!" he said, turning around in his chair. There stood a grinning Richard Struggle, complete with tiny trunk — Dear Driven what he would give for one of them. "What's up?"