"Can I help you," a small woman with black hair sitting behind a large desk Inquires, filling out her paperwork.
"No, but thanks for asking."
Walking past, I pivot back around.
"Actually, I have one request." Dawdling back over to her desk, I bend over placing my palms on her desk and look in her eyes.
"Could you forward all future documentation regarding the salt-mines from Giana or her assistant to me directly?"
"Oh, why?"
"I feel the mines are of utmost importance to the economy of this town and thus believe it should be a priority of my attention as vice-leader." gesturing openly, I try to copy Jiord's mannerisms from my memory.
Pretty please.
"This, can be done."
Thank you.
"Also, tell Nelson that I have a proposition for him in documentation if he's interested."
"He's currently busy."
"Just tell him, when he has time, to look it over, I think it would pique his interest."
"..."
"Could you also give me directions to the filing room?"
"Down the hallway you just came from," She points, "the last room on the right, opposite Nelson's office at the end."
"Thank you. Jan was it?"
"That would be my name!" She responds, looking back down to finish her paperwork.
So dry.
Turning around, I walk back from whence I came.
Left foot, right shoulder, hip swivel—I've got my walk down pat now,
I feel so cool.
---
After walking for about a minute, I spot two opposing doors.
On the left the door sits in plain brown, mounted on an iron hinge and polished with a glossy finish.
On the other side of the corridor, lies a set of double doors. Slightly larger than the one for Nelson's office, both of these doors have been carved with intricate designs and shaped with a subtle curve that connects at the top point where the panels meet.
Approaching, my palms feel the coldness of the painted black frame.
"Oh baby, you're gonna feed me so good. I just know it."
Rubbing my hands together, I place each of my palms against their respective door.
Open.
Groaning against my effort, the doors loudly part to reveal what's behind.
Stepping into this open space, my shoulders fall back and my posture straightens.
Shelves upon shelves of multicoloured folders loom above—each stuffed with coffee-coloured parchment, clearly baked for too long under the white sun.
Curling up, they sleep within these wooden burrows. Half-starved and too lazy to move now, they are the perfect prey.
The town, it's all built around this very room. It's like a house of cardboard, waiting to be knocked over and pocketed by me.
I grin viciously, taking another step inside before the room turns dark. Not the kind of dark where you can't see, but the kind where you can't breathe.
What?
A faint patter of footsteps scampers across the room, too small, too quiet to be that of a human.
Rodent, this is my space.
Chasing the sound from across the room, I weave between the arrangement of shelves and cabinets, finally managing to corner it against a wall.
Approaching this small creature, its black fur and wispy appearance make it hard to distinguish from inside the room's shadow.
"Do you have any last words."
Silence.
The creature stares at me with those beady eyes that shine in the dark..
"Do you have any last words." it repeats back, mimicking my voice.
Cracking my knuckles, I slam my fists against each other.
"What are you?"
". . ."
"Hey I asked you a question, be polite and wait for me to beat you." Standing over this creature, I point down at it to further articulate my point.
"Be polite... Wait for me to catch you." It parrots back.
Reaching down to pick it up, it suddenly leaps into my shadow dispersing into dust.
What a prick, at least say goodbye before you leave.
Shaking my head, I step aside to walk away before something touches my shoulder.
"What is it!"
Smacking my shoulder and spinning around, I reach out and grab what was feeling my arm.
A rope.
Hanging above where the creature was, it seems to connect above to some contraption.
Where were you before, ropey and why are you getting in my way.
Letting out a slight frown, I look around.
The room, it stays the same, not even making a peep.
My grip tightens around it, then, I pull.
Above, a curtain parts, its rope whines and then, light falls.
Shining beams trickle through the concealment of stained glass, a mosaic depicting biblical scenes, glows, both faded and cracked with age.
Amber, crimson, dark-green and the central purple now colour the surrounding floor.
"Woah."
"Woah." a faint gasp comes from below.
Looking down, I see a familiar sight.
The creature. Talking. In my voice. From my shadow.
Should I be alarmed?
But something about her feels... familiar. Like she's always been there, just out of sight.
"What are you?" I ask again, quieter.
She blinks slowly. Doesn't answer. Just starts walking up to me.
Fine. Mystery for later. At least this one seems helpful.
Reaching my leg, the shroud licks at its paw, slowly materialising into a cat in front of me.
A cat that speaks? Why do you speak to me, cat?
Yawning lazily, it lets out another "Moah," in the sound of my voice.
"Dude, what do you want?"
"Want, you." It calls back, pawing at my leg.
Right, ok. I guess I've been adopted for the second time this week.
Brushing up against my leg, she sticks out her pink tongue and then purrs whilst biting it gently.
Squatting down, my hand ruffles behind her ears.
"How about I call you... Mute?"
Her coarse tongue licks at the underside of my hand.
You like it huh.
"Moah."
She turns her neck, then begins to trot away.
Wait for me.
Leading the way, she sniffs at the scattered dust motes with her wet nose.
I only follow.
Walking through the aisles of folders, and taking note of their labelled arrangement, I gain an appreciation of the meticulous organisation used to store this information.
Section A is labelled first, then B and so on. Crossing the room, I continue accompanying Mute.
Eventually, she stops, curling up to sit on the floor.
F section. This must be the most recent entries.
Reaching the end of the shelf, I pick at the last folder filed in green and open.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Medium Priority]
Investigation of Agricultural yield of domestic crops.
Unable to silence the light purring of my feline follower, I focus solely on the reported numbers:
Moongrass is under-performing compared to previous months listed here. I wonder why...
Investigation (pending).
Interesting.
Flipping through, I read the added addendum.
Recent protests from the farmer union are the expected cause, however due to crop rotations and climate conditions further analysis is required to be definitive in this conclusion.
Well there goes that question. Protests, this is getting Interesting. I wonder what moongrass has to do with this.
I investigate.
Due to the shortage of local supply, further seasonal budgets must be allocated to transport of Moongrass Yonkfeed to supplement this deficiency. Recommended merchants are as follows:
- Folges family and sons: Cheap but lower quality, slow transport, high order volume.
- Sovereign ascent - Farming: Medium produce, fastest transport available, won't travel past Mouribound into the quarantine zone.
- Plum: High quality, no transport, expected lower volume needed due to higher mana content. Pairing with the cheap transport options makes the price worthy of consideration.
Studying this brief summary, I delve deeper into the merchant's specifics.
Sovereign ascent - Farming.
Being a subsidiary of the famous 'Sovereign' merchant family, this company deals with higher graded produce. Run by the title-holder Grant's third-nephew and operates with the best price to performance for medium rated commercial-grade produce in large quantities.
Due to the group's large scale, security and trust in their ability to deliver products is high. However the quarantine is not within their operational scope."
Not under operational scope! What a lousy excuse to not deliver food to us people that need it. Sickness or not, we are willing and able customers. You don't capitalism well enough and for this inexperience you lose my vote of confidence.
Plus, I don't like your attitude nepo boy.
Finishing up my brief review of the document, I pick up the next report and read.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Highest Priority]
Transit log for convict duty.
2314: Returned. 0197: Returned. 1470: Deceased. 2001: Missing. 0122: Returned. 1164: Returned. 1721: Missing. 2311: Deceased. 1914: Returned. 1717: Returned. 1512: Reclaimed. 0021: Returned. 1215: Missing. 1109: Returned. 2001: Returned.
More people are missing than I thought.
So many.
How do they report someone missing anyway? Do they have to find the body first? No, it says deceased here too, so that must mean they found the body first or they died in camp for that to be written.
I don't know if it's better to be missing or deceased here, either way his body went missing too.
Scratching my chin, I hold the sheet up to the light until something catches my gaze.
1470: Replaced.
2001: Replaced.
Flipping back to the previous page, I confirm this classification.
1721: Replaced.
My forehead grows tight.
My vision narrows on these few words.
2311: Replaced.
….: Replaced.
….: Replaced.
….: Replaced.
Replaced…
My hand trembles. I drop the paper.
Gliding through the air, it skims across the stone floor before resting still.
My body freezes, watching where it landed with caution.
Replaced, substituted or maybe even terminated upon review.
How is the population maintained like this, growth is almost nonexistent but the same goes for decline. It is almost like there is a specific number that is kept as a target, if number goes over, people go poof, and if it goes under, then people are replaced.
A soft treading sounds claws its way closer, disturbing my train of thought.
Looking at the source, I watch Mute's wet nose press into the paper's edge—sniffing, biting at the dead thing.
Gyet…
It's not safe here, meowser. That wording. Those numbers. Too inhumane. Too clean. Curiosity feeds, but also...
Kills.
The timing's too irregular. They don't send them in monthly shipments or keep the admissions standardised, predictable.
Detached, that may be—but better than this.
From what I've been told these people aren't stupid.
Scattered, random and anomalous but always replenishing upon disappearance or death.
Like they were never people at all. Just positions to be filled.
What could be the significance of this population cap?
I need more info. Anything to prove me otherwise. Some cherry picked dataset or cultural traditions that I'm missing.
Please.
"Hey Mute, stop playing with that thing. I said it's dangerous." She continues carrying the paper around in her mouth as she chews it loudly.
Rushing over, I chase at her shadow before managing to tug the report out of her small mouth.
You never learn your lesson, do you? You need to learn to be more careful, you only have 9 lives to waste.
Realigning the paper against its folder, I try to turn the page, my finger sticks to the folded and chewed corner.
Pinching and pulling the sheet, it bends into my palm.
I know it doesn't matter much in the end, or, there isn't anything I can do about it. Either way somethings very fishy. How they replace them and all, this is eerily reminiscent of..
Don't think about that, this already makes me feel sick, I don't need to puke too.
Just give me some hope.
Licking my finger, I finally am able to turn over the page:
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Highest Priority]
Monthly Output of Convict Duty
Hazaar. Finally, something not directly morbid, but indirectly morbid.
Tracing the page with a trembling finger, over-the worn creases and fading ink, my eyes gaze over all that can be read.
50 metric tonnes—Jiord wasn't lying.
My throat gags.
Maybe I should stop for a moment.
Closing the folder, I meander around the splintered shelves of oak.
Black, black, blacky, black.
Hooking all these black folders, I reel them in, piling them around my man-sized but vacant plot I've just claimed, prepared for future squatting.
Mark my words, I will bring the warmth of a campfire and the love of home to this lonely stone-slabbed floor. After all, a hunter always cherishes their hunting grounds.
Turning, I trace back out the room to where Jan was previously.
Right foot, left hand, left shoulder in front.
Why am I even doing this?
The swag in my stride collapses. My once energetic dynamo sputters to a sluggish dawdle.
Reaching over to her office, I press her bell.
"Jan... Janny, I have a couple of questions for you, please pay attention."
"What?!"
"First, can you provide me with a piece of paper, the largest one available in stock?
Can you also describe to me why there's a discrepancy in the personnel reported?
There's a few that aren't on transit, aren't dead or missing, they fall under the distinction of being 'reclaimed' and don't appear in the next convict census?
Same for the plague-masters they're not mentioned anywhere in the reports, please explain?"
"That's the beast cores. If a convict obtains one, they can relinquish it to the Heavenly Protection Board. This also releases them from the obligation pact of their convict duty.
About the plague-masters; they don't have to report to our documentation, as they are higher entities sent from the sky-palace.
Now for your paper, the biggest size we have in office is in that drawer. We used it for spare maps and routing paths towards the burning piles. Something has to direct the prunes where to go."
Standing up, she bends over to a low draw beneath her hip-level, handing me what seems to be an A3 piece of paper.
"Do you have any of that special coloured ink too, the stamping ones?"
"Anything else?" She huffs.
"Actually, yes now you mention it: A ruler, two paperweights, two of those bound books, empty, that heap of that parchment over there, four quills and a thank you to you Jan!" I hold my hands in praying motion, staring at her with pleading eyes.
"Ew, stop that. I don't want to see that ever again."
"Not until you help me, thanks."
After a few minutes of holding this face, another chime rings throughout the office and she manages to push forward the various items requested, walking away as she shakes her head.
She's such a hard worker and knowledgeable too. I'm so glad I could help her, help me. She truly deserves a reward from someone. It's sad to see her get so annoyed, but I guess that's the culture in this settlement.
Overburdened.
Overworked.
Workload.
Taking this luggage, I fold it inside my robe and trudge back.