DB Lazarus
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28. The Commons - I
🕑 Added 2024-12-05 05:00:07 +0000 UTCThe rest of the day in the mine was uneventful. I didn’t question when he called an end to our shift. Instead, I carried our tools back to the cart to return them to the supply room.
I was stacking our tools on the cart when Dorian spoke. “It's gonna be a big deposit."
“How can you tell?"
“Because it hasn’t changed at all despite how far we tunneled.
“Was it that far?” We had made amazing progress, at least by the standards of non-mechanized mining without explosives, but it wasn’t that far.
“It was enough. It didn’t shift at all, which means only one thing. It is far. And if it is far, the only reason I can sense it…”
He trailed off, waiting for me to fill in. “Because it is big?”
“Yes.”
I couldn’t help but smile. He was a [Miner] to his core, and his excitement was infectious.
I tilted my head at the group of Ættir clustering at the entrance to the other shop. “When are you gonna tell the Verndari?”
He scoffed. “I won’t, but he will figure it out on his own. When we haven't hit deposit in a few days, he'll realize it's got to be reasonably large.”
“Isn't that going to piss him off?"
“So?”
I shook my head. Real mature. Also, not the smartest. Of course, Dorian wasn’t an under-leveled Human.
The topic died as we neared other Ættir in our crew. We walked back to the entrance in silence. None of the Ættir made any effort to be friendly, but at least they didn’t try to kill me. Did that make them or our Verndari the exception?
We exited the mine in a pack with the majority of the miners heading towards the largest building in the residential section.
Dorian looked toward the craftsmen’s section. “I’m gonna check on your clothes. See if she’s worked on them yet.”
“She said she would get us,” I cautioned. I had run into her type before during my time in the labs. Her friendly exterior was nothing more than that. Get between her and a project, and that facade would crumble. At home, it was just a verbal lashing. Here… The weight of that aura remained fresh in my mind.
“Yeah, but she’s forgetful when she has a project, which is always.”
“Sure.” Your funeral. “Just be clear it is you, not me asking.” In many ways, she was doing me a favor. I needed all the goodwill I could get. “Do you want me to wait for you?”
“No. Just get your food.”
“I can have meat now, right?”
“Yeah, just don’t go home and take a nap. Hard to vent excess Aether if you’re sleeping.”
Right…just a little piece then.
He waved and stepped away from the river of people.
***
The throng of people flowed into the large building through huge, propped-open doors. I stopped suddenly at the sight of the hall, only to be shoved forward by the Ættar behind me. I lost my balance but kept my awe. This building seemed impossible without machines, but then again, they had thrown up those walls that ringed up the camp.
The rustic hall was breathtaking in its scope, even with its simplicity. The expedition had made good use of the trees’ height. The large open room was tall enough that to allow for three full floors, and the architect or builders took advantage. Thick beams crossed the room and giant pillars grew from the floor to support lofted floors that receded like a staircase in an arena. Tables and chairs filled each floor, lit by a combination of light stones that hung as chandeliers or sconces. They all had an ample view of the center, but unless feasting was considered a battle here, there was no room for fighting. In the center, on a slight rise, a large banquet table fit for a king sat empty.
And who is that for?
I shuffled along, taking in more of the building. Though my company had just left the mine, others must have left earlier. Easily over a hundred sat with food, and the hall had room for many more. As with everything else here, the miners and workers divided into their respective groups. They sat in tight clusters with empty tables often serving as a buffer zone.
I waited, watching and listening. The hall buzzed with conversation, though far quieter than I would have expected with over half the tables full. I could only make out snippets. The line suddenly shifted to the side, and I barely managed to move with it. An Ættar carrying himself with an air of superiority then strode through that gap. He wasn’t the only one. The pattern continued, a river of people parting to allow a select few to cut the line.
If not for the pauses, the lines moved quickly, people flowing back in the opposite direction, carrying full plates of food. The clip spoke to the organization of this place. As I moved further inward, the lines divided, and a problem became evident. Oresiani, Volki, and Ættir each had a separate line. However, as for Humans?
I let out a sigh at my situation and for just how divided this place was. I ran the scenarios in my head.
What are the odds that I can get served in the line for Ættir or Volki? Screw it.
I broke away from the mass winding forward. I walked towards the back along the periphery. I ignored the looks and occasional sneers, but I did my best to give space to those who had cut the line. I may not have Dorian’s experience reading Marks, but even I could tell their complexity was a level above the rest.
As expected, after making it to the back, I found not a single human. I did discover another reason for the split. I didn’t need to taste it. A glance was enough to determine the difference between each group’s quality of food, or at least between the Ættir and the Oresiani or the Volki. The Attarsk food constituted pots of gruel.
I shook my head at the inequity, but my stomach’s growl brought the more salient point to the forefront.
Eat when you can, sleep when you can, and don’t touch the pancreas.
At least two of those three held some truth during my years in residency. As for the last, maybe if I had lasted longer in my surgical residency, I would have confirmed it. Now, of course, I was struggling to make the first truism a reality, and of course, I held up my hands in front of my body, fingers spread. Solid as a rock.
Oh, the irony, but not the worst trade-off as long as I could do something about the food.
The only way to get the attention of a person working the line was to cut in. I hesitated until it became clear my indecision had begun to draw too much attention—the wrong type of attention. Questioning looks became sneers, and sneers became quiet jeers.
I needed to move.
I chose to brave a server’s ire over the crowd. I moved toward the Oresian line. I didn’t trust the others would let me pass without a fight. As I approached, the new challenge to my plan became apparent. The serving lines were understaffed for the amount of people coming through. A group of three Oresiani rushed between two tables placing bowls of soup and plates of sliced meat cut right off large haunches onto metal trays. They moved quickly, not spilling a drop.
How?
Barely audible over the din came, “What does that Human think…,” and “Arrogant…,” and “Another group of Humans arrived?”
Screw it.
I pushed forward. “Sorry, but excuse me.” My move elicited more surprise than anger from the Oresiani I cut between. I called out to a petite Oresian preparing plates, “Excuse me, miss.” She neither slowed nor looked up. I tried again. “Excuse me.”
“I am busy if you can’t see. And….“ Something at the edge of imperceptibility washed over me. It was not all that different from the tingling of Energy transference, just strangely invasive. However, it disappeared as quickly as it came. “You haven’t earned the right to cut the line.”
A few snickers followed her words, which I would take any other day over violence, but she still didn’t look up from her work, the one action that would make further discussion moot. Only her sheer skill at her job kept my annoyance in check. In the brief span of words, she had plated three separate trays, which required reaching back to grab bowls of stew from another server. She had done that single-handed, without looking and without spilling a drop. “You are impressive, by the way.”
“Is that why you are here? To flirt with me?” I opened my mouth and then shut it. An older Oresian miner who had been watching our interaction with a growing smile finally let out a laugh. She scrunched her nose, making it clear why she immediately misjudged my intention. “At least have the decency to do it when you are getting the food. Now get back to the end of the line.”
“I don't have a line.”
“How do you not—” She finally looked up, and the bowl she was holding started to tip. My eyes widened. The thick stew lagged, but with that angle, the outcome was inevitable. “—[Perfect Recovery]. Gods, I can’t believe you made me burn that skill already.”
She quickly regained her composure and gave the old Oresian his completed tray along with a long scowl. “Don’t you dare laugh, old man, or next time I will give you a half-ration. I won’t forget that you could have said something.” The old Oresian didn’t bother hiding his smirk, but he mumbled something under his breath. I missed it, but she must not have as her scowl grew deeper. She went back to work, giving me the briefest of glances. “Since your company’s leader rudely forgot to inform the cooking staff of another company’s arrival, you will need to ask your leader about getting your ration.”
“You didn’t get a notification because there isn’t a new company.”
“What? How is that—Look, I don’t have time for this. Your tier isn’t even close enough to get priority. Don’t come back here until you talk with your company’s head.”
“Sure, my Ættarsk lead is going to be super helpful,” I muttered under my breath.
“But you’re a—“
“Thanks,” I waved off the young server. Of course, the line hadn’t shrunk. My stomach rumbled. “Dorian, I could kill you,“ I muttered, though it was clearly not his fault.
I was apparently louder than I had meant it to be because she called out before I had finished a single step. “So you’re Dorian’s mysterious friend.“
Her tone was ambiguous, but when I did an about-face, she was smiling, and her eyes practically sparkled in delight. “Who would have guessed it was a Human? Just ask my boss in the back.” She never slowed in serving the food, but she made the direction clear with a tilt of her head. “I had already prepped a tray for Dorian’s friend as he requested.” She gave me another once over. “That would explain some of the food choices.”
I gave her the biggest smile and small thanks all the while trying to ignore the grumbling of some of the other Oresiani. I headed in the direction she had indicated. A small section in the back beneath the lofted second level had been cordoned off with a divider. When I turned the corner, a single Oresian with a single spoon tasted the various large pots and bowls that covered the tables.
Quality control. She had to be the boss.
She squinted as she saw me round the corner, but I just opened with, “I am on the same crew as Dorian. I was told that I could pick up a tray.“ The squint gained a raised eyebrow. “I just found out today that he has been doing me a favor since,” I used my hands to showcase my very Human face, “my choices for food seemed limited to nothing or taking my chances with the Ættir.”
She snorted but pointed to a table with a stone slab on it that abutted the back wall. Plates of sliced meat spread across every inch of the dark surface. Even from this distance, my mouth watered from their succulent aroma. At the very edge of the slab rested a tray with food not all that dissimilar to what the woman had been serving.
“Thanks.”
I walked over and grabbed the tray only to jerk back. I rubbed my fingertips. Not burnt, but warm. I inched my hands towards the tray. The air above the slab was noticeably warmer as well.
I shook my head. Who needs electricity when you have magic?
I grabbed the tray, which, of course, had no meat. I counted my blessings and moved on. Up close and piping hot, the collections of fragrances were even more overpowering. While they encouraged the grumblings of my stomach, they managed to dampen the disappointment of another vegetarian meal. I swallowed the saliva starting to pool in my mouth and hurried towards the tables.
Where to sit?
I quickly gave up on the first floor, then, after a quick glance, the second. They were both packed. However, the third…. I hurried to the stairs, ignoring the hostile looks that came from any table on which my gazed lingered.
Just keep your head down.
I could survive the solitude. I had forgone enough parties in my time for it to be second nature, but what I couldn’t survive was a punch to the head from a green giant.
I rushed up the stairs to the third floor. It was hot, stuffy, and poorly lit, but it was thankfully empty. I found a small table along the wall that gave me a view of the stairs. I grabbed a chair at the small table and put down my plate.
I started stuffing my face with food until a hacking cough stopped me. I couldn’t see the person from my vantage, but they were probably a level below me. It continued. Deep and wet, that cough was bad, yet no one below me looked fazed. No one headed down the stairs, and those that I could see kept eating as if nothing significant had happened.
Why the cough? They have [Healers].
My mind ran through options, none of them gracious. In a world with life debts—no, let’s call it what it is—slavery, rationing wouldn’t be unexpected. The next spoonful of mash lost its taste, but I swallowed it if only to push down the rising bile.
Maybe he just hasn’t had time to go to one.
I took another spoonful. I was missing too much context. I—
I am an idiot.
There was more here. This camp was an organism, and I should be studying it because, unless simmering resentment and fear were a good thing, it wasn’t healthy. My bird’s eye view made that obvious.
Ættir, Volki, and Oresiani chatted and ate, but there was a clear hierarchy. Even with the hall filling up, no one had claimed the center table. It was set, but not one Volk, Ættar, or Oresian dared approach. Weirdly, the Volki gave it more clearance than any Ættar or Oresian. Or was that strange? Could I apply pack dynamics? A dangerous assumption. Regardless, that table was a point of contention. More than one Ættar gave it an even darker look than some had given me. No love lost there.
A soft thud came from my right. It took me a second before I realized how it came about. I had fallen back into a long-forgotten habit—twirling my spoon between my fingers. I smiled at what that implied while picking up my spoon from the table and placing it back on the tray. I would test how much skill I had regained another time. Instead, I refocused on the room.
There was something else going on. I went with my gut. I stood up and peered over the edge to get a larger sample size. Not everyone hid their tattoos—Marks—and I saw enough to deduce a pattern.
High-level people stuck together, and low-level people gave them distance. Another cough, this time more distant, broke through the din. Another reason for not getting healing? I kicked myself for not thinking of it earlier. After all, people literally had parted before them.
I sat back down, pondering. Just how far did preferential treatment extend? This place sure had cliques—and worse, cliques that didn’t care for one another. I thought I had moved past all that. Caring for the sick and the dying had a unique way of putting things in perspective. Yet here I was, back in high school, but one on steroids: magic, monsters, and a brewing blood feud between seven-foot Adonises and werewolves. How the hell had they kept the peace long enough to build this place? It was a powder keg, and I needed out before it blew.
This time, I stopped twirling my spoon before it flew from my hand. If a dining room brawl did happen tonight, it would definitely go to the Ættir. The Volki in here may be swing picks all day, but they sure didn’t look it. They had a slighter build than I did. But they aren’t the true muscle in this place. Not a single Volkski [Guardsmen] ate here. Better food at the barracks?
I needed allies. Casual friendships weren’t going to cut it. Not that I had much chance of finding those here. At least two of the three races seemed to hate me for just being a Human.
I shoveled the rest of the food into my mouth. Nothing more to learn here, at least nothing worth the risk of drawing unwanted attention. When the stairs emptied, I stood up leaving my tray on the table. The act grated against every bit of my upbringing, but that’s what everyone else was doing.
No unnecessary attention, which clearing my table would draw. The waitstaff here may grumble, but far worse jobs existed here—I happened to work one of them.
I hurried down the stairs. As I hit the bottom of the third flight, the few stragglers in the line parted, blocking the exit.
Of course, perfect time for another high-level—
Dorian? Now he arrives? I slowed my pace down the stairs. Could he complicate things more?
Then he walked into the hall with another man in tow. I did a double-take. If I hadn’t been told that I was the only Human, I would have sworn one had just entered. He sure as hell wasn’t an Oresian, not unless Oresiani came in tall, slender, olive-skinned, and green-haired. They chatted as they walked, not even registering the space everyone gave.
I shook my head as I continued down the stairs. Another stray? Doubtful, but maybe a joke for later. I hit the last flight and picked up the pace now that the line had contracted.
“Human.“
The word drifted over the din of the hall, but the deep, familiar voice that said it could only be one Ættar and only one Ættar in particular. The Verndari.
I hesitated, weighing options. The voice sounded far away, though I didn’t dare turn my head to look. I could stay, but if things went south, Dorian would step in, which could set off this powder keg. Also, there’s no need to taint Dorian’s reputation with such a clear association with a Human.
I gritted my teeth. Sure, running would further mark me as a coward in the Ættir’s eyes, but I didn’t have a better choice. Nothing good would come from waiting. I hurried, weaving through what remained of the crowd. A few Volki grunted, but I didn’t dare stop. If this was high school, then as a Level-2 Human, I was its newest shrimp.
***
