Court of Snakes: This Desert Cage

Odd Jobs - The Tavern | January of the Second Year

"Terran, I need you to run some errands for me," The King absentmindedly spoke as he shifted through some papers. It was a lazy, chilly afternoon, the kind of afternoon where a bowl of hot stew and a cup of hot chocolate are the only company you need. Terran dunked a large hunk of bread into his piping hot soup and sat in the fake window, watching as The King worked.

"Errands?" Terran asked, muffled through a mouthful of hot food. The King had never let him leave the tavern without his supervision, and he gazed at his papers with no distinguishable emotion in his eyes.

"I didn't stutter," The King replied and handed Terran a piece of paper. "I need you to purchase these things from the blacksmith and bookkeep. Can you do that? Everything I need is on that list."

Teran took the list and looked it over in his hands. "Of course, I can."

"And take this to the tailor," The King added and handed him a sealed envelope. "Here's the money."

A sack of gold came flying through the air and Terran tied it to his belt. Terran paused for a moment, awaiting further instruction, but The King looked up at him expectantly after he had not left. "Go on," he urged. "You haven't got all day."

The door to The King's room clicked softly closed and the quiet hum from the tavern filled Terran's ears. People always talked in murmurs and whispers in that place, and the raucous harshness that Terran normally associated with taverns or general spaces of personal gathering was missing, replaced by eerie silence. A few patrons bowed to Terran as he passed, and he opened the inn door to freedom.

Outside he hustled down the streets, mingling with people and not daring to stray from crowded areas. Dza'ya, due to the thatched roofs of the buildings, remained impassable above. Alone, Terran was wary of walking the rooftops. In the crowd, he was just another ratty little boy with no one to love him. One of The King's spies had heard the Guard was avidly looking for him, so it was better to go unnoticed. Despite his anxiety, he was happy and excited to wander the city.

Dza'ya crawled with disease, Terran learned, and often he would use any spending money he received from The King to pay for medicine for the sick. He understood now why The King did what he did, and where most of his funds went. Terran also discovered the little things, too, the beautiful things. Food in Dza'ya was like nothing he had ever tasted, laced with intricate spice blends and hot flavors, whereas the food from Naa'a seemed lacking in comparison. It bothered Terran deeply that his parents, or the entirety of the Embassy, for that matter, had never let him or the other children experience the lower parts of the city.

This was where people worked hard, sweat on their brows and callouses on their hands. Terran respected their work ethic and loved to wander and watch the intricacy and skill of Dza'ya's artisans. Most manufacturers of the clothes that the Embassy wore, the armor that Naa'a used, and the utensils that graced the upper district's tables all came from Dza'ya. When Terran arrived at the blacksmith, he knocked on the wall of the shop to let the blacksmith know he had a customer. The forge stood in a stall next to the shop itself, and the blacksmith hammered away with determination at a flat blade on the anvil. Terran felt as though he was interrupting something, like he had no place there, and he knocked again, louder the second time.

"What do you want? Can't you see I'm..."

The blacksmith lumbered out from behind the forge and gazed at Terran, his eyebrows furrowed into thick confusion. He asked, "What the hell do you want?"

Masters of the trade, those whose parents learned from parents whose grandparents worked as engineers before the Great War, crafted the arms in Naa'a. They were specialists, the most learned and skilled men in Segeno. Terran did not speak often with the smiths in the lower districts but found that they were full of gall and struggled to make their arms, created with low grade materials and old, broken forges. These brazen types of folk used to make Terran uneasy, as the residents of Naa'a approached conversations with poise and courtesy, and the lower people started conversations with fists.

Or, at least. That was what he had thought. Terrible stereotypes pervaded deeply into Naa'a culture. Rumors spread about the denizens of Dza'ya and how they were loud, violent, and eager to commit crime. As Terran moved among them, he found the opposite to be true. They were some of the nicest people Terran had ever met, and though loud and forward, were no more violent than anyone else.

"I'm here for The King," Terran began, took out the list, and read it. "He's in need of a breastplate and greaves."

The blacksmith roughly took the sheet of paper from Terran's hands, his dark fingertips blackened with soot from the forge. "All right, all right," he barked. "He should know I'm overwhelmed as it is but come back in a day or so. I'll work on 'em when I can."

"Thank you. The King appreciates your time."

Terran moved out of the shop and back onto the street, but when he spotted a group of guards, he nervously lowered his head to the ground. Elites, they were, and they analyzed a map, discussing amongst themselves strategies and future plans. They combed for Terran, and he knew it, but they paid the ratty boy no attention. He looked only like a beggar to them.

The book keep's shop was nestled far into the Atsa district, near a pleasant outdoor market. It surprised Terran how different the two districts really were from each other, Dza'ya and Atsa, and when he arrived at the book shop, the owner rapidly read the list over with his tiny, beady eyes and scuffled into the back to get a couple of books. When he brought them back, he surprised Terran with the diversity of the stack. Amongst the books were a couple of fantasy and astrology novels, which did not seem useful to The King's cause, but Terran shrugged and took the books with him to the tailor.

The tailor's shop sat at the border between Naa'a and Atsa, which gave Terran butterflies as he slunk his way through the door. The place was cluttered and crowded with bolts of fabric and garments, which allowed Terran to keep his face hidden while the tailor himself opened the letter and read its contents quietly.

"Ah... ah... yes, I see," he muttered. He was a thin, tall man with awkward limbs and long, curvy fingers, and he touched fabric like one would touch a lover. "Drop the books. On the floor is fine."

Terran rested the books on the floor, concern on his face, and when the tailor pulled out a measuring tape and began to measure Terran's body, he was even more baffled. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

"You're to be fitted. That's what the letter said, at least."

"But—"

"Hush. These old Embassy clothes are much too small for you, anyway. You look like an overstuffed sausage. How did you expect anyone to respect you like that?"

Terran hadn't thought of it that way. In a year, he had gained nearly two inches in height, and his pants rode halfway up his shins. The material had turned almost black in some places from coming into contact with mud. Terran was sure he looked disgusting. After an hour of poking, prodding, and pinning the tailor scooted him out of the store, books in hand.

"Come back in a week."

"A week for the tailor, a day or two for the blacksmith..." Terran muttered to himself. When he returned to the tavern, and then to The King's office, The King didn't raise his head from his work. He seemed troubled, like he had heard bad news, but spoke anyway.

"How did it go?" he asked.

"Are all these things for me?"

The King stood and took the fantasy books from his hands. "Not these, but the astrology book, the armor, and the clothes, yes."

"Why?"

"For someone who was spoiled as a kid, you sure do question gifts. Because I like you, Terran. Is that a good enough answer? You're one of my closest associates. You need to present well. Right now, you look like a dirty dishrag."

Terran smiled. "Well, thank you."

"You need to learn the magick behind the cards in depth. I want you to read that new book, as well as these..." The King continued, and handed Terran a small stack of books, "by the end of this week. All right?"

"That's so much to read!"

"Well, then, you better hop to it."