The World Which Is

chapter 60

It takes them nearly two hours to gather people. During that time, we're in the shade, enjoying good water and decent sandwiches. Nothing buff worthy, but better than I expect anyone else around here eats. It makes it hard to swallow the food, and I'm pretty sure that of all of us, I eat the least.

The 'stage' is by the lineup—the only space able to accommodate numbers. It means the people waiting get to listen, although they look at Silver's back. She's not happy about it, but she doesn't complain. She knows who this is for and gives them the best show she can. Although, I think, the few times her performance has her circling the area and letting the people waiting watch her play for a few seconds are improvised additions.

She plays for a solid hour, and then another thirty minutes as she's asked—demanded—encores. Then she gives the final bow and politely refuses to play again. Brandon's ready to intervene, but the organizer takes it with a laugh, then arranges for an escort to take us through the tunnel.

Brandon is, again, not happy. He mutters about how they're going to force her to play for anyone who asks, and they're going to spend the entire night in there, if not have to fight them off so they don't kidnap Silver and chain her up to perform at their whims.

I want to call him out of how distrustful he is, but there were people chained up in that market. I have to take his warning that Detroit isn't a good place seriously. But, in this case, the distrust is misplaced. When one of the workers demands a song, it's their escorts that shut them down, reminding them they are under contract to work, not be entertained.

I don't see chains, but the way that's said leaves little doubt as to the meaning. It might be better than what they could expect, not working for the guild, but it's still slavery.

I've heard stories from Grandpa Louis and Base, as well as other old folks about the before system times, and the things they witnessed in the early days. I agree with them that it's wrong to force anyone into a situation they can't get out of, or take advantage of the situation they're in to get them to agree to it.

But what am I supposed to do about it? Sure, I want to help them, somehow. But how am I supposed to go about it? I'm not a politician, I barely have any social skills beyond what I gained living among other people. Being a guard doesn't need me to be charismatic, just effective.

"Are any of the spots they're repairing caused by what dug the tunnels under that side of Detroit?" I ask, so I don't have to think about the worker's situation.

"Nah," one of the escort replies. She's not the biggest of them, but I definitely don't want to take her on in a fight. "Those things don't like getting wet. Or that's the theory, anyway. That's all wear from decades of being up. I don't know how they dealt with it before the system, but now, by the time one section's repaired, we have another about to crumble away."

"At least we can see the level of wear," the man next to her says. "So we know what to prioritize."

"It's constant work, but we manage," the third of the four people escorting us says.

"Have you considered using better material?" Helen asks.

The woman snorts. "You tell us what's better than old reliable concrete that we can afford and we'll switch to it." She adds as Helen opens her mouth. "None of that magical stuff wizards peddle."

She doesn't comment, and the rest of the walk continues in mostly silence, broken by our escort, telling workers to get back to work when they approach.

When we exit on the other side, there's barely any light left.

We find a room in the first inn we stop at and we have to pay far too much for it. We all agree on that. We also agree we aren't traveling at night, so we it don't have a choice to pay what a place like this thinks they can get away with.