Too Many People!

Camellia woke up late the next morning, every muscle in her body sore from yesterday’s extensive workout. Every movement hurt, even adjusting in bed slightly to look out the window.

Well, even if your body is in shape, a workout is still a workout! Don’t be discouraged, Camellia.

And she wasn’t. Though it took a bit of effort, she dragged herself out of bed, noting how annoying it was to move her core. Something felt off, though. It’s late. Later than they usually go out. Her heart fell. Did they go without me? Maybe they thought yesterday was just a fluke.

Hell, maybe it was. Am I even cut out for this?

The spot where Phoebe had stood at the doorframe and looked back with a wink almost glowed. She shook her head. Snap out of it. There’s always a way forward.

She ventured downstairs in hopes of finding her friends. The hustle and bustle of shopping commotion greeted her upon her descent. A whirlwind of people cluttered all around the racks of weapons and fishlike armor, all talking over one another while they moved. Camellia immediately felt dizzy.

The same gruff voice from the day she arrived at the shop shouted over the din. “Next! Oi, I said next!” A man in his late twenties shuffled up to the counter, holding a spear.

Camellia nearly slapped her forehead in disbelief. How could she have forgotten? This place was a shop, after all. But why was it so busy today, of all days? It hadn’t been anywhere close to this crowded in the time she’d been here. She spotted Damos emerge from behind the counter, arms full of cloth of some kind. She squeezed past everyone to get to him.

“Oh, Camellia! Morning!”

“Damos, what’s going on here?”

He put the cloth down. “Oh, I forgot to tell you—”

His father held the customer’s spear behind him, to Damos, without so much as a glance. “Boy, take this back, and quit that chattering. Next!”

Damos grabbed it and motioned for Camellia to follow. She followed him behind the curtain, immediately muffling the sound of the crowd in the shop. Whew, thank God. Or, um, Goddess. If you’re listening. Oh, Camellia, very silly.

The back room had been overtaken by weaponry. It was already mostly storage, but now even the table they had had their nightly dinners on for the past week was covered with all manner of sharp and dangerous objects. To the side, a door that Camellia had never really noticed was open, and the sound of something being hammered echoed from beyond it. Damos kept going, heading into the mysterious room. Camellia followed.

There, at a giant stone slab, a woman in a simple tank top held a hammer high above her head and brought it down with a slam onto the table. Wait, no, that wasn’t a slab, it was covered in a thick piece of metal, like a huge, custom anvil.

“Mom, got another spear for you.”

Mom?!

The woman looked up from her project. “Those spearmen, I swear to Tethys. Can a single one of them even take care of their weapon?” She noticed Camellia. “Ah, you must be Camellia. Welcome, I’m little Dammy’s mother.”

“Mom!” Damos panicked, frantically looking at Camellia and back.

“Yes, yes. Sorry.” She pointed a gloved finger at the wall. “Dammy, set that down there, I’ll get to it later.” He obliged.

It occurred to Camellia that she had never thanked Damos’ family for allowing her to stay — indefinitely! — in their guest room. She held her hands to her chest and gave her thanks to the muscled woman.

“It’s nothing. You’re one of his friends. Good that he’s got good company to finally get him up Dryside, I say.”

Damos remained silent.

The voice of his father came from behind the wall. “Damos! A hand!” He scurried back to the counter in the front, leaving Camellia alone with his mother, who promptly returned to hammering the sword on the table.

A sense of guilt washed over Camellia. She’d been staying here, eating their food and taking up their guest room for almost a week at no cost. Money definitely existed in this world; she’d seen it change hands plenty of times. She cleared her throat and asked, “Um, is there some way I can help with everything that’s going on today? To repay your hospitality.”

Well, that’s wonderfully kind of you, Camellia. Good on you.

“Oh, stop, there’s no repaying anything. You’re in need, and the guest room is open. Though,” she put the hammer to her chin in thought. “Help would be nice. Those boys are awful at managing crowds. You think you could corral some of the patrons?”

Camellia held back a grimace. But she had offered. It would be tactless to refuse now.

And so, swallowing her nerves, she headed back out and began trying to organize the chaos inside the shop. Progressing from timid pokes to a firm question, then to outright shouting, Camellia grew more comfortable with her new job as the minutes passed. With the thought of how lines and queuing had worked in her old world, she set up a small area for people to wait, and quartered the people into the right sections.

By the early afternoon, most of the crowds had dissipated, leaving the shop in its original (mostly) tranquil state. Camellia collapsed at the table in the back, utterly exhausted from the social workout.

Damos joined her, sitting down. “You did great, Camellia. I had no idea you had all that in you.”

Camellia sighed deeply. “What was up with all of that? And why didn’t we go to the training grounds today?”

“Oh, right, I forgot to tell you.” Damos scratched the back of his head. “Well, the Ascension Agency had a big training meeting thingy there today. Got the whole place reserved and everything. And since we’re a really famous shop,” he said as he puffed up his chest a little, “they love sending people to us.”

“What’s the agency?”

Damos leaned forward on his elbows. “Basically just an organization you pay to be a part of, and they promise to help get you ready for the Trials of Ascension." He looked over his shoulder, then whispered, “But it’s kind of a scam. They give us business, so Dad can’t complain, but… their contenders aren’t exactly the best.”

Camellia laughed. “Guess some things never change, no matter what world, huh?”

Damos’ face contorted in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“O- Oh! Don’t worry about it.” Oops. “Besides, what did all those people need? Surely they weren’t buying their weapons for the event?”

“No, most of them were here for repairs and upgrades.” He pointed to the open door, where the sound of his mother banging away floated through. “Getting their gear cleaned or snazzed up, that sort of thing.”

A thought struck Camellia. Cleaned up, huh? “Hey, hold on for a second here, Damos.”

He remained at the table, clueless, while Camellia ran up to her room and fetched the crusted dagger from her nightstand. She returned, holding it out for him to see. “Do you think we might be able to clean this thing off?”

“Whoa! Where’d you find that?” He stared at the blade, almost corroded beyond recognition.

“Just woke up with it out in the Crags,” Camellia lied.

“Weird. Can I see?”

Camellia offered it to him, and he turned it over in his hand. “Yeah, this should be easy enough. Hold on.” Getting up from the table, he searched a rack of tools next to the open door, grabbing a few of them and returning.

He moved some of the clutter on the table aside, clearing a spot to work. Within a few minutes, he had chipped and chiseled off the barnacles and clumps of rock, revealing a shape that looked much more dagger-ish than before. He took a sponge — worry not, already dead — and cleaned it off further. After a few brushes, he stopped. “What is this design? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Camellia took the dagger from the table. The metalwork sent her mind racing, an impossibly confounding icon that shouldn’t exist beneath the waves. There, engraved into the metal, serving as the cross guard above the hilt, was a clear pair of feathered wings.