Don’t Take Life Too Seriously; You Might Get a Longer Leash

Slavery is a fact of life that has been with us since time immemorial. Nearly every civilization has practiced it—the Hozenlo being a noteworthy exception—and that includes Alocast. Indeed, our illustrious kingdom is as guilty as even those of the Sparto desert, though not as depraved as the Magocracy of Londan. But we have made great strides in recent decades. The human slave trade has been diminishing, with many finding the practice inhuman. I find myself in this camp and have pushed for its eventual abolition.

We are humans, not livestock. Such treatment of our fellow human beings undermines our own humanity. We of Alocast have a preeminent role on the world stage. With our vast political and economic influence, we can affect the moral outlook of…

I threw the book down. Such drivel Conroy had written in his "Treatise on Slavery." Even worse, I couldn’t call him a hypocrite as he never extended his emancipation arguments to nonhumans. I could only conclude he considered humans above other species. Well, at least with regard to yutsuukitsuu and hougen.

It had seemed worth a brief skim while I awaited Amillia's departure. Ever since Lucial’s arrival, she had been eager to visit places outside the chateau. Mainly, the nearby city of Sofuton, not that it mattered... I wasn't invited. Sistilla was acting director of these excursions, and of course, Amillia would assert herself into these events. So why was I excluded?

Well, apparently, I would attract too much attention. Lucial had brought it up, seeming put off by the idea of drawing attention to herself. Sistilla agreed that I would definitely be an attractor of attention, and unsolicited attention only made getting around harder. Only Amillia took my side—because of course she would—making her pitch each time, and each time getting shot down. Today was no exception.

"But you always say we can't bring him!" Amillia said, stomping her foot.

"We have been over this, Amillia," Sistilla began. "Olavir would draw a lot of attention and—"

"So!?" Amillia cut off. "What is wrong with attention!?"

"Well..." Scratching her head, Sistilla faced Lucial with an uneasy smile.

"I'm sorry..." Lucial said, downcast. "I would just prefer to avoid the attention." Sistilla shrugged, and Amillia pouted in defeat. I guess the princess gets the last word. Although you would think a princess would have a higher tolerance for being the cynosure.

"Don't pout. I'll tell you what. We can stop at this lovely little shop that sells the most delicious chocolate. How does that sound?" Judging by the way Amillia's face lit up, it sounded pretty good.

Now I really felt left out. With these frequent outings, I had been seeing fewer chances to score some of that chocolate Amillia kept taunting me with. And now, even Sistilla was getting in on the game. I was half tempted to ask them to bring me back a piece, but no. I would not lower myself to begging. Of course, they might bring some back without my prompting. One can hope…

Regardless, I had my own plans for today. Once they left, I just needed an excuse to run off to the surrounding village. I could also sneak out, but the former definitely carried less risk.

And so I waited in the library, leaning back in an overdone mahogany chair with fine carvings, paging through Conroy’s tripe. Why did I wait? Perhaps I didn't want Amillia to know I had plans in her absence. I had no doubt that she would impede my goals. Whether that took the form of demanding I sit and await her return or inserting herself into my endeavors. Either way, she would hinder my progress. Waiting was a small price for peace of mind.

The auto-carriage pulled away, readily confirmed from the oversized window overlooking the front of the chateau. I toyed with the idea of tossing Conroy's treaties into the nearest trash receptacle before leaving, but thought better of it and returned it to the shelf. Best not to take undue risks.

Time to go to work. I had been waiting for this opportunity for the last couple of days. My ears are always on swivel for any useful gossip, and the other day the gripes of a certain head butler had drifted to my ears as he complained to a maid about the monotonous time sink of checking in with the village. I guess a butler had better things to do. However, one man's tedious chore is another man's day pass.

"Greetings, Igot. Where are you off to?" I asked, knowing full well.

"Ah, Olavir. I need to be heading down to the village. So if you don't mind..."

"Why such a hurry?"

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with a gloved hand, yet another demand of his time. "Records, Olavir. Records." He only hid the contempt in his tone to the degree his station required. Fair enough. "It's all about records these days, and I need to make nearly daily visits to ensure that the numbers are accurate, as they can't be bothered to write these things down themselves."

"I see. That does sound frustrating." I nodded my sympathies.

"Indeed, now if you will excuse me."

"Perhaps I could help." This got his full, incredulous attention.

"Help?"

"Yep, I could go and get those records for you." He raised a thick eyebrow.

"Can you even... read? Or write?"

"Of course I can read and write!" My offense surprised him, and he took a step back.

"...Really?" He hesitated. "Well, I suppose Foreman Jick can write, and as long as you get the numbers..." Igot gave me a hard look. "Can I really trust you with this?"

"Of course! Look, you seem like a busy man. Worst-case scenario, you tend to your other business, find that I messed up the records, and you go and get them yourself. It would just be reordering your tasks, no time lost." He tugged on the white chin strands, considering. "On the other hand, if the records are acceptable—which they will be—you will have gotten ahead of your day." He was nodding his head. "You have nothing to lose and everything to gain. Let me prove my usefulness." That gave him pause.

"And why do you want to prove your usefulness?"

"Why wouldn't I? Useful people get respect and appreciation... and don't get thrown into the arms of an aggressive maid for a good scrubbing," I added in a hushed tone. That last line got an airy laugh.

"Very well. Take this and bring back today's numbers. The Forman should know them, but make sure you get the following stats as he will often need prodding to cough them up." He proceeded to list out the needed data points. I wrote them down, and that gave him reassurance that I knew what I was doing.

That went better than I’d have thought. Igot took some convincing, but he never even considered the possibility of me being a flight risk. Well, I had no intention of escaping… yet. It could mean that any attempt on my part would be utterly futile.

I kicked off my shoes as I walked to the village—no sense suffering with nobody to berate me for it; I would be sure to put them back on when I arrived, but in the meantime, I meant to enjoy my time out.

On foot, it took considerably longer to reach than it did by auto-carriage, which probably explained Igot's distaste with this task—from what I could tell, he didn't have access to a vehicle. This didn't bother me, however. I walked out in the hot sun with a cool breeze taking the edge off, happy to venture outside the house, aside from the garden tea parties. Also, I could scout out the area in more detail. Nothing like a nice long walk for gathering intel.

The cobblestone street took me down rows of well-tended orchards, giving a sense of grandeur to an otherwise flat vista; I’m sure it added to their income as well—I saw several straw-hatted workers harvesting what looked like apples from short ladders as I passed by, drawing no small amount of attention. This combination of ladders and a strange creature caused one young lad, upon seeing me, to lose his balance and back-plant onto the ground. He popped back up and continued to stare, apparently, unharmed.

After the orchards cleared, the village revealed itself, nestled right beside. Several children swung up in the trees, helping themselves to the bountiful fruit. Nobody seemed to care, so I guess House Uvald didn't consider this stealing from the manor lord. But, if I recall, agriculture no longer served as a major source of revenue.

The villagers maintained a well-ordered town, with both wooden and stone constructs, ranging from quaint one-room cabins to double-storied residences. The people bustled about in fair spirits and wore clothes in good repair, with nobody wanting for anything essential as far as I could tell. It irked me.

I execrated Conroy, but he was giving me little to work with in terms of condemning him. All I had was him being a slaver and kind of a hypocrite, though sound reasoning could prove otherwise. Of course, I could decry him from the "born with a silver spoon in his mouth" angle, hardly satisfying though. Nobody would turn down a life of privilege, and he didn't seem to be wielding it to deleterious effect, at least none that I had noticed. He had to have skeletons, but until I found them, I would have to keep going back to the same old well.

I had no trouble finding Foreman Jick. Not because of a distinctive appearance—he dressed much the same as any other, though he wore a distinguishing flat cap. I correctly assumed the man shouting out orders while remaining idle himself was my man.

"They go to the top of the barn! We need the bottom for hay bales!" He yelled out at one hapless guy, who responded with a mumble I couldn't make out. "Damnit, you know hougen can’t go into the lofts. Do you want to tell the family when one of them falls through the ceiling or send a hay bale crashing into an unsuspecting bloke?" The man grumbled but remained otherwise mum.

Well, seemed like a nice, approachable guy. I guess I volunteered for this, best get it over with. I walked up, drawing the attention of anyone who caught sight of me. This also had the effect of causing work to stop, which, as you can imagine, didn't sit well with Foreman Jick.

"Why the Pit are you a lot just standing around all of a sudden?" When this failed to have the desired effect, he followed their gaze to me.

"Excuse me. Might you be Foreman Jick?" I said, just as he caught sight of me.

"Ack!" He flinched back. "What the rotting whore are you!?" He said, erecting a mishmash of arms and a single leg between him and me.

"Achem," I cleared my throat. "They call me Olavir. I am a yutsuukitsuu to answer your question."

"A yutsuu—what now?" he said. I let out a sigh. Oh boy.

"It doesn't matter. I've come to get your report."

"My report?" Genuine confusion twisted his lips, but he lowered his haphazard defensive measures. The others continued to watch. I hate when people watch.

"Yes, the one that Igot usually collects."

"...Oh." He frowned, then gave me a sideways look. "Look, why don't you just scamper away and leave me to my work?"

"I don't scamper..." I scowled back at him, but he gave no ground. "Just give me the report, and you can go about your business."

"Here's what I'll say, if Igot wants his report, he can come down here and get it himself, instead of sending his pet rat." I raised an eyebrow.

"A rat?" I gave him a hard look. "Do I look like a rat to you?"

"You most certainly do," He said, crossing his arms.

"Well, then you, sir, are a moron." I looked away and mused. "Even Mimka had the good sense to compare me to a squirrel, which is a much more accurate comparison..."

"What did you just call me!?" Well, he had come a long way from cowering and now looked ready to throw hands. Go ahead. Unarmed and without fox magic, I didn't know how well I would fare in a fight. But the cat's bite is one of the nastiest in the world. A single good chomp and he would be sans one arm once the gangrene set in; I would bet they hadn't developed antibiotics yet. I licked at my fangs.

"I'm sorry, are you also hard of hearing?" As everyone watched, distracted by the display, a hougen carrying a large wooden beam strolled on by, paying no mind. "Maybe I will just ask one of the hougen. They are the only ones who seem to do any real work around here. Probably able to give me more accurate information, too."

"Why you little..." He drew his hand back well past his shoulders, loading his punch. Oh... Well, if that's how he fought, then I was in no real danger. I would just dance away until he tired of embarrassing himself.

"Jick!" A stern voice cried out. He froze mid-swing. "Just what do you think you are doing!?" A woman who looked very much like one of the chateau’s maids pushed through the gathered crowd.

"Maudry..." He shrank down, intimidated by this small woman. "I wasn't doing nothing. I swear!"

"Really? Because it looked like you were just about to deck Amillia's..." She paused, turned, furrowing her brow, and finally said, "Amillia's cherished companion!" Ah, very tactful. +1 to you.

"Amillia... Wait! You mean, THAT Amillia!?"

"Yes, that Amillia!" She rebuked with her hands squarely on her hips. The color drained from Jick's face.

"Hehehe..." He choked out a laugh, turning to address me. "Maybe we can just forget that I was about to punch you..."

"Oh? Was that what you were about to do?" I taunted. "Good thing she saved you the embarrassment."

"Err..." With a struggle, he managed to maintain a pained smile, but a vein started throbbing on his forehead. "So we can just keep this between us then, yeah?"

"You mean us and..." I gestured around us. "Everybody else." He dropped his hard-fought smile and paled for a second time. "I'm sure you are aware of how rumors spread?" Being a maid, Maudry understood how gossip dynamics worked and wrinkled her brow.

"Surely, we can work something out to keep this from becoming a problem," she implored.

"I'm not sure why you think it is in my power to stop people from spreading gossip, if you can even call it that." I will admit to being more spiteful than usual in this instance—couldn't say why.

Hands clasped in front of her, growing misty-eyed like she was pleading for his life. I thought this a bit much. He just crossed his arms and fidgeted. Well, I guess that was enough torment. Jick had only mildly annoyed me, and going along with any rumors would not help in the pursuit of my objectives.

"Well, if I refute the claims, then that would probably be the end of it." They brightened up. "However, if I come back without those reports, it is going to raise questions."

"Yeah?" Jick Said. "What kinds of questions?"

My arms dropped limp. "Seriously? Are you actually simple? I was just throwing pejoratives at you before, but maybe I was onto something."

"Jick! He is saying that it will look bad if there are rumors that you assaulted him, and he also comes back missing the reports that only you can give him!" How had this woman ended up with such an imbecile?

"Oh..." He let out a long sigh. "Fine. I guess you got me. Who does Igot think he is sending someone to make me fill out HIS reports? You let him know it won't be happening again!"

"I'm sorry, fill out his report?"

"Yeah, it's bad enough that he pesters me for all these numbers, but now he wants me to write them too!"

"Umm... why would you write them?"

"Well, you certainly can't write. You are a talking rat after all." I prepared to emote, but Maudy mean-mugged and slapped the back of his head. "Ow! What was that for?"

"Really, you are hopeless," she said.

"Insults aside, I am plenty capable of writing. And even if I wasn't, I would hardly think writing down a couple of numbers is that encumbering."

"encumbering?" He said, pinching his face.

I massaged the space between my eyes. "Just give me the numbers." The whole process took less than 10 minutes, and that included all the hemming and hawing. And Igot proved correct; I did need to prod to get all the stats. Afterward, I was more than happy to let him go back to chewing out his underling, who had dispersed after the fight had nearly broken out. They still eyed me, though.

Okay. One act of Congress later, I had completed my official business and could get to the real reason I had gone through the trouble of getting out of the house. That stash hid somewhere out in those fields. I had copied the map to a separate sheet of paper, not just out of convenience but also because they erased the previous mirror correspondence as they exchanged new messages.

Still, even with a map, it took some time to find. No, not because I had misdrawn my map—my drawing may not be beautiful, but it is spatially accurate, I'll have you know! The issue was abandoned fields don’t have landmarks. In fact, unless you knew its exact location—or just happened to dig in the right place, you would never come across it. In my case, I had to adopt a hybrid approach of jabbing a pointy stick into the ground until I hit something hard. It was a rock…

The second time, though, I hit pay dirt! Took some work to uncover it—damn, I really miss fox magic—but there it was, a wooden chest with iron fixing. Not fancy like a treasure chest from Treasure Island, more like a rectangular box. As luck would have it, they didn't bother to put a lock on it. Guess they didn't think anyone would discover it—a fair assumption, assuming they didn't have a map.

What was inside? Documents, a spy glass, a number of these strange circular objects—they seemed to come in pairs—lock picks, and what looked like a bug-out-bag, judging by its contents. Wedged against the side was a bottle containing a thick dark substance labeled only with the words "Plan B." Not suspicious at all. At any rate, the chest contained nothing of particular use, except maybe the lock pick, but they would surely notice if they went missing. So I left them. I covered the chest, doing my best to return it to its original state, and returned to the chateau.

Igot approached soon after I returned, concerned with the length of time it took me to get the report, but seemed satisfied when I told him I was just killing some time out and about. His browline rose as he reviewed my report and asked if I would be willing to make this a regular occurrence. Turning down regular access to the surrounding village seemed foolish, so I accepted. However, word soon got out about how I handled that obstinate mule Jick, thus proving my competence, and I began getting other requests. Despite my disapproval of the Uvalds, I held no grudge against the staff and generally found them agreeable, so I couldn’t turn down the occasional request. But as they say, give an inch, take a mile, and soon they declared me a de facto staff member who could be allocated as needed. Amillia still took priority, but they pressed me into odd jobs whenever circumstances permitted.