Meeting the Locals

  The bright sun was at its apex when Artyom finally met someone. Along the opposite side of the road came a boy, no older than 14, who was riding on a donkey with a basket of grain seeds on his back. The basket wasn’t tied to the donkey’s back, it was tied to the boy’s. Artyom was amused by the sight but tried not to let it show when he approached.

  “Hello traveller!” shouted the boy when he saw Artyom, all in perfect English. Every World has its own rules on how Earthers are able to understand and interact with the language. In some, the universal tongue just so happened to be English or Japanese by some form of convergent linguistic evolution. In others, the magic that carries over Earthers imparts a sort of permanent translation spell into their minds, allowing them to immediately become fluent in the if not many native languages. While the subject was interesting to some, Artyom never bothered worrying about it and just accepted the convenience.

  “Hello!” shouted Artyom back. “What brings you out along these roads?” The job of a scout was to get a lay of the land and society. What better way is there to do so than by simply asking?

   “Bringing this basket of wheat to market, sir,” replied the boy. “The baker who buys it even makes me a fresh loaf before leaving!”

  Hmm, no middleman, Artyom thought to himself. Either this is a very big baker, or businesses buying directly from the source is the norm here.

  “That must be some wonderful bread, then!” said Artyom, replying with saccharine smalltalk fitting for a Fairytale World. “Where are you coming from that grows such great wheat?”

  “The village of Freeacres, sir! Just half a day’s walk back. Say, are you an adventurer?”

  “So, adventuring exists as a profession here”, Artyom thought to himself. Performers of daring feats and heroic quests, adventurers were the meat of many Worlds’ defense industries. Need a terrible monster terrorizing a village killed? Call an adventurer. Need someone to investigate the existence of a powerful relic in a location fraught with danger? Call an adventurer. Does a great evil threaten the land and a united military front isn’t enough to stop it? Summon an Earther and call them an adventurer. Of course, many novice adventurers start with easier tasks in rural locations, of which Freeacres sounded like prime real estate.

  “I can’t say that I am,” began Artyom. “I’m just a humble traveler. But if the opportunity presents itself, I’ll gladly help out around town. Say, are there any big issues in town that would call for an adventurer?”

  The boy paused for a moment in deep contemplation. Or maybe he just blanked out? He eventually answered. “Well, Ruba’s inn has a rat problem and old man Collard has been complaining about his back more than usual.”

  Artyom could see first the issue as one something a brand-new adventurer would take on, but not really the second. Still, going into town and ingratiating himself to the locals would be a good way of getting information from them, even if it would mostly be gossip. It was settled then, he’d head to Freeacres. Though there was one thing that was still bothering him…

  “Say, why are you carrying that basket on your back while riding the donkey?” asked Artyom.

   “Oh, well the donkey is starting to get a bit old so farmer Chey told me not to put too much weight on it,” the boy replied.

  “But then why are you putting the weight on yourself as well?” asked Artyom, noticing that the donkey didn’t seem to be particularly struggling at its combined load.

   “Huh?” asked the boy, absentmindedly. “I’m carrying it so the donkey doesn’t have to!”

  “Was this kid for real?” Artyom thought to himself. “Look, things are heavy because they’re constantly being pushed down. That’s why things fall when they’re dropped.”

  The boy nodded in response.

  “And that grain basket is pushing on you, so that’s why it feels heavy.” Bits of frustration was starting to leak into Artyom’s voice. “When you’re sitting on your donkey, your body is being pushed down as well, making it feel the weight.”

  The boy nodded again, seeming to follow along.

  “And since the basket is pushing on you, who is on the donkey, the donkey feels the weight of both of them.”

  The boy’s eyes alighted in epiphany and got off the donkey. Artyom and the donkey looked in anticipation as the boy took off the basket and tied it to the donkey’s back, while he took the donkey’s lead in his hand.

  “I see it now!” exclaimed the boy. “If I carry the basket, its weight is added to mine, so the donkey still has to carry everything! If I take off the basket, then I don’t have to carry its weight, the donkey can. And I can just walk instead of carrying it on my back! Thanks traveller!”

  The boy, quite pleased with himself, began to continue up the dirt road.

  I was expecting him to just put the basket down on the donkey,” Artyom thought to himself while continuing down the road. “But at least he can learn, I guess.”

  As the boy had said, by the time the sun was directly above him, Artyom arrived at the village of Freeacres.

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  The town of Freeacres was a quaint farming town, given its large population of farmers and being built around prime farmland. Its buildings were made of mostly whole, bark-stripped logs, with the newer ones utilizing cut stones and bricks in addition. Rather than paved roads, the entire floor of the town consisted entirely of dirt and gravel, with bits of grass and weeds poking out occasionally. Artyom took a deep breath to appreciate the rustic atmosphere. Most of his missions had taken him to fancy throne rooms that smelled of suffocating perfumes or battlefields that reeked of blood. It had been a while since his assignments had brought him anywhere so… peaceful.

  The town was near-deserted by the look of it, with only a smattering of people out and about. Not so surprising since it was high noon. Artyom made his way down the main dirt road past an outer ring of houses into the village center. One of the people walking around was a man with a dark farmer’s tan and somewhat muscular build. Like the boy Artyom had met on the road, he had similar racial features with his overall semi-white skin tone tinted brown beyond the tan and facial shape that emphasized the cheekbones and jawline divergent from any particular group on Earth. The boy could’ve been this man’s son, or everyone here simply looked like that. When he noticed Artyom, he looked over and waved.

  “Why hello there, stranger! I take it you’re new in town?” he asked.

  “Yes I am,” said Artyom. “Would this happen to be Freeacres?”

  “It is indeed, sir. The only free village in the kingdom! That’s our catchphrase, you see.”

  Villages usually didn’t come with a catchphrase, in Artyom’s experience. There was definitely a backstory behind it, and as was his duty as a scout, Artyom didn’t hesitate to ask about it.

  “Our wonderful king had this great farmland he wanted to make a village out of, but there weren’t any nobles who wanted to move so far away to govern!” exclaimed the man, with a hint of outrage. “So us members of the village petitioned him to let us move out and govern it ourselves, and he said yes! We chose who among us would be the best leader and made him our alderman instead of one of the kingdom’s lords,” he finished with a face full of pride.

  “That’s quite a rich story, thanks for sharing!” Artyom replied in a much lighter exuberance. While he was ready to lay on a false-saccharine tone, something about the man’s excitement was contagious.

  “Oh, no problem sir. Now how about your story? What brings you to Freeacres?”

  “I’m just a traveller, exploring the land. Freeacres seems to be where my wanderlust has taken me today,” said Artyom, providing a vague yet technically true backstory.

  “The kingdom is definitely a beautiful place, sir.” the man replied.

  “You don’t have to call me sir, Artyom is fine.” It’s easier to get closer to the locals if you don’t lord yourself over them. And that means more information.

  “Ah, how humble! Very unlike the other travellers who arrived today,” said the man, his mind somewhere else. “Anyway, you can call me Chey!”

  “Nice to make your acquaintance then, Chey. What about these travelers? Are they causing the town any problems?” asked Artyom. If they were bandits or other troublemakers, then disposing of them would help ingratiate him to the village.

  “Trouble? They’re supposed to be getting rid of it! That adventurer team is holed up at Ruba’s inn, trying to get rid of the rat problem. I don’t see why they bother, all of the other teams that have tried in the past year have never succeeded.”

  Artyom couldn’t help but smile at Chey’s small rant. “Who knows? Maybe this team will get it right?”

  “Hah, I’d love to see that! No truly, I would, for poor old Ruba’s sake. If you want to take a look at them and make a judgement for yourself, the inn is right over there,” said Chey, pointing to a two-storey building with a small sign hanging from it. “Besides, it’s lunch time and you don’t look like you’ve eaten. Ruba’s making barley soup today, the best in town!”

  “You know, I think I will take a look,” replied Artyom. “Nice talking to you.”

  “Likewise!” said Chey.

  Before Artyom could walk further than a few steps, he turned around in sudden realization. “Hold on, you wouldn’t happen to know the boy with a basket of wheat riding a donkey, would you?”

  “Oh, Bram? I sent him just this morning, it’s a full day’s trip into town. How is he?”

  “He was doing fine when I met him,” replied Artyom. “Though he was carrying the wheat basket on his back while riding the donkey.”

  “What a considerate boy, trying to keep the extra weight off of it. The donkey’s getting pretty old, you know,” said Chey, without a hint of sarcasm anywhere on his face or in his voice.

  “Uh, yeah… definitely true,” said Artyom, as he headed towards the inn.