"Oh, what a beautiful morning! Good morning, dear Aunt Susan," Annan greeted, standing under the sun and bowing slightly to Aunt Susan, who was busy working in the yard.
Aunt Susan stopped what she was doing and raised an eyebrow, looking past Annan toward Martin, who stood awkwardly by his side. "Why is he talking like that?" she asked. "What have you been teaching him?"
"I didn't teach him anything!" Martin replied defensively.
Martin added, "None of us talks like this."
"Of course, my friend," Annan said, imitating the bard's flamboyant tone from the previous night. "But I cannot help but marvel at your beauty, Aunt Susan—like a rose glistening with dew in the morning light."
"I told you, no one talks like that—" Martin started, but Aunt Susan's sharp glare silenced him.
"Martin! We must respect Annan's family traditions!" she said firmly, before turning to Annan with a kind smile. "Dear Annan, you do what you like."
"Thank you, dear Aunt Susan," Annan replied, bowing again.
In a good mood, Aunt Susan headed to the kitchen to warm up the pumpkin pie left over from last night.
---
At breakfast, Annan only nibbled on his share of pumpkin pie. Instead, he dipped chunks of brown bread into rice soup, asking casually, "How does the free pumpkin pie taste?"
"Delicious! Very delicious!" Martin exclaimed between bites, shoving food into his mouth like he hadn't eaten in days.
After breakfast, the duo returned to their daily routine—chopping wood to sell at the market.
When Annan tried to carry part of the load to ease Martin's burden, Martin waved him off. "This is nothing! Back when I was a miner, I used to carry loads twice as heavy!" he bragged, launching into a long-winded tale filled with jargon Annan couldn't fully understand.
At the bustling market, Martin sold the firewood while Annan wandered among the stalls, practicing his language skills with the merchants.
"How much does this shirt cost?" Annan would ask, though he had no intention of buying. Sometimes, he pointed at unfamiliar words, asking their meaning, earning puzzled or amused looks from the vendors.
Annan didn't mind. These people weren't part of his future plans. By the time he returned to Martin, the firewood had already sold out, and Martin stood waiting, his eyes fixed on a young woman browsing a clothing stall across the street.
---
On the way back, they passed something unexpected: a library.
"A library? Here?" Annan asked, his curiosity piqued.
Martin shrugged. "Yeah, some old guy insisted on building it. Barely anyone visits, though."
Building a library in a town with a literacy rate below 1% seemed almost absurd. For the townsfolk, the library was more a bragging point than a practical resource.
As Martin rambled on about the futility of the library, Annan spotted a familiar figure entering the building. It was Mr. Fast.
Their boss, with his rough demeanor and ever-present rapier, didn't seem like the kind of man who enjoyed books. Annan kept his observation to himself, as Martin was still distracted, ogling the clothing shop window.
---
Days passed uneventfully, and Annan continued to absorb new words from the bard at the tavern.
On the seventh day of work, the tavern was unusually quiet. The relative calm allowed the bard's songs to ring clear, interrupted only by Martin's grumbling about the lack of leftover food to take home.
Mr. Fast leaned against the wooden pillar by the counter, exuding his usual aura of relaxed vigilance. Behind the counter, Annan, Martin, and Evelyn busied themselves whenever customers approached.
"Annan," Fast called, pushing a glass of juice toward him and nodding toward a table in the corner. "Take this to the lady over there."
Annan sighed inwardly, bracing himself for another round of teasing, but picked up the glass and approached the woman.
"Beautiful lady, I wish you a good night," he greeted, mustering his best imitation of the bard's charm.
"Do you think I'm still a lady?" she teased with a playful smile.
But Annan had prepared for this moment. "Your beauty and fair complexion are like..." he paused, recalling the bard's words, "a flower bud yet to bloom."
The lady chuckled, her laughter full and rich, and her gaze lingered on Annan. She reached into her purse, pulling out a coin.
The silver coin landed in Annan's hand with a soft clink—a generous tip, worth an entire week's wages.
"Your generosity is as pure as the lily," Annan said smoothly before retreating to the counter amid whistles and jeers from the other patrons.
---
Knock knock.
Mr. Fast rapped on the counter to silence the room. The tavern grew quiet, and he leaned in close to Annan. "Listen, kid. I'm your boss, but the lady of wine? She's your big boss."
"Did I do something wrong?" Annan asked nervously.
Fast chuckled, his voice low. "Not at all. In fact, if you've got the charm, why not aim to be the big boss's husband?"
---
Later that night, the bard finished his tale, switching to soft, soothing music on his lute.
"Evelyn, pour me a glass of rye," Annan said, using the cheapest beer as an excuse to linger and talk.
But tonight, his questions veered toward magic.
"You want to be a magician?" the bard asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Of course."
The bard studied him for a moment. If it had been Martin asking, he would have dismissed him outright.
"If you want to become a magician, you'll need to test your aptitude first. That'll cost you one gold nar."
A gold nar was worth 100 silver coins—10,000 copper coins. Annan now had one silver coin and 13 copper coins. He was still 98.87% short.
---
At midnight, the tavern closed for the night.
Fast handed out wages: 1 silver coin and 70 copper coins for Annan and Martin, while Evelyn received 1 silver coin and 50 copper coins.
"Why does Evelyn earn more than both of us combined?" Martin complained after catching a glimpse of her pay.
Fast smirked. "Because drunks want her to bring their drinks, not you."
Martin couldn't argue with that logic.
Before retiring for the night, Fast tossed his rapier onto the counter. "Take care of this. No shifts tomorrow."
"Going to the city again, boss?" Evelyn asked, polishing the blade with her rag.
"Yeah. Be back in seven days."
Fast threw a purse to the bard, its coins jingling softly.
Annan, meanwhile, sat silently, grappling with the reality of temporary unemployment when he needed money more than ever.