CH 18

January 13, 2023

By the time Varrell arrived at Glenn’s General Store with Stella on his shoulder, dusk had given way to night, and the town was dark but for the moon and the light of lanterns. For most, the day was over; for some—taverns, brothels, gambling dens—it was just beginning.

“Here we are,” said Stella.

“So this is Glenn’s General Store,” said Varrell. “It’s a charming little place.”

“No need to put it that way. I know what you’re thinking—it’s a dump.”

“I feel more at home in places like this. By the way, who are these people?”

Stella followed Varrell’s gaze to a lethargic group of young men sitting by the road. They ate rice crackers as they drank—not alcohol (there were no bottles in sight) but tears of falling stars. Their duty seemed all but forgotten, but looking more closely, Stella saw that they at least kept their swords and daggers close at hand.

The best men Mace could give me. He may be cunning and good with numbers, but his street skills leave much to be desired. The man was mockingly called “bookkeeper,” and she could see why.

More than money, people respected power, and looked down upon those who lacked it. Money was important too, of course—especially if it could buy you power. But if Mace thought these people were worth their wages, he was a very poor judge of character. Unless he could fix that, he’d never be elected as next president of the Stock Company.

“They’re here to keep trouble out of my store. Because, apparently, it’s under the protection of the Stock Company.”

“Why do you need a bodyguard, then?”

“I don’t know, maybe someone out there wants me dead. Would you rely on them to save your life if you were me?”

“. . . Very good point. Anyway, may I go in?”

“After you put me down. Thanks for carrying me all the way here.”

Stella climbed down from Varrell’s shoulder and looked up at him. He seemed taken aback. “What’s the matter?”

He laughed nervously. “I wasn’t expecting to be thanked.”

“Well, you did as I asked. Thanks is the least you deserve.” Stella walked inside.

She walked in on Rye and Marie having a conversation. They stopped and turned to look at her.

“Welcome back, Miss Stella,” said Marie.

“W-Welcome back,” said Rye.

Stella nodded. “Any problems while I was gone?”

“Not at all. Good business as always,” said Marie, checking her notes. “But customers have voiced a desire for more variety.”

Marie was the best employee Stella could hope to have. More than good enough to leave in charge of the store. The truth was, Stella didn’t want to do it herself. Her hard-earned life was too precious to waste its entirety as the forgettable owner of a minor general store. The store was important to her, of course, but meeting people and becoming part of their lives was much more important.

“Variety in which sense? As a general store or as a ‘tavern’?”

“Both. They’ve asked for medicinal herbs, bandages, flint, water-purifying stones, food preservatives. We’d need to buy all of those in bulk. On the tavern side of things, they want us to start doing takeout, and also to provide more seats.”

“Hmm. Ignore the seats for now. The general goods you can get from the Company’s suppliers—I’ll leave you to figure out the details, Marie. Do as you think best.”

“But Miss Stella, I can’t make important monetary decisions without even consulting with you!”

“I’m leaving you in charge because I trust you. I’ll give you a bonus for all the extra work you’ll have to do. And rest assured that I’ll keep up the production of tears of falling stars as well.”

For a moment, Marie didn’t know what to say, but she soon recomposed herself and gave Stella a serious nod. “All right. I’ll do the best I can.”

“No need to be like that. I’m not going to blame you if things go wrong.” Then Stella suddenly turned to Rye, who had been staring at her the whole time. “Do you have something to say or am I just that attractive?”

Rye yelped and almost fell backward. Funny.

“U-Uhm, no, it’s nothing,” she sputtered. “It’s just that—Marie, as stand-in owner? Where did that come from?”

“It’s the best choice for the store. I’m confident she’ll run it better than I could ever hope to. Really, I’m just an innocent child—might as well have been born yesterday. How can I build the store’s reputation if no one’s going to take me seriously?”

“Yeah, right. I don’t know who you think you’re fooling with that.” Rye puffed her cheeks. But she seemed to have something else to say; her mouth opened and closed repeatedly.

“What is it?”

Hesitantly, Rye said, “I was out of line this morning. You give me so much freedom here. I should thank you, not act like I did. Me and my potty mouth . . . I’m really sorry.”

An earnest apology, if not very eloquent. This was clearly important to her.

“There’s no reason to apologize,” said Stella. “In fact, I should thank you. I like watching your reactions—they’re an excellent mirror into humanity’s most interesting traits, in all their depth and shallowness. Have a little more confidence in yourself. I’ll be watching, as always.”

Rye laughed awkwardly. “I can’t tell if I should be flattered or offended.”

“Why would I say anything to put you down? I’m your master.”

“Isn’t that what you do to Beck all the time?”

“No, that’s different.”

“Different how?” Rye laughed. She was finally back to her usual self.

That matter settled, Rye turned toward the new stranger—Varrell—standing by the entrance. She’d been throwing him curious glances during their conversation. “Is that your new, uh . . . bodyguard?”

“That’s him.”

Rye refrained from calling him a slave. The girl still struggled with the concept of treating humans as merchandise.

Not Stella, though. She saw the slave market as a necessary evil. It was a place for people with no money, nowhere to go, and no one to rely on—people whose only alternative would be to wander off and starve. If Rye truly wanted to end slavery, she should start by buying all the slaves and giving them jobs and homes. But even that would not be a permanent solution, as new slaves would soon come to replace the old. It was not possible to save everyone; just a select few. Which raised the question—how would she choose those worthy of salvation? Based on what criteria? That was a job for a god. A job for those at the Tower, those who had turned to dust.

They’d thought themselves superior to everyone else; they’d thought that would justify everything. And so they went into a deep slumber, thus setting out on a journey across time. However, they simply turned into dust. It was a laughable end to a pathetic tale.

“Hello? Are you listening? Just introduce us already!”

‘Master, yer zonin’ out again!’

Stella blinked. “I was just thinking. As I should, every now and then. But unfortunately, I don’t have so much time left that I can waste it brooding like this. Life is too short.” She sighed from the bottom of her heart.

Life was short, but at least hers had been worthwhile so far. Boredom and stagnation—those were things of the past now. Still, life was too short. But that was what made it worthwhile. A sad truth, thought Stella. Her eyes stung a little bit.

‘Don’t cry, Master! Laugh instead, eh?’

“What are you talking about? I’m not crying.” One would think he can read my thoughts. They had, after all, been together for a long time.

“There you go again with that nonsense,” said Rye. “You’re only ten, for goodness’ sake. Take it easy. If you’re out of time, where does that put me, huh? Should I start digging my grave?”

“We’re different people, Rye. I have things I want to do which I value above all else. And all I have is—”

“—Fifty years, yeah, I know. That’s plenty of time to do whatever you want to do, so chill out, okay?”

“I can’t. I won’t sit around while my time wastes away. I won’t spend my last moments wallowing in regret. I need to give it my all. That’s the life I want to live.”

Stella dreaded the possibility of dying with anything left undone. She wanted to die knowing that she’d made good use of what little time was given her.

“All right, forget about that,” said Rye. “Just introduce us. He’s waiting for it.”

“Thanks,” said Varrell, still standing in the same spot. “Honestly, it was starting to get awkward.”

“Hey, don’t mention it,” said Rye, laughing. “But enough about that. Your armor is so cool! And your sword is even cooler! I’ve never seen one so big before!”

“This is Varrell Art, former arena combatant,” said Stella. “He works for me now.”

Rye’s eyes sparkled. “A combatant? That explains the sword! My name is Rye, by the way. I work here, doing some stuff here and there. Nice to meet you!”

“My name is Marie. I also work here at Miss Stella’s store. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet the both of you. I’m Varrell. Let’s get along, shall we?”

“A combatant . . .” Rye said dreamily. “So you actually know how to use that sword, eh? That’s so cool! I wish I could see you in action!”

Rye approached Varrell unprompted and started studying and touching his sword. She had the curious, innocent eyes of a young boy aspiring to be a knight. She’s a girl, though. Varrell tried to brush her off, saying it was dangerous, but he did so gently. It didn’t really seem to bother him.

“Of course I know how to use it,” he said. “I’m Stella’s bodyguard, and I intend to take this job seriously. But that doesn’t mean I can’t help you two as well. If you need someone to do the heavy lifting, whatever the purpose, don’t hesitate to ask. I’ve helped out at an orphanage before, so I should be able to do most household chores.”

“Really?” said Rye.

Varrell nodded. “One more thing,” he added. “You’ll find that I’m very serious about nutrition. I’m sure I’ll have a thing or two to say about Stella’s diet as well.”

I don’t much like the sound of that, thought Stella, but I suppose I won’t get anywhere without taking a few risks. Whatever he came up with, she could manage. As long as it was normal food. Made with normal ingredients.

“Oh, wonderful,” said Marie. “That’s been in the back of my head for quite some time. We should talk about it later.”

They didn’t even wait for Stella’s input. Not that it would make a difference. Her only part in it was eating.

I can’t believe this mountain of muscles is so domestic. You really can’t judge humans before talking to them.

Stella imagined Varrell serving customers side by side with Marie. A big man in a flower apron. The contrast was comical. Maybe she’d make it happen one day. Varrell caught her look and frowned. His sharp combatant’s instincts must have alerted him to her thoughts.

“I like him, Stella! He looks like a good person. Beck and the others could seriously take a page out of his book, eh?”

You’re talking like Clever again, Stella mentally quipped. But what Rye said reminded her of something. She didn’t know where Beck was.

“Where did that fool Beck run off to?” Stella asked. “He should be getting ready for his night shift.”

“Last I saw him, he was tilling the backyard like a maniac,” said Rye. “He said he’d be back in time for his shift. I gave him some vegetable seeds, by the way. I hope you don’t mind.”

Right. I forgot I told him to do that. It seemed her brain had written it off as an unimportant detail and resigned it to oblivion. But that wouldn’t do. Beck was her property; she had to show him some measure of consideration. Consideration was, after all, the lubricant oil of human interaction—at least according to Mace’s book of sayings. In other words, she should keep his existence in mind. I’ll try my best. If I neglect him for too long he’ll evolve into a lower lifeform. Like a thug initiate, a piece of crap, or a dung beetle.

“Thank you, I was going to do that anyway,” said Stella. “Let him take care of the crops, then. I can’t wait to see how they’ll turn out.”

“What did you do to him? He’s never been that intense before. I doubt it’ll be long before he gives in to fatigue.”

That’s the way to go if he wants to become stronger and more resilient. It was no different from what Stella was doing with her morning walks. Now we can compete to see who gives up first. It won’t be me.

“I didn’t do anything. Just praised him a little bit.” Stella plopped down in a chair and looked up at Varrell. “Anyway, what about your personal belongings? I can send someone from the Company to get them for you.”

“All I have is in here,” said Varrell, raising a leather bag. “I make a point of carrying as little as I can.”

“Why?”

“Because money is usually sufficient to satisfy my needs. And besides, in a fight, any extra weight can put me at a disadvantage. I’m always prepared for the worst—it’s my philosophy. My heart never leaves the battlefield.”

Stella nodded. She could understand what he meant, in broad terms. For Varrell, bettering the self through constant training was the ultimate pursuit that gave his life meaning. But where did working for Stella fit in with that philosophy? I can’t wait to find out, she thought, touching her hair and smiling. She’d been playing with her hair a lot lately. Maybe it’s a new habit. Interesting.

Stella wondered—did she have any habits such as this in the past? She searched her memories, but drew a blank. It was as if her memories were moth-eaten, or obscured by a thick fog. She could ask Clever about it, but the bird tended to be oddly reticent in the matter of her past. He would always say it was nothing she needed to know, and suggest she focus on enjoying life instead.

Stella shook her head. I’m getting lost in my thoughts again.

“So, Varrell,” she said. “We should decide where you’re going to sleep.”

“I can sleep anywhere you want. Even outside. Compared to what I’m used to, having any protection from the elements whatsoever is a great luxury.”

“Use the storehouse, then. Also, feel free to lounge here in the store while you work. Use the men outside if you need them.”

“Thank you. You really took care of everything.” Varrell finally unstrapped the sword from his back and sat down.

“It’s time I gave you details about your job. You’ll be both the store’s night security guard and my personal bodyguard. You can sleep between sunrise and noon. Your afternoons are free unless I’ve given you specific orders. If you want a day off, or anything else, just tell me and I’ll do my best to respect your wishes.”

“Understood. Would you mind if I did some training while guarding the store? It won’t get in the way of work.”

“Of course. You can do whatever you want if it won’t get in the way of work. Why, even take a nap.” He would probably sense the enemy and cut him in half with that sword before he even woke up.

“No more worrying about burglars, then!” said Rye. “Now that that’s settled, let’s send the others home. We don’t need them anymore, and they make for really loud customers.”

“No. They’re still useful, after a fashion. They can yell if anyone comes close. Anyway, we’re not paying them, so they can stay.”

Yes, she thought, it’s best that way. This store was her fortress, and a very poor one at that. With those thugs outside, she could at least know of any attacks in advance. It would probably never come to that, but there was no harm in being prepared. Either way, I should consider some renovations. I can get Mace to fund them if I tell him they’ll make the place more defensible.

“There’s something else you need to know,” Varrell said with a serious expression.

“What is it?”

“There might be—No, there will be trouble coming our way in the future. When it does, come see me immediately. It’ll need to be dealt with quickly, before the damage has a chance to spread.”

Stella smirked. “Trouble, you say? What is it? Some stray dragon from legend?”

For a few moments, Varrell didn’t answer. Then he grimaced and said, “I suppose you could say a ‘storm’ is coming.”

“A storm?”

“Maybe an animal would make for a better metaphor. Think of the wild boar. They’re not unlike storms, with the way they charge in and make a general mess of the place. Wild boars don’t listen to people.”

Stella met his eyes with a serious look. “I won’t pry, but do what needs to be done. Whoever—or whatever—is coming, don’t let them have their way.”

Stella was starting to get a headache. I need more coffee. She wasted no time asking Marie for a cup. Marie knew how to prepare some excellent coffee—neither too bitter nor too acidic.