Pre-read: Reap What You Sow - Chapter 6

Last night, Sable found her room by matching the door’s nameplate number with her key. She didn’t bother to inspect the room much as the alcohol was kicking into full gear, and the room was beginning to spin.  She promptly stumbled over and passed out on the nearby bed.

She awoke with a fright in the early dawn as a message appeared in her mind. 

[Singer]: Level 1 - ? 

She couldn’t see the words, it was almost like telepathy, but there was no voice. The information was just presented to her instinctually.

Her heart was beating vigorously from the suddenness of it all, but she cautiously accepted her first class. She didn’t know how at first, but she managed it by just mentally acknowledging that she wanted it. 

[Singer]: Level 1.

New skill: [Perfect Recollection: Lyrics] 

She waited for some new feeling to emerge, but nothing seemed to have changed. She knew she now had a skill. She knew what it was called, but she didn’t know what it did. Somehow, she didn’t think it was even possible to forget her class or skill. It was a part of her now, on an instinctual level. It was offputting, but currently, she didn’t feel any different. 

She wondered what her skill did, and after a very brief moment of trying to figure it out, she had an understanding. 

I can remember every word of every song I know? That’s… underwhelming.

Sable didn’t think knowing the words to songs was that special. At first, she didn’t even realize the effects of the skill. She remembered the lyrics of most of her favorite songs anyway, so this only helped with the songs she didn’t really enjoy or listen to that often. 

She did discover that she had remembered the lyrics wrong in some songs, and she preferred not to have that knowledge. It made her remember every time she said them incorrectly, and it made her cringe slightly when she remembered saying the words wrong.

This isn’t going to help me get a job. This skill is useless.

She stared at the ceiling with a little bit of mounting frustration. She had thought that things were beginning to turn around for the better. Even if she went to Tabby right now and told her she was a [Singer], she couldn’t really do anything different from when she didn’t have a class at all. 

Maybe if I level up? Do I have to sing every day now? 

Rolling out of bed, she was surprised she didn’t have a hangover. She was almost sure that she was going to be waking up with a tremendous headache. It wouldn’t have been the first time, and she was ready for it not to be the last. 

She took a hit from her vape and noticed that the juice inside was running low. It would run out before the battery did. 

Battery? Oh shit!

She quickly grabbed her phone and turned it off. It was at 55% when she did. 

There must be a way to recharge my stuff. I refuse to believe that in a world of magic, there wouldn’t be a way. Some lightning mage or something?

She was about to leave her room when she had another thought. 

Oh Shiiiiiit! My contacts! 

There weren’t any mirrors around, and she had never tried to remove them without one. She tilted her head upwards and tried to feel the red-eye contact lens. She couldn’t feel them.

I must have rubbed them out when I was blinded.

Now over her worry, she made her way downstairs, noticing that everybody was leaving their rooms at around the same time. She assumed that everyone got their little class update or something every morning. Tabby called it The Note. It must act like an alarm clock for the world.

She started to eat breakfast, which was handed to her by that same young woman who delivered her stew last night. It was eggs and some weird potato-like starchy vegetable. It was okay, and it was free, so she ate it all. She didn’t know what to do with her room key, so she asked the woman about it. 

“Do I need to drop this key off with Tabby?” 

The young woman took her empty plate and replied.

“No. It will disappear when your stay has ended. Next, please!” 

Sable walked away as the young woman continued to serve breakfast to the other patrons of the Inn. Tabby had said that she had her room until noon, and she hoped the day and night cycle were similar to Earth. 

She left the Inn and noticed the bustling streets. People were out and about, either going to work or coming back from it. Some of the Owlkin looked exhausted. They made weird-sounding yawns with their beaks, similar to the sound of a whistle. 

She asked a stranger on the street for directions to the Merchant’s Guild and was given directions. She still stood out like a sore thumb, but with all of the people busily going on about their day, she didn’t get too much attention. 

Five minutes later, Sable arrived at the Merchant’s Guild. Wagons and carts were being offloaded or loaded with goods in a receiving area next to what looked to be a storage barn. The enormous wooden barn gate slid open easily and could let many people enter or exit. The goods ranged from bushels of grain to large ornate-looking chests, and it looked like people from all walks of life entered and exited the guild. 

She entered through the main doorway and looked around. There were several blocked-off cubicles with metal bars acting as a screen between the workers and the clients. Some coinage changed hands, or paperwork was handed over all across the room. 

There were lines for loans, deposits, withdrawals, contracts, and more. Sable didn’t know exactly where to go, so she stood in the line for withdrawals. As she waited, she realized that the Merchant’s Guild was very similar to a bank. There was a lot you could do here. 

Slowly but surely, she began to move up through the line, and when it was almost her turn, she overheard an argument from the line next to her. An older man was arguing with the teller about a land agreement. The man was upset about some of the contents and was making their case. The older man, a human in his early forties, was getting loud.

“I don’t care what the contract says! That property is not going to the city!”

The teller was blank-faced and immune to angry clients. “As per the contract, as nobody has lived or been on the land for over two years, it was returned into the city's custody. I understand that your father passed, and you have my condolences, but a contract is a contract.” 

The man’s face was beginning to redden from anger, a tantrum was brewing. “I traveled all the way from Icathor for this land! I didn’t even know my father moved here! I only got word when I was notified of his death! Over two years after the fact! This is robbery!” 

The teller starkly responded. “No, it’s a contractual agreement between the City of Slatt and your father, and it was upheld. You may purchase the land and all the belongings on it to keep it in your family if you would like, but you will not be given the land. It is the city’s.” 

Sable and the others in line all eavesdropped on the argument, and she only had one thought. 

Yup. It’s a bank. That’s par for the course.

Then, it was her turn in line. “Hi, how may I help you today?” The teller asked. 

“I was a victim of a crime, and I was told that there would be compensation for me at the Merchant’s Guild. I don’t have an account, so I’m not sure if this is the line I was supposed to enter. Do I need an account first?” 

The teller was calm and orderly. “That’s not a problem. I just need your name and home city, and I can check for you.” 

Sable told her the information, then waited as the teller scanned a stack of papers. Quickly and dilligenctly, the teller smiled and met her eyes. “I see. The Watch has notified us of your compensation, and you are free to withdraw it here without an account. Your physical description, name, and home city all fit with the record. You may open an account and keep the money safely here, or you may withdraw the full amount here instead. Which would you prefer?” 

Sable didn’t see the need to open a bank account at the moment, so she asked for the money now. 

“Okay. Let me see how much… Oh.” 

Oh? I don’t like to hear. ‘Oh’ at a bank.

“Is there a problem?” Sable asked with a raised brow. She needed this money, and she’d be damned if it was going to be taken from her.

The teller eyed the paper and Sable, then coughed. “It’s… It’s quite a large sum, Miss Thresher.” 

Sable watched as the teller's eyes peeked over her shoulder. Sable's eyes narrowed as she glanced over her shoulder at the long line of waiting people. 

Oh. I see. It’s a lot of money for me to carry around, and there are a lot of witnesses here… And now you’re being more respectful.

“In that case, I would like to set up an account. Can I do that in this line? Or would I have to go into another and then return here later?” 

The Teller gave a weak, nervous smile. “The line over there can help you with your account. Alternatively, you may set up a private meeting with an accountant and discuss details regarding the use of your funds.” 

At first, Sable had assumed five gold was a good amount of money. If a silver coin amounts to thirty copper, then how many silver coins are in a gold coin? She had assumed it was going to be thirty as well, a good chunk of spending money. But now, she was thinking it might be more than she expected. 

“This may sound like a stupid question, but what are the denominations of a gold coin?” Sable asked.

The teller didn’t seem phased by the question; she simply responded. “That would be one hundred silver coins or three thousand copper coins, Miss Thresher.” 

Sable just stood there and stared at the teller for a good five seconds, blank-faced and emotionless. “I think it would be best for me to have a private meeting. Where would I go to set that up?” 

The teller respectfully nodded and gestured to a closed door on the other side of the building. “That would be right over there, Miss Thresher. Is there anything else I can help you with today?” 

“I think that’s all. Thanks.” Sable left the withdrawal cubicle, shuffled past some of the people in the other lines, and then walked to the closed, ornate, dark wooden door, which was labeled “VIP Accounting.” 

Oh god. This is going to have negotiations and people wanting to ‘borrow’ my money, isn’t it?

She sighed, then opened the door. 

Inside was a small waiting room. Sable almost thought she teleported back home into a doctor's office. The walls were painted white, with gold filigree of vines and leaves lining the top and bottom. There were cushioned chairs and a coffee table in the waiting space and another dark wooden ornately carved door and small desk with another teller behind it. This teller was dressed much more neatly—not a wrinkle to be seen upon his fine set of clothes. 

There was one other person waiting in a seat, dressed in what Sable assumed to be butler attire. His sky-blue overcoat was eye-catching, being one of the first pieces of colored clothes that Sable had seen so far. The fine cloth or silk pants were long and pitch black. The man seemed to be in his mid-thirties, with short dark brown hair and a chiseled jaw. 

He looked up from reading some papers, noticed Sable, and then quickly sat up, back straight, prim and proper. He nodded toward Sable like nothing was amis. 

Sable walked up to the teller, who had grown a large frown. 

“Excuse me, miss. This is for VIPs only. I’m afraid you must have gone to the wrong location. Promptly leave, now.” 

Sable raised an eyebrow as she confidently continued walking up to the teller. He was an older gentleman, quite distinguished looking. She calmly took out her vape, took a hit, and blew the vapor off to the side—away from the butler-looking fellow. She leaned on the teller's reception desk with her elbows, rested her chin on top of her now folded hands, and sent the man a level look.

The teller’s face morphed into one of disbelief and then anger. He began to stammer, but Sable talked over him. 

“I was politely directed here by one of your associates. Go ahead and make me an appointment. I’ll have a talk while I’m back there about your behavior while I’m at it.” 

One of the things Sable hated most in life was being talked down too. ‘You can’t do that’, ‘you shouldn’t do this’, etc, etc. So when the teller had insinuated that she didn’t belong? It triggered her. She might have gotten angry in the past and exploded on him. But, Sable learned from experience the right way to get back at people. Pettiness—and she could be very petty and hold grudges. 

The teller just opened and closed his mouth like a fish. Sable raised a brow and looked him up and down with disinterest. “Well? Chop chop. Get to work. I’ll be waiting right here.” 

The teller ground his teeth red-faced from either anger, embarrassment, or a mix of both. “Go ahead and have a seat. I’ll notify you when you’re called.” 

Sable casually walked away and sat down a seat away from the other person waiting in the room. He kept glancing at her, but she ignored him. She wasn’t in the mood to get to know him at the moment. 

It took around ten minutes until the door by the teller opened. An older woman, probably in her fifties, with short white hair done up in curls on each side, stepped into the room. She was lean and fit and wore a thick blue and black dress. Her face was neutral as she glanced at Sable, then she motioned for the man in the seat. 

The man stood and followed after her. He always stood a step behind the woman as they left the room.

Then Sable was alone. 

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An hour passed.

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Two hours.

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Three hours.

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Four hours.

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It took four and a half hours, with nobody entering or exiting the room, before she calmly stood up. The teller watched with a smug look of satisfaction as she began to walk across the room. 

His smug look vanished as he realized where she was walking, directly to the doorway leading to what Sable assumed to be the office. She calmly opened the door and walked in, completely ignoring the teller, who was beginning to leave his desk and throw a fit. 

Through the door was a short hallway, only having a single door at the far end. She calmly walked to the far door and opened it, revealing a small office and a man in his forties, with gray hair and a beard. He sat behind a large wooden desk, writing on some papers with a quill. He dipped the tip into some ink as he looked up, spotting Sable. He was obviously confused as he asked. “Can I help you..?” 

Sable just walked forward and sat in the chair across from him. “I’ve been waiting for nearly five hours in the waiting room. You should fire the reception guy.” 

The man didn’t know what to say. They both sat there in silence for a few seconds before he coughed to clear his throat. He rang a small bell on his table, and moments later, the teller appeared. “Stuart, was this young woman waiting for five hours?” 

 The teller looked straight ahead at the far wall. Face like stone. “Yes, sir.” 

The man behind the desk slowly placed his quill down upon the table, leaned back in his cushioned chair, and folded his fingers together. A look of disapproval marring his features. “Is there a reason she wasn’t sent to me?” 

Before Stuart could answer, Sable did. “The thing is, a nice young woman at withdrawals told me I couldn’t safely withdraw all my gold. She very politely recommended I make an account here and talk with someone—I presume you, to discuss how my gold is spent. I assume that's what you’re here for, as borrowing and investing stored gold is a common occurrence. I politely entered the waiting room and was then told that I didn’t belong. I was very rudely asked to leave by this here, Stuart. I refused, then he said I would be called upon when my time came. That time never came, so I took the situation into my own hands. Now, here we are. Fire him, or I will take my gold and leave.” 

The man slowly turned his head to Stuart, who was still staring at the wall, then spoke. “You may go home early, Stuart. We shall have a more formal discussion at a later time.” 

Stuart clamped his eyes shut, held in a grimace, bowed once, and left. 

Sable watched him leave, and only after she waited a few moments to hear the second door in the hallway close did she speak. 

“So.” 

Sable propped her right foot up on her left knee, making a figure four with her legs. She rested her arms along the armrests as she looked into the man's eyes with faint simmering anger. 

“I’m not very inclined to let you handle my money after how all of this has gone down. You’re gonna have your work cut out for you. You can thank Stuart for that.”