Chapter 81: How to Get a Forced Promotion (2)
It seemed like days in Ashveil never changed. I woke up just like any other day and went about my chores like a good lower-class citizen (better than being an almost-homeless adventurer). I walked down the main street kicking little stones as if they were small problems, the newspaper tucked under my arm, my collar half done up giving me that "don’t care what people think" look.
The newsstand was open before the sun even had a chance to warm the cobblestones properly. The shelves creaked under the weight of the editions, and a new stack of papers still smelling of fresh ink trembled in one corner. Marlow wasn’t there at that hour—probably off preaching morals at some merchants’ meeting worried about taxes. After all, that’s all he’d been good at since winning the contest.
But instead of him, I was greeted by a scrawny little kid I hadn’t seen in a while. He was the one responsible for grabbing a few papers and trying to sell them around Ashveil, yelling the headline at passersby. I noticed he had more pimples than mustache when he shot me a suspicious look.
"Who are you?" he grumbled.
"I’m me." I went straight to my table at the back, slapping the newspaper against my leg to knock off the dust. "Any mail? Death threats? Veiled bribes? I want the full package today."
"I can’t read." He dropped the bundle without ceremony. "But someone said a cow got stolen."
"Incredible. Top-tier investigation. I’ll send it to the violent crimes section."
He didn’t laugh. I didn’t expect him to. Didn’t even know if he had the IQ to get the joke.
I spent the morning in that numbing back-and-forth of every day: reading letters with questionable handwriting, trying to translate the ramblings of old folks furious about the price of salt, editing sentences that looked like they’d been spat out by a drunk with a love of commas. It was... comfortable. And I hated it.
Until I noticed the movement in the street.
Gradually, the voices got louder. More excited. People crowded around the main square, elbowing children who were trying to get closer. When I stood and looked out the window, I felt that familiar nausea of knowing nothing good was about to happen.