Tales from Glasstown - Chapter 1
Making hard times for dickheads is more than enough
At noon, the sun was high in the sky above Glasstown.
At one of the gates of the defensive wall surrounding Glasstown, a small stream of shabby travelers were passing through the guard outpost. They were exhausted, dehydrated, and desperate. Yet they kept their manners and walked straight hoping to positively impress the guards.
Sitting at a small table under the shadow of a tent, an officer listened to the travelers begging for entrance to the town. He accepted most, granting them a three-day visa to find a job and a residence. If they were not to found both a job and a residence, he continued, they were expected to report to the nearest guard outpost in order to be accompanied out of the town.
To each of them, he ritually explained how they could be detained and put to force-labor were they to be found with expired visas.
On each of their faces, he saw the huge, naive smile forming as they grabbed the torn papersheet of the visa. They had survived the journey through the desert. They had seen so many die, while they still lived. How hard could it be to find a job in three days? Was not Glasstown the industrial jewel of the Sand Plane? Was not its trade of sandcrystals one of the most profitable and worker-demanding business in the known world?
All of these thoughts were running through the heads of the travelers, the office knew. And how could he blame them? Handing the visa to a young father sent a chill down the spine of the officer. He imagined that same man three days later, desperate, unable to find a single crystal farmer williing to employ him. That father would consider returning to the guard outpost for a moment, in compliance with the law. He would image his journey back home, only to realize he and his family would never survive the way back. So, how much could the officer blame him for deciding to stay, to go rogue, to hid in the sewers and among the lowlifes of the city? How hard could it be to stay hidden for a couple of days, just the time needed to finally land a job? The smelters were half-empty, this the father knew for sure! Someone must need more arms.
If these travelers only knew the numbers, the officer thought. The reports. The data. If they only knew how much more profitable it was for the crystal farmers to pay the town council for slaves rather than employing free people.
But they didn't know and it wasn't his job, nor his right, to preach and shatter people's hopes. He looked at the father with the visa in one hand, leading his family away into the crowd. Good luck, the officer thought, and see you soon.
He snapped to the present moment as he heard an acute squeal. It was a young girl, some places behind in the line of pleading travelers. Desiring to send his grim reflections away, he went investigating.
Two of his guards were cornering this lone girl. She seemed uncomfortable and confused as the guards smiled lasciviously at her. The officer thought he saw a hand too close to the girl's lower back.
The officer slapped the most senior of the two in the back of the neck. They jumped on spot, surprised.
"The hell you're doing, Pollon!" said the officer sternly.
"Sir! I was just inspecting."
Without a glance at the girl and another word, the officer dragged the two guards back with him and sat at the table. The travelers observed the scene with a mix of curiosity and fear.
While Pollon stood as upright as possible, his companion kept his gaze down. He was only a recruit, the officer reminded himself, surely dragged into foolishness by his older mentor.
"Think you can fool around with people under my watch?" said the officer.
"Watcher Petras. Sir, I didn't think it was a problem. Never been under Lolan's watch."
"Got any problem with your sight, Pollon?" asked the officer.
"Sir, no sir," said the guard confused.
"Then, how did you take me for Lolan?"
Pollon seemed ready to argue, but he kept his mouth shut. His irritation was visible.
"You're going on outer wall patrol today," concluded Petras. It meant spending the afternoon roaming around the entire circle of the town wall. Knees deep in the sand, under a sun that left no rest.
Petras gestured away Pollon. He got a glance of the poisonous gaze of the guard, and felt energized by it. If his job had one single benefit, that was to make the life of scumbags a little harder once in a while.
The younger recruit was still uneasily standing when Petras directed his attention to him.
"You're the new one? Lantimos, if I'm correct?"
The young man nodded.
Petras gazed behind the boy, where the waiting travelers were growing exaspereted by the break in the delivering of visa. Hadn't much time left to educate the boy, thought Petras to himself.
"Look, Lantimos. I get it. You suddenly find yourself with a spear in your hand, the town crest on your shirt, and everyone looks at you like you held their life.
It can be intoxicating. Some people, like that Pollon, will invite you to take as much as you can from your position. And don't get me wrong," added Petras, thinking with a bit of guilt about those monthly meetings with Captain Tul at the Mutes District, "you have to get your hands dirty sometimes.
I'm just saying, don't mistake your role. You're a town guard. You protect. You fight. You already get paid for that. No need to tax the poor souls around you. Got me?"
Lantimos nodded. He still seemed more scared than understanding.
"Look, Lan... just don't turn into a dickhead, or I'll bat your ass like I did with that fellow of yours. Now get back into line."
The recruit seemed scared enough to Petras, and he let himself forget about that incident. He gestured the next traveler to move forward and immersed himself back into work.