The benefits of knowledge

My final year in school passed without memorable events, the days sailed away always the same, the boring trudge of life in gloomy old Tikira, only to be flavored with the occasional celebrations, and for me, of course, the occasional meets with the Drino Messenger who kept accepting and appreciating my presence despite those miserable tasteless morsels I could offer him. He was a beacon for me, something to live for, a living manifestation of my dreams of distances only falling farther and farther out of my reach as discovering the merciless moor of reality bogging down the commonfolk opened my eyes.

Flying, dragons were for the nobility and the chosen. It wasn't exactly impossible to just acquire a brass chick from an open market, however the lowest rumored price of a hundred thousands was far far beyond our wildest dreams. Not even a lifetime of plodding could earn that much money! If you already had a dragon, you were a hero practically with free pass into Messenger, the Army, and even some of the richest palaces and beds. But how could one ever get there!

Worse, the realization that I might not even get as far as leaving Tikira without committing myself to a duty and contract tortured my mind. I had no connections, so my chances to get something acceptable were bleak. One could travel free if only he was a proficient hunter and Protector who were frequently welcomed by small caravans. I didn't have such qualities. I dreaded of my future, locked up in one of those somber featureless trade buildings of the main street to spend my years as an accountant. Better than plodding on the fields, I guessed, but still a gloomy perspective.

Graduation came over me lost in these hapless thought of my future. It couldn't elate me that my marks were perfect, nearly the best in class. I took the compliments with feigned pleasure, for the formalities, wearing me tired. There was to be a celebration, a trip through the taverns into the hazy land of intoxication of which I sneaked away as soon as most grew too woozy to care about anything. I dropped in my bed in disbelief, barely fathoming that an important chapter of my life ended that day.

For a week nothing much happened, I helped Mother with her work while pondering on what I could do for my living, looking around a bit in the city as well for possibilities. Then, one evening a postman rode to our home bringing a short notice. We welcomed him with worries as usually such weren't of any good, however this case it turned out rather interesting. It was for me, from Arne Murai's small forestry and sawmill at the very outskirts, in the woods, requesting specifically my attendance for a discussion.

Mother knew about the family, they had a reputation of being strange, but honest people, entrepreneurs, above the common class as the righteous owners of their home and elaborate machinery, with contracts for many hectares of forest by the Mera. I came to wonder what it is all alike for I had never seen them. The note thankfully also set the date, and the lumber wagon which was to carry me.

I wouldn't have thought it will be so far, we rattled along for an hour before the teamster pointed me towards a very peculiar sight. We were approaching a dense forest, and deeper in, almost with an impression of hovering on thin air, a towering windmill stood, the blades slowly turning. It almost felt like a residence of a wizard coming right out from a fairy tale! The sight elated me, I had never seen something so unusual, so intriguing in architecture before, grown up accustomed to the gloomy streets of the city. It was sure something eccentric!

The growing trees however soon concealed this sight, covering above us as the massive draft horses steadily pulled our wagon deeper in. For a half hour we could enjoy the soothing shades until the road cleared again to reveal the residence.

A small hill dominated the clearing, on which the tall windmill stood surrounded by a few sheds, large piles of logs and processed wood, people busy working, clearly the sawmill. The road forked, one path leading up there, another winding away, around. We stopped and soon a rider trotted down to meet us.

"Welcome on my ranch! You are Daniel Thorton, I presume?" I bowed, "I am, at your service". He told a few instructions to the teamster, then gestured me to follow him, taking the path around the mill. On the way we just exchanged a few formalities, weather, family, then drifting a bit towards city politics, seemingly testing a bit my knowledge of history. Our path ended at a modest mansion, mostly constructed of wood with a few other buildings around, notably a stable. After passing the horse to a groom, he invited me in, to the hall, where, after acquainting me to his wife, he revealed the purpose of this attendance.

He explained a few bits on the sawmill, how the cutting operations worked, how the wood is managed, prepared and processed, the products, and how they are sold on the market, how tax is managed, even mentioning the port, cargo departing for other cities. He also noted hunting permits, how they are accounted and what happens to the meat and skins. I felt a bit swamped by all the information, wouldn't have thought that there are this many things to consider.

"You see, it is a fairly elaborate operation. I am doing most of the accounting myself, and it bogs me down. Sometimes my cutters even cut and deliver the wrong trees for I have no time to investigate everything. I could really use a good scribe and accountant who could also help me on the field in need, the more proficient the better."

I politely asked why he selected especially me for this offer.

"This is not a place for feeble city folk, and they neither would go out here. It is a rarity someone from your class gets in school and finishes it, you should be grateful for your mother's effort. You know what physical work is, and I hope you aren't afraid of the few dangers of the forest. Don't worry, I have men to tutor you in your tasks, so you will come to know them in time."

It began to really interest me, all those years coming to be useful, and not in that dreaded city as I imagined! Expressing my appreciation for selecting me, I asked for the contract, which he promptly provided on paper, presumably worded by his own meticulously tidy writing. It was concise and comprehensive, listing my tasks which varied, noting tutoring, my responsibilities, then going on to living quarters, allowances, provisions and salary, a real salary of hard cash among the foodstuff and other articles. I asked about a few elements, of which two were notable: a monthly hunting permit for fowl, and a four years time.

"You should better learn archery, it is a useful skill on the field. There is a small training ground behind the stables and a few spare bows and practice arrows within, you will also meet people who can help with that. You will appreciate the permits later. I require four years so your tutoring will pay off. No more for this is not slavery, of course if you serve well and like, you are free to stay then."

I came to like this man, he was straight and fair with his terms, so after the discussion, I agreed without hesitation, signing the contract which he sealed, passing me a copy as proof for my part.

The oncoming months proved to be really though, always busy working, always necessitating many things to learn, to be accustomed to. I was passed back and forth between the mill and the mansion, the morning could find me tallying logs and products of various types of wood, occasionally jumping in at the saw, the afternoon in the stables sorting out hay, tending for the horses while accounting every little detail, even such mundane things like manure. After all, that was also a product which could be sold.

It was hard, but interesting, and with time, I came to understand. Wind was a key, it determined how well the mill could perform, and so every task was scheduled to utilize it as best as possible. When it was strong, everyone capable was at the saw, the largest logs being cut up in planks to get as much of this done as possible until it lasted. On calm days, most people were directed out to the woods for cutting, lumber wagons went and came, stocking up unprocessed wood by the mill.

Those days occasionally there was time for some slacking, which of course could also be put to good uses, my case learning archery. The forester, Caron came to my help in that, explaining the basics, selecting me a bow suitable for practicing. It put me a bit off that even this proved to be not so simple I imagined, as he described how I need to work my muscles to become able to handle a real hunting bow with ease. More so when my first arrow landed flat on the ground right before the target affixed to a bale of hay.

Soon however I got the hang of it, learning to anticipate the fall of the arrow, the effect of wind, how I needed to adjust my aim. It was fun, even more so when we set out for small archery competitions with some of the workers who enjoyed this pastime.

I had monthly one day and night allowance which I could use to visit the city, my mother. Of course I tried to organize those to be on Wednesday even if it demanded me to walk, a good three hours, so I could also keep on meeting the Drino Messenger.

It was also the first time I could go in the market with some real own money in my pouch. It wasn't much, but I felt rich, just for the thought that it was solely myself who was to decide what to spend it on. There was nothing pressing, I even had a good streak of bacon saved from my salary to have for the wyvern as gift. So I plunged in the small town of tents and stands eager to observe, to discover, to see what they could offer at last!

To my dismay it didn't last for my pouch was thin and the wares were expensive. I noted a blade merchant's stand with fine steel knives for later, acknowledged that quality hunting bows and quivers demand saving up for a few months, and finally resorted to rather buy some fruits and salami for Mother which were rare on our table.

Wandering around I eventually ran into something which filled me with slight revulsion. It was a stand offering lousy cheap ground meat packages, with the lofty title "Wyvern treats", nearing noon, it experienced some traffic. I felt something shattering in me. How those people could buy this crap as an offer to him! I gulped my feelings down, and thought about my streak of bacon which I meticulously saved up by cutting little bits of my own meals.

Eventually he also came, the glimmering brass giant descending from the sky as always during the past countless years. The officers removed his mailbag to start their work, he briefly visited the barrel for a drink, then after a stretch, laid down on his chest, to meet the townsfolk.

I would have been so elated to finally greet him with some real gift of mine unless that "Wyvern treats" stand wouldn't ruin it for me. I couldn't stop thinking about how probably most of those lining up for him offered that rinky-dink crap. Where the hell they put their dignity?

Waiting for the initial rush to abate, I came forth with my own offer, my first earned with my hands, my work. I could have been so proud then, however I rather felt sad. He again, as almost always, seemed to sympathize with my mental state, accepting my gift without making a huge ceremony about it, just watching with those big yellow eyes of his. After some strokes on the muzzle, he offered his ridge to relax stretched out under my massaging treatment.

As I grew older, the miracles of the world seemed to vanish, trampled over by the rudeness of reality. I was schooled, I understood language while he, no matter how magnificent gigantic dragon he was, didn't have these qualities. He might well taste the difference, and I believe he did, however these people were still tricking him. Someone was making foul money over his tolerance, and the rest just assisted in this by falling for it, being easy cheap, buying that crap to offer him. They didn't care, they probably didn't respect the Messenger, his very being, just wanting to have a spiffy dragon encounter without many sacrifices. I felt sorry for him.

As I got familiar with life at the sawmill, my duties, possibilities started to unfold. Arne suggested me learning to ride so I could follow Caron into the woods, helping him with selecting trees for cutting and supervising operations. Caron didn't have schooling, and while he coarsely learned to read and write, his skills were shaky. So a few months later, after being acquainted to a mellow mare, occasional trips into the forest were also added to my profile.

With that came many things. For the most important, the dangers, to be wary of predators: lions and even more so leopards in thicker regions, but even those were a mere fraction along with elephants and rhinos, and by the Mera, hippopotamus and crocodiles, not to mention the many species of venomous snakes and, crazy it may sound but true, bees. Unknowingly disturbing hives during cutting caused a few serious cases of stings and even a death in the past decade.

We, however weren't that exposed to those on horseback with our bows, so also could have more freedom in indulging the splendor, the wonders of the forest, occasionally seeing the animals, mostly species of antelopes, warthogs, hare, francolins and guineafowl. Caron noted that the hunting permit in my contract was good for the latter, so I could put my archery skill to use, then the chef could tutor me how to prepare it proper.

I liked how my duties diversified, it was interesting and educating: I could see in the operation of the sawmill, getting coarse image on even the machinery's construction, while I occasionally tended for horses, practiced archery, got to understand some principles of forestry, types of wood, and with being out, even gaining knowledge on the species of animals living in this region and some of their uses. An interesting discovery in this regard was the case of the two large nile monitors roaming free around the mansion: I thought them being simply pets of Arne, fitting his eccentric style, however they had a very important purpose: they killed venomous snakes.

Later as I got confident with riding, Arne also started to add some delivery tasks, things which couldn't be done by people not familiar with numbers, accounting, reasonable bargaining. One of the firsts were bringing two circular saws to the smith for sharpening, agreeing on the price, however later mostly it was mail. The postal service only collected within the city, so someone had to bring it in from here.

He noticed how I prefer to meet the Messenger and, a quite generous deed from him, he later always asked me to deliver the Drino mail, occasionally even suggesting me to take something from his stock for the wyvern as gift, once, when a wagon just made the trip the right time, also passing his four year old son under my supervision for the meet. Probably those big monitor lizards weren't just insurances against snakes after all.