Framework of the Frontier by Sain Artwell (classic books for 11 year olds txt) 📗

A shame. A huge bleeding shame. That scrawny triton wench can’t bear from troll seed, can she? No, she can’t. Useless. Useless like a dead fish.” Rettete shook his scowling face.

Trotto cleared his throat. “Do you have a vial of antivenom base? I’d also like a spool of wire and some oil.”

“Yes, yes. I have this. Wait there.” Rettete scurried between the numerous overstuffed shelves to gather Trotto’s requests. He placed them on the table before him — one of those rotating security windows to prevent mugging. “Coin or trade?”

“Coin. Haven’t had a chance to delve yet.”

“Twelve silver clinkers and three copper pennies, plus tax, it’s thirteen clinkers and seventeen pennies total.”

Trotto counted the coins into his side of the table. When the last penny fell, Rettete pulled a lever and a portion of the table and window rotated in a snap, rattling the glass and clinking the clinkers. “Many thanks. Stay healthy Rettete.” Trotto picked up his goods, giving William and Ember a nod as he left.

William tipped his nonexistent hat and stepped into the killzone, meeting Rettete’s glare with a friendly wave. “Hi, nice to meet you, I’m—”

“A human. Yes, yes I know what you are.” Rettete hissed. “What’s you want?”

“…I’m William Adams, the new Ranger of Nastall.”

Rettete hissed again and squinted. “You here for tax? Yes, of course. It’s always the tax. Always you starve poor old vendors.”

“Tax? No… I mean I could have a look I guess….” Now that he thought about it, the rulebook had a mention about collecting it. In Nibirian frontier colonies without other official administration, tax collection was the Ranger’s duty. He was even free to spend it rather liberally, so long as it was for the benefit of Nastall.

“You hold on to it for now, though hmm. I could collect some of it as items and equipment. My falchion is pretty beaten up, so I’ll need new weapons. Could use five pounds of three inch nails too if you got em.” William placed the blunted falchion on the table and pointed a thumb at the chimera. “As for this guy, he had nasty poison and fire-breath. If you get me the hide you can have the rest.”

“Weapons, yes. Nails, yes. Chimera, also yes. Will take some days to skin and clean. Will take payment straight from tax stash, but no discounts for a Ranger. You pay tax too.”

“Right. Sounds fair.” Tax was going straight back to him, but William knew better than to argue with Rettete’s type.

The elderly goblin rotated the falchion to his side and inspected it with a frown of disgust. “”Why you thrust with blunt falchion, are you a retard? It’s for slicing, not thrusting. Tsk, tsk, tsk.”

“How about you cut back the attitude a notch before it gets infuriating.” William heard his voice rising, his cool slipping.

”Attitude. Attitude?” Rettete scratched his head, puzzled. “Simple truths. No attitude. Attitude is this.” He gurgled and spat at William’s face, splattering the window on his side. Rette cursed as he wiped the glass. “Window in the way, but you get meaning, yes?

“Now, something simpler for a simpler Ranger. Spear and dagger? Stabby close and stabby far. Not hard. And daggers are my favorite, they are.” His wrinkly lips pursed to restrain a maniacal giggle as he hurried back to the shelves. “But not all can be stabbed. Sometimes good ol’ cracking is needed. Two stabbies and a warhammer. Cutting way overrated if you ask me. Now chopping? Chopping can be good, but crunching usually does the job better.”

So much for an apology…

“Sure. Let’s go with that. Can I get the falchion straightened as well and a bottle of vitality elixir.”

For a total of sixty silver clinkers and twenty two copper, William received his potion, a bag of nails, a steel tipped spear, a long straight dagger, and a one handed warhammer with a sharp pick opposite to the blunt end. They had some nicks and spots of wear on them, but seemed sturdy and well maintained.

“Chimera in the middle, over the trap-door,” Rettete gestured from behind the window.

William dragged the chimera to the middle of the alcove with the help of his blessing and was about to leave, when a thought occurred to him. “Say, Rettete. How many stamps worth is the current tax pot? Although, no. Nevermind.” It was a bad idea.

“Two. Two stamps, I’d say. Two is all I have. Shall I get one, hmm?”

Tempted, William licked the inside of his teeth as he stared into the beady eyes. Two would be enough to send one to either Abraham or Daniel.

And then what?

Whine for help? Regardless of whether they were in trouble themselves? Abandon Ember here, while giving a big fat traitorous middle finger to Lidarein? The fact he even thought of it filled William with angry shame. “Keep them. Just curious, that’s all. Thanks for being a straight laced citizen out here Rettete.” Even if you’re an asshole.

The wrinkly goblin grumbled something under his breath.

On the way to the Ranger’s office, Ember caught William’s eyes with an apprehensive look. She knew he was here only to earn the stamps. That gaze made him feel a throb of guilt.

“I wouldn’t take them. Two isn’t enough and it wouldn’t feel fair to you, or Lidarein,” William hurried to say.

Ember’s voice had a faint tremble. “No. Don’t worry. I understand. You want to find your friends. I would probably do things like that too. It’s okay.”

“No.” William’s stern denial lifted up her ears. He continued softly, “Sorry. I… I don’t want to do that. Plus, I wouldn’t betray the few friends I’ve made here so far, or might make.”

“You want to be my friend?” Her face brightened.

“Thought that was kind of a given. I mean, you’re fun, and… Yeah.”

“He-he-hee!” Ember traipsed closer, giving him a brief one arm