“Hmph,” the man grunted as he checked machinery. “Well, it’s morning alright. You nearly beat the sun up, lad.”
“Early bird catches the worm, I’m told.”
“What good’s a worm unless you’re going fishing?”
Zoper joined him in assessing and preparing the equipment. “Well, who says I’m not?”
Restir glanced disinterestedly at him. “Ain’t many fish ‘round here, boy. If you’re so eager, then get to it already.”
With a shrug, Zoper complied, moving to pick up a section of log small enough for him to carry alone. “Someday I’ll be fishing. My father was a sailor, you know, before—”
“Are you talking to yourself over there, greenhorn?”
Another shrug, and a smile. “You weren’t offering much conversation.”
Restir rolled his eyes. “I’m not here for conversation. And,” he jabbed a finger Zoper’s direction, a hint of an exasperated smirk toying with his lips, “neither are you. Now help me with this hitching.”
“My pleasure, boss.” Zoper winked. Restir just muttered grouchily. Together they lashed a thick rope around a few logs on one end, then the other. After connecting the two bindings to another set of ropes that attached it to two yuley harnesses, they moved to the next pile of logs.
The other men began trickling in. Jobs were assigned. Zoper ended up on one end of a handsaw, dragging it back and forth through log after log, with a grumpy-looking fellow on the other end. They went on, for awhile, no sound but the rhythmic grind of the blade through the wood. Why not have some conversation, to liven up the job? “It’s Evres, right?”
The man looked up at him with a skeptical, dull furrow in his brow. “Right.”
“I’m Zoper.” He smiled. “I don’t believe we’ve met, officially. I—”
“I know who you are, kid. How about less talking and more sawing?”
Zoper paused, just for a moment, in the back-and-forth drag on the saw. Then he nodded and averted his gaze. He wondered when, if ever, people’s opinions of his father would stop affecting their opinion of him. And when, if ever, people would look past their negative assumptions of politicians to realize that his father had in fact been a kind, fair, faithful man. Not just a politician.
Flexing his back muscles a little, he hunkered down to the work with renewed resolve. It didn’t matter. What they thought of his father, and of him, was their problem. He couldn’t let it bother him. Because he knew the truth, even if they chose to ignore it.
Still, sometimes he couldn’t help thinking how nice it would be to not have his father’s reputation attached to his name. Most eighteen-year-olds didn’t get frowns and gruff voices the moment they said their name. Zoper Veserron. Son of a member of the late Leadership. Who, like any leader, could never please everyone with his decisions. It didn’t seem to matter that the man wasn’t even alive anymore, nor did they seem to realize that Zoper was his son, not him.
Though of course, to be honest, he did want to be like him. Zoper couldn’t think of anyone that he admired more than his parents…which made it all the harder, now that they were gone.
The hours passed slowly, with little to no distraction. Just the saw moving back, forth, back, forth. Occasionally a different task, usually of a similar nature and level of dreariness. The only entertainment offered by his coworkers was their sporadic banter. That, and their colorful vocabulary. Growing up among nobility, and raised by parents who believed in respectability and courtesy, Zoper had never been exposed to the sort of profanity and slang used at the mill. Most of it he didn’t know the meaning of originally, but now that he’d been hearing it for a few weeks, he was catching on. Though he probably shouldn’t have, he found it to be entertaining, listening to them string together the different curses and profanities in surprisingly elegant rants. He’d even tried out a few of the words himself.
Finally, it was lunch break.
Zoper gratefully got up, sore from kneeling to saw the logs, and extended his hand to Evres. Warily, the man took it. After helping him to his feet, Zoper smiled briefly, and left to find Restir. The other men were already plopping down on the grass or logs and digging into their lunch sacks. Restir looked up from his sandwich as Zoper approached. “Gallivanting off to play with the kiddies, again?”
He shrugged cheerfully, despite the growing soreness in his back. “Yes. I’ll be back—”
“Before break is over, I know.” Restir shook his head at him with a sort of begrudging amusement. “Get on with ya, then.”
Offering a grin, Zoper nodded and left the mill at a jog. At this point in the day, he wouldn’t have chosen to run simply for the fun of it—rather, he would need to in order to get to the school and back in time. Not that he’d ever been late. He went almost every day during lunch break and so far had always made it back before break was over, in the three weeks since he’d started working.
The running increased the slight rumble in his stomach to an uncomfortable growl. By the time he arrived at the main entrance into the city, there was a shaky feeling in his limbs and an empty ache in his gut. Oh well. That was becoming commonplace. He threaded his way through the stream of people coming and going. While to him it was the main entrance, to most everyone else, it was the only entrance, other than the gate behind the castle that was for military use only. Zoper’s father had shown him the other small gates that could be used to get in or out of the city wall in an emergency.
Since this wasn’t exactly an emergency, the main entrance it was.
The guards recognized him and waved him through without asking the usual questions or requiring identification. Fortunately, unlike many citizens, the soldiers that had known his father had respected him, and treated Zoper kindly.
Also fortunately, the school his brother and sister attended wasn’t far from the gate. The school they used to go to, when their parents were alive and money wasn’t a problem, was much farther, in the eastern section of the city where most of the upper class lived. Now they went to the middle class school, only a few blocks from the city wall. Most orphans became lower class, but because of their previous rank, they’d landed somewhere between lower and middle.
As he neared, children’s high pitched voices and laughter could be heard over the usual noises of the city. Aydimor, as the capital city of Zentyre, wasn’t exactly a quiet place.
It didn’t take long to find his brother and sister in the schoolyard—they sat by themselves, unlike most of the students, who sat in large groups. Still, Yaila was cheerful as he approached, jumping up to give him a hug. No such cheer from his brother, Jakkit. “Why do you bother coming every day?” he muttered.
Sitting down beside Yaila, Zoper gave his brother’s arm a whack. “Maybe because I want to make sure you guys are okay and spend time with you when I can, you larrikin.”
“What’s a larrikin?” Yaila looked up from her sandwich.
“A, mmm…” Zoper bit his lip and squinted, searching for a word she would understand. “A delinquent, sort of.”
She copied his squint. “I thought that was a criminal. He’s not a criminal.”
“No,” Zoper agreed, amused, “but he’s a troublesome fellow, so I was just teasing him.”