An Encounter

I became a stablehand.

The appointment letter said Equine Caretaker. Not supervisor, not manager — caretaker. A job that consisted of feeding the horses, scrubbing them down, and cleaning up everything that came out the other end of the feeding.

What a life, honestly.

Seven years spent elbow-deep in paperwork, and I'd assumed they'd at least trust me with the ledgers. The stable master had actually pulled out the feed inventory book ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠when I first arrived — then he read the official memo clipped to my appointment letter and shoved it right back into the drawer.

Ruining a man's career and then fussing over a detail this petty. The new Director of Personnel must have had an absolutely staggering amount of free time on his hands.

"Ever worked with horses before?"

"I'm a commoner, sir."

Riding, after all, was a hobby of the exalted upper classes. It had nothing to do with people like me.

"Then you'll start by learning to muck out. And don't go wandering too close and catch a kick to the ribs for nothing."

And so I traded a pen for a shovel.

What good had working in the Personnel Bureau ever done me? When those above say dig, the lowly dig. That was simply the biography of a man at the bottom.

They were clearly hoping I'd hit my limit and hand in a resignation — but until I had a fresh start lined up, I had no choice but to dig in and endure. From here on out, my retirement was my own problem to solve.

"Aigoo, my back."

The first day, my lower back ached. By the second day, every bone in my body had joined the protest. Still, after about a week I'd figured out exactly what angle to drive the shovel in at to spare myself the worst of the strain.

I was proud of myself for working it out — and a little heartbroken, too. Back in the Bureau I'd been commended for how quickly I picked up new duties. Turns out I could get proficient at shoveling horse dung as well.

Unbelievable. Absolute nonsense of a life.

— Neigh!

Given time, the horses learned to recognize me too. The moment the door opened they'd come trotting over expecting dinner, then turn right back around the second they spotted the shovel — which was the problem. Well, at least they weren't pretending not to see me like certain people used to.

"It's not feeding time, so get lost!"

I was venting at the wrong target, and when a tail whipped up menacingly I scrambled backward in a hurry. Kicked out by the nobility and now taking abuse from a horse — if it came to that, I figured I might actually want to die of shame.

I had just about emptied out one side of the stable when the stable master came in.

"Rael. Wrap it up and head out. The Marquis is coming to inspect."

"The Marquis? Here?"

"That's right. If he sees you looking like that, I'm the one who'll catch hell. Go on, out."

I looked down at my work clothes, then stood the shovel upright against the wall. Right. One must always appear before one's superiors looking spotless.

"Would the visitor be Marquis Vernang, by any chance?"

"No. Someone else."

Not Marquis Vernang — the very man who'd banished me here. What a waste. I'd been planning to "accidentally" fling some horse dung his way.

"If you say go, I'll go. Don't come looking for me."

As I grumbled my way toward the exit, the stable master tossed one more barb at ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my back.

"Count yourself blessed, boy. You're getting off work early thanks to His Excellency the Marquis. Oh, and the rest of today's work — you'll come finish it at dawn tomorrow."

"…I'm sorry, what?"

Did I mishear that? So it wasn't an early exit? If I pushed today's remaining work to tomorrow at dawn, the total hours came out exactly the same. Except now I had to wake up early on top of it, so I'd just be more tired.

And tomorrow is a holiday, you absolute blockhead!

How in the world was this a blessing? Did he take me for an idiot?

"If you understand, then vanish. Don't be late tomorrow morning — come early."

"…Yes, sir."

I had plenty I wanted to say, but I was far too low on the ladder to say any of it out loud. I trudged back to my quarters and scrubbed myself until the soap literally melted away.

Yo, it's Rael. Pathetic, penniless Rael — currently employed as a stablehand.

Even after scraping the grime out from under my fingernails and changing into clean clothes, I kept catching whiffs of something from somewhere. I buried my nose in my sleeve and sniffed for a long while before finally giving up and dropping my arm.

"So what now?"

There were still hours left before the sun sank below the horizon, and I was in no state to sleep. In the end, I wandered into the tavern in front of my lodging and ordered the meanest thing on the menu.

"Order up."

"Just a drink, please."

"You'd better eat something too, and I mean that kindly."

"If you insist, sir. Anything will do."

The owner — arms like he'd wrestled logs for a living — scrunched up his intimidating face as he said it, so I hastily added meat to the order.

"Ah, my wretched lot."

Barely a week ago I'd been wined and dined on fine cuisine. Now I was getting the brush-off in a dive even the mercenaries barely tolerated. Was this what they meant by life's cruel caprice?

I knocked back the harsh rum in one swallow.

"Hoooh. That bites!"

Fire bloomed in my stomach from the very first glass. It wrung a few tears out of me, but by the second the burn had mellowed into a pleasant warmth down my throat.

"So this is life, huh."

Man is an animal built to adapt. I'd get used to this existence soon enough.

By the time I drained the third glass, even the dawn shift tomorrow hardly felt like a burden anymore — proof, really, of alcohol's greatness. The room was starting to tilt, or maybe that was just the buzz creeping in. Tomorrow's problems belonged to tomorrow's me. Tonight's me deserved compensation for a hard week's labor.

"Drinking alone isn't so bad."

It was my first attempt at it, and honestly? Not a bad feeling. The only thing that nagged at me was the seat across the table — customers kept trickling in, and yet it stayed stubbornly empty.

"One lonely seat…"

A man hunting for a place to sit headed my way, then froze mid-step and turned away.

I tugged ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠at my collar and gave myself a sniff. Nothing but soap. Still, depressing.

"Mind if I sit here?"

I looked up to find a woman in a hooded cloak resting a hand on the chair across from me. I glanced around for other open seats — empty tables everywhere. Then why on earth pick this one? I wondered. But whatever.

"Sit if you want. I didn't exactly reserve the place."

The words were out before I could stop them, and I winced. Feeling sour was no excuse for snapping at an innocent stranger. Shameful, Rael. Act like a civilized man.

"Then I'll take you up on that."

Thankfully, the woman didn't seem to take offense. She answered mildly, swung the sword at her hip around to her side, and settled into the chair. A strand of auburn hair had slipped out from under her hood, and I found myself leaning in to study it — until our eyes met. I lifted the bottle slightly in offer.

"…Care for a drink?"

"That doesn't sound half bad."

The woman pulled off the gloves she wore, set them aside, and leaned back comfortably in her chair.

"So — are you all right with it?"

"With what?"

"Me. I… probably smell."

She raised an eyebrow, and I rushed to elaborate.

"I washed! I washed so much. It's just — nobody would sit in this spot, so."

She glanced around the room once, then laughed.

"Imperial folk, honestly. What's a little horse smell? When you come back from a hunt, you reek of far worse than this."

So that was her take: I'd absorbed the stable right into my skin. But faced with her utter indifference, my embarrassment simply evaporated. I liked this woman already.

"Here, it's one bottle per person as the basic order."

"Fine, I understand — so bring the drinks."

A fresh glass had just arrived, so I filled hers first.

"You go hunting, then?"

"Often enough."

"Ha. You know, some guy once applied to the Ministry of Finance with a lifetime of hunting experience as his qualification. And here I find another such talent."

The woman paused mid-sip and looked at me.

"What does hunting have to do with the Ministry of Finance?"

"Right? I asked the same question, and that's how I ended up shoveling horse dung."

"Chopping a story off at both ends is not a good habit."

I raised my glass to my lips, then set it back down.

"Sorry. It's just a bit of a long story."

"A needless worry. The night has barely begun."

"Then where shall I start? I suppose I should begin with who I used to be."

I'd been debating what to lead with, but with a willing listener in front of me, it turned out I had far more to say than I'd thought.

"Well, you see…"

Maybe it was the alcohol. From my seven years in the Personnel Bureau of the Imperial Ministry of Internal Affairs, all the way to the new Director's arrival and my demotion to stablehand — it all came pouring out, smooth as poured wine.

At first I'd intended to keep it vague. But every time my glass ran dry she refilled it, and whenever I stopped she asked what came next, and so I simply kept talking. She was a good listener.

"That hunter you mentioned — what sort of man was he?"

"An idle layabout, through and through. If you stretched for credentials, I suppose you'd say… his father was a count?"

In the Empire, having noble parents counted as professional experience. A truly wondrous country.

"I take it he didn't sit well with you."

"That's putting it mildly. Me, I like the phrase 'the right person in the right place.' A personnel posting might look like nothing special, but matching aptitude and talent to a post is genuinely difficult work. And then these damn parachute appointees ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠come barreling in!"

"Parachute appointees?"

"Ah — slip of the tongue. You get the gist though. It's my own little word for the types who snag cushy posts on the strength of their connections."

"I see. I can roughly guess the meaning."

The woman didn't seem remotely bothered by the term. She'd likely taken it as insider slang, the kind only used in the capital or within the Bureau — which suited me just fine.

"And I think I understand why you were sent to the stables as well."

"Well, if I kept talking back, the message was basically 'go tend to a horse's rear end.' Unbelievable, honestly. If they were going to kick me out anyway, they could've at least sent me to the provinces."

There were posts like villa caretaker or provincial clerk, after all. Why the stables, of all things?

"And for what it's worth, an equine caretaker is a skilled trade in its own right. Dismissing it like that — if the horses under my care heard you, you'd be taking kicks for it."

"Pfft. Of course, of course. Handling horses is no easy work. The gentry never understand that."

The woman covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking with laughter. I couldn't quite tell what the punchline was, but having someone laugh at my jokes had a way of puffing the chest right up. My mood thoroughly lifted, I flagged down the passing owner and ordered another plate of meat.

Outside the window, dusk had crept in unnoticed. While the owner lit the lamps hung along the wall, the table beside us set up a game of dice.

"Your extra plate of meat. Eat it well."

Before long the golden-brown roast arrived, and the woman's hand drifted toward her hip. I flinched, half-terrified that the enormous longsword was about to come out — but what emerged was a small dagger.

While I fiddled awkwardly with my glass to cover my embarrassment, she carved the meat into neat pieces and pushed half toward me.

"Eat first. Drinking that hard on an empty stomach will wreck you."

"Must be the hunter in you. Your knife work is genuinely an art form."

Only after I put a piece of the neatly sliced meat in my mouth did the hunger actually register. I chewed and asked:

"Are you from the South?"

"…How could you tell?"

"Your speech, for one. And the way you talk about hunting like it's as routine as eating a meal. I heard that over there, guarding the Monster Mountain Range, even ten-year-olds snap goblin necks."

"That rumor is badly distorted."

"I thought as much."

"Naturally. At that age they're taught how to run first. Neck-snapping comes when they're a bit older."

Whoa.

So in the end, everyone over there dispatches goblins like it's nothing at all.

"If it were me, I'd have run away the second I turned ten."

"Hmm. You train them thoroughly, then let them fight. Once you've practiced, it's not as hard as you'd think. And above all, if you want to survive in the South, you'd best be able to kill a goblin."

I swallowed hard. So this was why the Empire had never swallowed the whole continent. The peoples on the fringes grew more aggressive and battle-hardened the farther out you went, which made them wretchedly difficult to conquer. You could probably crush them by brute force, but the cost-effectiveness was utterly abysmal.

"What's living there like?"

"Humid and hot. Fights come often. But live there long enough and you find the good in it."

"Such as?"

"The rivers stay warm even in winter. After you finish a purge and sink into the water, you hardly want to climb out. Then your subordinates catch fish and roast them for you…"

The woman trailed off, gazing down at her plate with a faint smile.

"They pile it all up in front of me, every last one of them, until it's a struggle to finish."

I watched her smiling face for a moment, then asked.

"Sounds like you love your homeland."

"Do you not love yours?"

"Me? Well."

Did I love the Empire? Honestly, I couldn't say. But I figured if I'd truly hated it, I'd have left long ago.

"I used to. But now that I shovel horse dung for a living, kind words don't come easy."

The woman asked nothing further, simply lifting the bottle. I held out my glass, and it filled slowly.

"You must not have gotten along with the new Director, then. Was it better under the previous one?"

"Those were the good days. When something wouldn't work, you could report it up as 'not workable,' and they'd accept it. I had no idea back then what a luxury that was."

"So you miss it."

She smiled, and the corners of my mouth lifted in answer. But a reply didn't come quickly. To say I'd been happy would be a stretch — back then, too, I'd fought with somebody nearly every day. Still, one thing was certain.

"I do miss it. There was more I wanted to do."

"Such as?"

"Placing people where they belong."

The woman chewed her meat and waited.

"There was a territory whose levees burst every single year. The repair funds got drawn down like clockwork, but the moment the rains came, the banks collapsed again. So I found and dispatched an administrator who'd actually handled flood-control works."

"And did he mend the levee?"

"The next year the rains fell even harder — and the banks held perfectly. That's why career specialists matter."

I'd read that report twice. I'd even started drafting a letter of commendation before giving up on it. Thought it might weigh on him, all things considered.

Should've just sent it anyway.

If praise was coming regardless, better he receive it while I was still Personnel Section Chief. Sent now, the return address would read: stablehand.

"When a report like that comes in, it feels good. I only ever saw the paperwork from the capital, but the people living there — that year, their harvest didn't fail. Their safety was secured on top of it."

"So it must have been."

"And then you start wondering who to send where next. I'd get carried away all on my own, spreading maps across the desk…"

I came back to myself to find my finger tapping the table. I quietly withdrew my hand and picked up my meat instead.

"Haha. Boring stuff, this. Right?"

"No. It interests me."

The woman drew her chair closer. Somewhere in the middle of the tavern, a bard struck up a song. Even so, her eyes stayed fixed on me alone.

"There is something I wish to ask of you."

"I don't take requests for personnel favors. Couldn't accept one now even if I wanted to."

"I haven't the slightest interest in Imperial affairs."

My joke hadn't landed. The smile drained from her face, and she set her glass down.

"There is a country I know. It lies in the South, bordered by the Monster Mountain Range. Its people dispatch goblins with ease and live by selling the spoils of their hunts — monster byproducts, pelts, the like."

"Do you think a place like that could change, if the right people were put to work in it?"

It was a far more intriguing question than I'd expected.