Slumrat Rising

Truth looked around the big box store with the apathy of the truly exhausted. His magical reserves were on the low side, but not panic-worthy. His physical condition was, essentially, fine. One day, with the support of friends and faith in the Almighty, he would find the strength to get up off the sofa and do something useful.

Not now, obviously. Possibly not even today. But someday. Faith is wonderful that way.

His brain ached. Trying to figure out how to use Earth Folding Step in practice was insanely frustrating. He could imagine what the spell creator was thinking- “All I have to do is explain everything, tell everyone how everything works, then once they understand it, they can deal with whatever problems come up. It’s all about trusting the user, and not talking down to them.”

Right now, he would cheerfully accept some talking down to. Very small words. No analogies, just very small words, simple concepts, short sentences. Ideally, someone could explain it to him like he was five. Or a big happy dog.

Been a long time since he went to a pet cafe. Felt like years, even though it had only been a few months. He could use that healing.

Ohshit PERKS!

Some very frantic patting later showed a puzzled but not unhappy snake poking its nose out of his shirt and licking the air.

On the one hand, if using Earth Folding Step didn’t result in him losing his clothes, it shouldn’t result in him losing his snake. But it did raise an… interesting question. If the spell put such a huge strain on his body, why didn’t it put that strain on Perks?

Also, he was kind of an asshole for field testing that without remembering his passenger. That was bad, bad, pet owner behavior.

But the question was reasonable- his clothes had never cultivated. His clothes had no more cosmic energy or inherent reality than any random tree branch or a thirty-percent-off overstuffed sofa. So why didn’t his clothes explode when he stepped? Happy to be giving involuntary nudism a pass, but still confused by the rare occurrence.

“How long has it been since you were fed, buddy? It’s got to be a good minute, right? Or had the old man fed you right before I picked you up?”

Perks made no reply.

“Mmm. We could go find a pet shop, I guess, or I could turn you loose in a room with a rat in it? Are you… used to hunting? You are a pet, but some things run in the blood, don’t they?”

Perks stuck his tongue out for a second, then retracted it. Truth wasn’t sure how to interpret that. Probably snake for “I don’t speak Jeongo, kindly learn Snake.”

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Well that was kind of bleak. So much for teaching a snake to play fetch.

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Wait, you can teach a snake to fetch?

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You just bring so much light and joy to my life, you know?

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Truth had to blink at that one. He had certainly had low self esteem for most of his life, but self loathing? He didn’t buy it.

Do something useful instead of randomly bitching. What’s going on with Earth Folding Step?

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What do you mean?

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Well, enough that you can cast the spell.

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Well, not twice, anyway.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

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Hohoho.

Truth drummed his fingers on the simultaneously plush and cheap arm of the sofa. It sounded chaotic as Hell. Literally. Maybe he could ask Thrush about it.

Truth picked at the facts irritably. The spell manual had explained that the range on Earth Folding Step was highly controllable. It could be less than the distance of the step taken to activate it. It could be kilometers. He knew the range wasn’t literally infinite, but he got the impression that it could stretch a lot farther than he might expect.

Nowhere in the manual did it mention anything about clothes or personal possessions. Or pet snakes that live in your shirt.

He pictured the spell in his mind. The form was horribly complicated, but it was a minimum-Fifth-Level spell that was as old as human settlement on the planet. It would be weird if it was intuitive. Beyond that, complicated or not, it was just the spell form. Once your ability to memorize and visualize got to a certain point, spellform complexity was not too troublesome.

So why was this particular spell such a pain? Why did it keep fighting him? Why did it keep feeling like it was going to slip away from him?

He let a long sigh slip out through his nose. Sometimes there was no substitute for time on tools. He would figure it out. It would just take time. Hell, he still didn’t know how Cup and Knife really worked. Now THERE was a long term problem.

He… would have to leave this sofa, wouldn’t he? If only to get dinner. Or breakfast? What time was it, exactly?

He looked around. There was no one in the store, and now that he was paying attention to it, the lights were off. He hadn’t noticed himself breaking into a locked building. It had just become utterly second nature.

Alienated. That’s what Merkovah had said all those months ago. He was alienated from the world. Passing through it without being part of it.

Maybe he should be a bit more of a part of it. After a nap.

Truth woke up to find himself being brushed. The Level Zero cleaner, a denizen judging by the sigil, was running a long handled, soft bristled brush over everything with the terminally bored look of someone who wasn’t going to be paid for this nonsense, but might be punished if she didn’t look like she was working.

In a life full of seeing weird things, this was up there. Truth blinked at the woman. This didn’t seem like a job for a brush. If you were trying to keep the furniture clean or dust free, wouldn’t you use a vacuum talisman or, better still, air demons?

She ran the brush over his legs in a perfunctory sort of way, gave the sofa’s arms a good few flicks, and went on to a sectional sofa with a distinctly shaggy looking upholstery.

What could possibly be the point? Were talismans really that unreliable? Couldn’t be, the lights were now on, and the air conditioning was working.

Was it just… busywork? Work for the sake of forcing someone to be working? That felt very Jeon. Still, though. Brushing the sofas in a furniture store. There was busywork and there was actual sadism.

Truth, with immense reluctance, forced himself to stand. “Time to see what’s available for breakfast around here.”

A quick change of clothes, and he was back in his army disguise. The store he was in happened to be part of a plaza boasting a frankly dubious looking craft supply store, a pet groomer, and a marine insurance company. He sighed again, more loudly this time, and started jogging down the road.

Three kilometers later, he found food. Sort of. There was a brightly lit chain restaurant- Bowls and More! Which had opened for breakfast. He had eaten there before. Legally, what they served was food. It was better than slum food, and was probably not originally intended as animal feed.

No, he was being unfair. Bowls and More! were… fine. You ate there, you got full, you almost certainly wouldn’t get food poisoning, or lockjaw from holding the fork.

He was less sure about the other food source on the plaza. Golden Boat Restaurant. Was there a myth about a boat taking people to the underworld? He couldn’t think of one, but surely one existed somewhere.

The lighting was dim. The signage was ancient. The door looked like it had been kicked repeatedly. The windows were mirrored. But there was an “open for breakfast” sign on it, so there was that.

He looked at the menu for Bowls and More! Just by reading it, he knew how every dish tasted, and didn’t want it. He went to the Golden Boat.

“Have a seat, Sergeant!” An ancient looking woman who’s head didn’t reach Truth’s clavicle waved him to a table. The walls were wood paneled in the finest micron thick paneling available thirty years ago, and decorated with pictures that didn’t get picked up when left out on the sidewalk in a box labeled “Free!”. There was, on the plus side, a giant commercial sized rice steamer right in front of the cash register. He was prepared to hope.

“What’s good for breakfast, Mam?”

“Oh, don’t Mam me! Mam’s my mother!” She looked old enough to be Truth’s great grandmother, but he just nodded along.

“Even with rationing, I can do you a nice bowl of rice with a fried egg, pickled cabbage, pickled greens, and some fried mushrooms in sauce. Sounds good?”

“Sounds amazing, thank you!”

A few minutes later, a scorching hot stone bowl filled with rice and toppings was put in front of him. “Here. Healthy and filling.” A little carrier with hot pepper paste, salt, pepper, sugar, and vinegar were set beside him.

There was a little wooden box on the table next to him. He lifted the lid- it was full of cheap cafeteria flatware. Forks and knives, apparently from a half dozen different sets. All very clean.

“How are things with you, Ma… Senior?

“Hmph! Well, things are fine. I’ve got four grandsons in the Army, so I can’t say I’m not worried. But things are fine.”

Truth nodded, feeling a stab of guilt. He tucked into the food. It was good. Not the best he had ever had, but it was hot, and real, and seemed to be hammering on parts of his soul that he hadn’t realized existed. It warmed him all the way through.

“Glad to see your restaurant is still going.”

“Hehehe! It was bad for a while, but you know who’s really getting it in the neck? For once, it’s those jerks over at Bowls and More! Their food deliveries keep getting diverted. My suppliers are all growing their stuff locally.”

“Nice, nice!”

“No egg shortage here!”

There was a death-rattle noise from the back. The old lady sagged. “There is, however, a real shortage of working air conditioners. And my cold box has never been less reliable.”

Truth scraped his bowl clean and wiped his mouth. “Well, I’ve got a little time before my liberty ends. As it happens, I’m a certified maintenance tech. How about I look them over for you?”

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