Goodie was put off balance by his question. He did not know why, as on the way over he had gone over all the possible questions he could be asked and what he would say in reply. ‘Why?’ was the most obvious, and he had indeed thought of an answer to it, but when Eric had asked it, Goodie had found that the words that he had prepared beforehand, that should have been on the tip of his tongue, had vacated his mind.

He fully expected his insecurities to come flooding into the void left behind, but even they seemed to be at a loss for words.

That flicker of a moment was apparently too long for Eric as he proceeded with the conversation before he could answer him.

“I get it, you’re looking for a job. But why construction? I mean, it’s not the first thing that comes to mind when it comes to waggon trains, right? Unless, of course, you were thinking of carrying planks…or bricks in a wheelbarrow…or something. ‘Cause if you were, there are positions open for dedicated water carriers, but that does require a certain level of strength and constitution.”

Eric just looked at him. The casual stare had Goodie feeling as if he was a deer stuck in a pair of oncoming headlights.

With all his planning, it was only now that Goodie realised that he was completely unprepared to be having this conversation. For anything at all really.

“I’m trying to cover all my bases.” he blurted out, his response to Eric’s earlier question. It was the first thing to enter his mind, and while the words made sense, he wasn’t entirely sure what he meant by them, his mind racing to fill in the blank slate it had become. “And water would be under resources.”

“What?” Eric asked.

“I…er…well…” he sputtered as whatever mental cogwheel that kept him running started turning again; as it did, he pulled out his little book.

“I came up with…wha…HEY!

Eric had snatched the book with such speed that the man’s investment into the dexterity attribute was made more than obvious, he then started paging through it with little care for the half-hearted protests of the boy in front of him.

Goodie piped up a few times as he tried to work up the nerve to confront the man before him and ask for his book back, but as his insecurities took over, he decided to sit back and wait for Eric to finish. A familiar, flaccid rage filled him as he waited for the man to finish reading, the same feeling that he felt whenever he was bullied. Every time that life reminded him that he was on the bottom of the totem pole, and he would never be able to change it.

Eric took his time perusing through his book; there wasn’t that much written in it, but the man was either memorising each word, or he was just trying to piss Goodie off. If it was the latter, it worked. Goodie was angry, not at the man before him, but himself. His property had just been stolen and he could do nothing about it. He wished he could say he had never felt more pathetic. He had many times.

Oh, he could have Her Majesty bite Eric or enact some other form of petty revenge, but the inevitable consequences of any action that he took would just blowback on him tenfold. Goodie sighed as he thought about it, if there was ever proof of karma, it was his life. At least were committing bad deeds was concerned, as his life also seemed to be proof of the adage: no good deed goes unpunished.

Though the number of good deeds he had committed in life were few and far between and were generally ‘meh’ in magnitude. While he had never thought of himself as ‘THE’ good guy, he did consider himself as ‘A’ good guy, but maybe that was not the case, maybe he was an arsehole and everyone else were the good guys? It was a stupid thought, but it would explain why he was always getting his comeuppance no matter what he did.

Trying to distract himself from himself, he turned away from the table to stare at the crowded room. Some of the crowd stared back.

Not pants wettingly terrifying in the slightest.

Once he had gotten over the creep factor, Goodie noticed that there was a difference in the gazes being directed his way. Though most had turned back to talk to their companions or enjoy their meals, the looks of his fellow foreigners seemed to originate more from boredom than genuine curiosity. The complete opposite of the locals, especially the stares coming from that table of merchants over on the left side of the inn, who went to great effort to not look in his direction while stealing glances at him from the corner of their eyes.

No, not him, his book. The locals were interested in his notebook, but why? It was a nice little thing, but hardly valuable. Especially with his chicken scratches littering its pages. A disturbing thought crossed his mind, what if they…?

“What’ll you do once you find them?” asked Eric.

Goodie’s head whipped round, “Huh?”

“Assholes, what will you do once you find them?” he repeated while tapping the page he was on with his finger.

“Nothing, I just want to identify them so that I can avoid ‘em.”

“Eh, well…probably for the best.” Eric said, his disappointment in Goodie’s reply obvious.

“If we’re going to be talking, you’re buying lunch.” He turned and raised his hand to signal a passing waitress, who promptly ignored him as she went off to do whatever she had deemed more important than doing her job. Eric stared at her back for a moment before turning back to the table.

Still, Goodie checked his money; he had the copper…and Eric was helping him, sorta.

“Screw it. What’s good here?”

Eric just gave him a look, “nothing, just order the breakfast.” he whispered. “Now!” he continued, “What’s this all about?” He asked, waving the little book.

Goodie took a moment to think, then breathed in…and out to relax himself as he decided to go with full disclosure.

“At the moment I’m stressing about…well, about everything really, but mainly I’m stressing about money. While I have a few ideas on how to earn more, I don’t know what I’m doing or have the skills or time to implement them, nor the resources to do so, even if I did. I know I’m not supposed to need money until we get to where we’re going and shouldn’t be stressing out about this, but I am. I know I’ve got a pile of cash on me now, but by my best calculations, I’ve got maybe three to four months before I’m completely broke; even if I try to go full survivalist, I don’t know what poisonous plants look like or…”

“Okay, okay!” Eric waved his hand, halting Goodie’s rant. “Jesus…your barrel of sunshine, you know that?” The man sighed as he said it.

“First of all, who told you that you wouldn’t need money?”

“The head of the Department Sumonee Integration, Jeremy…Chase, I think his full name was?”

Eric nodded his head, but the action was so slight that Goodie thought it may have been done out of habit rather than to signify that the man knew of whom Goodie was referring to.

“Most people just called him Old Man.”

“I know who you’re talking about, small guy, ginger hair, looks like a retired party clown.”

Goodie had never thought it before, but now that it was mentioned, he could totally see the old man in clown makeup.

Their conversation came to halt as a young woman approached the table. In her early twenties with light brown hair; Eric said something to her in local before she left.

“I ordered us the ‘breakfast’, it’s just eggs with some type of meat, usually pheasant.

“So they do have birds.”

Eric looked at him, dumbfounded at the oddity of what had been said.

“I’ve been in a sewer for most of the past year. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bird at all since I got here, to be honest.”

It was obvious that the man wanted to ask more about that, but then decided on another line of questioning instead.

“Tell me…what do you need money for, exactly?”

“Food.” Goodie needed it for far more, but the heart of his problems stemmed from his inability to provide for himself.

Eric looked confused, “…you should be getting rations every day?”

It must have shown on his face as Eric suddenly sat forward and addressed him in a serious tone.

“Oh! You don’t like the food we give you free of charge. The food that’s good enough for everyone else; the food that no-one else has a problem with.” He waved his hand around.

He had had similar thoughts to what Eric was saying before he decided to talk to the man, but now that he was being confronted over the matter, he defended himself. It was instinctual and stupid, but the words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

“That ‘food’, as you call, literally gives me a headache; having to spend six odd months in constant pain isn’t my ideal, and this may be my white privilege talking, but I would prefer my quality of life to be higher than that of an emaciated refugee”

“Fair enough”

Eric had pulled an emotional one-eighty with such speed that Goodie was left stunned, his mouth opening and closing like the singing bass his uncle kept in his office. A broken one as all that came from Goodie’s mouth was an intermittent ‘Eh…’ and ‘Bu…’.

If the man across from him understood his position, then what the hell was with the confrontation earlier? He thought. Goodie want to swear; at Eric in particular, but he still needed the man’s help, so he just bit his tongue.

“You were saying?” he asked.

“Hm?” Eric responded as if he had been half-asleep the whole time, not a care in the world. Until Goodie had opened his mouth.

Right, Goodie thought. The guy’s messing with me. It took him a while to get the hint, but he did get it.

“We were talking about money.”

“Ah, yes. Your gonna need it. We all are. Not just for the four months travel through the occupied territories, but also after that, when we go through the wilds.”

“We can’t carry everything we need with us, so we need to resupply at towns along the way, but despite doing this every year, we can’t guarantee that the prices for goods will be the same. There’re also a few merchants that always tag along. Mostly to take advantage of us when our backs are against the wall or to try and enslave the people that turn back.”

Goodie gave him a questioning look.

“…have them sign a contract or whatever, the same thing really.”

Before he could continue, the young woman had returned, sporting tray bearing two plates and a jug of liquid. The fermented smell coming from the jug suggested that it was either filled with something spoilt or something alcoholic; Goodie would place his bet on the latter. Either way, he would skip it, his attention then turning to the plate being put in front of him; With scrambled eggs, beans, and as Eric had promised, some type of meat that he couldn’t identify. He would have to address that in future as he had played far too many games with unidentified meat in them. The source always ended up being human.

The young woman stared at Eric, who in turn stared at him.

Goodie counted out seventeen copper, then handed them to her. The sum was far more than the two meals in front of him were worth but he was not going to cause himself trouble by pissing off the locals arguing over the price of a meal, as he still had a good number of days left in ‘The village on the Hill’.

“That produces corn” he added.

“Hm?” Eric asked.

Goodie waved him off and began to eat.