“Well if it isn’t Atlas. I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon, handsome.”

“Miss Sanda!” Atlas smiled at his second oldest acquaintance as she stood, polishing the counter just the same as she had that first morning.

“Ooo, remembering a lady’s name. You’ll do well to keep that habit right there, handsome.”

“Well, you remembered my name.”

“Someone built like you tends to leave a lasting impression, handsome.” Sanda winked. “Besides, it’s not every day someone leaves a chamber pot full of sand for me to empty out.”

“Wha- oh. Sorry about that.” So that’s what that pot had been.

“Hah! Don’t worry about it. Nothing worse than what they’re usually filled with. I just hope you’re not doing that everywhere you go.”

Atlas grinned at her, at least outwardly. Honestly it hadn’t come up. At all. Which considering he ate and drank pretty regularly either meant he was in for a bad time in the near future, he was violating the laws of physics with some kind of digestive disintegrator, or that his bracers had been dutifully logging waste products from his system and he just hadn’t unlocked that particular menu yet.

“So, what brings you back to this neck of the woods? I thought you were all gung ho about getting to the city?”

“The bridge got washed away in the torm. The farmer there agreed to take me across on the Charon if I helped him with the harvest.”

“Old Phineus? He’s good people. Bad luck about the bridge though. How much is the Charon charging this season?”

“Two talents.”

Sanda gave a low whistle. “Guess that explains why you’re here then. That’s a doozy of a fare.”

“Yeah, we’ve just finished setting up shop out the front.” Atlas reached into his pocket. He’d had to jettison all of his coins just before stepping into the inn. “Phineus sent me to get some rooms for the night.”

Sanda nodded, golden brown locks bouncing. “He brought the wagon and the cave troll I’m guessing?”

Atlas thought for a moment. “Kleis?”

Sanda made a face in response. “That’s him. Grabby fella, shorter than me.”

Atlas nodded. It wasn’t the most charitable of descriptions, but he could- wait. Were there actual trolls here?

“Alright, that’ll be two drakes nineteen, including stabling, breakfast and dinner. Drinks are separate.”

Atlas pulled three golden coins from his pocket and received one silver talon in return. The coin, like its namesake, was a thin silver spike with a hole in one of its rounded ends, presumably so someone could thread a string through. He pocketed the talon thoughtfully. Twenty talons to the drake made sense. So how many scales to the talon? And if three drakes was enough for a party of three to spend the night in what was, as far as he knew, a reasonably high quality inn, what was it that he’d asked for to make Anders ask for over forty?

“You okay, hun?” Sanda raised an eyebrow as she held out a pair of keys. “You looked a little lost there for a minute.”

“Oh. I… sort of put my pay and the money Phineus gave me in the same pocket.”

“Hah. Amateur mistake.” Sanda smirked. “And you don’t remember how much he gave you, right?”

Atlas nodded. Lying about himself was quickly becoming a habit, and possibly a bad one, but “mysterious stranger who doesn’t understand even the most everyday information and wants to go to the capital” seemed like a bad thing to be in a country in the middle of a war.

“Well if you wanted to give me a hand in the kitchen I’m sure I could see my way to giving you a free drink. Would that ease your money worries any?”

“Really?” After receiving so much already - more than he’d earned in a week as a farm hand at very least - that left him with mixed feelings, but if she needed the help then…

“I’m sure the boss won’t mind. Heck, finding out you’re back here might even cheer her up a little bit.”

“Mrs Damastes, is she here?”

“She’s in the same place she always is.” Sanda jerked a thumb towards one of the windows with a crooked smile.

Atlas peered out on the sunlit path leading to the cliff edge, where a figure sat looking out onto the mist shrouded ocean. That dull ache throbbed in his chest for reasons he couldn’t quite understand, static dancing in front of his eyes as he looked away.

“She sits there every day?”

“Rain or shine. So you going to give me a hand or not, handsome?”

Atlas followed Sanda through to a simply outfitted kitchen, where various cooking utensils hung over a large open fireplace.

“It’s mostly going to be bringing in wood from the pile out back, but if you get done quick then you can help me with tonight’s stew. I’ll grab you your drink once it’s cooking, sound good?”

Atlas nodded. He’d have rolled up his sleeves except they were already truncated by his bracers.

Time to show off a little.

“Well I’ve got to say, I didn’t expect to get done that quick.” Sanda remarked again over the foam of her drink.

Atlas grinned sheepishly. Had he overdone it a bit? The wood had been quick of course, but Sanda’s expression as he’d twirled the chef’s knife had been incredulous.

“Do you have to do all that on your own every night?”

“More or less. The boss usually gets back and handles the loaves before I’m done.” She laughed suddenly. “Got to say, if I’d known you were that handy around the kitchen I’d probably have begged the boss to snap you up before Phineus could.”

Atlas sipped his drink. It was cloyingly sweet and burned his throat slightly when he swallowed, but in the heat of the kitchen it was refreshing all the same. As was the company. Sanda’s ready smile and easy temperament made it easy to relax around her, at least comparatively.

“So how are you holding up, handsome? Last week you were champing at the bit to get off to the city real quick. Must be eating you to still be stuck down here with in the boons.”

“It’s alright. Everyone’s been very kind to me, and I still have seven days left.” Atlas took another gulp of his sweet drink.

“Seven days until what, handsome?” Sanda quirked her head towards him, a dark eyebrow raised.

Whoops.

Atlas’ brain raced through lies, excuses and deflections until finally arriving at a bold strategy.

“I’m not actually sure.”

The truth. Or at least dangerously close to it.

Before Sanda’s expression could fully transform into a puzzled frown Atlas barrelled on with his explanation.

“These bracers have a… window with words on sometimes. Every morning it says something like “seven days remaining”. He waved his bracer for emphasis.”But it never says anything else. I don’t know if I- it’s- going to run out of bat- of the power that makes it work, or if I’m sick and need a doctor, or if it’s counting down to some disaster-”

“Or it’s a calendar?”

“What?” Atlas blinked.

“Well, it’s a week until the Panpromethea festival, isn’t it?”

“... Is it?” Atlas kept his face carefully neutral. Was that a possibility? Could his reality warping bracers have pulled the local equivalent of “twelve more sleeps til Christmas”?”

“Well, I can sort of see why you’ve so keen to go at least. I’d be a little spooked myself. But I’m sure Lord Prometheus would never have given them to you if they were all that dangerous. Just ask one of the cyborgs to help you when you get there.”

Wait, what? Cyborgs? Sanda had mentioned “mechanical men” last time, but cybernetics? When the farm didn’t have so much as a mechanical thresher, and the most complex thing he’d seen to date was the grocer’s hand-cranked till? This place never ceased to astound him, though that was, he supposed, good news. The more things as complex as his bracers and the tube he’d woken up inside there were, the less likely it was that he was some alien invader. Or less likely that he was the only alien invader, at least.

“You know, it’s a real shame. Before the war you’d see cyborgs all over the place, handing out gadgets to folks. That’s where Anders got that great big counting machine of his.” Sanda tapped her jaw. “Say, you don’t still have the manual do you? Maybe there’s something in there about it.”

Atlas shook his head with a frown. “There weren’t any instructions when I found it.”

At least instructions that didn’t need to be plugged in.

Sanda’s eyes widened. “Found? Tell me you didn’t-” She took a glance at Atlas’ blank expression. “Didn’t your mother teach you never to touch a lost gadget?”

Before he could reply, Sanda put her hand up to her mouth. “Oh shoot, I’m sorry hon, I didn’t think.”

Atlas tilted his head, confused. “It’s... fine?”

Sanda leaned in close, her mug dangerously close to spilling.

“Listen, whatever you do when you get to the city, don’t tell anyone you have a lost gadget. Just say you lost the manual alright? Hopefully-”

“Sanda! I’m back.”

Sanda’s serious expression disappeared in the blink of an eye. “In the kitchen, boss! You’ll never guess who came to visit.”

“If it’s Leander then he can stop visiting right now. For the last time I’m a married-” The owner of the gruff voice stepped into the kitchen’s open doorway, hands on her hips. “Oh, it’s you. What are you doing back here? If you’re heading down to that beach again-”

“N-no!” Atlas held up his hands. “I’m working for mister Phineus! The harvest!”

Mrs Damastes peered at him with an expression somewhere between doubt and… Tenderness? Atlas dismissed the notion presented by his renegade thoughts.

“Good to see you doing some honest work for a change. I hope you’ve not forgotten to put supper on, Sanda . We’ve the evening to prepare for.”

“All done, boss. Atlas here was a big help. Even finished the loaves.” Sanda grinned. “Why don’t you come sit with us for a bit? He was just telling me about his adventures on the farm.”

Mrs Damastes glanced at the wall. Atlas followed her gaze to see a small wooden clock nestled between two cupboards, the numbers one to thirteen on its face.

“It’s almost five. I need to turn the beds before guests start to show.” She turned on her heel and disappeared in a moment.

Sanda sighed softly.

“She likes me, you said?” Atlas stared gloomily out the doorway she’d vacated, trying not to dwell on the second-hand ache in his chest.

“Oh, trust me, hun, you’d know if she didn’t like you. It’s just on account of her husband-”

She bit off the rest of the sentence just as Atlas perked up.

“Her husband?”

He’d never even seen the man, short of inheriting what he assumed was his old footwear. Was he sick? Travelling? She spent all day looking out to sea, maybe he was on a long voyage? Or maybe he’d been drafted into the war?

Sanda shook her head.

“It’s not my place to say. Come on, I’ve got to setup the hall. I’ll write you up a receipt for Phineus. Just show it to him and he’ll know how much change there is. And don’t forget what I told you before.”

“I won’t.” Atlas downed the dregs of his drink to conceal his disappointment. He should probably get back and help with the stall anyway. “Thank you for the drink, Miss Sanda.”

“Any time, hun, but you’re paying for the next one.” Sanda winked at him and sashayed out of the kitchen. Atlas swept his scanning beam across her heels as he followed.

FORM PARAMETERS UPDATED

NEW CODE ACQUIRED [Sincerity]

OPEN CODE GRID Y/N?

Now he thought of it, when he’d scanned Mrs Damastes hadn’t there been something about a locked code? He’d scanned over a dozen people at this point, and nobody else had anything like it. What made her so special? Was it just because his scanning level had been too low back then?

Atlas tapped No with a thoughtful frown. One way or another, he’d try and get some answers tonight.