“Kinna, dishes!”
…
“Kinna! Dishes!”
…
“Kinna I swear, Ulthir would blush if she saw what I’m going to-”
“Fiiiiiiiine!”
Kinna locked his clunky terminal, hopped off his squeaky chair, and raced out of his “room” (a repurposed closet on the side of the main stairwell). He flew down the narrow stairs, avoiding the uneven dips and cracks by muscle memory. Two flights down, sharp turn left, through the bulky “STAFF ONLY” door just like every cycle. The door groaned in complaint as it demanded a firm shove, but it was easily the last thing that needed fixing.
Like every other room in the inn, the washroom was cramped and just barely large enough to serve its function. Kinna passed by the rows of shelves that lined either side of the poorly-lit corridor as he ducked underneath the various tools hanging from the ceiling. The familiar clinking of plates rang from the back, occasionally pierced by cheerful humming. Standing behind the industrial sink, Konnoko Okoloyomo went about the least glamorous job at the inn with a smile on his face. Kinna’s father, owner of the Boar’s Tusk, warmest person in zone 9 when you were on his good side. He was imposing enough to keep the rowdier customers under control when he needed to: he had forearms like tree trunks and a stare that could freeze your blood solid if he was so inclined. Underneath his splotched apron, he wore the traditional loose yellow and orange cloth that had fallen out of fashion generations ago in zone 9. If nothing else, he was bullish and stubborn in his ways.
“Are you going to stand there and wait till the collectors come do me in? Gonna be more dishes waiting for you that way.” Konnoko chuckled to himself as he dragged a massive pot over. With a reluctant sigh, Kinna grabbed an apron from the wall and took his place on the other end of the sink next to his father. The two worked in silence for a while with only Konnoko’s humming to break up the monotony. The tune was familiar and comfortable, one that Konnoko’s grandmother had passed to him from her grandmother. Slow, lulling, hopeful.
“So…how were lessons today?” Konnoko asked. He was always awkward about small talk, especially surrounding this topic. But he was trying at least, and Kinna had to give him credit for that.
“Hard,” Kinna said flatly. “Trying to keep up but there’s a lot. Just…a lot. I’m gonna do it though. First round of Academy entrance exams is in 20 cycles.”
Konnoko whistled. “Coming up quick isn’t that? And it’s a busy season too, lots of folks coming through.”
“I know, I know,” Kinna groaned. “You need me to help out, I got it. I won’t be here forever though.”
The gentle sound of scrubbing was abruptly cut off by the pot being firmly dropped into the sink. Kinna glanced over to see his father looking down at him, sadness clouding his normally bright eyes. “Mountain mother forgive me, Kinnanaki Okoloyomo.” He never used Kinna’s full name except as a precursor to a colorful swear. “You are going to do great things, I always knew it. Your mother knew it too, she would tell me you were bigger than this place. I can handle things fine here on my own. Maybe one day after I’m gone, they’ll tear this place down. The Boar’s Tusk is a pile of rocks and metal, what’s important are the lives we’re given. You owe me nothing, my son. I only want you to remember where you came from.”
Kinna looked back down at the sink to hide his face. “It’s not like I’m disappearing,” he muttered. “I can come back and visit sometimes. Besides, I probably won’t even get in.”
A forceful shove on his shoulder nearly knocked him off balance. “Of course you will!” Konnoko roared. “I won’t have an Okoloyomo speak like that. The blood of the Great Boar flows in our veins, we stood here before this city was even a distant dream! Any son of mine will carry our pride wherever they go, and they will crush anything in their way.”
Konnoko reached over and placed his massive hand on his son’s chest. Underneath Kinna’ shirt was a chain holding a simple coin scratched and chipped beyond recognition. Kinna had heard the story a hundred times when he was little: back when the Boar’s Tusk stood on the open plains, a lone wanderer single-handedly saved the inn from a raid of thirty bandits. They only accepted a room for the night as their reward, and still insisted on paying for their stay with a single golden coin from a faraway land. The coin was supposedly handed down through the Okoloyomo bloodline, landing in Kinna’s hands as a token of gratitude and duty. Physical currency had been discontinued for so long that few had ever held a coin, and even dedicated collectors were unlikely to want something so damaged. As a symbol of their history, it meant everything to Konnoko though.
“I’ve taught you all that I can, Kinna. There’s so much more outside of this inn, outside of zone 9. Go clean up after the lunch rush, then take the rest of the cycle to study. Your old man’s still got enough left in him to do some dishes.”
Speechless, Kinna nodded and hung up his apron before ducking out of the washroom. Another flight down the rickety stairwell was the ground floor and the Boar’s Tusk canteen. It was a favorite among the locals, resolute in Konnoko’s decree to only serve traditional zone 9 dishes in defiance all the trendy fusion places that had been popping up around them. Rows of communal tables with rough stools were crammed together, barely leaving a thin aisle to navigate. Towers of empty bowls littered the lengths of every table; they were well known for their spicy vegetable stew during the colder cycles. Kinna punched a button on the wall to open up the maintenance chute as he eyed the canteen. Thankfully, the patrons had been well-behaved today: just a handful of messes to mop up and only two parties were still loitering past the service time. Sitting close to the stairs, a group of three zone 8 gang lackeys was having a lively argument about something or other. Flashy jackets, slicked-back hair, sleek peripherals way above their pay-grade. Their accents were distinct enough to out them before Kinna had even reached the bottom of the stairs. More and more of them had started passing through zone 9 as of late, and even though they rarely stirred up any actual trouble they were still obnoxiously loud.
Tucked into the corner by the open entrance, a lone woman sat by herself and ignored the commotion to focus on the bustling street outside. She also stuck out like a sore thumb, but Kinna could not quite put his finger on where she came from. Judging from the lack of peripherals and her painfully outdated traveling vest, she was definitely from one of the outer zones. Maybe all the way up from zone 11? Kinna had seen videos of their odd festivals but had never actually spoken with someone from out there.
As he scooped up a stack of bowls, Kinna paused to listen in on the group (or at least the words he could decipher). The oldest among them, presumably their leader from how he carried himself and the excessive tattoos running up his neck, was passionately ranting and not letting his underlings get a word in edgewise. “…And the boss just lets ‘em!” he yelled. “Not a peep as they just piss all over our turf. We find Barrith, poor bastard, he’s crying like a baby curled up in an alley. Still can’t get a word out of him! The boss doesn’t do shit!” He accentuated the last word by swiping at his bowl, sending it crashing into the wall and shattering. Kinna froze in place, calculating if this was just a tantrum or if he would have to get his father involved. Konnoko had often just let their kind blow off their steam and leave, admitting that it would be far more troublesome to have a gang remember his name. In the corner, the woman looked away from the street to turn her attention toward them.
“It’s weakness,” he continued. “Simple as that. We were already getting pinched by those guys from 7, and now what? Chains! Seriously? That’s got him scared?”
One of his fellows nervously looked around the canteen before piping up. “I’m pissed about Barrith too, you know. I just wanna go back home, it reeks down here in 9. Let’s finish up and do our job, no need to make a scene.”
“You just don’t get it!” the leader screamed at his face. “You haven’t seen the shit I have yet. Weakness gets us eaten alive out there where Compliance ain’t looking. You think you’re big and bad since you’ve got that jacket on, but underneath it you’re just a sniveling kid. Just shut up when I’m talking to ya!”
The shuffling of stools echoed through the canteen and a flurry of motion passed through Kinna’s eyes. A look of confusion had spread across the leader’s face, his fist frozen in the air just short of his underling’s nose. He looked up at the woman who was now standing between them with her hand firmly grasping onto his wrist.
She likewise looked down, flashing him a warm smile. “The stew here is quite good,” she said, “it would be a shame to waste any more. Why don’t we just relax and enjoy this time before we return to our travels?” Her speech was slow and comforting, completely unlike the harsh dialect of zone 11. 12, maybe?
Once the leader had processed the past few seconds, his face distorted with anger as he stood up to face her. “And who the fuck are you? Walking in here dressed up like it’s a Founding Cycle party or something. This ain’t any of your business, and you caught me in a very shitty mood.”
He wrenched his arm free and took a swing at the woman, but his fist traveled through empty air. In one fluid, imperceivable motion she had ducked under the attack and grabbed his arm. She pivoted and, following his motion, hurled him towards the entrance with astonishing force. He hit the ground with a surprised yelp as he rolled out the entryway and onto the street from the momentum.
“Oh my,” she said with an exasperated sigh as she stood back up. “I had not realized how much time had passed. I am sure we all have much to accomplish, and it would be rude to further impose on our host.”
Taking the hint, the two underlings nodded and rushed after their superior. Kinna stood with his jaw open as he watched the woman calmly walk to her table and collect her belongings. A vibrant collection of trinkets jingled on the side of her well-worn pack.
“Apologies for the commotion,” she said to Kinna. “Folks ought to be more grateful for food and shelter. Tell me, to whom do I owe thanks for my meal?”
“It’s my father’s cooking,” Kinna offered with a laugh. “Okoloyomo family recipe, been here as long as the inn has.” Feeling emboldened, he set down the bowls and approached her with his hand outstretched. “The name’s Kinna. The bowls aren’t expensive but I’m glad I don’t have to clean any more up. Really, thanks miss.”
“Kinna Okoloyomo…” she repeated as she trailed off in thought. Her smile returned as she reached out and shook his hand. “I will fondly remember the best stew I’ve ever tasted. Take care, Kinna, and if fortune allows I would love another bowl some time.”
Kinna awkwardly stumbled over his words, only managing a nod and a “sure” as she turned to leave. The lackeys had already scrambled away in a hurry, allowing her to stand in the entryway and take in the bustle outside. She turned her head to look down the street, her eyes narrowing in distant contemplation.
“One last favor,” she called back to Kinna. “That tower to the north…the Spire. What is the fastest route there?”
Kinna eyed her with skepticism but did his best to mask it in his voice. If she was from the other side of the city, there was no way she had walked all the way out here. “The lev-tram station is just a few streets over,” he answered. “Big arch, can’t miss it.”
She nodded, then took off without another word. A stillness fell over the canteen as its final customer left, the same as every time before but somehow far more profound. He knew that he would finish cleaning up, do a little studying, go to sleep, and the next cycle would be unchanging from the last. As he swept up the shards of the unceremoniously broken bowl, he found a spark of hope in the odd encounter. If she could make it to the Spire, perhaps he could as well. The circumstances of their lives had been completely different, and yet their paths had found a way to briefly cross.
Eager to finish his remaining task, he walked over to the corner to collect her bowl. Kinna smiled to himself; it was bone dry, not a drop of stew remaining. He picked up the bowl and a faint clink sounded through the empty canteen. On the table next to it was a single golden coin.