100 years ago (Bumi age 13), late summer.
--
Bumi yawned as he wove his way down the bustling streets of Omashu, having stayed up rather later than he should have to watch the fiery object in the sky get closer and closer. He had snuck all over the upper levels, trying to find a viewing angle that could give him a clearer idea of what it was, but eventually had fallen asleep propped against a column, no closer to understanding.
In the morning's bright sunlight, the object was nowhere to be seen. Whenever there was enough of a break in the endless pile of stone buildings, Bumi would strain his eyes, searching the horizons in the distance to see if it had returned, but so far there was nothing.
When he had woken up this morning (already, he proudly noted, more than an hour too late for class and quite outside of anything he'd call a bed) he was more than ready to begin his new life. Yes sir, it would be stolen lambster every night from now on. Who needed class? Who needed beds? So he had dusted himself off and, not bothering to return to his room (he wouldn't need his stuff where he was going), began the long trip down Omashu's majestic sloped sides. His bare feet slapped pleasantly against the warm stone and Bumi felt more alive than he had in months.
The farther Bumi walked from the palace, the more omnipresent the hustle and bustle of the city became. Unlike the silent, orderly streets reserved for wealthier people, the lower parts of the city were intoxicatingly alive. Colors and sounds were vibrant. Tanned, calloused people worked like anthoppers, setting about their daily chores without the burden of having anybody to answer to. They worked to live and lived to work, instead of merely working because they were ordered to. They were not bereft of joviality either, however, and amongst the sounds of blacksmiths' hammers, carpenters' saws, and the shouts of merchants hocking their goods was much song and laughter. No one was quiet-spoken or reserved here; nobody kowtowed to tradition or pointless resplendence. Within his first half hour in the city, Bumi had nearly doubled the number of obscenities in his lexicon. He wasn't at all sure what a pingnu was, but it was clearly something very insulting. He resolved to try it out for himself a bit later. All in all, it was a very educational journey.
Nearly two hours later, however, Bumi still hadn't reached the city's lowest levels. He had no doubt gotten turned around somewhere (probably back when he had stopped to admire a glazier's handiwork) and had ended up in a long, curving path that ran lengthwise along the city. At first, Bumi had merely climbed over the buildings that blocked his further descent, but was met with much the same thing again, another endless path of shops and stalls with no cross streets to speak of. He scaled the next row of buildings, but when he met with the same thing again he merely gave up. He wasn't sure why he wanted to get to the very bottom of the city. He doubted it would be any freer than where he was already. Still, giving up so close to the bottom was something of an anti-climactic end to his journey.
Bumi's stomach growled fiercely. In his state of depression he had not eaten much at last night's dinner, and nothing yet today. Worse yet, despite watching carefully, Bumi had not seen even one lambster, unattended or not! Surely he was in the wrong part of the city. Frequent stolen lambster was his future menu, he was sure of it. Bumi clutched his stomach in pain.
Growing hungrier and hungrier, Bumi checked each building for readily stolen food. As his hunger grew more persuasive he lowered his standards from lambster to, well, anything he could find. No matter where he turned, however, food vendors guarded their stocks with watchful, greedy eyes. He felt as if the entire world was watching him as he picked his way down the street. He eventually deduced that there must be something suspicions about his appearance that nobody at the palace had ever noticed. He straightened his headband, flattened his shaggy head of hair down from a blatant mess to a slightly-less blatant mess, and willed his face into the most guilt-free countenance he could muster, then approached a cart stacked high with apples.
"Good day to you, Sir" he acted to the fearsome man guarding it. He thought it had just the right ring of childlike innocence to it.
"Morning," the man grunted, not without cheer, but also not without narrowing his gaze on Bumi. Bumi balked for a moment.
"Uhh… nice weather we're having," he attempted.
"Yup." The man's eyes did not move from Bumi, not an inch, no matter what mindless conversation Bumi tried to lead him in. And so the standoff went for some minutes, before Bumi finally bid the man a false-cheery goodbye and walked away in a huff.
--
Bumi walked on for a bit before a delicious smell caught his attention. He tracked its source to a nearby tailor's shop. It was some sort of course meaty stew, he decided; a far cry from lambster, to be sure, but to a hungry young boy it smelled just heavenly. Bumi licked his lips and stared longingly at the storefront, grappling with himself. Was he really so weak as to be ready already to ask for help? No, no, he'd only been alone for a few hours now. He was stronger than that. He would not swallow his pride for such a base need as hunger.
Bumi turned and took a step away from the shop, and then another, but could go no further. After a brief pause in which self-loathing slipped behind food in his priority list, Bumi gritted his teeth and, pulling aside the purple curtain that occluded the door, strode into the shop.
The inside was pleasantly cool, insulated from the beating sun with its thick stone walls. Clothing lie all about the cramped store, hung imposingly from racks or stacked in rolls on top of rickety shelves. Clearly the store catered mostly to low-class customers, but it also did not lack in fine fabrics. Bumi found himself instinctively reaching out to fondle a lush purple garment.
"What are you doing here?" a gruff, hoary voice demanded. Bumi turned, surprised, to see an equally gruff, hoary-looking woman brandishing a long wooden spoon. Her face was creased and seemed locked in a sort of resigned scowl.
"Ermm… I am looking for… a garment of some kind?" Bumi lied, unsure of exactly what his plan was. The object of his desire was, no doubt, hidden in a room behind the shop from which the woman had hobbled.
"You got money?" she asked. Bumi grinned sheepishly.
"Not as such…" he chuckled, waving his hand dismissively.
"You lookin' for a job?" Bumi thought about it. Did he want a job? Technically, that had not been amongst his list of goals for this new life, but it was clear by this point that the list was in dire need of revision. Some ready source of lambsters would have to be acquired, preferably in the form of, say, a few dozen reliably blind lambster vendors. Procuring money to buy the desired crustaceans, however, might also have merit. Bumi had not considered that option before. Bumi sighed.
"Well… I wasn't at first. I was actually planning on stealing food from you," he confessed, confident that he could outrun her if need be. Surprisingly, the lady merely chuffed with laughter.
"Pfft… I'll just give you the food if you'll run an errand for me." She turned and hobbled back towards the back of her store. Bumi followed eagerly.
"Okay… What do I have to do?" The lady mumbled to herself while she fetched a suitable bowl from a wooden cupboard, ladled a portion of stew from the tin pot atop her stove, and pressed it into Bumi's hands. She did not provide a spoon and Bumi did not think to ask for one. He dug into the soup with zeal, straining larger pieces out with his fingers and then drinking the broth in noisy gulps. The old woman heaved herself into a large wicker chair.
"You look like a strong young man," she began. Even with his face buried in the soup as it was, Bumi couldn't help but grin. "I want you to take a few bolts of cotton to a customer on the other side of town. My husband would usually do it, but he's off traveling and late coming home. Probably spending our profits on alcohol again, the lazy ass." Her voice was full of that ornery contempt which many old people had so perfected, but Bumi could tell her heart wasn't in it. She was worried, and stared distractedly out the small rear window.
"I can do that," Bumi said after a bit, setting his empty bowl on the counter. This seemed to launch the woman out of her trance and back to her previous cantankerousness. She slowly rose from the chair again.
"I should hope so," she grunted in false mean-spiritedness. She hobbled past him, leading him back into the shop, where she gestured to a stack of three white rolls of cloth wrapped around thin planks of wood. Bumi looked at them briefly, trying to figure out how he could best condense the job into only one trip.
"Giopi lives in a shop on the other side of town. On the corner, buncha glass, don't miss it," she croaked. Bumi frowned at the vagueness of the directions, but nodded resolutely all the same. The woman apparently considered this enough instruction, because she turned to lumber her way back into the shop's depths.
As soon as she was out of view, Bumi began rummaging through the shop for some thread. He had changed his mind about stealing from the woman, but he still wasn't going to resist helping himself to something that would expedite his work. Besides… It was a tailor's shop. It had plenty of thread, right? Finding a huge spool of yellow thread by a chair in the corner, Bumi drew out several yards of it and bit off the end. He deftly tied the three bolts of cloth together in a neat little stack. Stepping back to admire his handiwork, he considered removing the yellow thread to replace it with something that matched better, but ultimately decided against the waste.
Straining a bit, Bumi hefted the stack of cloth onto his skinny shoulders and sidled out the door. It seemed from the woman's description that he had quite a ways to walk. Other side of town… Omashu was a huge town, as it turned out, and he had a crick in his back before he'd made it thirty feet. Why did he agree to this again?
In another of his rare moments of introspection, Bumi realized he didn't really know. He could very well just toss the cloth into the gutters and be on his way, belly full, or better yet take it and sell it himself, but something in the woman's mannerisms held him back. Bumi felt fairly certain he had experienced his share of adversity, but the woman moved as if carrying the weight of the world on her back. The idea of cheating her just felt… wrong. Bumi didn't know how else to put it. Of course, he told himself, there was a certain pleasure in doing a job willingly, for money, instead of because you were abandoned to do it forever by your parents.
At that, Bumi's frown returned. The woman hadn't mentioned any money, had she? She was probably going to rip him off, trick him into doing this mindless task for free. And here he thought he was the clever one. It sickened him. Still, Bumi found himself that day hauling three bolts of cotton cloth down Omashu's streets, stepping carefully over the unconscious drunks piled outside a fun-looking bar, dodging the trash that was occasionally pitched from nearby windows, and picking his way through all manner of degenerate crowds.
--
As luck would have it, the "other side of town" was far closer than he had realized. His destination was (he shook his fist at the cosmic mockery of it all) the glazier's shop where he had taken a wrong turn. Rather than all the way across Omashu, which would have taken him all afternoon to traverse, it had only been a mile or so away. He wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen the hand painted 'Giopi the Glazier' sign in front of the stunted little building.
Bumi had never been inside of a glazier's shop before, and he found it fascinating. Despite its squat and unattractive outer appearance, the inside's vast collection of glass panes and bottles reflected the light quite beautifully. The shelves were rickety and made of wood, and the entire shop exuded a feeling of severe fragility. Bumi was very, very careful as he dragged the cloth inside.
Giopi himself materialized from an aisle to Bumi's left, wearing a coal-stained apron and ridiculously thick set of goggles perched atop his nose. He flitted about worriedly as he moved, apparently very distressed by the idea of a young child amongst his precious breakables. When he saw the cloth, though, his worried face brightened (a little).
"You must be from Kihni's shop on the other side of town." (Bumi cringed at the imprecision of it all) "Funny," the man continued, moving behind a counter. "Loddi usually delivers the stuff personally."
"Ahh… he, um… is late returning from a trip, Giopi sir." Giopi did not look surprised.
"Must have been taking more silk to Gaoling. Never seems they have enough silk in Gaoling. Plenty of glass, or so they claim, but never enough silk. Simpletons…" Giopi paused to growl at nothing. "No matter, though," he continued after a moment, "Take this back to Kihni right away." He dropped a tiny purse of coins in Bumi's hand. Bumi would have stayed for a bit to look at all the fascinating glass, but the man made it clear that it was time already for Bumi to get out of his shop, lest he break something.
--
Back on the outside world, Bumi clutched the money bag in his hands. Again, it was tempting to steal, but again he felt somehow less interested in stealing than usual. He worried that something might be wrong with him; he had never thought twice about thievery from people at the palace. Something about this place, he decided as he started back for Kihni's shop, gave him for the first time reason to consider how he might be hurting somebody with his actions. Just this morning he himself had admired how the people of the lower city worked for survival and not for some other pretense, so he supposed it ought not be surprising that they were in rather more danger of starving should anything go wrong. Bumi had no particular interest in pushing them over the brink.
Still, it was very tempting. The little drawstringed sack of coins felt pleasant, powerful in his hands. With these coins he could buy an object, any object he wished. Picking two or three of the silver pieces out with his fingers, he considered the merits of pocketing just a few and returning the remainder to Kihni, but something caught his eye, and he tossed the coins back into the sack. A tiny shop, sandwiched between two larger, more imposing ones, sported a grubby sign reading 'industrial curios for sale'. There were no customers in the shop and it was dark and dank. Still, Bumi was curious as to what an 'industrial curio' was, and so he entered.
The inside of the shop was almost completely empty, its shelves no longer laden with products. Aside from the barren shelving and counter, the only object in the small room was a great box-shaped contraption of interlocking metal bars. Bumi could not at all guess what the machine's various wheels and levers were for and he stared at it in abject curiosity.
Bumi turned around, surprised, when a man stood up from where he had been stooped behind the counter. He wore faded clothing and a furious scowl. The man muttered to himself as he packed little objects into a box. Bumi just stood still and stared at him, and it was some time before the man finally noticed him.
"And what are you doing here? You one of Xiej's spies?" he asked spitefully.
"What is this?" Bumi asked, gesturing to the large metal object.
"It is a printing press, the first of its kind" the man replied, rolling his eyes to what he believed was a very obvious question.
"What does it do?"
"It paints rhinophants, what do you think?" the man looked at Bumi angrily. Bumi grinned and diverted his gaze back to the machine.
"Interesting. I wouldn't have thought there was much of a market for rhinophant painters," he replied, scratching his chin in mock deep thought. "I've always rather liked gray on them, personally." The man let out a puff of laughter despite himself, then approached Bumi.
"Alright, you caught me. It is for writing without a pen. You see" he grabbed a scrap of parchment from the counter and fed it into the machine. "What's your name?" he asked.
"Bumi."
"Bu… mi" the man repeated, depressing an ivory tipped lever for each syllable. There was a brief mechanical click in response, and the man reached forward and yanked out the parchment scrap, handing it to Bumi. Written on it were the two characters of Bumi's name, beautifully inked, perfectly spaced, nearly flawless. Bumi was amazed.
"This can be used over and over? To write entire pages?" he asked, mind abuzz with the possibilities.
"Yes" the man admitted proudly. "But of course nobody here could understand that. I swear, I should have never moved from Ba Sing Se. Gave it all up to come here, and nobody understands the point of a printing press. It could change the world and all I get is-" the man kept up a string of expletive-laden murmurs as he puttered about the shop, Bumi apparently all but forgotten.
"What's wrong with it?" Bumi asked, fondling one of the machine's great crossbars in reverence. The man turned and glared severely at Bumi.
"Nothing is wrong with it. It's the bastard 'varks and their bastard consortium. Nobody down here appreciates innovation. I'm broke, I'm done for! I've got to sell this monstrosity and buy my way back to Ba Sing Se before I starve!" Bumi put on a sly grin. Sauntering up to the sour man, he threw his little bag of coins on the counter in a dramatic, impressive fashion.
"I'll take it off your hands," he offered coolly. The man looked condescendingly down at the coins, then at Bumi.
"What do you take me for, Kid? This won't get to Ba Sing Se. Not even close." Bumi scowled and collected his money, ears burning in embarrassment. He made for the door without looking back. A flash of hesitance covered the man's face, as if he was loath to let any offer go, even a pitifully small one from a child. He must have been very desperate.
"Don't come back until you have… err… twenty times that much," he called after Bumi. "Or… eighteen!"
Outside, Bumi kicked the doorframe in frustration. It didn't surprise Bumi in the least that nobody understood the press's significance, but he understood. What amazing things could be done with such technology! He held the beautiful scrap of parchment, tracing the indented, inked characters gently with his fingers. He cursed fate for tempting him with such a machine but not letting him have it, then continued his journey in a huff.
He made it the rest of the way without incident, but was still moping when he entered Kihni's shop. She was back in the wicker chair on which she had stared worriedly out the window that morning, this time her hands nimbly sewing a garment together as if possessed by a mind all their own. Bumi moodily tossed the money sack and its full contents on the table and then turned to leave.
"What's your name, Boy?" Kihni croaked, not having looked up from her work.
"Bumi," Bumi confessed.
"Well, you come back here tomorrow and I'll have more for you to do, you got that Bumi?" she demanded.
"Of… of course," Bumi agreed, deciding that he'd better keep his options open. Who knew if he'd find enough food tomorrow, roughing it like he was? "Bye".
"Take these, Bumi," she commanded, ignoring his goodbyes. She held out a withered hand. Bumi walked back, exaggerating his frustration at the whole situation with his exasperated gait, but changed his stance in a heartbeat when she pressed several copper pieces into his hand. He counted them over and over again. Four copper pieces. Not much, but still his first honest wages.
"Th… thank you, Ma'am," he finally said, pocketing the money and running out of the store.
--
Bumi strolled happily back up the street, fingering the money and glorious scrap of parchment in his pockets. Oh yeah, money felt good. He was suddenly beginning to understand why rich guys were so obsessed with it. You could buy stuff with money. Whatever you wanted! Bumi's eyes scanned every shop carefully as he memorized the feeling, the weight of the coins in his hand. But what to spend them on? A drunken shout of glee brought his attention to the bar he had passed earlier. The place reeked of music, joviality, and some rather less pleasant things. Bumi's eyes lit up in realization. The bar! It was the perfect place for a young entrepreneur to spend his hard-earned wages!
Bumi strode purposefully into the smoky building, ignoring the many pairs of eyes that followed him. Omashu's lower city was not known for its wholesomeness, but still, it was uncommon to see prepubescent bar patrons. Of course, Bumi didn't know this and held his head up high. He walked right up to the counter and took a seat next to a mammoth, bearded man. The barkeep eyed him suspiciously, but business was business and as soon as Bumi pulled the coins out of his pocket, he approached, leaning on the polished stone counter.
"What can I get you, boy?" Bumi didn't answer for a moment, preoccupied with observing the other bar patrons. After a bit, however, he grinned at the bartender and said in his most gravely, manly voice "Gimme somethin' strong". The barkeeper was dubious, but took the money anyway.
"Comin' right up Little Man." Bumi nodded, pleased at having been promoted already from 'boy' to 'little man'. He supposed that was still a step below just 'man', but he was in fact rather little and you had to start somewhere, right? Yes, he definitely felt decidedly tougher in here. The noxious smoke and disgusting lack of cleanliness were bracing and apparently very very manly.
Bumi kept his ears active as he listened to the other patrons' conversations. Most of them were engaged in arguing about the outcomes of some kind of gladiatorial match, describing their favored fighters with colorful nicknames and delightfully obscene language. Bumi decided to try it. Leaning over, he elbowed the large man beside him.
"Yargh," he said, deciding that pirates were also manly and thus their vernacular applicable in this situation, "I'm pretty sure Captain Omstrom Zanzibar Bizzorzix Furdo Makrik the Fourth will defeat your favored fighter in the upcoming match, you clod." The man looked incredulous.
"Captain Who?" he rumbled.
"Captain Omstrom Zanzibar Bizzorzix Furdo Makrik the Fourth!" Bumi repeated. The man rolled his eyes.
"Never heard of him. Besides, Bizzorzix isn't even a name."
"Yes it is! I knew a guy named Bizzorzix!" Bumi protested.
"Whatever. He's probably a pansy. Won't beat Wormstrang, not a chance," the man grunted, returning to his drink.
"Pfft… Wormstrang's the pansy," Bumi retorted under his breath, completely unsure of what a Wormstrang even was. He didn't have time to ponder it further because at that moment the bartender slid a huge mug of alcohol towards him. Bumi eagerly lifted it to his mouth, licking his lips in anticipation. He took a lengthy draught from it and promptly threw up.
He recoiled in horror from the drink, ignoring the laughter of several nearby men.
"What is this vile fluid? Urine?" he demanded of the bartender. The man raised his hands defensively.
"Hey, Kid. You said you wanted something strong, so I gave you something strong." Bumi wasn't sure what to say to that, so he decided to use some of his new vocabulary.
"You're a pingnu" he announced, pushing the glass mug off of the counter, where it spilled into the adjacent man's lap before shattering on the ground. The great bear of a man stood to his full height and gazed angrily down at him. Bumi met his eyes unafraid.
"What do you want? You're a pingnu too." Bumi grinned, then, encouraged by the horrified looks on everyone's faces, continued. "I heard your mother was a pingnu as well, actually, so I guess it's no surprise how you ended up."
The bar was silent.
--
A/N: Well, there we have another chapter.
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