Sorry for the long wait; I decided to rewrite my story after putting up the last chapter, but I thought that people might want to read what I've already written to tide them over, so to speak (and give you more to critique). And so, here's the next part. crosses fingers and hopes they will last long enough
Chapter 9: Pick a mission, any mission
As Ian, Peter, Anne, and Lincoln entered the main room of the Pub for the second time, Darkness seemed to envelope them again. Apparently this was something one didn't get used to. Once her eyes adjusted and he became visible, Anne asked Cantato, who was still leaning in the same place, "Did any requests get put up while we were gone?"
"Yep," He answered, pointing to a big message board behind him that had many little scribbled notes tacked to it. "Just like I told you." He pointed to the sheet on the counter. "Here's a list I make of the day's missions in summary titles. Just pick one that piques your interest and I'll get down the bill of request itself so you can get all the information."
A pushy Bangaa who had just entered interrupted their conversation, a slip of paper in his hand. "Here, Cantato, put thisss up for me, will ya?"
"Excuse me for a moment," Cantato said to the group before he accepted the slip from the Bangaa and perused it for a minute or two. Then he turned around to the board and placed the slip against it while picking up a nail to stick it, saying, "My pleasure, er, Brack."
The Bangga let out a snicker with a hissy twist and said as he turned to go, "I'm Trept, Cantato. Cousssin isss out of town."
"Sorry, Trept. It's your fault for looking so much alike, though," Cantato replied distractedly, discarding his nail because it had bent when he had pushed it into the board ("Don't make 'em like they used to ever since the blacksmith took on that new apprentice," he muttered).
"Why not let people have direct access to the board?" Anne asked a little impatiently as the door closed behind the Bangaa. "It would be much faster that way."
"There are many useful reasons to keep watch on clan traffic, the most obvious of them being that it keeps you in the know," Cantato answered as he wrote a title for the newest mission on the summary sheet, his eyes twinkling. "Now why don't you hurry up and find some jobs to do?"
As the group looked at different missions, they found that they ranged from battle to negotiation, from hunts to competitions. Nothing--absolutely nothing--was too trivial. After handing back many, Ian looked over a request from a mother for help coaxing her son out of the attic, where he was pretending to be a monster who didn't like homework. It sounded so funny that he decided to try it out. He noticed that on all the notes, beneath the contact information, there were sets of numbers in a different, uniform handwriting.
"Hey, Cantato?" Ian asked. "What do those numbers signify?"
"Those are the info prices I write on them," he explained, "the amount you pay me for getting you the information. It's how I make much of my money. Which reminds me..." Cantato pulled out a pen and wrote a price on the slip Trept had given him.
"I seeā¦" Ian said as he looked at his own note's price. "I think I'll take this mission, this one titled 'Spirited Boy'. You have to start somewhere, and this one sounds fun. ...Umm, Lincoln," he asked, turning to him just the slightest bit sheepishly, "could I borrow 400 gil for the fee?"
"Sure," Link answered, as he picked out the right amount of money. "Just so you guys know, this is clan funds, not my own money."
"But you're the one who earned it." Anne pointed out.
"Yeah well, I'm giving it to the clan." Link answered simply. "it needs beginning funds."
"This brings up a question," Peter said thoughtfully. "Will we have personal money or will all we earn go to the clan?"
"That's simple," Link said. "All that we do as a member of our clan, goes to our clan. Though I don't see many other ways we could earn money--"
"Except if Anne wins a beauty contest, which is bound to happen," Ian put in.
Anne shoved Ian. "It would be more flattering if you didn't say the same kinds of things to every girl you've met."
Link bit his lip, trying not to laugh. "It doesn't really allow for personal money," he continued. "But if one of us needs to have a weapon repaired, or if we decide to travel, or if someone just has to get the latest accessory," he paused and gave a sideways glance at Anne, "we can just use clan funds."
"Agreed," said the others together. Ian turned, gave Cantato his money, and then left, saying, "See you later, guys."
The others went on looking for missions for themselves. Anne saw one that interested her.
"Our restaurant, 'The Fragrant Piper', known for its delicious hot cocoa, is celebrating its 25th anniversary the next day. We'll be needing an extra helper for tomorrow." --Bradlin, resturant owner.
Anne paid for the info and began looking for mission that she could do for the present.
Peter singled out a mission he felt equal to.
"I just moved here from out of country to live with Aunty and Nuncle. People here don't know about Lemonade, so I wanna start a lemonade stand. Please advertise for me, so everyone will know how good lemonade is!" --Kari, little girl.
While Peter was reading this, Link decided on a job that he thought within his capabilities.
"An oasis lies out in Gotor Sands with exotic red-scaled fish in it. My late father had put those fish in it some years before, to, as he used to say, 'help this beautiful land become the most beautiful it can be'.Here, several warped spots on the paper betrayed dried tears. I would like a few fish to remember him by, but am afraid to get some myself because of monsters. Could someone catch a few and bring them to me?" --Trissa, grieved daughter.
"A bit too sentimental, but I do feel sad for her," Link muttered as he finished reading it.
Anne went over to Peter and Link, who were getting money out of the bag to pay Cantato, so she could hurry and pay too for the second mission she had picked out.
"My grandson is sick and I daren't leave him for two minutes, so I can't go out to the market to buy the medical herbs I need. I only just had time to fly over here and put up this request. Would someone please bring me some muscmaloi and swerte, one pound each, to treat him with?" --Hashinya, anxious next-door grandmother.
They gave Cantato his money, and went outside, where they separated, promising to see each other in the evening.
