The Non-Human Society

“Have them arrive after lunch, please,” the older woman requested.

I wrote the request beneath her address, or rather her... master's, address.

Repeating her information, and her request for Amber to not arrive until after lunch time, I made sure to verify it all.

“And the deposit?” the older woman asked.

“Amber will collect it then. Once she knows just how big of a painting it will be, and how much time it will take,” I said to her.

“Good. My young lady is looking forward to it. You painted one of her friends, and since then she's done nothing but ask for it,” she said with a sigh.

Although the older lady was obviously a servant, I could tell from how she spoke that she did in fact cherish her master. Or at least, the daughter of her master.

“Amber is very good. Most of the noble portraits are done by her,” I said.

“Well, I shall eagerly await her. Please let her know that my young lady is indeed a little young, so please be... understanding,” the woman smiled gently, as if trying to ask for forgiveness already.

“I'll do so,” I said, and wondered if she was speaking of just a normal child's antics or something worse.

Once the older lady left, I retreated into the back shop for a moment to find Crane.

She was preparing our dinner, and it smelled a little odd. Some kind of fruit was mixed in that my nose didn't seem to agree with.

“Which household was it?” she asked.

Looking down at my note, I read the family name. “Primdoll.”

“A lower noble. Recently moved here,” she said.

“Is that... strange?” I asked.

“Not really. Ever since the church settled down the city has been growing larger and larger, and thus more humans. Which means more powerful humans, too,” Crane said.

“Powerful...” I wondered what she meant by that. How were they powerful? Wealth? Numbers? Strength?

“Who's the painting for? The head of the household? The family?” Crane asked further.

“The daughter. She told me to tell Amber that she is... young, and to be understanding because of it,” I said.

“Ah, that means she's spoiled. Typical, but typical of even the poor, so not unique to the rich humans,” she said.

Spoiled.

I kept an ear out for anyone else entering the shop, and hoped another would soon. Although a little silly, I enjoyed working here. It was... interesting.

“Are all of our customers going to be... servants?” I asked her.

“No. Nobles come in all the time. Then we get the odd ones, like the churchmen. We also get the poor occasionally, or businessmen looking for some new business avenue,” Crane said as she went to cutting up some kind of green vegetable.

The kitchen wasn't that large, but it was nice. Large counters, and many drawers. There was a stone fireplace, which allowed one to cook larger items without causing smoke to fill the house. The cabin that Nory and I had used hadn't had such a thing. Nory never minded the house being filled with smoke, but my nose wasn't kind enough to forgive it.

“What do the poor buy?” I asked. Amber had spent some time teaching me over the last few weeks, and I've learned our prices were a little... exorbitant. Even the smallest paintings, of the most basic scenes, were worth more than all the coins I've ever held in my long life.

Granted, I've not held money often, so maybe that was a bad frame of reference.

“Lughes sometimes paints for the unique, for free,” she says.

“Oh. Like me,” I said. My own painting wasn't finished yet. It was in a room on the third floor, last I heard from Lughes it was about half done.

“You're a little different, Renn,” Crane said with a tiny chuckle. While she giggled, I noticed the way her neck twitched...

It was a little longer than normal. Enough to be noticed. And although she herself was a thin woman, her neck did seem a little larger than it should be.

When she became very expressive, or laughed, it jiggled a little oddly. As if she wasn't as thin as she looked. As if she had a bunch of extra skin.

Crane finished chopping whatever she had been dicing, and went to dumping the newly diced ingredients into a large pot.

Stepping towards it, I tried to make out the smell of the contents. I could smell spices, and recognized a few of the herbs...

“Some kind of fruit?” I asked.

“Pumpkin,” she said with a smile.

Pumpkin. Nory had tried to grow those.

“You and Amber shall eat these,” Crane then said, pointing to a nearby plate.

Sure enough, long thin strips of meat sat waiting to be prepared.

“Hm...” I studied the marbled meat, and wondered what it was. It looked like some kind of deer meat.

“No. It doesn't bother me to cook game or meat,” Crane then said.

“Ah... I figured. You make it often for Amber. Do you not eat meat at all?” I asked her. Although I've been coming here for several weeks now, it was only the last few days I've actually dined with them.

I started eating constantly with them once I moved in. Or rather, once my money had run out.

“I... can. Oddly, it doesn't even make me sick... yet...” Crane went silent, and I knew that was all I'd get from her. She went quiet often.

Studying her as she focused on the task before her, I hoped to spend many years becoming close friends with her. Her and the rest.

They were good people. Although, always busy. Crane was always here, in the building, but was always doing something. Amber and Lughes were also always painting, or visiting a customer elsewhere, so I hadn't had much opportunity to talk much with them.

It was interesting to see how infuriated Crane and Lughes had become, once I came to offer my goodbyes. They had felt insulted that I'd just up and leave, all because I had nowhere to live.

“Hm. I'll try some of your pumpkin too. Is it a soup?” I asked.

Before I could get an answer, the little bell on the front door made a noise. I turned and left Crane to her cooking, since I could tell by the odd sound of the feet that it wasn't anyone I knew.

Sure enough I found an older man. He was dressed nicely, and had a long black cane. One he actually used for support, unlike many others I've seen using for simple ascetics.

“Welcome to The Sleepy Artist,” I greeted the man, and put on a smile.

Amber didn't smile when a guest came in. She was odd that way... and she also had told me I didn't need to, nor did I need to fake a smile... but...

I wasn't faking it.

This was enjoyable.

“Yes. I am Brian Hardsetter. I've come to inquire about a painting I saw a few months ago in a friend's home,” he said.

As he spoke he stepped towards me, towards the counter near the end. I noticed his eyes linger and scan the paintings he passed, seizing them up in more than just a glance. He was looking for something.

“We keep a record of what we paint, but some clients request their purchases to remain private... could you describe the painting?” I asked him.

It was what I had been told to say, after all. Oddly many customers were men like him. People who had seen one of our paintings elsewhere, and either wanted one for themselves... or rather a better one.

“It was a snake. A very, very large snake,” the man said, coming to a stop before the desk.

Studying the man, I took note of his eyes. The pupils especially.

He was human. His appearance, his smell... nothing about him told me he was anything but human.

I had met a snake before. Although our meeting hadn't been very pleasant, I'd never forget their eyes.

This man didn't have eyes like hers.

Yet... you couldn't be so sure.

The man was still looking around; at each and every painting he could see. There were many, of course, and I was used to it. Very few could enter here and not let their eyes wander.

“A large snake. That will probably be rather easy for our artist to remember. Did your friend tell you when he had purchased it?” I asked him.

“About five years ago. He bought several from you, but that's the only one I am interested in,” he said.

“Would you like to commission a similar painting?” I asked, wondering if that was what he wanted.

“Well...” he paused, and his eyes finally found something

I stayed silent as he studied a painting not too far from me. Behind me, near the ceiling just by the hallway to the stairwell.

Glancing at the thing that caught his interest, I noticed the very large bird swooping over a lake. It was a pretty scene, but there was indeed something... mystical about it.

After all, the bird was obvious. It didn't look too strange, but if one studied close enough they could see that the lake the bird was gliding over was no small pond at all.

The bird in the painting was probably bigger than anything possible. Bigger than this very building we were in.

“Who paints these?” the man asked.

“We employ several artists. They come and go. Currently we have three artists in our employ,” I said.

I had still not yet met the turtle, though.

“I'd love to meet them. I'm...” the man startled, and seemed to realize he was being a little odd. He coughed, and while leaning on his cane stuck his hand out over the desk.

“Forgive me. I'm Brian Hardsetter. I'm on the hunt for myths,” he said. Re-introducing himself as if he forgot he had already done so.

My smile was finally faked, as I forced myself to shake his hand.

“Hunting myths?” I asked, hoping to get as much information out of him as possible.

“Yes. You see I was born in a rather... odd town. Which worshiped a very large mouse,” he said.

Blinking, I watched him dance his fingers along the countertop after our hands separated, as if he was trying to mimic a little mouse running along its top. “So big in fact that the hole it lived in is now considered a cave. One of the largest all around,” he added.

“I... I see?” I said, and wondered what to say now.

“Since then I've been fascinated. I recently had the pleasure to meet someone who also came from a similar village, although they worshiped some kind of giant lizard. Told all this to my friend, who then invited me to his home to see the painting. He told me that the painting was done based off a legend from some town, with a similar theme,” he said.

As he rambled, I started to calm down. My fake smile became a little less forced and my heart began to beat a little slower.

“So by hunt you mean...”

“To research. I wish to write a book,” he said happily.

Although it should have been obvious, the man was far too old and... infirm, somehow. Maybe his left leg. An old wound maybe. His knee was a little oddly angled... He was no great warrior.

“So you want to ask about the legend that was painted? It's a common theme, I'm sure,” I said. I was feeling a lot better now that I knew what was happening.

Not that this man wasn't still a little dangerous. But...

“Yes. And to commission one myself. Of my family's old deity,” he said happily.

“The large mouse,” I said.

“Giant. A giant mouse,” he corrected.

I nodded, and noticed he had taken offense.

Maybe it wasn't an old deity at all.

To worship a mouse though... Humans could be odd sometimes.

“I'm sure that can be arranged. Are you a local or do you live elsewhere?” I asked, beginning the process of taking the man's information.

“I'll be staying here for the winter. If it takes longer than that, I hope enough can be done that you'll simply be able to deliver it once you finish it,” he said.

Pulling around the paper we used for such orders, I made sure to study the man intently as I took his information.

I studied his posture. His smirk. I memorized his smell.

Just in case.

Just in case...