Chapter 1

The Imperial Talent Agency’s Director of Personnel grinned evilly at the twenty-five-year-old man squirming in the chair on the other side of his desk. Rumor had it he had picked his position over other more glamorous jobs because it allowed him to discipline, i.e. torture, the indentured recruits on a whim without any fear of reprisal. The rumors were based in fact. Thurston Beauregard was a small, petty man locked in a fat, slovenly body. He had thirty years with the Agency, which meant he was a lifer, one who stayed by choice, very much unlike most of the agency personnel like the young man sitting across from him.

Physical torture wasn’t his style. He much preferred to mentally dissect his prey and pin them to the examining table until they screamed at the inherent unfairness of the system. Their cries for mercy were sweet music to his ears and much more satisfying than mere screams of pain. Besides, the Agency would never let him go so far as to physically torture them, he was sure ― pretty sure, anyway. There was also the fact, he had to admit, that almost every recruit they conscripted could and probably would beat him to within an inch of his life if he ever actually touched them.

“Well, Cranson, you finally fucked up big this time,” he chuckled. The subject of his barb looked slightly morose but did little more than shrug. Beauregard frowned and pursed his lips; he had hoped for more of a reaction. His prey was taking this far too lightly. “What do you have to say for yourself?” he barked.

“Nothing,” was the sullen reply.

“Nothing? You don’t even deny the charge?”

“Of course not,” came the disgusted answer. “If I did, you’d have a truth-teller here in a heartbeat. I’m not going to get caught lying to a superior.”

Beauregard frowned even more. Lying to a superior was about the worst crime there was in the agency. Being caught doing it would at least add years to your indenture or, at worst, get you time in SA (Suspended Animation). With SA, they brought in a specialist who put you in a trance that left your body frozen in time. You didn’t breathe, didn’t feel, needed no food or water ― it was like you were frozen in a block of ice. Unfortunately, your mind didn’t freeze with the rest of your body. You were completely awake and able to perceive everything around you. Those whose minds survived the torment said it was like continuously feeling you were drowning but being unable to do anything about it, not even scream. The very few that didn’t come out gibbering idiots said they would have much preferred being beaten every day than to be put through it again.

Naturally, Beauregard was hoping Cranson would have lied and become eligible for this discipline. Unfortunately, it looked like he had to do it the old-fashioned way.

“What you did was reprehensible and disgusting,” Beauregard continued as if Cranson hadn’t said anything. Marlin Cranson tended to agree with the fat bastard’s assessment, although after discovering more facts post-incident, he allowed that maybe he wasn’t entirely at fault in the whole fiasco. “You showed a remarkable lack of judgment.” Marlin agreed wholeheartedly with that. “And an inability to conform to the minimum moral standards required in polite society.” What he didn’t add was that it was illegal, but the only reason he didn’t was because technically what occurred wasn’t against the law, just frowned upon strongly.

“Because of this, the Inspector General has decided to overlook your more egregious behavior and has mercifully only requested you be posted somewhere else so this entire incident can be forgotten.” Marlin understood that to mean since they couldn’t put him in SA, jail, or something even worse, the IG wanted him buried under a rock somewhere.

“Marlin, Marlin, Marlin,” Beauregard shook his head sadly. You could almost see the crocodile tears running down his fat cheeks. “What are we going to do with you?”

“Gee, I don’t know,” Marlin grumbled sarcastically. “Take me away from my home; mark me as a mutant and freak to ninety percent of mankind; steal the best twenty years of my life; make me a virtual slave with almost no pay, no benefits, and of course, no retirement, leaving me at the end of my faithful service old, broke, and, oh yes, the best part, still hated by nearly everyone I happen to meet. Why don’t we start with that and see where it takes us?”

“Cranson,” Beauregard puffed importantly. “It is an honor and a privilege to be chosen for the Talent Agency. Only a few are selected, and the service you provide to the empire is invaluable and well respected. Even if you don’t appreciate the honor you’ve been afforded, I can tell you for a fact your country needs and values your service.”

“Sure, it does,” Marlin laughed. “Having a truth-teller auditing taxes sure helps squeeze that extra penny or two, like blood out of the stone. I’m sure having a mind-reader weaseling about out among the unwashed masses helps ferret out those nasty little revolutionaries too. And of course, let’s not forget the future-seer keeping our benevolent leaders safe when that bloodless stone, now starving because you’ve squeezed him for everything he has and has lost the family farm, thinks about sticking a knife in their ribs.” Marlin shook his head in disgust. “You slap cuffs on my arms and drag me away from home while my parents gape at me like I’m some kind of monster, force me to work for twenty years for wages that would make a slave scoff, and then talk to me about honor? You can have it.”

“You have Talent, Cranson,” Beauregard growled. “Without the protection of the Agency, you would be a danger to the normals of our land, and though their own ignorance, they would be a danger to you.”

“Some protection,” Marlin taunted. “I understand being torn apart by a lynch mob is still the leading cause of death for our field agents. That and suicide from loneliness.”

“These unfortunate incidents do happen at times,” Beauregard admitted. “These atrocities are fully investigated, and the perpetrators are found and always brought to justice.”

“Fat lot of good it does the field agent who’s spread out like a bacon stain on some village green,” Marlin growled.

“Be that as it may,” Beauregard smiled and steepled his fingers. “I think it’s time we put your considerable talent to useful service.”

“Considerable talent?” Marlin snorted. “I just barely triggered the talent level necessary to be drafted into this chicken-shit outfit.”

“Quite enough, I assure you,” the smile broadened. “After all, if it wasn’t good enough, it wouldn’t be the minimum. I think what you need is some seasoning. Some time as a field scout would suit you perfectly.”

“A scout!” Marlin blurted incredulously. “You have got to be fucking kidding! I have nothing a scout would need!”

“Quite the contrary, dear boy,” the smile widened into a grin, and the grin gave way to a chuckle as a fat finger stabbed down into the file sitting on the desk. “In fact, I believe your major talent is divining and quantifying the talent level in others. Just the thing for a scout.”

“But I have to be practically within arm’s reach,” Marlin blubbered. “They’d tear me apart!”

“Oh, I doubt that,” the chuckle almost became a laugh. “I believe you also have a lesser talent for making people trust you, which should come in handy.”

“That’s not a talent, you bastard!” Marlin choked. “People trust me because I don’t lie to them. It has nothing to do with talent!”

“Either way, it should help.” Beauregard’s chuckle passed right through laughter into cackling. “Here’s your assignment and instructions. Make sure you get there on time, or I will have you put into SA for a few days or weeks.” He shoved a paper towards the gaping youngster. Marlin picked it up and looked at it.

“Pigsford? Where in hell is Pigsford?”

“I don’t know, and believe me, I don’t care,” Beauregard answered, barely containing his mirth. “All I know is my staff spent days finding the absolutely furthest spot in the empire from here, and this is what they came up with. I do know it’s been years since we’ve had a field agent in that area, so it should be interesting. There it is. Now get moving, Talent Scout Cranson. Service to the Empire!”

“Fuck you!” Marlin growled as he stamped out of the room, followed by peals of laughter. Luckily, insubordination was not an SA-able offence.

---

“Furthest spot in the Empire,” Marlin muttered under his breath as he watched the countryside slide past the train window. “Bumfuck Nowhere is what the bastard should have said.” They hadn’t stopped or even passed a town big enough to be anything more than a wide spot in the road for hours. For the most part, it was trees, fields, and every once in a while, an isolated farm. He was deep into the second day of a two-day train ride with a couple of hours at least of travel by coach before reaching his final destination.

“I’m sorry, young man. Did you say something?” a matronly lady sitting in the bench across from him asked.

“Oh,” he answered, shaking himself after being jolted out of his cocoon of self-pity. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I was just talking to myself.”

“Hopefully not arguing with yourself,” she added with a pleasant smile.

“Well, I do that occasionally,” he admitted, smiling back.

“Do you often lose your argument?” she asked in jest.

“I can be rather persuasive,” he said, settling back into his own seat. “But I will admit I can also sometimes be an obstinate stinker, but I usually find I can bring myself around to reason with a little persistence.”

“I assume you are unmarried if you find you must argue with yourself very often,” she nodded knowingly. “Find yourself a good woman, and you won’t have to worry about that.”

“I’ve never heard of the benefits of marriage put quite that way before.” He barked a laugh. “But it would make things easier, I will admit. If I were married, it would already be assumed I was wrong no matter which side of the question I happened to take.”

“So wise and already partially trained,” she answered with a glint in her eye. “That’s refreshing in one so young. It usually takes years before a man is finally willing to confront the inevitable facts of life.”

“Be that as it may,” he laughed. “I think I’d rather argue with myself for a while longer and be right at least half the time.”

“Why do you make it sound like you have a say in the matter, young man?” she said, reaching over to pat him on the knee as if giving sympathy.

“Of course, I do,” he said emphatically and then added with a little less certainty, “Don’t I?” She just smiled at him, settled back, and took up her knitting without answering.

---

The elderly woman got off at the next stop, and he missed the companionship of even this friendly stranger. Luckily, the next station was also the end of the rail line and his final stop before what he sarcastically thought of as the thriving metropolis of Pigsford. At least I’ll get a good night’s sleep, he thought.

Naturally, the room at the local inn that had been reserved for him by the Agency was the smallest, dirtiest, and ― true to form ― cheapest in town. Resigned to another restless night on a lumpy, straw-filled, and probably bug-infested mattress, he set out in search of something to eat that he could afford with the pitifully small amount of travel money they had provided.

The town, aptly named End-of-the-Line, didn’t offer much in the way of choices, so he picked a couple of men dressed in workman’s clothing and followed them, thinking if they could afford their meal, maybe he could also. Luck was with him, and they turned into a rather plain but surprisingly clean eatery where he found a spot at an empty table.

Soon, an immensely fat man in a stained apron waddled over to him. “What can I do for you?”

“What do you have for tonight?” Marlin replied. “I’m starved, but unfortunately, I don’t have a tremendous amount to spend.”

“A poor scholar on the road, eh?” the owner said, cocking an eyebrow at Marlin’s clothes that had “city” stamped all over them without being overly ostentatious.

“Poor, in fact,” Marlin laughed. “As for being a scholar ... Well, my teachers would probably disagree on that point. Let’s just say I’m a searcher with very little coin.”

“Searcher? A searcher of what?”

“I’ll know that when I find it,” was all Marlin would say.

“Weren’t we all like that when young?” the owner nodded sagely. “Well, we have pork roast, pork steaks, fried pork, salt pork, and ham. If you don’t like pork, there’s the mutton stew; there’s not much pork in it.”

“What?” Marlin uttered, confused.

“Just a joke, my friend,” the owner chuckled. “It’s all good, but you get the most with the mutton; a good portion with a half loaf of bread and all the berry juice you can drink.”

“I’ll have the mutton then,” Marlin nodded.

“Good choice. I’ll send the girl over with it in a moment.”

As promised, a slim girl in her early twenties soon weaved her way between tables, carrying a mug, pitcher, large bowl, and bread. Marlin’s grumbling stomach was looking for a good meal when his talent awoke as the girl plunked everything down in front of him.

“Shit!” he hissed. She looked surprised and took an awkward step back away from him.

“I’m sorry, sir. Didn’t you order the mutton?” she asked anxiously.

“Yes, I did,” he sighed. “And it smells delicious. I just hope I actually get to eat it. Is there somewhere we can talk privately?”

“I don’t know where you heard it, but I don’t do that!” she exclaimed angrily.

“It’s not that, I assure you,” he said, holding up his hands soothingly. Although you might wish it were, he muttered to himself. “But it is important.”

“Well, all right,” she said, looking at him suspiciously. “Over there, the hallway to the jakes,” she jerked her head in a direction towards the back of the restaurant. “You go first, and I’ll follow you as soon as I can.” Marlin nodded and casually stood up and headed back towards the indicated passage. It led to the outside and the privies, as was normal in the rustic parts of the empire. Great, he thought, outhouses. I forgot about that bonus. He waited only a few minutes, and the girl followed him out into the cooling dusk.

“I’m here,” she said sharply. “I promise you, though, if this is what I think it is, I’m going to scream, and you’ll be lucky to get away with your life.”

“Your virtue is safe with me,” he said. It was the truth; the girl was plain as a stump, and he doubted even in his most desperate he would have made a play for her. Marlin was no stranger to the gifts of women ― one of the reasons he was in the situation he found himself ― but he did have pretty high standards. Reaching into his inside coat pocket, he pulled out the slim leather folder and flipped it open to display the infamous and instantly recognizable badge with the Talent Agency’s emblem.

“I think you know why I wanted to talk to you,” he sighed.

The girl quickly put her hand over her mouth and stifled a shriek. Backing away, she muttered “No, no,” over and over.

He could tell she was just about to turn and run when he spoke again. “It won’t do you any good,” he said calmly. “Running, that is. They’ll find you no matter where you go. If you run, it just takes longer, and it pisses them off.” She hesitated.

“Yeah, I know you have a talent,” he continued. “I don’t know what it is, and truthfully, I don’t care, so you don’t have to tell me. My job is to find the talented and send them into the agency, nothing more. And believe me, I’m not going to do one damn thing more for them than I absolutely have to.”

“You could tell them you never saw me,” she said hopefully. “I can disappear, and you’ll never see me again.”

“Nope, no can do,” he said, shaking his head. “As you’ll find out, trust isn’t one of the Agency’s biggest virtues.” He paused for a moment, musing, “In fact, I don’t think they have any virtues at all. Anyway, every so often, they audit their field agents with a truth-teller. They’d find out in a heartbeat that I hadn’t reported you. Aside from the fact that they would then make my life even more miserable than it already is, they’d have a mind-reader pull you from my head and give it to a tracker. I can tell you right now that once a tracker is on your trail, you can never hide. I don’t care if you’re on the other side of the world; they’ll track you down. So, if you run, I’m not going to stop you, but I will send in a report, and when you don’t show up, they’ll send a team out to get you.

“Sorry,” he added with a shrug.

“You don’t seem to enjoy this very much,” she said, looking at him. She seemed more relaxed now that the shock had worn off a little.

“Hate it,” he admitted. “I hate doing this to you, I hate the Agency, and I hate everything about it. But there’s not a fucking thing I can do about it. Maybe if I were braver, I’d do something about it, but I’m not; I’m no hero. Since I’m not, I’m just going to do my job, keep my nose clean for the next thirteen years, eleven months, and five days ― not that I’m counting ― and run like hell once I’m granted my freedom.”

Her shoulders slumped, then suddenly perked up again. “But what if I’m married, have children?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Marlin said, shrugging again. “I’m sorry if you are, but they really don’t care. If you’re between the ages of eighteen and forty-five and still breathing, they’ll take you. Blind, crippled, deaf, or mute, it doesn’t matter. You could bring your husband and children with you, of course; even those pricks aren’t that big of monsters. He’d have to get a job in the capital or wherever they posted you, though. Believe me, it’s almost impossible for one person not to starve on what they pay us; two would be impossible.”

“So, if I go in quietly...”

“When,” Marlin quickly corrected.

“If I go in quietly,” she continued as if not hearing him. “Would I have to bring anybody? Like, say, some pig-fucking farmer’s boy that smells like the shit he has coming out of his ears that my father has betrothed me to?”

“Oh, he could follow you, I suppose,” Marlin mused. “But I will say, grudgingly, the Agency does protect its own from the normals, at least in the cities. If your future hubby is a normal and you don’t want to see him, you won’t.

“Normal ― that’s a joke,” he snorted.

“Would it be so bad, being normal?” she asked.

“Oh, it’d be great!” he said. “What I wouldn’t give to be normal. The problem is what you call normal. Most people think normal means talentless, but to tell the truth, there aren’t many people who have absolutely no talent whatsoever. Most don’t have enough to reach the level to where the empire requires them to enter the Agency, but they still have some. I should know, my talent is feeling just how much talent someone has, one of the reasons I got this God-damned job.

“So, I’m afraid you really don’t have much choice,” he continued. “Take the trip back to the capital and report in yourself or have them track you down. Who knows? You might actually enjoy it. Some do, maybe even most do. I have to admit I’m one of the more extreme examples of their disgruntled employees. I’m sure a lot actually like being around others with talent and away from the prejudice the rest seem to have against us.”

“But you don’t,” she stated.

“I resent being forced to work for them at wages and under working conditions they set,” he shrugged. “I would have been just as pissed off if I’d been drafted into the army. At least here, my attitude is tolerated so long as I do my job.”

“What do I do?” she asked, shoulders slumping. Marlin pulled out his pad of official stationery and wrote down an address in the capital along with a scribbled note giving her free passage under the Agency’s protection.

“Show this at the train station,” he said. “They’ll get you out of here as quickly as they can. Ask anyone with the railroad for help with food and lodging. Don’t expect them to be happy or even treat you well, but they will help. Lord help them if they don’t!”

“You won’t tell anyone here about this?” she asked anxiously. “I don’t want anyone to know I’m a witch. I’ve hidden it well so far, but being a witch around here isn’t a good thing.”

“None of their business, and now it’s none of mine,” he said kindly. “You do what you think is best, but remember my advice. Right now, I’m going back in there and finish my meal before it gets any colder. By the way, we usually don’t like the term witch. Talented or Gifted, yes; maybe even the Lucky-Few-Chosen-by-God, but not witch.”

“Thank you,” she said simply.

“I really do hope you will thank me later on, but I doubt it,” he sighed.

“You’re kind of funny,” she giggled. “Kind and funny.”

“Thanks,” he said sadly. “I really do wish you the best of luck.”

---

Before retiring to his lumpy mattress for the night, Marlin wrote the required contact report and stuck it in one of the Empire’s emblazoned envelopes he had in his luggage. The next day, he dropped it in the mail slot at the train depot before heading out to the coach station for the final leg of his journey.

The coach ride was even more uncomfortable and slower than the train ride, and he considered it a mixed blessing that he was the only passenger on the trip. He didn’t want to deal with the inevitable questions that would arise. Who was he? What was he doing, and why in the hell was he going to Pigsford? Good questions all. What he needed was a cover story. One would think the Agency might have provided one and probably did for its other scouts in the field. He doubted this slight oversight had been unintentional. Of course, he could have asked during the one-hour briefing that covered what and how to report; as if he hadn’t already received the basic training back when he first “volunteered”. There were the usual threats of eternal damnation if he exceeded his travel and subsistence allowance; he figured one meal at any decent inn would do that for the month, but nothing about how to conceal what he was doing.

Marlin stretched out, put his hands behind his head with legs crossed at the ankles, and thought. He had his Agency badge, but that wouldn’t be the best thing to flash around. Whether it would be any worse in these parts as it would in the capital, he couldn’t guess, but he had to assume it wouldn’t be any better. There was his Empire identification card; it ID’d him as a government employee and his civil service rank, close enough to the bottom to make any difference moot, but it didn’t give his affiliation. Maybe he could do something with that. If he could come up with something innocuous enough, maybe it would hold up to passing scrutiny. But what to become?

A tax assessor, maybe? They moved freely throughout the countryside with access to anything they wanted. He could visit the farms and towns, meeting and evaluating the people there without them knowing they’d even been appraised. It had some merit, but it also came with a lot of disadvantages. Aside from the fact that tax assessors were hated just as much, if not more, than someone from the Agency, he just didn’t fit the profile. He’d met a few of the field agents from the Imperial Treasury, and without exception, they all struck him as arrogant, prissy sons-of-bitches who dressed in expensive clothing and traveled with an entourage of assistants, most of whom probably doubled as bodyguards. His own well-kept but obviously lower-quality garments wouldn’t fit the picture aside from the fact that his bevy of sycophantic ass-kissers was nonexistent. Besides, there was undoubtedly a tax assessor already assigned to the area with whom the people were well acquainted. No, that wouldn’t do at all.

So, who could move around without suspicion and impunity? An itinerant scholar like the innkeeper had assumed he was? Actually, that would be a job he felt he could really like, if he had a life. He wasn’t entirely accurate when he’d told the innkeeper his teachers might disagree about his ability to be a scholar. In fact, he mused fondly, remembering his final evaluation upon leaving school before being “volunteered” for Imperial service.

”Brilliant and capable with a sharp, insightful mind. Unfortunately, he is also as lazy as the day is long with the uncanny propensity to set low standards for himself, which he continually fails to meet. Mr. Cranson’s potential and capabilities are exceeded only by his complete lack of drive, ambition, or desire to conform to the social norms of polite society.”

A stinging, hurtful, and mean-spirited assessment, Marlin thought as he grinned to himself, and completely accurate. But then why should he have busted his ass to do better? He’d known since he was twelve that he had a talent, and even though he couldn’t use that talent to assess himself, he was firmly convinced it was strong enough that the Agency would come looking for him when he turned eighteen, which they did.

He knew damn well they had their agents wandering through schools all over the city; he could see the brilliant white glow of their aura as they visited, pretending to be a building inspector or education evaluator or some other such rubbish. He could see them, so he knew they could see him. He’d probably been on someone’s list since he was a youngster. The terms of Imperial service in the Talent Agency were well known, so there really wasn’t much to strive for. Why break your back if you already knew you were going to be just another low-paid freak in their circus? Instead, he concentrated on doing the minimum amount possible necessary to avoid beatings at home and chased skirts.

At least I’m good at that, he smirked to himself. If you can’t have money or a respectable job, even a somewhat normal life, sex is a reasonable alternative. And the funny thing was he was good at it. It wasn’t that he was particularly handsome, pretty average in that department, or tall and muscular, and suave and debonair was right out. But he was honest, and he did truly like and enjoy the company of all the girls and women he’d ever been with. He never wooed them with false promises of undying love or anything else he wasn’t prepared to give, for that matter. No, he just liked women, loved being with them, and felt comfortable with them. This sincerity seemed to shine through, and for some reason, women loved it.

He found it remarkably easy to find his way into their hearts and, as a result, their beds, without really trying. Most of them knew he was seeing others, but that didn’t seem to matter. What he really found amazing was that almost to a one, when their relationship ended, as it inevitably did, they parted as friends, often friends with special benefits.

Marlin never thought of this as a talent, just the result of treating someone with respect and honesty. There were TA agents that had the ability to determine what a person’s talent was, alike but separate from his being able to tell how much someone had, and of course, he had been thoroughly evaluated by them in his early induction phase. They had always talked about his ability to quantify another’s talent but never said anything about an ability to influence others.

Of course, they hadn’t said anything about his other minor talent, so it did seem possible they could have missed it. Truthfully, Marlin didn’t care whether his knack with women was a result of his natural personality or artificially enhanced through talent. It got him close to and friends with dozens of incredibly beautiful women and laid more times than he could count. Why bother asking where this boon came from?

So, itinerant scholar was out. It would tie him down to one place too much anyway. Military recruiter, agricultural agent, and another half-dozen jobs passed through and quickly out of his mind. Finally, he sat upright and smiled lazily to himself.

The perfect cover, he thought, absolutely perfect!

Chapter 2

“Excuse me,” Marlin said as he tapped on the wooden shelf on the window of the Coach Master’s tiny office.

The grizzled old man looked up with a frown and then frowned even more deeply when he saw the face of a stranger. “What can I do for you?” he asked gruffly.

“I’m looking for...” Marlin paused and looked down at the instructions in his hand. “The Sunset House?” he finally asked, looking up hopefully.

“The Widow Binder’s boarding house,” the Master grunted. “Up the street, turn right, past the hardware store, and it’s on the left. Got a sign out front if it hasn’t blown down again.”

“Thank you very much,” Marlin said politely. “That should be easy enough to find.”

“You’re new around here,” the Master stated with another grunt. “What’s a city boy like you doing out here in the working world?”

“Just my job,” Marlin replied happily. “I’m here to take a census of the shire.”

“Census?” the oldster grunted and rubbed his chin. “Haven’t seen a census taker out here in, oh, nigh on twenty years or so. Why does the Emperor need to take a census of us now? He hasn’t seemed to pay us much attention except to collect taxes till now.”

“Beats the hell out of me,” Marlin shrugged. “All I know is when my boss says frog, I jump; if he says shit, I ask what color. They don’t tell peons like me anything. They just tell me to get my ass out here and start counting. Maybe they’re setting up a big government assistance program and need an accurate count of how many disadvantaged subjects are going to be lifted out of their dreary lives into the light of the Empire’s civilization.”

“Right,” the Master guffawed. “And I’m a three-balled billy-goat with his own harem of she-goats.”

“Hey, I’m from the Empire, and I’m here to help you,” Marlin said with mock sincerity. The Master actually laughed.

“Sure you are, kid,” he chuckled. “At least you have the right attitude. That’ll serve you well around here. Well, welcome to Pigsford, the jewel in the crown of Lands-End Shire.”

“Haven’t seen much, I’ll admit,” Marlin said with a shrug. “But what I have seems nice enough.”

“What you’ve seen is pretty much what there is to see,” the Master snorted. “But what we do have ain’t so bad. Real quiet and easy most times. Not much after the bright lights and excitement of the big city for a young feller like you, though, I’ll bet.”

“The city has its good points,” Marlin admitted. “But unless you’re rich or a higher-level imperial servant, it’s mostly dirt and grim, with the biggest excitement coming from wondering if you’ll get knifed on the way home. I’m not going to lie and say I’m not going to miss parts of it,” especially the women, he thought to himself. “But I don’t plan to sit around and wallow in self-pity while I’m here either. It can’t be that bad, or nobody would live here.”

“Like I said, a good attitude,” the Master nodded. “We have some of the best fishing in the empire hereabouts, and hunting if you want to take a trip into the Wilds. You interested in either or those?”

“Haven’t been until right now,” Marlin shrugged. “But that’s mostly because I’ve never done either. I’ll let you know after I’ve done them.”

“Well, then I hope you get the time to get some in,” the Master replied.

“Time I got,” Marlin snorted. “Let’s just say my assignment here was ‘open-ended.’ I may be here until I retire, submitting reports that will probably go straight from the mail to the files without human eyes touching them in between. If I have a schedule other than the one I make for myself, I haven’t been told what it is.”

“Nice work if you can get it,” the Master commented.

“Yeah, well, the pay is definitely on par with the effort required,” Marlin sighed. “Well, I suppose I should be finding this boarding house before this Widow Binder locks the door for the night, and I have to sleep on the porch.”

“Shasa will let you in even if you are there a bit late, and besides, it’s only supper time,” the Master chuckled. “Tell her Tom down at the station sent you. That’s me, if you haven’t guessed. Tom Binder, Station Master, Post Master, Shire-rief, and for my sins, the mayor of Pigsford. Shasa’s my sister, by the way.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Mayor,” Marlin said, sticking his hand through the window. “If I had known I was speaking to the city’s leading citizen, I would have made the appropriate obeisance.”

“Sure you would,” Tom grinned as he took Marlin’s hand. “I think I can see how you got posted out here. I’m thinking your attitude didn’t exactly meet with imperial expectations.”

“I have absolutely no idea what you could be talking about,” Marlin answered evenly. “I always show deference to those in power in exactly the same proportion that they deserve, no matter how petty, stupid, pompous, or elevated their blotted bureaucratic egos are.”

“That’s exactly what I’m guessing,” Tom chuckled. “Well, I’m sure I’ll see you around, but now you had better scurry over to Shasa’s; she’ll let you in all right, but she can get a bit testy if you wake her from her after-dinner nap.” Marlin waved his goodbye and headed out onto the street following the directions he was given.

Shasa Binder turned out to be the sweetest little old lady Marlin had ever met, and after a couple of days, would have paid for the privilege of seeing the miracle of her actually being “testy.”

“Now you just let me know if you need anything, Master Cranson,” she would say at least twice a day. Marlin had already given up on having her call him by his given name. “And if you would like to have one of your lady friends over for dinner, we’d be just tickled pink. You just let me know.”

That was one thing that had surprised Marlin more than anything: the women ― girls to be more accurate. The word had spread faster than a bird could fly that there was a young, single, and most importantly, new man in the Shire. It seemed like every single, husband-hunting female from age fourteen to forty had suddenly found she had important business in Pigsford, and as much as he enjoyed the company and attention of the fairer sex, it was getting so he couldn’t turn around on the town’s main street without tripping over some fresh young thing or her mother, asking when he would be out to their farm for his counting and offering to show him around. Some offers were a lot more blatant, blatant enough to make even a farm animal blush.

He was diplomatically vague in his response to all offers, but you can be sure he filed away the more aggressive ones in his mind for future reference. Even a self-confessed horndog like Marlin wasn’t dumb enough to start tapping the local talent right after stumbling into town. Given his recent experience, he was leery of playing mattress tag with a woman he knew almost nothing about. He first wanted to know who her father was, or brothers; marital status ― he wisely avoided fucking around with married women or ones with steady boyfriends, especially since the boys around those parts seemed to come in two general sizes, big and huge. He had observed over the years that a man interested in a woman, even if the interest was only from his side, tended to get a bit perturbed by a stranger “poaching” in his territory.

Marlin wanted to know what in the hell he was getting into before he started sampling the local cuisine. Besides, the local ladies might be a little less tolerant of his buffet-style dating techniques, and the last thing he wanted was to get tied down to only one woman, no matter how pretty or big-titted she was. As much as he liked sex, he wasn’t going to let his cock get him into a position of having his ass kicked or even worse, married.

“You just let me know,” Shasa would say, patting him on the arm, and then almost always would come up on her toes to whisper in his ear, “and if you want an overnight guest, well, we’ll just look the other way.”

The relative openness to premarital sex did kind of surprise him. He was ashamed to admit even to himself that he had expected a more puritanical attitude from his rustic cousins concerning the sport. True, the skirts were a little longer here in the country, not many of them shorter than mid-thigh, and the women tended to wear the same sturdy, dull brown work pants the menfolk did almost as often as they wore a dress, but it wasn’t like they covered themselves in grain sacks. Other than the more robust nature of the clothing, most of the women in Lands End Shire would have passed as unremarkable in any working-class neighborhood in the capital.

“Watch your feet, young feller,” Tom warned him one day as they sat on the steps of the coach station one afternoon playing a board game Marlin had never seen before. Deceptively easy to learn, it was devilishly hard to play, and consequently, the old man continually beat his ass up one side and down the other, but honestly, Marlin couldn’t care less; he enjoyed the conversation. Old Tom was not only one of the leaders in Pigsford; he was also one of the foremost gossips. If there was any safe snatch to snitch in the area, here was the place to find out about it.

Besides, it helped him avoid his principal duty, which he dreaded. He could honestly tell a truth-teller that he was looking for the Talented by sitting at the Coach Station/Post Office. Everybody seemed to come by there at one time or another. He knew that soon he would actually have to go out into the countryside and start beating the bushes, but that was for later.

“Watch my feet?” Marlin asked, staring at the board, trying to figure a way out of another untenable situation he found himself in.

“That’s right,” Tom chuckled. “One of them little bitches you got sniffing around you is going to stick her foot out, trip you up, and be under you before you hit the ground.”

“Well, that’s not all that bad, now is it?” Marlin looked up with a grin and then looked down at the board and sighed.

“Nope, least wise not until you put a baby in her belly and Daddy comes looking for you to make an honest woman of his virgin daughter.” Then he snorted, “Like you could find a virgin around here with an imperial search warrant.”

“That’s not exactly what I had in mind,” Marlin admitted. “But I wouldn’t mind a little company now and then. I take it it’s not frowned upon too much.”

“Hell no! Frankly, we’ve been surprised you haven’t bedded a half dozen or so by now,” Tom laughed. “Some people have been wondering if maybe you’re one of those funny fellows who doesn’t enjoy female company.”

“Oh, I enjoy the ladies just fine, exclusively. I’m just trying to be careful, is all,” Marlin stated. “I’m just not ready to be tied down to any particular one right now, if ever.”

“Or two or three,” Tom cackled. “Put a bun in a couple of them, and you may end up with two for the price of one.”

“More than one wife?” Marlin looked up incredulously. “Ah, I’m at a bit of a loss for words. Where I’m from, it’s pretty much one to a customer, and honestly, right now, that seems like one too many as far as I’m concerned.”

“Knew I liked your attitude there, boy,” Tom said. “Don’t happen real regularly but often enough; there ain’t a law against it. Kind of needful sometimes, in fact. Most of the boys around here get bored and take off for the city or get volunteered for the Emperor’s levees. Ain’t a lot of them come back, you know.” The propensity for the Emperor to play war with his army and its conscripted levees was just a fact of life. The minimum term for service in the army was fifteen years, five shorter than Marlin’s, but the chances of serving the full enlistment were one hell of a lot less.

“Lots of widows and young single girls,” Tom continued. “Feel sorry for them, I do, not that I feel sorry enough to marry one again myself, you hear, but it ain’t easy for them. Not sure what most of them feel about it, but there’s plenty that don’t seem to have a problem sharing a husband. Just wanted to let you know that if you decided to spread your joy around a bit and think getting two or three in the family way is going to get you out of the knot, it won’t.”

“Getting pregnant wasn’t a reason for getting married back in the capital,” Marlin mused as he tipped one of his few remaining pieces on the board on its side in resignation. “The contraceptives are free, and even if it does happen, the Emperor takes care of his citizens when they need it.”

“Same here, for the most part,” Tom shrugged. “But out here, land is passed down by inheritance, and marriage is one of the few legal ways to enforce it. We can’t buy or sell the land even if we’re supposed to own it. Being or having a bastard ain’t such a big thing, but you can’t inherit unless there’s a marriage. Stupid law, but it does make us a kind of marriage-minded folk. I’m guessing you city people don’t have the same sort of problem.”

“Too true,” Marlin admitted. “There are probably less than a hundred families that actually own land in the capital, and most of them are in the royal family. Everybody just rents from them. Just ought to let you know the shrewd intelligence you’ve been hiding under that country-bumpkin façade is starting to show through. You wouldn’t want the city slicker to guess you know a bit more about the wide world than you want to let on, now would you?”

“Don’t bother me none,” Tom answered with a twinkle in his eye. “You seem to be a good enough fellow, even if you are certifiably lazy as a house cat. Can’t see that you’ve been doing much census taking here lately.”

“I’ll have you know I’ve been carefully preparing and meticulously researching every aspect of my assigned task to ensure a thorough, extensive, exhaustive, and efficient survey of my assigned territory,” Marlin said, puffing out his chest in mock offense. “Besides, I have a pretty good memory, and I’ve been writing my reports when I get back to my room at night. This being careful leaves me with a lot of time, fortunately.

“But unfortunately, I’m almost done here in town, and I will have to get out into the countryside soon,” he sighed. “Plus, you are quite correct that I am lazy ― not an original observation, I might add. But then it’s not exactly a job a sane man would get excited about. It’ll get done when it gets done.”

Everything Marlin had said was the total and exact truth. If Old Tom or anybody else wanted to assume he was talking about counting pigs, chickens, and people because of his slight deception when he first arrived, that was their problem. Unfortunately, Marlin figured he had met just about everybody in town he needed to, and while a couple had almost had enough Talent to trigger the limit, they hadn’t, and Marlin was comfortable that “almost” wasn’t enough, so he had nothing further to do with them, professionally anyway. The fact was most of the people in Pigsford had some degree of Talent, just not enough to force him to act. He wasn’t surprised; in fact, he would have been shocked if there were more than one or two Agency-level Talents in the whole shire; they just weren’t that common. Running into the serving wench on the trip here had been just plain bad luck.

“How are you going to get around?” Tom asked. “Noticed you don’t have a vehicle or horse sticking out your pocket ― none I can see anyways.”

“Hoof it, I suppose,” Marlin shrugged. “Beg rides and meals. Throw myself on the exceptional generosity of you wonderful country folk. I don’t know. I have enough money to buy a small tent, backpack, and bedroll, I think. I’ll make do; walking won’t kill me.”

“I’m surprised,” Tom added. “I’d have thought a servant of the Empire would storm in here demanding the Shire provide him with transportation and subsistence.”

“Don’t have the authority to do that,” Marlin shrugged again. “At least nobody told me I did, anyway. Besides, even if I did, what’s the best you could give me? A horse? Like I know how to ride and care for one of those monsters? I’m not even sure which end the shit comes out of. Give me a trolleycar that knows where it’s going any day. Anyway, the last thing I need to do is go pissing off people by demanding this and that. I have a feeling bothering them by asking stupid questions is going to do that well enough all by itself.”

“Oh, you’ll do fine, youngster,” Tom laughed. “I think we can scare you up a militia kit from the Shire’s stores. Won’t be fancy, and it’ll be well used, but it’ll keep you dry and warm. I’ll put the word out you’re harmless for the most part, and a hot meal now and then would be appreciated.”

“I’m not sure I like being thought of as harmless,” Marlin frowned. “Kind of destroys the image of a dashing, dangerous adventurer as far as the ladies are concerned, don’t you think?”

“It doesn’t matter if you have a spine made of jelly, Marlin, my boy,” Tom laughed loudly. “So long as you’re swinging meat between your legs, you’ll do fine with the ladies. Just remember what I said: More than a few of them are going to be looking for more than a night’s sport. I think you’re smart trying to get to know them before you bed them, which isn’t common in a youngster like yourself. Might be if you get to know them, you’ll be able to tell which ones are lying when they tell you they’re safe, but then again, maybe not.”

“Thanks a lot, you old fart,” Marlin grumbled. “Hopefully, I will be able to figure it out before it’s been too long, and I don’t care anymore. I never claimed to be a saint; I know for a fact that time will come.”

Tom just laughed at him.

---

Interestingly enough, Marlin found he didn’t dislike his forays into the Shire’s outback nearly as much as he had expected, although it would have taken torture to force that admission past his lips. The kit Tom had given him contained a light tent, warm bedroll, field compass, and a small cooking set. The pack settled on his shoulders comfortably enough, and after a few trips, he hardly noticed it.

The funny thing was he rarely had to actually use it. He made a point of visiting the farmer whose land he was thinking of for a campsite, both as a courtesy and to complete his survey, or rather surveys. More often than not, he was invited in to stay for at least the evening meal and a soft place to sleep in the barn’s hayloft or even a spare bed if they had one. All in all, he found the people of Land’s End Shire to be simple (in lifestyle, not intelligence), generous, pleasant, and thoroughly likable.

He was rather pleased with himself for coming up with his census cover story since nobody seemed to think it strange when he told them he was required to meet every person living on the farm personally, which allowed him to conduct his official duty. It did require him to take copious notes, though, since the citizens seemed to expect it, but that was a small enough price to pay, he reasoned.

He had worked his way through about a third of the shire and, surprisingly enough, had actually found two Agency-level Talents. One was the seventy-two-year-old patriarch of one of the larger family farms, so he didn’t even bother approaching the elderly gentleman since he was well beyond the induction age. The second wasn’t quite so easy. Bart Hampton was a forty-four-year-old bachelor living on a tiny farm with nobody else except his pigs for company.

Halfway through the questionnaire, he had dreamed up, Marlin set down his pad and pencil and sighed.

“Mr. Hampton, I’m afraid I have a confession to make,” he said, wishing like hell he didn’t have to do this.

“I ain’t a priest, boy,” Hampton snorted gruffly. “If you’ve been diddling the local girls, you’ll have to find someone else who gives a damn. Damn females are nothing but trouble, if you ask me.”

“Believe me, I wish it were that simple,” Marlin chuckled and then turned serious again. “No, my confession is I’m not here to take a census. Actually, I’m from the Imperial Talent Agency, and I’ve been sent to find people with talent. Unfortunately, you are one of those people.”

“Hmm,” Hampton mumbled, knuckling his chin and staring at Marlin. “Damn witches and freaks. I don’t believe you. I ain’t got no talent.”

“Actually, you do,” Marlin replied. “And a fairly strong one at that. I don’t know what it is, but from the fact you haven’t tried to hit me with anything or chase me off your farm, I have the feeling you do.” Surprisingly, Hampton just hung his head and sighed.

“Always been good with the pigs,” he said. “Ain’t nobody better than me that I know of. Just sort of know what they need and how to help ‘em grow healthy and strong. Paw knew pigs but not like I know ‘em. I could feel them. He used to say that was crazy talk and smack me when I did. I guess I’d always known there was something different about me. So what do I do now, Mr. Talent Agency man?”

“It’s a damn shame I didn’t start on the other side of the Shire,” Marlin answered after glancing down at his notes. “Another three months, and you would have been too old to be considered for induction.”

“I’m supposed to round you up and herd you back to the capital, and that, of course, is my official recommendation,” Marlin said. “But I can honestly say giving you the full warnings of what would happen if you don’t wouldn’t be out of line here.”

“First, like I said, you could just pack up and head to the capital and report like a good little citizen of the Empire. The next thing is, you could run and hope they won’t follow. The thing is, if they do decide to chase you, you will get caught, of that I have no doubt. I really wouldn’t recommend that. All that does is piss them off.

“Finally, of course, you could just sit back and do nothing.”

“Do nothing?” Hampton blinked with surprise.

“Yep,” Marlin said, folding his arms. “Do nothing. Just sit here and work your farm and wait to see if they want you enough to come out here. Who knows? They just may leave you alone.”

“Do you think?” he asked hopefully.

“I have no idea,” Marlin admitted, spreading his hands. “But you’re very close to the age limit and have a talent that, as far as I can see, is completely useless to them. I wouldn’t bet against them just ignoring you.”

“You’ll recommend they leave me be?” he asked.

“Oh, God no!” Marlin laughed. “If I put that in my report, they’d be out here on the first train. No, in fact, I plan to write an excruciatingly detailed report of our conversation and every detail you can give me of your marvelous talent and how lucky I was to find you before you were too old. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out to be ten or eleven pages long.”

“That will keep ‘em from coming to get me?” he asked, puzzled.

“You have no idea in what low regard I’m held by the Agency,” Marlin grinned. “I have the feeling if I tell them how much I think you should be brought in, they will make every excuse in the book to make sure it doesn’t happen. No guarantee, of course, but it’s worth a shot.”

“You ain’t acting like I expected you would,” Hampton grunted. “Don’t seem to have a particularly strong attitude towards your own fellows.”

“Oh, I have a strong attitude, all right,” Martin laughed. “It’s just not strong in the way they’d like to see.”

“Won’t this get you into trouble?” Hampton asked. “Don’t figure your bosses would appreciate the kind of advice you’ve been giving me.”

“I haven’t given you any advice,” Marlin protested. “I’ve just given you the possible outcomes of a series of potential actions. What actions you take given those possible outcomes are your business. I’ve done my job to the letter of my mandate and not one bit more.”

“Still,” Hampton mused. “I’d hate to see you in trouble. You ain’t exactly the little prissy thing I’d expect from you Empire folk.”

“Believe me, there’s plenty of them,” Marlin shrugged. “But don’t worry overly much for me. They’ve already pretty much done their worst to me by assigning me here as far as they’re concerned.”

“Why?” Hampton demanded. His pride in his home had obviously been hurt. “Land’s End ain’t such a bad place. Maybe Pigsford ain’t no big shake, but it ain’t bad either.”

“Of course not,” Marlin soothed. “But to a city fellow like me who has never been here, it seems like being exiled to purgatory, a fate worse than death. In fact, I kind of like it even given the certain lack of company from the ladies.”

“Young feller like you shouldn’t have no trouble finding that,” Hampton snorted.

“I suppose not,” Marlin answered slowly. “But I’ve been warned that dallying with the local girls might lead to something a little more permanent than what I’m looking for.”

“Damn females,” Hampton grunted in agreement. “Try and trap you every time you turn around. Make sure I stay away from the conniving creatures is what I do.”

“I have to admit to a certain addiction to their company,” Marlin sighed. “But for now, I’m trying to be discreet and careful. I have the feeling I’m going to be here for quite a while, and no sense stepping in it right up front.” Hampton grunted again.

“Ah,” Hampton started, then paused. “Ah, you won’t be putting it around that I’m a witch, now would you?”

“You’re not a witch, you’ve just got a talent,” Marlin replied emphatically. “But don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody other than whoever reads my report, which might be nobody. I hope you will extend me the same courtesy. I doubt my popularity would be increased any if it became public knowledge I’m a talent scout and not just an unassuming census taker.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Hampton chuckled.

“Thank you, Mr. Hampton,” Marlin smiled and stretched out his hand in farewell. “I hope everything works out well with you.”

“And for you, youngster,” Hampton said, taking the proffered hand in a firm grip. “Feel free to drop by anytime you’re in the neighborhood.”

“I’ll do that,” Marlin agreed as he left. “I’ll be looking forward to seeing you again.”

Chapter 3

Even though the trips to the farms and small hamlets surrounding Pigsford weren’t anywhere near as onerous as he had expected them to be, Marlin still preferred being in town and not walking all day. For the most part, he was lazy and unmotivated, knew it, and while not exactly proud of it, certainly did nothing to remedy the situation. While Pigsford was no capital city, it was clean, orderly, and didn’t smell anything like its name implied. The food was good, not overcooked and underspiced like it usually was in the city, and the people were generally pleasant or, at the worst, merely reserved. All in all, it wasn’t a bad place to laze your life away. More money would be nice, but with all the meals he’d been offered on the road, he was actually a small coin or two ahead for the month.

He sat at one of the tables in the inn’s outside dining area, musing over the expected and yet wholly undesired visitor he’d received the evening before. He had been putting the finishing touches on another weekly report: an extensive, excruciatingly detailed report of some twenty-plus pages that recorded his travels, farms visited, and people seen the previous week. In fact, he spent a considerable amount of time doing his best to ensure it was the most flowery, verbose, boring, and utterly useless document ever written. He was getting good at it and quite proud of just how many ways he could say absolutely nothing and yet make it seem like on the face of it he was enthusiastically performing his assigned task. Twenty-plus pages that could be summed up in two words: “Found nothing.” The report containing the contact with Hampton had been two weeks gone by then, and it had only reached nineteen pages; this one was a personal best so far. Unfortunately, his moment of self-satisfaction didn’t last long and was interrupted by a knock on his door.

“Yes?” he asked as he opened the door. Standing before him was a nattily dressed man whose knowledge of self-importance could almost be seen hanging around his shoulders like a cloak. Marlin knew who he was even before the man pulled out the little bi-fold leather wallet and flipped it open to display the Talent Agency badge.

“I think you know why I’m here,” the man said with assurance.

“Sure,” Marlin grunted. “Come on in. I was going to make some tea. Do you want some?”

“No,” the Agency operative said shortly. “I’d rather not spend any more time here than necessary. If we can get this done quickly, I can still catch the last coach out before dark. My God, they don’t even have a train station here!”

“Very true,” Marlin agreed as he motioned for the operative to take one of the two chairs in his small room while he turned around and set his tea in the hot water to steep. “So, I’m new at this. How do we go on? By the way, what’s your name?”

“My name is of no concern to you,” the operative sniffed. “I will ask you questions, and you will answer them. I will record your answers and send them in with my report. If you lie to me, I will know it, and I will report it!”

“Sure, no problem,” Marlin said unruffled. “Go ahead.”

There were a number of standard questions: Are you Marlin Cranson? Are you an Imperial Talent Agency Scout? What is your age? Marlin answered with polite, short, and to-the-point yes-or-no’s.

“Have you discovered anyone with talent?” he finally asked.

“Yes.”

“Did you report all of them?”

“No.”

“No?” the truth-teller said, eyes widening in surprise. “Why not?”

“Because they didn’t come up to the Agency’s level of interest,” Marlin said smugly.

“Did you report everybody that met the Agency’s acceptance criteria?”

“Yes.”

“Then why didn’t you say so?” the truth-teller snapped crossly.

“Because that wasn’t what you asked me,” Marlin answered blandly. “You asked if I’d reported anybody with talent. Almost everybody around here has at least a little bit of talent, but I haven’t reported them, just the ones over the limit. Given what you asked, I had to say no if I were to tell the truth.”

“You’re a smart ass and a troublemaker,” the operative growled, and when Marlin didn’t respond, he snapped, “Well?”

“Well, what?” Marlin shrugged. “That was a statement, not a question. Although I suppose opinion would be more accurate...”

“Enough!” the truth-teller hissed. “Stop wasting my time! I can fully understand why they dumped your insolent ass out here in the middle of nowhere, and for all I care, you can rot out here forever!”

“Well, not forever,” Marlin smiled. “Someday, my tour of servitude will be fulfilled, and I’ll be able to move to the middle of somewhere if I wish.”

“I despise cretins like you,” the truth-teller said as he stood, obviously planning to leave. “You take the golden opportunity the Agency has given you and waste it!”

“True,” Marlin said, holding his arms out to encompass his surroundings. “Opportunities like this don’t come around every day.”

The truth-teller frowned and then smiled slyly. “There is one other thing I was asked to pass along to you. The idea of using the census as a cover was quite ingenious; in fact, we are going to implement it Agency-wide. It will probably save the life of a good number of our Scouts. The Director wanted me to make sure I told you he was glad he thought of it.”

“I’ll bet that set your Talent tingling,” Marlin laughed.

“It doesn’t bother you that he is taking credit for it?” the truth-teller asked curiously.

“Hmm,” Marlin pondered a bit. “I suppose it does just a little. Everybody likes to get the credit they deserve. But then I can’t say I’m all that surprised. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if most of his good ideas were stolen. Make sure you put that part in your report, and you already know I’m speaking the truth.” Marlin’s eyes twinkled just a little as he said it.

“Just because you believe it doesn’t make it the truth,” the truth-teller growled and, turning around, stomped out of the room.

---

It didn’t turn out too badly, Marlin thought as he sipped on a cool beer while idly perusing the menu, wondering if he should eat cheap or blow his pitiful fortune all at once. Won’t help me any, but then not much would, so why not have some fun? He sensed more than saw a body pass by his table and head into the front door of the inn. Lifting the beer to his lips again, he looked up curiously and almost dropped it in his lap as his brain ceased to pay attention to minor things like telling his fingers to hold onto the glass.

What he saw was the backside of a girl as she strode purposefully through the dining area and into the inn. The first thing he noticed was the damn near perfect ass encapsulated by the shortest and tightest pair of shorts he had ever seen that didn’t qualify as underwear. The next thing he noticed was the long, dark brown, almost black hair flowing over her shoulders and down to the small of her back. Lastly, there were the slender, tanned, bare legs rising up out of the tops of over-the-calf, skin-tight black boots to meet with the oh-so-perfect posterior, which of course started the cycle all over again. Unfortunately, his eyes couldn’t complete their third circuit before she disappeared into the darkened interior.

“Holy shit!” he hissed to himself. “If the front of her is half, no, a third as good as the back, that is a girl I want to meet.” Putting actions to words, he scrambled to his feet and calmly walked into the inn himself.

“I’m sorry, Miss Melody, but you know the rule,” the innkeeper shook his head as he stood behind the counter. “I don’t hire no witches. I know you’d be a hard worker, and I ain’t got nothing against you personally, but too many of my customers won’t have any business with a witch. Ain’t nothing I can do about it.”

Marlin slid to one side of the doorway when he entered, far enough away that he couldn’t overhear exactly what her reply was, although it was obviously a plea of some kind. Marlin could see her profile as she adamantly made her case to seemingly no avail, and he was pleased that not only was the front view equal to the rear, it was quite possibly even better. From what he could see, her face was delicate and expressive, although he was still too far away to see much detail. She wasn’t overly blessed in the breast department, but neither was she shorted in that respect either. Very well proportioned is what he would have said if anybody asked him. He couldn’t fully see her face, but what he could see looked good; no huge hooked nose or obvious deformity anyway.

From the looks of it, her pleas were having no effect on the innkeeper, although he didn’t look happy about it. After a few minutes, the girl must have come to the same conclusion because her shoulders slumped and her head drooped. Without another word, she turned and started slowly walking towards Marlin and the door.

As she passed by him, Marlin spoke softly, “Having some problems?”

Startled, she looked up at him and grimaced. “Go ahead,” she growled at him in a voice equal parts resignation and outrage. “Ask, then I can tell you to go to hell, and you can get out of my way.”

“Oops, didn’t mean to block you,” he replied, ignoring both her tone and the obvious question. He hadn’t been blocking her path but took a half-step backwards anyway, just to make sure she knew it.

“Well?” she asked, practically tapping her foot. She crossed her arms and glared at him.

“Well, what?” he replied. He was finally able to get a good look at her, and even with the pursed lips drawn down in a frown, narrowed eyes, and arms held tightly across her chest, it was well worth the look. She had a wide, oval-shaped face with unblemished skin framed by that impossibly luxuriant, long, dark hair. She was a little bit shorter than he was, the top of her head coming up to about the same level as his own eyes. Without the heels, he just might be able to rest his chin on it.

“Well, ask it!” she spat.

“Okay, I will,” he answered, raising his hands in surrender. “It’s a little early for a real drink, but I was wondering if you would like something to eat if you’re hungry? If not, then maybe just a sit in the shade with some iced tea or some fruit juice?”

“I am not a...” she started and then stopped short; obviously, she was answering a question he hadn’t asked. “Ah, what did you say?”

“I was trying to ask you to dinner,” he grinned. “Or failing that, maybe just to sit with a cool drink and talk awhile.”

“Why?” she looked at him suspiciously.

“A man needs a reason to ask a pretty girl to dinner or for a drink?” he came back with his own question.

“Well...” she hesitated.

“Tell you what,” he said, gesturing with his arm towards the outside tables. “Why don’t we sit down and have something cool to drink, and you can decide whether or not you wish to dine with me afterwards? I assure you there is nothing more implied than just a request for company while I sup.”

“I suppose...” she began again.

“Please, allow me,” he said, bringing his hand around her back and just barely touching her with his fingertips. “I already have a table.”

“Okay,” she agreed, moving away from his touch in the direction of the tables. “But just for a glass of juice.”

“Of course,” he said jovially. When they reached his table, he pulled her chair out for her and, after looking at the chair and then him, sat down still looking at him slightly askew. After pushing her chair in for her, he sat himself and waved to the server looking at him from the doorway.

“Fruit juice, right?” he asked, and she nodded. “Carla, two fruit juices, please.”

“Anything else?” Carla asked sharply, pointedly ignoring the girl sitting across from him.

“Not just yet, I think,” Marlin said, overlooking the server’s deliberate rudeness.

“Carla’s in a bit of a foul mood today,” he mused as he stared at her retreating back.

“It’s because of me,” the girl admitted crossly. “I’d better go if you ever want to be fed here again,” she said and started to rise.

“Please don’t,” Marlin said, reaching out to lightly grasp her hand. “I’d rather have your company now than eat here in the future if that’s the alternative.”

“I doubt that,” she snorted but sat down anyway.

“So, why would having you at my table bring on such a remarkable reaction?” he asked. “Are you married? Maybe being seen in the company of an unmarried man would blemish your virtue and standing in the community. Or maybe you’re too young to be seen with me. Is that it? If that’s the case, then I’ll have to assure you and your father, assuming he’s as large as most of the men around here seem to be, that my intentions are totally honorable.”

“No, I’m not married, and no, I’m not too young,” she replied with just a hint of a smile on her lips.

“That’s a relief,” he said, pretending to wipe the sweat from his brow. “Although I must admit I don’t think I’ve ever had this much trouble just getting a girl to sit down with me for a drink.”

“Some kind of super stud, huh?” she snarled and pushed back her chair, preparing to stand up.

“Don’t I wish,” he said with an exaggerated sigh while making no move to stop her. His lack of aggression caused her to pause for a moment, ready to stand and leave but not doing it quite yet. “No, while my overly sensitive male ego would love to tell you I have conquered every woman who’s caught my eye, honesty ― and reality ― demands that I admit somewhat less than one-hundred percent have fallen victim to my evil ways.”

“Somewhat less than one-hundred percent, huh?” she said with raised eyebrows. “And just how much less are we talking about?”

“Well, that’s not fair,” he protested. “If I’m ever going to have a chance to seduce you, how can I possibly do that if I tell you just how inept I am?”

“Seduce me?” she growled, her face hardening again. “I knew that’s all you wanted.”

“Well, I have to admit it wasn’t your bubbly personality that caught my eye as it wiggled past my table,” he grinned and settled back in his chair. “I am a man and carry all the baggage that entails. I see a beautiful woman and naturally I evaluate her as a potential mate. You are an extraordinarily beautiful girl and the crass animal part of my brain naturally did its best to ensure the rest of me knew what it was thinking.” He leaned forward still grinning and propped his elbows on the table, “But I think I can restrain myself. At least long enough for you to safely finish your fruit juice.”

“Oh, you can, can you?” she visibly relaxed a little and as if daring him, reached out and took a sip of the juice. He laughed and sat back in his seat again.

“I think so,” he said still chuckling. “But now that it appears you aren’t going to run away like a frightened doe being chased by a hungry wolf, I have to say something other than your beauty has tickled my interest. I am intrigued by the thought that I shall now become a starved, skeletal scarecrow for having the audacity to sit in a public establishment with a pretty girl. Would you mind elaborating on that?”

“It’s because I’m a witch,” she answered harshly. She peered at him, waiting for the expected reaction. Needless to say, she was surprised by what did come.

“If you mean you have some measurable amount of talent, so what? Who doesn’t?”

“What?” she asked, totally taken aback.

“I said, so what?” he repeated. “I don’t want to sound like some jerk from the city crying over how backward you country folk are, but talent is fairly common. In fact, I have it on good authority that most people have at least a touch of it. Why, I’d be willing to bet my meager salary that our good innkeeper inside has a bit of it himself. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“They tolerate witches where you come from?” she leaned towards him and whispered.

“Hmm, tolerate is probably a good word to use,” he answered thoughtfully. “I’m not saying anyone who has enough to be in the Emperor’s Talent Agency is particularly well-liked, but I have to believe that’s mostly because of the amount of talent they have as opposed to having any at all.”

“It doesn’t bother you I’m a witch?” she asked, confused.

“I don’t know why it would,” Marlin answered. “I have a little bit myself.” Her eyes opened wide, and her jaw dropped in shock.

“You shouldn’t say that!” she hissed. “Besides, how would you know?”

“Remember that ‘good authority’ I mentioned? Let’s just say he’s in the Talent Agency, and I found out through him.” Unlike some people, Marlin enjoyed the game of having everything he said be the absolute truth while still being able to hide what he wanted to behind it.

“A friend of yours?” she asked.

“We’re very close,” he nodded.

“But before we engage in conversation about such weighty subjects, I think we should at least be introduced,” he stretched his hand out to her. “I’m Marlin Cranson, and I am very pleased to meet you.”

“Ah, Melody Hawking,” she replied, taking his hand tentatively. “I’m glad to meet you also, Mr. Cranson, I think.”

“Well, that’s progress,” he said, releasing her hand. “At least you aren’t running, screaming in terror. That’s usually a bad sign. And please, call me Marlin.”

“I suppose it might be,” she giggled. “Does that mean your plan to seduce me is still on track?”

“Well, now that you know of my nefarious scheme, I can hardly hope to continue with it, can I?” he answered, wiggling his eyebrows, which caused her to laugh and cover her mouth with her hand.

“No, you can’t,” she said primly, with a twinkle in her eye. “And since your plan to divest me of my virtue along with my panties has been exposed, I think it would be safe for you to call me Melody.”

“Well, then, Melody, my devious plot having been reduced to tatters as it will, I’ll just have to enjoy your company if you allow me,” he said. “Have you thought about my invitation to dine?”

“I think not today, Marlin,” she said after finishing her juice and setting the empty glass on the table. “I should be heading for home now anyway.”

“Ah, back to the safe embrace of your family,” he sighed, feigning great disappointment. “Safe from conniving cads attempting to entice you to your dishonorable doom. Well, maybe another time then?”

“Maybe,” she grinned. “But then again, maybe not; I haven’t decided yet.”

“Well, then there is still hope for me yet,” he said, standing as she did. “May I at least walk you home?”

“I live out of town a ways,” she said. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Then at least till the edge of town? I promise I won’t follow to see where you live.”

“I suppose,” she said, still smiling. “But won’t you miss your dinner?”

“I can eat at the boarding house,” he shrugged. “I’m not all that anxious to eat here tonight as it is.” Laying a coin down on the table to cover the drinks and a small tip, he gestured for her to proceed.

“I don’t really care if you know where I live,” she said when they reached the street. “Anybody could tell you that. It’s about twenty minutes down the main road here; a big white house set back away. Our name is on the post box.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” she continued after a pause. “But it’s just me there alone and...”

“You don’t feel comfortable having a stranger at your home,” he finished for her. “Perfectly understandable.”

“Not that I think you’re dangerous or anything like that,” she said quickly.

“Maybe a little bit dangerous?” he said woefully.

“Maybe a little bit dangerous,” she laughed.

“Thank you,” he sighed. “I thought my ego was going to take another beating there for a minute.”

“I get the feeling your ego can take the abuse,” she smirked.

“Hmm, that has been pointed out to me before,” he conceded. “Although for the life of me I can’t understand it.”

“Sure you don’t,” she answered with a big smile.

“Well, Miss Melody Hawking,” he said as they neared the edge of town. “I really would like to take you out for dinner sometime. You don’t have to answer now; I don’t want you to have to say no. What is the best way for me to contact you so I can formally ask you out?”

“You mean like on a real date?” she grinned.

“Yes, a real date,” he answered solemnly.

“You can just post me a note,” she said. “Or drop it off on one of your little trips.”

“Oh, you know about those.”

“Of course I do,” she smirked. “Everybody knows who you are, Mr. Imperial Census Man.”

“I have to tell you,” he whispered conspiratorially. “The census is just a cover.”

“Oh? And what is it you really do?” she asked, cocking her head at him.

“As little as possible,” he said, still whispering while glancing from side to side as if afraid someone might overhear him. “For as long as possible.”

“You sure know how to impress a girl,” she laughed.

“I’m afraid I have to rely on my wits and personality for that,” he nodded. “My wealth garnered from imperial service doesn’t seem to do it, for some reason.”

“Then you really are in trouble, aren’t you?”

“I’m afraid so,” he agreed.

“Drop me a note, and I’ll give you an answer,” she said, eyes twinkling again. “Thank you for walking me this far. Well, bye for now.”

“Goodbye, Melody Hawking,” he smiled. “Do you mind if I watch you walk down the road?”

“So you can stare at my ass?” she guffawed.

“Well, yes,” he answered simply.

“Honesty: that is a novel approach,” she mused. “Very well, look all you want, but no touching,” she said as she turned and then added just loud enough to be heard, “yet.”

Marlin smiled to himself as he watched her walk down that road all alone. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought there was a little more sway in her hips than there had been before. Chuckling, he also turned around when she was out of sight and headed back to the boarding house for his delayed supper.

---

For reasons only he knew or cared about ― probably Melody’s big doe-like eyes, kissable lips, and fantastic rear-end ― Marlin decided to move up the date for his next excursion. The next day, he gathered his gear together and wrote what he hoped was a romantic note asking her out and headed out of town following the same road she had. Like she had told him, the Hawking place wasn’t difficult to find. There were several homes scattered along the road and a few farms set back even farther, but the big white house with the Hawking name on the post box was standing pretty much alone. He momentarily contemplated marching up to the house and delivering the note by hand but discarded that thought almost immediately.