Nigel dug the potatoes as quickly as he could. The town officials had come to collect the harvest and were delighted to see so many mature plants. The food issue in Bent Spoon was slowly getting addressed and things were looking up. A cart loaded with potatoes was exactly what was needed and the two plots Nigel worked filled the cart with some left over. The officials cheered and helped pile in the reddish roots, complimenting Nigel with every handful.

  The compliments bounced off of him. He was distracted as he often was when his notifications crossed his sight.

  Notice: Half of the experience earned in labor is given to Gregory Fulton

  Notice: Orders given by Gregory Fulton - 12, orders disobeyed will deal two damage to player Nigel Winsberry for each instance of disobedience

  Notice: Class Vagrant is unable to gain experience while the player is in possession of money or sleeps inside of a constructed building at night

  These notices were showing up more and more it seemed. Whenever he completed something that would have given experience to his profession or his class. Whenever he thought about running away. Whenever Mr. Fulton gave him another order or he followed a standing order.

  It was constant.

  Nigel walked among the tomatoes with his watering can and was surprised to hear a familiar voice.

  “Yes, they are nice plots. Very safe and producing very well. Been in my family for generations.” Mr. Fulton spoke quite grandly to another individual, both well dressed and clearly wealthy.

  “I thought you said you were growing tomatoes and potatoes. This plot is fallow.” The stranger commented with a look at the harvested potato plot.

  “That doesn’t seem right. Nigel, what happened to this field?” Mr. Fulton asked sharply.

  “The city officials collected the potatoes this afternoon once I harvested them. I haven’t had the opportunity to replant them yet. We do have leftovers they didn’t have room to take.” Nigel rushed out of the tomato plot, hopped the fence that divided the two plots, and picked up potatoes from the pile to show Mr. Fulton.

  “See? Leftovers! More than the town can take. And that is with an inexperienced farmer. I can imagine what your group can do.” Mr. Fulton took one of the potatoes and handed it to the stranger.

  “I supposed that follows. I saw the other plots yesterday. I would like to buy them from you for myself and my brother-in-law’s use.” The stranger took out a pouch that jingled brightly.

  “Done and done.” Mr. Fulton took the pouch and shook hands with the stranger.

  “Mr. Fulton, you can’t possibly be …” Nigel felt panic that he was included in the transaction.

  “Don’t be silly Nigel, we have another venture. You and I are no longer in the grower business. Come out, we’re going inside the walls.” Mr. Fulton chuckled carelessly, but glared at Nigel. One of his standing orders was to never reveal Nigel’s profession.

  Nigel left the watering can at the plot with the stranger and hurried after Mr. Fulton. Sure enough they passed through the gates and went towards the livestock quarter. Dozens of sheep filled the pens and it made for a very loud gathering.

  “Instead of growing plants, the officials have agreed we will help address a different issue the city faces. Clothing is starting to run scarce and the guards are running through their uniforms. Cloth, yarn, and thread are in short supply. So Bent Spoon has bought, caught, and possibly stolen a small herd of sheep.” Mr. Fulton covered his nose as he spoke.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  “So I will help take care of the sheep?” Nigel asked meekly. Tending sheep didn’t sound like a bad deal after figuring out how to plant potatoes.

  “No, the sheep belong to another elevated citizen here. The problem is they were sheared last week.” Mr. Fulton waved generally at the sheep. They did not look like they had just gotten a haircut. “The workers who shear the sheep are busy turning the fleece into something usable. You are going to shear sheep and they’ll probably regrow the fleece by the time you’re done.”

  “I’m going to shear them?” Nigel stammered. “I’ve never sheared a sheep.”

  “You’ll learn. You’ll learn quicker than you think and you’ll bring your wages to me each week. Do not harm the sheep and consider these standing orders. Talk to Garret, he’s supposed to teach you.” Mr. Fulton dangled his fingers in the air and waved them to where he thought Garret might be. Then he left in a dainty hurry.

  Garret was not expecting him. Not that day or the next. He had apparently been left out of the loop that he was getting an employee. In time, he was glad for the help. Nigel would help hold the sheep still as they were not used to being sheared and did not like the process.

  “Is this hurting them?” Nigel asked. He worried about the last order Mr. Fulton gave him. It was beginning to sound very vague.

  “Nah it doesn’t hurt. They don’t like it because they think we’re going to eat them, but they’ll learn we won’t eat them soon.” Garret grunted as a sheep kicked him in the stomach.

  But when Nigel held a sheep by the ears, his health started to drop. It was small, but felt like a needle jabbed him every ten seconds. When he grabbed one by the leg, it twisted funny and the pain was so bad that Nigel’s muscles clenched in a spasm.

  “Hold her tight or we’ll all get hurt.” Garret yelled and had to recatch the sheep.

  When Nigel returned home that night, he was a level 3 slave and had half his health missing. Mr. Fulton was already gone for the night with the friends he could buy and that meant he didn’t have to be quiet.

  Nigel began to cry as he washed his wounds. The cuts from working the morning in the field and the bruises from unskillfully handling sheep. With the towel in hand, Nigel went to the table where they ate their meal. With the food shortage, the meals were small and rationed by the town council. The chefs and cooks in town were a priority to level up their profession, so they were the only ones who cooked and they cooked for everyone.

  There was only a half portion left on the table. Mr. Fulton’s plate was empty, but not cleaned, and it seemed like he had started eating Nigel’s part as well.

  It wasn’t enough. If he didn’t eat a full portion, he wouldn’t heal overnight and if he went three days without a full portion his maximum health would decrease.

  It wasn’t enough.

  Nigel started to cry again. He needed that food.

  Barefoot, Nigel went back to the plots. To the potato plot. He hoped there would be leftover potatoes left by the fence still. If he was caught stealing, he would be put in the stocks and then he would have to explain why he was stealing and that would upset Mr. Fulton.

  He could not upset Mr. Fulton again.

  It was fully dark by now and the guard patrol had already left. No one could hear Nigel creeping out on the dirt road. He held his coat like a hammock and began piling potatoes on it.

  Something hit Nigel from behind and then he felt claws dig into his back. The pain disappeared mercifully fast and then Nigel waited to respawn. The bell square wasn’t actively guarded, so he ran away from the lit area and hurried home where he could wash and cook a potato before falling asleep in bed.

  He hid the potatoes all over the servant’s quarters. In his dresser. Under the bed. In the chamber pot that no one ever used. Under buckets. In his pillow. Behind books in languages he couldn’t read.

  “Nigel, where were you last night?” Mr. Fulton’s voice made Nigel jump. In forty years he hadn’t jumped like that.

  “I was here, I fell asleep as soon as I got home. I was very tired after the sheep.” Nigel rolled out of bed, directly onto his knees.

  “You were seen respawning again last night after dark. That would be well after you stopped shearing sheep. How were you sent to respawn if you came right home?” Mr. Fulton slowly started to pace in the servant’s quarter.

  “Yes, I ran into some trouble on the way home. I don’t know what got me, but it got me on the back.” Nigel then bowed low to show the damage to the back of his jacket and shirt.

  “Then you didn’t steal potatoes?” Mr. Fulton stopped his pacing.

  “No, that would get me in the stocks and punished.” Nigel stayed low to the ground. A red skinned potato dropped to the floor beside his head.

  “Then no one should find a reason to think otherwise. Hide that potato better and I had better not hear about you respawning when you should be inside the walls. Wouldn’t want you running off now?” Mr. Fulton strode directly to the door. “You should go, lots of sheep to shear today.”