Chương 82: Chapter 71: Mutual Help

Deepwinter began loosening its grip on Blackwood, and finally, Simon had started Muscle Tempering. He complained about it almost immediately.

"My legs hurt." Joe continued checking the medicine packets laid across the worktable.

"They should."

"My back hurts."

"Also expected."

"I'm hungry all the time." Joe finally looked up. Simon saw his expression.

"No." Joe said nothing.

"You are not allowed to enjoy this."

"I haven't said anything."

"You don't need to." Joe returned to the packets. Simon had spent years mocking his appetite. Justice did not always require active participation. Outside Edwin's medicine hall, snow had retreated into narrow strips beneath north-facing walls. The blackstone streets remained wet through most afternoons, carts from the surrounding villages were appearing in greater numbers, and the western forest had begun showing the first dark buds along branches that had looked dead all winter.

Joe had turned seventeen near the end of Deepwinter. Muscle IV had settled fully. The fifth tempering had begun. His body accepted the transition cleanly. The muscular layer continued becoming firmer and more responsive, especially through the torso and legs, while the proportions of his body remained almost unnaturally balanced. Strength no longer appeared only when Joe deliberately tested it.

He felt it every time he climbed stairs too quickly, moved a loaded medicine crate, or changed direction during guard practice and had to restrain the acceleration halfway through. Static Foundation remained at Perfection. Dynamic Foundation did not. That interested him increasingly. Stillness had become automatic. Motion still contained tiny losses. Joe noticed them everywhere now. A turn made too sharply while carrying weight. A step shortened because someone crossed unexpectedly in front of him.

A moment of excess tension when he stopped after running. Every Hard Work Pays Off turned those moments into useful experience whenever the movement actually constituted meaningful practice. Joe did not need to invent exercises constantly; ordinary life supplied thousands of transitions. One Effort Equals a Hundred made each valid correction disproportionately valuable. So, Joe walked. Worked. Trained. Observed. And tried not to improve so visibly that other people started asking the wrong questions.

The assignment board had changed too. Not dramatically. That would have been easier to challenge. Simon's team still received market patrols and warehouse work, but not nearly as often. Their names had begun appearing on the western gate, timber-road inspection and livestock-yard rotations that older guards considered less comfortable rather than truly dangerous. Simon noticed. Cole noticed because Simon complained.

Daren noticed because he had been in the guard long enough to know that assignment patterns rarely changed by accident. Joe noticed before any of them said anything. One morning Simon stood in front of the duty board with his arms folded.

"Western road again." Cole leaned around him.

"At least it isn't raining."

"It will rain." Daren glanced toward the sky through the open compound arch.

"No clouds." Simon looked at him.

"It knows." Joe read the sheet. Third western rotation in eight days. Still inside the managed region. Still ordinary guard work. Nothing anyone could call retaliation. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. Exactly the kind of consequence Joe expected after Bret's complaint.

"Garrick?" Simon asked quietly. Joe shrugged.

"Possibly."

"You think so."

"I think your assignments changed after his son complained."

"That means yes."

"It means what I said." Simon gave him an irritated look. Daren said, "Either way, do the route." Simon looked at him. Daren continued, "If someone wants you to complain, complaining helps them." That silenced Simon. Joe approved. Daren had been around institutions longer than either brother. Sometimes experience was simply scar tissue that learned to speak.

The western road patrol proved uneventful. They checked timber markers, spoke with two cutters repairing a drainage ditch, chased several boys away from a restricted logging area, and found one set of large hoofprints crossing the mud near the edge of the managed woods. Cole crouched beside them.

"Deer?" Daren looked.

"Probably." Joe stopped. The print was wider than his palm. Deep. Whatever made it had carried substantial weight. He remembered water shining beneath a summer sun years ago, a huge antlered shape moving through the river while Ben insisted it was a deer. Joe had thought the animal impossible then. Now he only thought it interesting.

"How large?" he asked. Daren shrugged.

"Big enough that you don't stand in front of it."

"That is not a measurement."

"It is the useful part." Simon laughed. Joe stored the print in memory anyway. Eventually.

The more immediate problem arrived that evening. Simon appeared in Edwin's medicine room while Joe was reviewing inventory.

"You're coming with me." Joe did not look up.

"Where?"

"Mutual Help."

"No." Simon pulled out the chair opposite him.

"Mira is going." Joe looked up. Simon immediately frowned.

"That is not why I said it."

"I didn't say anything."

"You did something with your face." Joe considered his brother. Simon's relationship with Mira had changed quietly over the previous year. Neither had announced anything. Neither needed to. Simon found reasons to walk her home. Mira somehow appeared at eating houses when Simon's team finished late duty. Simon became noticeably less intelligent whenever she complimented him. Joe considered the evidence conclusive. He returned to the inventory.

"How long?"

"An hour."

"No."

"An hour and a half."

"That became worse." Simon leaned closer.

"Alex asked about Edwin's medicine arrangement." That changed the question. Joe put down the sheet.

"Fine." Simon stood, satisfied.

"For the medicine."

"Obviously."

"Good." Joe watched him leave. Simon had become increasingly easy to manipulate using a combination of responsibility and Mira. Joe found that concerning. Also entertaining.

The Mutual Help Society had grown. The rear room of the grain wholesaler contained nearly thirty people that evening: guards, warehouse laborers, shop workers, village youths, one cart repairer and several people Joe knew only by face. A notice board covered one wall. Rooms. Jobs. Caravan work. Small loans. Medicine assistance. Informal help had acquired ledgers. Joe immediately took it more seriously. Alex stood near the front speaking with a warehouse supervisor. He looked comfortable there. Not merely popular.

Accustomed to being listened to. Elise sat beside the society ledger, correcting something written by one of the younger members. Mira had saved Simon a seat. Only one. Simon noticed. Then pretended not to. Joe took the chair beside Daren instead. Simon looked back at him once. Joe smiled. Simon turned away. Good. Some lessons required suffering.

The medicine discussion was simple. Alex asked Joe to explain Edwin's discounted arrangement. Joe stood.

"The society buys basic recovery medicine in batches. Larger orders reduce packaging and selling costs, so Edwin can charge less and still profit. Quantity is limited. If the society wants more than the agreed amount, additional purchases return to normal wholesale terms." A laborer near the back raised his hand.

"What if someone can't afford even that?" Joe nodded toward Alex.

"Then the society decides whether to subsidize him. Edwin sells medicine to society. The society decides who receives assistance." Alex looked at him thoughtfully. Joe preferred separation. Medicine production was one problem. Determining who deserved charity was another. Combining them created unnecessary enemies. The meeting moved on. Joe expected boredom. Instead, he got Alex.

A young guard named Teren had once received a small society loan and help finding a room. Now Alex wanted him to escort a merchant caravan. Teren hesitated.

"My sister arrives next week." Alex said, "Someone else can help her."

"I told her I would."

"The caravan pays nine silver plus meals."

"I know." Alex's voice remained reasonable. That made the pressure more visible to Joe, not less.

"You were helped when you arrived. The society needs reliable people when opportunities come back to us." Simon shifted beside Mira. Joe noticed. So did she. Simon asked, "Did he agree to caravan work when he took the loan?" Alex looked toward him.

"No."

"Then why does he owe this caravan?"

"He owes the society something."

"Maybe. That isn't the same thing." The room quieted. Alex frowned.

"If everyone takes help and disappears when help is needed, this stops working." Simon nodded.

"Then tell people that before they take the help." Joe almost smiled. That was unusually clean reasoning from Simon. Alex did not.

"Teren can refuse." Simon looked toward Teren.

"Without consequences?" Alex paused. There. Joe saw the actual issue. Power rarely announced itself by saying you must. Often it simply controlled what happened after no. Elise opened the old loan ledger.

"What did he agree to?" Alex looked at her. She read the entry.

"Repayment only." Teren said, "I repaid it." Elise nodded.

"Then the caravan is a request." Alex's jaw tightened slightly. Not rage. Annoyance. He looked around the room, realized where the sentiment had moved, then nodded.

"Fine." Teren remained with his sister. The meeting continued. No explosion. No villainous speech. Just a small moment where Alex had expected his judgment to define another person's obligation. Joe found that more important than open cruelty would have been.

They left beneath a cold spring mist. Mira walked beside Simon. Joe stayed half a pace ahead with Daren. Behind him, Simon said, "I was right." Mira answered, "Mostly." Joe heard the wounded silence. He smiled. Simon said, "What does mostly mean?"

"It means Alex was also right that people cannot keep taking without contributing."

"But—""And you were right that he cannot invent the contribution afterward." Simon became quiet. Then: "So I was right." Mira sighed. Joe looked back. She caught his eye. Joe wisely faced forward again. Daren murmured, "Smart."

"Yes." They reached the next intersection. Mira touched Simon's sleeve before turning toward her family street.

"Goodnight." Simon smiled.

"Goodnight." She walked away. Simon watched slightly too long. Cole, arriving late from another direction, followed his gaze.

"Oh." Simon turned.

"Don't." Cole grinned. Joe kept walking. There were some situations medicine could not improve.

The next morning, the assignment board changed again. Western Timber Road. Simon stared at it. Then at the officer's seal beneath the rotation. Senior Officer Garrick Vane. No violation. No accusation. A legitimate assignment. Joe read the route carefully. Farther west than the previous one. Still within managed markers. Simon exhaled.

"Bret."

"Maybe."

"You always say maybe."

"When I mean maybe." Simon looked at the seal again. Joe looked toward the western wall. Alex controlled favors without formal authority. Garrick possessed formal authority. Different forms of power. Same underlying question. What happened when someone decided that another person owed them compliance? Joe's first instinct was still caution. Observe. Understand. Avoid unnecessary enemies. But another thought had begun appearing more often as his strength increased.

Caution only worked while the other side allowed distance. Eventually, some people interpreted restraint as weakness. Joe did not yet know whether Bret or Garrick belonged in that category. He would learn. And if they did, being polite would not prevent Joe from becoming something else when politeness stopped being useful.