For a bit of a change, I wrote a fantasy story today. A rather silly story, because the prompt just called for one. Out of the prompts, I used “An ill-informed statistician is opposed by an impartial bailiff who uses a bathtub during a flood in an elevator,” and “The copper-skinned, confused man who is banging on a closed door.” The person banging on the closed door became a woman, and the story flowed on from there. A bit shorter than the last two I wrote (although still long for writing a story a day), this story is 3900 words.
Snippet:
Number 64 was the fourteenth door Zebora had knocked on in this seedy lodging house. Not even slightly to her surprise, very few had opened when she knocked. This first time was only a formality anyway. If anyone did open their door, and did pay the fine, all to the better. But usually they didn’t pay until the big guys with axes pounded on their doors and threatened them.
The door opened and a tall, knobbly sort of man with thinning hair and a scraggly beard said, “What?” in a very annoyed tone of voice. Clouds of scented steam billowed out into the shabby hallway.
“Notice from the building owner, sir,” Zebora recited. “This is your second notice. You’re over quota for water this month, and owe a fine of,” here she paused to look at the scrawled paper Josteher had handed her, “450 stellas.” The amount must have been miscopied. Nobody went over the quota by that much. She could nearly buy this building for 450 stellas!
The man’s face purpled. “Do you know who I am?” he yelled.
“No, sir. I’m merely hired to give out notices.” Zebora was used to people yelling and swearing at her, or threatening her life. She’d paid a great deal of money–not 450 stellas, but a lot–for her protection charm. So she stood her ground and waited patiently while the man yelled.
“I’m the king’s officer for all of Yaray district! I levy fines, I don’t pay them.”
Why a king’s officer would live in this run-down lodging house Zebora couldn’t imagine. The man could be lying, or delusional. She studied him as he yelled. His robes were certainly fine–that deep purple-red dye was expensive–and the rings on his fingers might be real gold and gems, not imitations. It was not her place to make decisions about fines, though, so she waited as he ranted.
When he finally ran down, Zebora recited, “If you feel you have been fined in error, you should contact the owner, Gibbina Chaan, in Number 1.”
“Why should I trouble myself for this specious, this ridiculous, this preposterous fine? It is so obviously a mistake that I shall not even dignify this request with an answer.”
“That’s up to you, sir. I’m just paid to tell you of the fine, and collect it if you pay now. If you choose not to pay–”
“Leave!” the man cried, making shooing motions at Zebora.
“Yes, sir,” Zebora said to the door that had slammed in her face. She took a last deep breath of the expensive scent of the steam, looked at her list, and went on to the next door.
When she had visited every room on her list, she stood on the sixth floor staring at the doors for the lift. In a lodging house this run down, did she trust the lift? How trustworthy was its imp? She put an ear to the door, and heard a rumbling mumble. Contented, or not? She pulled a biscuit out of her pocket and rang the lift bell.
The doors rumbled open, and the knee-high red creature inside pounced on the biscuit she held. “Floor?” it said as it chewed.
“Ground,” Zebora said, stepping into the lift.
The imp licked the last of the crumbs from its leathery lips and closed its eyes. “Ground,” it mumbled, and the lift descended slowly.
“Thank you,” Zebora told the imp as she stepped out of the lift. It mumbled something as the doors closed.
Down a few feet of dingy corridor, and then she was out in the sizzling heat of Gujab City’s streets. Her cooling charm, which had been sufficient in the stifling corridors of the lodging house, wheezed and gave up. Cursing, with sweat running down her face and sticking her hair to her head, Zebora trudged back to Josteher’s Collections to turn in the one fine she had actually collected.
