Chương 37: Chapter 023 Exceptional Work For A New Novice Scribe (Part 2)

In the evening, Jack presented the sketches of the six adventurers to his father. Jack's father had already spent almost ten minutes in silence, examining the six sketches and reading through the information and cover letter intended for the city guard. Across the table, Jack waited with bated breath, hoping everything was up to his father's high standards. He knew his dad wouldn't speak until he had examined the documents and reached a conclusion.

"Do you want another biscuit, Jack?" His mother broke the silence.

"Zia's moved on to more complex biscuit recipes… but the results never seem to last long," she added with a teasing smile at the little girl. Zia was hovering over a fresh batch of biscuits straight from the oven, fanning them with a tea towel to cool them faster. But when she caught sight of Anna talking about her, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, she stopped wafting the cooling tray. As tempting as Zia's biscuits were, Jack shook his head.

He was determined to wait until his father had finished analysing his work. Fifteen minutes later…

"This is exceptional work for a new Novice Scribe, Son," his father declared, tapping on the table.

"I can only dream of what you'll be capable of in the future." Shit. He'd forgotten that, in his father's eyes, he'd been a Novice Scribe for a handful of days, not an Apprentice Scribe for over twenty years. A flush of embarrassment rose in his cheeks.

"Th-thanks, Dad." He scratched his neck as he tried to think of something to say.

"Like father, like son?" It was all he could manage in response. His voice was uncertain, and he felt like an impostor in his own skin. A rare chuckle escaped his father.

"Credit where credit's due, Son. This is exceptional workmanship, Jack." Placing a hand on his son's shoulder, he continued, "Take the praise and be proud. You'll go far at the Royal Library. I'm sure of that." I need to lower the quality when Dad views my work. Desperate to steer the conversation in a different direction, he asked, "So… Dad… is the cover letter acceptable?" His father, recalling the true purpose behind the sketches, nodded, "Yes, yes. This will be more than adequate."

He tapped a finger on the cover letter.

"You've included more than enough detail to identify the six adventurers without drawing undue attention to yourself or our family." Gathering the small stack of papers, he added, "I'll have these anonymously delivered to the city guard in the morning." Jack breathed a sigh of relief. Hopefully, that'll be the end of that drama.

"Didn't you have something for me to read?" his mom asked.

"I do?" He looked at her, confused.

"The poem… You said I could read it," she said with a smirk. Realisation dawned.

"I do!" His chair squeaked across the tile floor as he sprang to his feet.

"I'll go get it." He left behind his mom's laughter as he bounded up the stairs, ignoring his sore side, eager to show his mother the poem he had penned in the meadow. A minute later, his socked feet skidded across the tiled floor as he waved a piece of paper in front of his mom, as he used to when he was five, returning from nursery school with his latest masterpiece. Zia looked up from the small table she was sitting at—she was drawing something—and laughed as Jack slid by.

His mom chuckled and took the page from his hand, settling back in her chair to read the poem.

"The Blue Dance of a Summer Whisper…" she read the title aloud, before continuing in silence. A minute later, she gave him a happy smile.

"Oh, this is lovely, Jack," she praised, making him grin. His father, passing behind his wife on the way to the aether-powered cooler, paused and stood reading the poem over her shoulder. Before his mom could protest, his dad had plucked the poem from her hands and sat down at the table with it. Jack watched his father's brow crease in concentration. At random intervals, he'd let out a 'Hmm' or raise a finger mid-thought, before he transfixed his focus back on the paper.

Jack's stomach twisted as if he were back in school, awaiting the results of an exam he wasn't sure he'd passed. He looked to his mom, who shrugged. Neither mother nor son had any idea what was going on, so both returned to watching Jack's dad like a hawk, fascinated at what would happen next. Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. He's analysing it like it's an ancient text, Jack thought. Please don't tear it apart… It's just a silly poem I did on a whim.

Young Jack had no interest in poetry and only a passing interest in art in his past life. Now it was important to him. He'd taken up writing poems and drawing pictures of wildlife after he'd lost his family to the Baron. It made him feel closer to his late father, who enjoyed penning a poem or sketching a kingfisher hunting by a calm river.

At some of his lowest moments when he considered ending it all, he'd sit watching birds collecting seeds and insects, or deer grazing near the forest edge, and imagine his father beside him with a pad and pencil sketching the scene. Again, a thoughtful "Hmm" hummed from his dad's lips as he tapped the paper with a finger, stood up from his chair, and, without a word, left the kitchen with the poem in hand. Jack heard the door to his dad's study open, then close with a quiet click.

The silence left in his father's wake felt heavy, as if the room was holding its breath. The front door creaked open, and Polly burst in, breaking the silence.

"I'm home… Hello?" she called. When no one answered, she poked her head into the kitchen.

"Why is it so quiet you can hear one of my pins drop in here?" she asked, frowning. Still no answer. Polly dumped her bags of tailoring supplies against the kitchen wall and sat at the table.

"What are we doing?" she whispered. Anna replied in a hushed tone, "Your father's taken a piece of Jack's work into his study." Polly sat up straight.

"Has Jack done something wrong? Finally." She looked eager.

"Has he been seducious towards the crown?" Jack and his mother replied at the same time.

"What?"

"Has he said something seduficious about the King?" Polly was grinning.

"Is Jack gonna be for the noose?" She mimed herself being hung, one hand high in the air holding a rope, her neck bent to the side with her tongue lolling out. Jack laughed.

"You think I'm trying to seduce the King?"

"What? No?" She gave him a strange look.

"Unless you are? That would be even funnier." Jack shook his head in confusion.

"What are you going on about? You make no sense, Polly."

"What does sed…" Zia stuttered her question.

"What are sed-uff-fish-esss?" Anna, Jack, and Polly chuckled. Zia glowed pink and went back to drawing.

"It means he's pissing off the King," Polly replied. Zia giggled, then covered her mouth with both hands.

"Pollyanna! Language!" her mom snapped. The baby gurgled in his sleep in agreement.

"Sorry, Mom," Polly smirked.

"Well, Jack? Are you trying to pi…" She looked at her mother, who had an eyebrow raised.

"Are you being sedufous? Are you plotting against our kind King?" Jack laughed.

"You're just making words up now. Are you trying to say seditious?" Anna snorted. Zia looked confused.

"That's what I said. Serdatious…" Polly frowned.

"Well, are you being… are you plotting against the King?" Jack chuckled and shook his head.

"No, Polly. I'm not plotting against the King or trying to seduce him." He grinned. I am plotting against a Baron, though. I'd like to see that bastard swing from the gallows. Polly's shoulders slumped.

"Then what have you done wrong to bring Dad's wrath down on you?"

"You have a broken brain," Jack said with a grin.

"Jack. Don't be mean to your little sister," his mom said.

"Sorry, Mom," he replied. She started it. Polly grinned.

"So, what's our perfect angel done wrong?" She looked at her mother. Her mother shook her head.

"Nothing. You shouldn't let your imagination run so wild. Your dad took one of Jack's poems to his study. That's all."

"Is that it!?" Polly asked, sounding miffed.

"Then why did you say you were plotting against the King?" She was looking at Jack. With his hands over his head, Jack groaned and dropped his head to the table in defeat. She's an idiot. Anna chuckled. Polly ignored them and turned to their mother.

"Is there any food? I'm starving." And like a squirrel who'd spotted another nut, she'd moved on.

"Yes, there's food, there's always food!" Jack's mom replied, exasperated.

"I swear, the only time you kids notice me is when you're hungry." Polly wrapped an arm around her mother and kissed her on the cheek.

"That's your own fault for being such an amazing cook, Mom," she said, planting another kiss on her cheek. Polly noticed Zia drawing and crept towards her, growling like an animal. Zia shrieked with laughter and ran away giggling, until Polly scooped her up and began spinning her around the room, pretending to fly her like a messenger drone.

"Zia, Zia, Zia!" Polly shouted, and just like that, the volume in the house returned to its usual level of chaos. Everything came to a halt when the study door squeaked open, and Jack's dad emerged thirty minutes later. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes twinkled in the light of the aether lanterns.

"I did it! I made the poem better," he declared, waving three sheets of paper in the air, despite Jack's poem having only been written on one. His father sat at the table and beckoned Jack over. Jack read his poem that his dad had copied onto another sheet of paper. He frowned when he realised it hadn't changed.

"See here, Son?" His dad said, pointing to two commas.

"Fixed them." Jack scrunched his eyes at the poem. Nothing has changed? Then he noticed a minor alteration.

"You changed the em dashes to commas?" Jack's father nodded.

"Yes, Son. Many authors overuse them—especially inexperienced ones—when a comma is perfectly fine." He patted his son on the shoulder, having passed on priceless scribe knowledge. Jack shrugged.

"Okay… but there's nothing wrong with using an em dash?" His father tapped the table.

"True, Son. However, with the new aether-powered automaton inscribers, we run the risk of being accused of using AAI's since they have a tendency to overuse em dashes." Jack nodded and frowned as he remembered his past life. In the future, many scribes were replaced by the new AAI's. The automatons couldn't inscribe spell scrolls or perform other high-level magic, but they could copy books, write newspaper articles, and perform other low-level tasks.