After cleaning up the blood,
Seph was put immediately to the task of translating. The golem had a stack already of things that he wished translated, from High Anthem to Low, or the other way around — most of them old periodicals, but some journals as well, and a bunch of textbooks. Seph rifled through the stacks skeptically, and then looked up around, at all of the books.
There were shelves upon shelves of books. There were pillars of books. There were books that were on shelves made of books.
"Are you sure you didn't hire me to organize any of these things?"
"They are organized," the golem responded, before adding, "My name is Gavra."
"They...are organized?"
"Please commence translation," the golem told him, pushing one of the stacks indicatively, and Seph eyed him, then shrugged and sighed, found himself a stool-height pile of books, and sat himself down, and began. There were papers all ready for him, and an automatic quill, and the golem watched him for a couple moments before moving on, puttering around in and out of sight, moving books around.
Seph went on like this for the first week or two, quietly translating. He finished three week's worth of periodicals in this time, and as soon as he did Gavra would take the sheets, examine them, then make a clicky-purring noise of approval before leaving again, presumably to file the stuff away. Often, customers would enter The Libra, and they would always eye Seph with some surprise before quickly stalking off amidst the stacks without further word. Occasionally Seph saw them being tossed back into the street by Gavra days later.
It was easy, amusing, mind-provoking work, and he enjoyed it more than he might have enjoyed other jobs, like cleaning streets or maintaining the wires or keeping rascals in order. Still, he didn't understand why he needed knowledge of polearm use to do it, or a proper sense of the color red, which was really always usually the same color, Standard Low Anthem Spectrum or not.
"Hey," Seph began suddenly one day as Gavra was passing by, "I wanted to know when I would ever —"
"Oh," said the golem quickly, "I forgot," and without further ado he reached into the pit of his hollow, semi-rectangular belly and withdrew a clinking, wonderfully heavy pouch. Seph took it and looked inside and was astonished at the amount of money.
"I pay you by the task," explained the golem belatedly. "Full textbooks are one hundred carat, journals twenty to fifty depending on their length, width, and height, and periodicals are a flat ten per page."
"Oh," Seph said, and left immediately. Well if he wasn't being paid for his time, per se, he was definitely not going to spend so much of it in there.
There were shelves upon shelves of books. There were pillars of books. There were books that were on shelves made of books.
"Are you sure you didn't hire me to organize any of these things?"
"They are organized," the golem responded, before adding, "My name is Gavra."
"They...are organized?"
"Please commence translation," the golem told him, pushing one of the stacks indicatively, and Seph eyed him, then shrugged and sighed, found himself a stool-height pile of books, and sat himself down, and began. There were papers all ready for him, and an automatic quill, and the golem watched him for a couple moments before moving on, puttering around in and out of sight, moving books around.
Seph went on like this for the first week or two, quietly translating. He finished three week's worth of periodicals in this time, and as soon as he did Gavra would take the sheets, examine them, then make a clicky-purring noise of approval before leaving again, presumably to file the stuff away. Often, customers would enter The Libra, and they would always eye Seph with some surprise before quickly stalking off amidst the stacks without further word. Occasionally Seph saw them being tossed back into the street by Gavra days later.
It was easy, amusing, mind-provoking work, and he enjoyed it more than he might have enjoyed other jobs, like cleaning streets or maintaining the wires or keeping rascals in order. Still, he didn't understand why he needed knowledge of polearm use to do it, or a proper sense of the color red, which was really always usually the same color, Standard Low Anthem Spectrum or not.
"Hey," Seph began suddenly one day as Gavra was passing by, "I wanted to know when I would ever —"
"Oh," said the golem quickly, "I forgot," and without further ado he reached into the pit of his hollow, semi-rectangular belly and withdrew a clinking, wonderfully heavy pouch. Seph took it and looked inside and was astonished at the amount of money.
"I pay you by the task," explained the golem belatedly. "Full textbooks are one hundred carat, journals twenty to fifty depending on their length, width, and height, and periodicals are a flat ten per page."
"Oh," Seph said, and left immediately. Well if he wasn't being paid for his time, per se, he was definitely not going to spend so much of it in there.
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