Pale morning light fell into the inn's chamber.

As Enim climbed down the stairs in search of breakfast, he found the tap room occupied by a bustling group talking animatedly—in Vanian. Enim blinked. The innkeeper was right in the middle. Waving, and joking loudly. In Vanian.

Enim realized that last night, his guide had been the one to do all the talking, walking out toward the stables with the innkeeper. Enim had never thought to listen for the words. What would it have been other than Kokish, the language everyone had adopted as their own since the Transition?

A gust of wind blew in as the door opened and the boisterous group jostled out, trampling and shouting, leaving palpable silence behind. Slowly, dust began to settle between slanting rays of light. The echoes of ages past, of a language relegated to history, lingered on.

Enim sent a silent prayer of thanks to his old-fashioned parents for still having spoken the abandoned language at home. He might stand a chance.

Enim cleared his throat.

"Good morning," he tried in his best Vanian.

The innkeeper gave him a bright smile as she turned around to face him. "Good morning!"

Right. What next? Enim searched his childhood memories for some follow-up words, for the obvious question. "You talk Vanian?"

"Of course. Everyone in Shebbetin does."

Enim stared at her, stunned.

Enim shook his head at himself, or at Shebbetin, or the world. Such an obvious thing! Yet no one had told him. He had not thought to ask either.

Everybody spoke Kokish these days, didn't they?

No. They did not.

Or only a little. The innkeeper's Kokish turned out to be even more halting and bumpy than Enim's Vanian. However, the woman assured Enim while wiping her hands on the apron, the distinguished people, the mine owners and such, all spoke fluent Kokish. No worries there. It was just the ordinary folks who did not.

Enim rubbed the back of his head. The notion of splitting humanity into groups of distinguished and ordinary people simply slipped past his mind for the moment. But the old Vanian... that caught. Kokish was the language of his heart, and of his head too. It was the language in which he had become an artificer. The language in which dreams came to him at night. Would he not be able to speak it, now? Would Enim still be able to be himself, in this new home of his?

Enim sighed.

He might have to resign himself to a period of stuttering and speechlessness. And a time of intense learning. This certainly wasn't going to make his new start any easier.

Well. He would manage. His Vanian was rusty, but strong and healthy underneath. Or so Enim hoped.

The innkeeper was making breakfast.

Enim watched in silence.

Then another thought occurred to Enim. A happy one! Which was what he needed right now, anyway. There might be a welcome gift waiting for him, since a few friends unable to make it to his farewell party had promised to write to him instead. Maybe their letters had already arrived?

A smile came to Enim's lips.

He had another go at Vanian. "Please, where... ah... have letters? Pouch! Pouch collection!" The words came back to Enim just in time.

"The nearest pouch collection point is in Behrlem."

"Behrlem..." Enim hesitated. "Where, please?"

The woman briefly raised her eyes to him while ladling beans onto a plate. "Behrlem is a town south of Hebenir, a ride of two or three hours."

Enim looked back at her, perplexed. "But..." Enim switched back to Kokish. "What I mean is the local pouch collection point for Shebbetin. You know, where the county courier drops off the pouch, and where local people can go and collect their letters?" And then he said it all again in Vanian, as best as he could.

"In Behrlem," the innkeeper repeated, arranging potatoes.

"But... I cannot three day travel for get my letters!" Enim's voice held all his bewilderment and confusion.

The woman took pity on him. "Well. For you, there might be a way. Do you know any of the mine owners? They have their own pouch collection. A private courier, who rides to Behrlem once a week. If you ask nicely, they might let you join. You, being an artificer and all, bearing the seal of the academy."

Enim still looked perplexed. "But... in Shebbetin thousands of people live. How they get letters?"

"They don't," the innkeeper said dryly. "Except if they are lucky and some trader takes the pouch along."

Enim stared at her, aghast. "But that... not possible. People in Shebbetin so far away. And then no letters? No." Enim shook his head. "This not right. Not possible. There is rules for this. The county bring pouch to everyone. Everyone. It must be."

The innkeeper turned away to pour steaming water into a teapot.

Enim appealed to her. "Of course, tell county. Bureaus, in Varoonya. Of course they make this right, very soon. They make pouch collection point in Shebbetin. And letters good everyone." Enim pinned the woman with an imploring gaze.

"Look here," she said somewhat defensively. "This is an inn, and I am the innkeeper. I have given you all I have on the subject."

"But—"

"Here's your breakfast," she said firmly, but not unkindly, pushing the tray over the counter. "I'll be around the back if you need me."

*

The only other guests still at the inn were huddled in the far corner.

"Did you hear that?" Kaya asked in a low voice.

"I most certainly did." Lhut leaned forward slightly. "He is unusual, this fellow." Lhut let his gaze wander over Enim, who had his back turned, eating breakfast with unseeing eyes. "He is from Varoonya, yet able to speak Vanian. And not too proud to do so, even though he has to scrape and scramble. He could have pushed all the awkwardness and headache on to the innkeeper by switching the conversation to Kokish. But he did not. He kept on making the effort himself. Not even afraid of sounding strange. That looks like someone with a strong and friendly mind." He nodded respectfully.

Kaya's eyes narrowed. "He saw a problem, and got upset. He did not opt out with his purely personal solution, even though he could have. He did not instantly forget about all the other people. Instead, he thought about what should be done."

Lhut nudged Kaya's elbow. "Go on. Right now, he does not have a clue. Let's make sure we get to him before anyone else does."

*

"Excuse me."

Enim snapped out of his absorption.

A lean but strong-looking woman stood beside his table, with black skin and dark hair that was both very short and very curly. A long scar ran across her brow down to her ear.

"Yes?" Enim said tentatively. But in Vanian, like her.

"My name is Kaya." She nodded over at the table in the far corner, where a muscular man with friendly eyes and a head full of brown curls was smiling back at them. "Would you join me and my friend Lhut for breakfast?"

Enim was happy to agree. What could be better for him than making a few acquaintances and getting first-hand introductions to Shebbetin?

"I know you are new to the Vanian language," Kaya said. "I will speak slowly, in short sentences. And if I forget, please give me sign." She raised one shoulder apologetically. "I easily get carried away by my own speeches." She winked at him.

Enim tilted his head. "I can talk only hard. But understand is better. It is all right. You can speak like normal. So I learn." He smiled bravely. "And if not, I say and show." He waved merrily at her.

Indeed, it turned out Enim was able to follow Kaya's conversation, even if it took a considerable effort. And that was due to the language, but also the content, which caused Enim to ask for an explanation yet again. "What is a warmling?"

Kaya smiled. "It's what we call them around here. They are just round stones, really. Warm stones, which people put under their blankets in winter. I run an oven at the edge of town where I heat them up, then go through the lanes with a pedalcart to sell them. It's a small business, like the kitchens or the market stalls."

Enim gratefully remembered finding a heated bed in his unheated room at the inn last night. He nodded.

"And before that, we were both working in a mine," Lhut put in.

"Oh, really!" Enim felt familiar territory come within his reach. "But that wonderful! Can you show me, maybe? I will very much like to see a mine, with people who really know! Because I want to go work in mines also, with traptions."

Lhut and Kaya exchanged a glance. "Yes. We would love to show you a mine and tell you what we think of it. There's nothing we'd like better. Just give us a bit of time. We need to make arrangements first."

Enim nodded.

He took a sip of tea as another question came to his mind. "Why you not work in the mine any more? Because of the mine? Or because of work you do now?"

"Because of the mine." Lhut folded his hands on the table in a slow, deliberate motion. "Very much because of the mine. You see, there was an accident in that mine, three years ago, and I got injured."

"Oh?" Enim set down his mug. "I am sorry. And I am glad you have heal so well."

Lhut paused. "Now," he said. "My legs have not healed all that well, actually."

"Really?" Enim asked sympathetically, leaning sideways a little to squint under the table. "You still pain—" He stopped. He had seen the two stumps that were all that was left of Lhut's thighs.