How does one approach a farm and inquire about puzzles?

  It’s really a question he should have asked himself earlier. He entered and made his way to the large farmhouse before him. He knocked and waited, then knocked again. Eventually, a young boy, Alastair thought he looked maybe ten, answered.

  “Workers aren’t allowed at the front door. You need to go around back, otherwise Mom will be angry at you.”

  Alastair shook his head, “I’m not a worker. I’m a visitor.”

  The boy, who Alastair noticed had the name and title Petur Kepper - Farmer 1 above his head, said, “Who are you here visiting?”

  “Um, Farmer Arnor?”

  “Farmer Arnar has gone to market in the city. I’m not surprised you wouldn’t know that.”

  “Well, can I speak with an adult? Please?”

  “Fine. MOOOM, someone is at the door asking for Farmer Arnor!!!” Petur left, leaving the door open.

  A couple of minutes later, a pleasantly plump woman walked up to the door. Alastair noted her as Marta Kepper - Farmer 3. “Yes, yes. Workers and applicants for workers around back. Really, Run needs to fix that sign.”

  “No, ma’am,” said Alastair. “I’m a visitor. I met Farmer Arnor the other day.”

  “Arnar, dear. You’re mispronouncing it.”

  “Yes, well, anyway, I met him at the market a few days back and he said I should visit the farm sometime. See where all the food the city consumes is grown. So, here I am.”

  “Ah, you’re one of those. Alright, come along,” said Marta, quickly changing her disposition. “Not through the house, please.” Marta stepped out and closed the door behind her. We’ll pop over to the barn, where those miscreants hang out.”

  Marta led the way around the large porch, down the back stairs, and out past a garden, a couple of paddocks, and into a large barn. Along the way, Alastair noted several unnamed farmers working in various places, and those that passed by nodded reverently to Marta.

  The barn inside was well-lit despite the cloud cover, and Alastair noted that it wasn’t raining, unlike how it had rained constantly in the city. “These are likely the two you’re after until Arnar gets back. Now. Good day, sir, and please don’t come to my front door again.” Marta glared at the two individuals lounging in the barn, then turned and walked back toward her house.

  “Got the ire of the missus, huh? And only just arrived?” said the first lazabout.

  Alastair walked closer and noticed both individuals’ names and titles: Mihaela Ilie, Brawler-1, and Traian Toma, Scribe-1. Both had hand-rolled cigarettes and were working to roll more.

  “I, well, I just walked here and it was the first building from the path,” said Alastair.

  Traian dragged on his cigarette, and Alastair noted that the smell wasn’t tobacco. Traian coughed, then said, “Yeah. It’s tricky here. You’re new. At least new here. Where from?”

  “From the city. Or at least, on this world. Look, don’t mind me asking, but first, is that weed? Second, are you players?”

  Traian said, “You got it right on both accounts, friend, although this isn’t really weed, just some bits that express in the brain like weed. But, like where are you from for real?”

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Oh. The states. But I live in Estonia.”

  Mihaela laughed.

  Traian laughed also. “Gross.”

  Alastair didn’t know what to make of it, so he asked, “The states or Estonia?”

  Traian shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Look, friend, we’re not buying what you’re selling.”

  “I…I didn’t offer anything.”

  Mihaela said, “It’s his way of politely asking you to leave.”

  “Sure. Fine. I’ll go. Do you mind if I have a drag on your joint? It’s been a rough couple of days.”

  Traian handed his over. Alastair puffed, inhaling deep, then handed it back. The taste was alive and the smoke burn hurt his lungs. He regretted his decision immediately, and he coughed it out.

  Your rage has been temporarily reduced to zero.

  Oh, dang. That’s what it does.

  “I know a witch doctor in the city that would love this stuff,” Alastair said. “How long does it last?”

  Mihaela said, “Three hours. Give or take. Now, bugger off.” She waved him away.

  Alastair figured they were his best chance to figure out how to beat the farm quickly, but it was probably not worthwhile bugging them unnecessarily. So he thanked them for the toke and decided to see if he could find some farm cats. Surely, before he even left the barn, a yellow cat rubbed up against his leg. Alastair instinctively leaned down to pet it, but after a stroke, it sprinted to the barn loft.

  Congratulations! You have pet a cat.

  You have met Orchid. {Orchid is a creamsicle with a long, question mark-shaped tail, and doesn’t look anything like an Orchid.}

  “Easier than expected,” Alastair said, standing.

  “Oi, if you’re looking for cats, they’re all over the place, friend. They move around constantly.”

  Alastair didn’t acknowledge the comment and left the barn. He wandered for a bit, noting the layout in general, and wandered into the Butterfly Garden. There was a collection box outside asking for a coin for entry, which he placed in the box, and then entered through the door. He was amazed by the fragrance and collection of butterflies flitting around. He found a bench and let his mind be amazed for a while. Before long, though, his stomach got the better of him and he realized it must be near lunchtime. Maybe he could pay to eat alongside the farmhands.

  Alastair left the butterfly garden and back toward the farmhouses, which he expected might be the place for lunch. But before he could get there, a cattle bell rang out at a couple of places and he noticed all the farmers aiming toward one or the other. He followed along and found himself in a queue with a kettle at the end. He waited in the queue behind a couple of guys talking about a wagon wheel that had been replaced, of all things, and an intimidatingly large man behind him who kept pushing Alastair forward with his belly.

  After a third push, Alastair turned to the large man, “Do you want to go ahead of me?”

  “No. I’m just hungry is all. Sorry, I don’t mean to get in your business.”

  “Take my spot, then. You’ll get food all the faster.”

  “No, I couldn’t. I can’t. I’m sorry for bumping you. But, could you scoot onward? There is a good space between you and those guys, now.”

  Alastair moved forward. “Sorry. I’m new here. What’s your name.”

  “Oh! I’m…I’m just farmer one. That’s all I go by.”

  “Hi, farmer one. I’m Alastair,” Alastair said, holding out his hand.

  Farmer one shook it, then waved Alastair forward. “Alastair, huh? It’s a pretty name. Did you earn it?”

  “Not really. My mum gave it to me. Maybe I earn it by continuing to use it.”

  “It’s lucky to have a name. Maybe someday I’ll earn one,” he waved Alastair forward, where he was now just a couple of people out.

  “I could give you one if you like.”

  Farmer one’s eyes got big. He whispered, quickly, “Don’t,” then waved Alastair to the head of the line.

  Alastair took a bowl, what looked like a piece of corn cake, and then a man ladled some steaming beans into the bowl. There was a barrel of water and a cup beside it, so Alastair took one of those also. After having gathered the things, Alastair sought out Farmer One, who had sat at the end of a table since it looked like he wouldn’t fit onto a bench. Alastair sat next to him.

  “Why can’t I give you a name? I can’t just keep calling you farmer one.”

  Farmer one put the bite from his mouth back to the bowl. “Because every day I would have to live up to it. And with so many other unnamed here, the pressure to perform would be immense. It would make life more challenging, and I’m not ready for more challenges right now.”

  There was still so much to learn about the game, and Alastair was a bit surprised by the nuanced reply.

  “Okay, I won’t give you a name. But, I have another question.” Alastair finished his bowl of beans. “Do you know where I can find some cats?”

  Congratulations! You have pet a cat.

  You have met Peony. {Peony is a fluffy sorbet cat with streaks of strawberry, lime, and lemon coloring through her fur. She’s a lovebug!}