I clapped my hands in delight.

    I wasn’t actually delighted, of course. The idea that a grizzled warden of the wilds with his own bear was on strike instead of ensuring my tax inspectors could safely skulk behind every tree and shrub was so ridiculous that I was certain I’d misheard.

    And that was a problem.

    Clearly, my ears were in need of rest.

    They’d been subjected to the worst that hooligans, nobility and stall keepers arguing over crêpe sizes could offer. And now I was being told a ranger had wilfully downed his bow.

    Such a thing was highly unlikely, of course.

    This kingdom was a delicate ecosystem where everybody worked together to ensure a daily supply of fresh mattresses to my bedroom. A state of harmony envied by our neighbours and coveted by our rivals.

    That’s why–

    Far from telling Apple to remove the tree the man was currently lounging against, I simply had him trot up and nibble away at the sign instead.

    The only compromise I was willing to budge on.

    “Uh, lady, your horse is eating my sign.”

    I feigned a gasp.

    “My, I do apologise! My horse is very diligent, you see. No matter what lies in his path, he’ll continue trotting where I require him to go. And nothing invites peckishness than productivity. Now, please repeat what you just said. Preferably in a way which doesn’t require me to cease smiling in ignorance.”

    The ranger looked up from beneath his weathered hood.

    He turned away the parchment in his hands away from Apple’s beckoning jaws.

    “I’m on strike,” he said simply. Sёar?h the N?vel(F)ire.nёt website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

    I offered a nod.

    A few moments later–I stopped smiling in ignorance.

    Instead, I pointed with the finger of doom.

    A rare sight outside of the Royal Villa. Because while common ruffians were no less deserving, they were also not servants of the kingdom. And to be on strike, they first had to be employed.

    A state of affairs which I was all too happy to resolve.

    “E-Excuse me?!” I said, my mouth wide with disbelief. “What do you mean you’re on strike? … You’re not allowed to be on strike!”

    The ranger shrugged. A motion so languid he was only missing a sprig of wheat to chew on as well.

    It was the most egregious thing yet.

    To throw down his tools was one thing, but to do it with so little vitriol was outrageous. For him to refuse whatever dangerous task he was legally obliged to do was a once-in-a-lifetime affair. If he wanted to strike, he at least needed to do it loudly enough that his later remorse could be seen by all around him.

    “Well, my old teacher says I should live life as I deem fit. And while I wasn’t always the best student, I like to think I at least took that one piece of advice to heart. I reckon doing anything other than sitting down now would disappoint him.”

    “Is that so? And who would this teacher of yours happen to be, then?”

    “A famed ranger. Bodkins Tangleleaf. I was his apprentice for 2 years.”

    “Excellent. I’ve no idea who that is, but he must truly be skilled to have taught you so well. Why, to be so free of tasks that you’re striking in demand for more is both noble and honourable. But you needn’t fear. My kindness can fill the void. You may therefore begin shooing away the critters harassing the local farmers.”

    I pointed to the side.

    Not far in the distance, a group of budding adventurers were dangerously allowing their confidence to build. Already, their eyes were on the wild boars digging for food and not the fields waiting to be harvested somewhere behind them.

    “Can’t, sorry,” said the ranger with an idle glance at the farmers. “Like I said, I’m on strike. Besides, this lot are fine. They’re local. They know not to wander deep into the woods.”

    “They might be fine. But not the property they damage, the cats they kidnap and the members of royalty they harrass once they’re allowed to take a single step away from their homes. Will you take responsibility once everything starts blowing up?”

    “Nope. but if you’ve a complaint, you can issue it to my employer.”

    “Very well. And who might your employer be?”

    “The local guard. A sergeant’s hired me to keep the forests around here cleared of vandals. I know it might not look it, but I like to think I’ve done a good job despite the obstacles I face.”

    “What you think and what I see are very different. Because there’s now half a sign in my horse’s mouth where the only visible words are concerned with fair pay. An unworthy complaint. Guards are not troll merchants where numbers change with each passing breath. Remuneration is clearly stated beforehand. What, therefore, is your issue? Were you not paid for your work? Have you been the victim of some injustice?”

    “Oh, it’s nothing like that. I don’t actually have any issues with my pay. I just couldn’t think of a better slogan.”

    I briefly sighed into my palms.

    “Fine … then what is the problem?”

    “Workplace safety.”

    “... Excuse me?”

    “Workplace safety. Due diligence hasn’t been observed. The conditions in these forests aren’t good enough. There’s a serious risk of injury.”

    Silence.

    Nothing answered the ranger’s statement … save for the snoring of a bear, continuing despite Coppelia’s best efforts to fearlessly poke the very large animal awake.

    It was like the sound of my father after a productive day with a wheel of camembert. Except that unlike his graceful form as he groaned in regret while slouched over the dining table, I couldn’t pretend to see nothing.

    Frankly, I couldn’t fault the bear.

    With a master like this, I’d also wish for the joy of slumber.

    “Safety … ?!” I threw up my arms in exasperation. “You’re worried about safety?!”

    “Yup.”

    “You’re a ranger! With a bear!”

    “Yeah, that too.”

    “Did you not say you were trained by a famed ranger?!”

    “Sure was. Enough to know when to stick my bow out and when to stick it on the ground instead. Because until I’m satisfied with the conditions around me, I see no reason to offer my time in return.”

    I was incensed.

    To be a ranger was to be the shadiest person in every tavern corner! They were the hooligans of the wild! Individuals who spent so much time amongst the things which tried to eat them that they were now shunned out of fear they’d grown claws and fangs themselves!

    Nobody became a ranger in order to be concerned with safety regulations!

    “This is not striking!” I said, pointing at the many stacks of parchment around him. “This is … this is lazing! As a ranger, your duty is to remove whatever dangers exist … not wait for someone else to do it!”

    The man resumed scribbling away, his demeanour somehow more lackadaisical than the sleeping bear.

    “Listen, lady, I respect those who can work no matter the place. I know plenty like that. But I’m not one of them. I’m just doing this for the highly reasonable pay. And right now, there’s an unacceptable amount of risk. Until the guards make this forest safer so I can see out my contract, it’s just me by this tree and Moka on a bridge. Apologies for the inconvenience. You’ll need to take the other bridge for now. It’s just a 10 minute detour.”

    “Excuse me?! I will not accept a single second of any detour! Because of you cowering behind a sleeping bear instead of doing your job, new adventurers will soon be threatening tabby cats everywhere! How do you intend to find work again after this sordid display?!”

    Another shrug came in response.

    “Probably not by working as a ranger much longer. I’m happy to admit I’ve not the heart for it. It’s not what I want to do. But the time I’ve spent in the wilds has given me time to hone my true craft. My real passion.”

    “And what’s that? Becoming a vagabond, perhaps?”

    “No.” The man looked up, his eyes suddenly just a shade brighter. “... I want to be an artist.”

    Before I could even begin questioning his credentials, he lifted up the parchment he was scribbling on and turned it around.

    All I saw were drawings of fruit slimes.

    Some bouncing. Some squished. Some with wings.

    Each very well drawn, yes … but still fruit slimes.

    “... Is that it?”

    The man looked indignant.

    “These are designs for a competition in Reitzlake. A highly renowned sculptor is seeking entries. The winner will have their drawing turned into a work of art. A clay model everyone will buy. This is my chance to be known far and wide.”

    I raised an eyebrow.

    A moment later, I leaned down and plucked the quill from the man’s hand.

    Without thought, I swiftly drew the silhouette of a fruit slime submerged in a bathtub in a single, fluid motion.

    “Done,” I said, flicking the quill away. “Now return to your assigned task.”

    The man blinked as he promptly viewed the drawing. A stunned expression filled his face, seeing at once the gulf in artistic talent between an amateur and a princess.

    “... My job is to clear vandals,” he said, shoulders drooping slightly. “Not to face dangers beyond my knowledge.”

    “You have a bear. Tell your bear to look menacing.”

    “Moka isn’t my bear. And she doesn’t want to handle this either. There is something cursed in the forest. An avatar of horror drawing all sorts of evil towards it. If you don’t like the idea of me waiting for the guards, then by all means, you’re free to get rid of it yourself.”

    I was outraged.

    “Wha–! How dare you! Needlessly imperilling myself against whatever hidden monstrosity the guards clearly wanted someone else to soften up first is not my responsibility! It is yours!”

    “I’m afraid I’ll need to reject that. I’m more than happy to work as expected. But I’m simply not equipped to deal with what’s there.”

    “And what is that? A larger than average fruit slime you used as inspiration?”

    “No, it’s not a fruit slime. It’s a … thing.”

    “A thing … what thing?”

    “A thing encased … no, spewing evil. At first, it looks mundane. But it comes alive if you near it.”

    I rolled my eyes in grief.

    “Is it a cursed seashell?”

    “No. It’s a teapot.”

    “…. Excuse me?”

    The man picked up another sheet of parchment from atop a stack and showed it.

    I leaned in and narrowed my eyes.

    A crude drawing, sketched by a shaking hand.

    Even so, the shape was recognisable … as were the trimmings of a teapot clearly sourced from the Royal Villa. The same as those used exclusively to serve high-grade bergamot and also by Clarise for her various experiments.

    Hmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

    “I know it’s hard to believe,” said the man, the air of apathy gone as a serious tone took hold of his voice. “And I’m sure the guards feel the same with how long it’s taking for them to get here. But that teapot … it’s not normal. I can feel it. Hear it. Like a frigid whisper seeping into my very soul.”

    I pursed my lips.

    A moment later, I pointed at the ranger.

    “... I’ll be right back. You saw nothing.”