I return today to recount the circumstances behind my lay-off. Day of yester I was too frustrated to say more.
I have been writing the histories of our people by hand. It takes me upwards of twelve months to collect an oral history from our peoples, and then another twelven1Translation Note:Plurals are weird in “Alfish”. the ‘en” suffix seems to have two roles:
A) doubled
B)Again
So this could have taken 24 months or 36 months. months to write the history down in a common tongue. And then I pass another two years producing eight copies for our eight tribes.
But in a meeting three days ago, where I gathered with the elders, they revealed a discovery: the printing press.
The Seen-Folk have used this machine to rapidly produce books. What required months of me, can now be done in days.
“Llthraim, we’re going to have to let you go. We have found a way to copy our histories by machine,” said Ntryanm, descendant of Nta’al the Grey.
“What,” I exclaimed. “How can this be?”
Ylathfor, of the line of Ylysse the Gold, expanded. “The Seen-folk have a machine, called the printing press. A goldsmith called Gutenberg has created it. Our script is placed on metal blocks and arranged to form words. It can quickly transfer ink to paper. We need not write by hand any more!”
“You have relied on my hand for two hundred years! How can you tell me in a day that you will not need it any more? What am I to do? How shall I pay my debtors? I have property taxes due in two-score weeks!”
“We appreciate all your efforts. Take this candle as a token of our appreciation,” said Vnalthis. “Please, turn your ink, quills, and current works to Hvalthur. Recount to him your current histories of the Þrow. He has already begun copying your other works.”
“Hvalthur is barely of age. He’s not more than 50 years and he can’t read more than but one tongue!”
“One need not be literate to operate the printing press. Please, Llthraim. Turn in your ink, quills, and transfer your knowledge to Hvalthur,” said Ntryanm.
“Fine,” I replied.
So I went to the bureau, found that idiot Hvalthur drinking my ink. Again.
I showed him my quills, my parchments on the Þrow of Shetlands, and transferred to him my knowledge of the peoples. The fool wrote is as “Trow”; he didn’t even know the difference between þ and tr. We’re doomed.
Oh, the candle is scented. It smells of lilac.
I’m allergic to lilac.
Damnit.