Dolor looked around the staff room where the servers, bartenders, cooks, and other members of “the Deck Crew” were gathered for their pre-shift meeting. Martha stood at the head of a table around which the staff members were seated. The room was full of chatter, with crew members discussing topics between themselves, ranging from their experience with a drunk customer from yesterday to current affairs and news from the Revolutionary War front. A few faces were familiar to Dolor, one of them was Larry, the goblin whom Dolor saw playing cards earlier and who was brave enough (or senior enough) to engage in a bit of banter with Barco. He was sitting between two large orc cooks wearing crisp white aprons and chatting to each other about last night’s Grand Arcanum games. Barco was sitting alone in the corner and reading a book intently. The wall-mounted clock chimed 5 o’clock as everyone in the room instantly fell silent and turned their attention towards Martha.

  “Attention, crew! The pre-opening meeting is now in session. Pay attention. While the Anniversary Day is thankfully behind us, our busy week is far from over. Most manaless will be returning to their jobs however the magekind will continue their festivities for the rest of this week so we expect a busy night with a lot of magekind clientele who will come out to enjoy themselves now that the great unwashed masses are no longer sullying their noble sight,” Larry and the two orc cooks chuckled but were quickly forced to wipe the smirks off their faces when met with Martha’s stern gaze.

  “Most of you know what this means. They can be demanding and at times unreasonable, but they are also the ones with the most disposable tickets to burn on food and drink. They can often be troublesome, but let’s hope that they stay within the boundaries of generally accepted social behavior, at least for the people of their class. I will go over the guidelines on how to deal with these clients, because we have a new member whom I will introduce in a moment. Firstly, ignore or laugh off any disparaging or disrespectful comment they might make; under no circumstances are you to be provoked or engage in a verbal altercation with the clients. This will happen, especially as they get more drunk, but no matter how rude they may become, your job is to remain professional and do your job. If something or someone gets out of control, I, as your supervisor, will step in and make sure that you are not subjected to too much abuse.”

  Dolor already did not like where this was going. What the hell does she mean by “too much abuse”? What is even “too much” for someone like Martha, who was just making me see visions of being dismembered an hour ago?

  “Secondly,” Martha continued, “under no circumstances are you to say 'no' to these customers, regardless of their requests. If they want an off-menu item or a wine that we don’t carry, you should tell them that it will be done, and then come and see me, and I will figure out how to fulfill their request. Thirdly and finally, work together and help each other! If you see your fellow crewmates struggling with rowdy clients or with anything else, be proactive and help them! I am always ready to help, so if no one else is available, come see me and I will help you in whatever way I can. Remember, we are all here at the Deck for a variety of reasons, but Mr. Vask has given us a second home and saved us from our troubles, so the least we can do for him is to ensure that the Lower Deck continues to be the finest establishment in the Capital City. Remember, his success is our success!” Martha finished her speech exactly 10 minutes after she started.

  The room exploded in a cacophony of applause, laughter, and cheers of “Lower Deck! Lower Deck!”. To Dolor’s surprise, Martha, far from being the dictatorial drill sergeant he imagined her to be, appeared to be a rather beloved manager at the Deck, with staff members looking at her like the people on propaganda posters look at Crudele.

  “That’s enough, thank you!” the room fell silent again as if Martha pressed a button. “As mentioned, we have a new crew member, Dolor, stand up please,” she gestured towards Dolor who promptly stood up and stood stiff which was a dead giveaway of his ex-military background.

  “Hello everyone, I am Dolor Patiens, nice to meet you. As I found out about 20 minutes ago, it’s my first day working with you all. I hope I won’t be in anyone’s way or cause too much trouble. Apologies in advance,” said Dolor timidly. He was never good at talking in front of a group of unfamiliar people and never quite knew what to say to not sound awkward to them.

  “Save your advanced apologies for those who give a shit, Dolor,” Martha’s reply caused a bout of raucous laughter which ceased as soon as she gestured with her hand. “This is a team environment, and everyone here is working toward a common goal, and if you fail to make yourself useful, you will be tossed out. For the rest of you, please make sure to show him the ropes. It’s not ideal that he must start his first day on such a busy week, but those are the Captain’s orders, so we must follow them. Dolor is also currently undergoing an expedited training course with me, to make him ready for an upcoming work assignment from Mr. Vask,” a quiet whisper spread around the room when Martha mentioned “expedited training”, indicating to Dolor that other crew members might have gone through something like him, but their facial expressions of dread and concern did little to lift his spirits.

  “Ok everyone, get to your stations, we will be opening in 30 minutes, I repeat we are opening our doors in 30 minutes! Dismissed!” Martha finished the meeting, and all crew members of the Deck got up and began slowly leaving the room and spreading throughout the tavern.

  * * *

  The Deck’s kitchen was busy, and the heat from four simultaneously working stoves was causing sweat stains on the freshly pressed and starched uniforms of the kitchen staff. Chef Glass, a human male in his late 40s, presided over the chaos, running from stove to stove and yelling something indiscernible to his cooks and the waiters who were trickling in and out of the kitchen carrying trays to the dining room.

  Dolor was observing the scene from a back office area with large one-way glass windowpanes. Martha was sitting across the table from him and filling out some paperwork. She finished the last document and set aside the stack of papers.

  “We are going to wait for another twenty or so minutes before you go in. Today is especially busy, and I don’t want you to get in the way of the crew at the start of the night. For now, let’s focus on another magic lesson,” said Martha to Dolor, who was fully engrossed in observing the hustle and bustle of the Lower Deck and was startled when Martha suddenly addressed him.

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  “That’s fine, not like I have a choice in the matter anyway.”

  “That you don’t, very astutely observed as always,” Martha approached the window overlooking the restaurant and continued with her back turned to Dolor. “We already discussed purple magic, so now we need to talk about the second most common type of magic – yellow.” Martha snapped her fingers, and an apple-sized floating ball of fire appeared above her hand. Its powerful, radiant glow illuminated the back office and cast long shadows on the room’s walls and ceiling.

  “Yellow is based on the element of fire and represents the open demonstrative righteous violence of the state,” Martha continued, “While the SSB and the Conclave prefer to rule through more clandestine means which are symbolized by the purple school of spells, sometimes an awe-inspiring show of force is warranted to remind the masses of who is in charge.” Martha snapped her fingers again, which caused what looked like a two-foot-tall jet of scorching flame to erupt vertically from the fireball with such force that Dolor could feel the flow of hot air on his face despite sitting on the opposite end of a long conference table. He could feel his eyebrows and lashes getting singed by the searing heat.

  “This is just a party trick for her,” he thought “If she wanted to be serious, she could produce a fire spell which would make this look like a birthday candle” The massive blow torch Martha was holding in her hand continued burning for another 20 seconds before it disappeared along with the fireball.

  “Is everything clear?” Martha asked nonchalantly.

  “Yes, ma’am. Purple is the lightning school and symbolizes the unseen power of the state, while yellow is the visible and demonstrative power of the state and is the fire-based school of magic”.

  “Very good. You can drop the whole military act, there is no need for it,” Martha finally turned around from the window to face Dolor, "...especially when we are out here with other staff. Earlier today I needed to establish my authority and to make sure you realize who I am and that I am not to be fucked with. But I am not one for military protocol and ceremonies, so a simple ‘yes’ will do.”

  “Right, sounds good. With the purple spells, you said that there were other, less obvious ways to use electric spells, like illusion or mind control. Are there any other ways to use yellow magic?”

  “Good question. Unlike their purple counterparts, yellow spells are created for one specific purpose – to inflict damage to living beings and structures. Aside from its obvious offensive potential, yellow magic could be used to create firewalls or fire barriers, which are useful defensively. Some of the enhancement spells in the yellow school include spells that engulf the caster in highly potent magic flames, spells that can increase the caster’s physical strength.” Martha cast a spell that engulfed her arms and legs in barely visible yellow flames.

  She walked to the other side of the room and approached a massive two-door industrial fridge where the cooks stored frozen meat and staff lunch leftovers. Squatting down, she placed her palms under the bottom of the fridge, grabbing it by the corner with both hands. Showing perfect technique, Martha then drove upwards with her legs and lifted the fridge completely off the floor, and then pressed it over her head, locking out both arms. After noticing Dolor’s shocked face, which signified her demonstration’s success, she carefully placed the fridge back in its initial position.

  “Others have found more creative ways to apply fire magic. For example, a trained assassin who is adept in the use of yellow magic can increase his target’s body temperature from a distance, causing them to die a sudden “natural” death. Others still, who’ve mastered the yellow school and have the required control over their casting technique, are capable of silently and instantly burning away the oxygen around their target’s head, resulting in loss of consciousness, but not direct burning damage to the target. In other words, the world is your oyster. The true skill of a mage comes not from their mana reserves, innate or otherwise, but from their understanding of magic theory and how creative they can be in applying the theory to create different spells or use previously existing spells in unorthodox ways.”

  “So, is that why you still haven’t taught me a single spell?” Dolor inquired.

  “That and because we were short on time today. Don’t worry, the time to learn and use spells will come soon; we only have a week to train you after all. But I need you to learn these basics first so that you can maximize your savant potential and leverage your superior mana reserve with a good understanding of the fundamentals. Understanding the nature of each school of magic will make you a more effective caster in the long run.”

  “I see. Now that this lesson is behind us, what should I do? Is it still too early for me to go to the dining floor and try taking a couple of orders?”

  “The dining room looks full, so we are probably not going to get any new clients for the next couple of hours,” Martha said, looking through the one-way office window overlooking the busy dining floor of the Lower Deck. “Follow me, I will introduce you to some people you can shadow for the rest of the shift. Make sure not to get in their way when they are busy but ask questions if necessary because starting from the next shift, you will be on your own.”

  “So, I get just one half-assed day of job training, and then I am expected to perform my duties perfectly after that?”

  “Correct”

  “Alright, alright,” Dolor sighed audibly, “let’s just hope that I am better at waiting tables than at casting spells.”

  Suddenly, a sharp female scream cut through the regular background noise of a busy tavern night, accompanied by the sounds of breaking plates and clanging cutlery. The sound of angry shouts and cackling drunken laughter emanating from the dining floor became so loud that Dolor could no longer hear Chef Glass yelling at the kitchen staff. Martha was already at the window, observing the dining floor to see what was going on.

  “Is everything okay? Another rowdy customer?” Dolor asked, hoping to hear that this was just another routine incident.

  “No, nothing okay about that. It’s not okay at all,” Martha was slowly enunciating every word.

  Dolor noticed that her knuckles were white from the strength with which she was squeezing her fists. He slowly approached the window where Martha was standing and looked onto the dining floor. He saw a mixed group of smartly dressed human and elf magekind surround one of the tables. He noticed that someone was lying on a table that was surrounded. It was a beautiful young woman, one of the waitresses, who was chained to the table with a purple paralysis spell. Members of the crowd would jeer and cast spells that would burn off small patches of her clothing, gradually exposing more of her skin, while she remained helplessly still on the table, while streams of tears rolled down her youthful, rosy cheeks.

  Dolor turned around and saw Martha shuffling through her pockets in search of something. After a brief struggle, she took out a small tin box and opened it. Inside, there were two neatly arranged rows of glass ampules filled with a glowing blue substance. Martha took out one mana cartridge and set it aside, closing the tin box and putting it back in her pocket. She placed her index and middle finger on her neck artery to assess her pulse. Having been satisfied, she picked up the cartridge and took off its plastic cap, exposing a thin injector needle. She rotated the cartridge in her fingers, ensuring that the needle was pointing toward her, and then jabbed herself in the thigh, squeezing the mana contents of the ampule into her bloodstream. Her hands began to shake, and she was barely able to safely retract the needle from her thigh, but was unable to keep a hold of it as it fell from her weakened grip onto the floor shattering on impact and leaving shards of glass scattered around the carpet. Martha stood, hunched over and clearly in pain, for what seemed to Dolor like five minutes before the shakes went away and she was able to stand up straight again.

  “I am too old to be taking double dosages, Dolor, it’s bad for my heart,” she said, addressing more herself than Dolor. “But it can’t be helped, looks like management will need to get involved.”

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