Sporemageddon

Black Mould - Eight - Clerical Duties

Every day for the next two or so months, I was brought over to the kids kennel. Or, as the locals called it, Martha’s place.

It was... at once boring and not.

I know that it’s really immature of me, but maybe something about my size and lack of responsibilities just made playing around a lot of fun. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d run around, screamed, or just exhausted myself with play.

[Running] rose a couple of levels, but otherwise I didn’t get much in terms of skills. I did get the option to take a few. Things like [Tag {Common}] and such, but I forwent those. I wanted to have a balanced skill set that would let me lead a happy life.

Bet continued to follow me around, despite being older and much taller. We read a bit more, and she even brought in a different book at one point. From what I gathered, her father was an engineer of some sort, and he didn’t want her to grow up unable to read and write.

It was a fun time.

My other skills languished a little. The best I could do to increase them was convince one or two of the more gullible idiots (Snot Nosed Brat included) into grabbing some mushrooms from their parents’ pantries, and all that helped with was my [Druid Sight]. I decided not to exploit the children until they were a little older, at least.

One morning, maybe three months into my stay at Martha’s, and a few weeks before my first birthday, we arrived to find two men at the door. Seeing parents around wasn’t unusual, but these two didn’t look like fatherly types.

Both wore clean blue uniforms, with starched pant legs and thick knee-length coats that must have been suffocating in the heat. Their lower faces were covered by a leathery mask with cloth pads on the sides, and they had tall helmets with a badge on the front, like extras in a British movie.

I felt my father tensing up and patted him on the chest reassuringly. If he was nervous, then these people might be trouble. Or law-enforcement. Possibly both.

“Papers, please, sir,” one of the officers said.

“Ah, I have them right here, sir,” my father said. He reached into his pocket with a hand that trembled a little.

I had to defuse this a bit. “Nice hat,” I said.

The officer blinked, his attention shifting from my father to me. “Pardon?”

“I like your hat. It’s pretty.”

The shorter of the two officers took my father’s papers, unfolded them, then wrote something down in a notepad while the one who had spoken leaned forwards a little. “You like my hat, do you? What’s your name, kiddo?”

His tone seemed nice enough, just an officer chatting with a curious kid. The problem was, I didn’t know my name.

My father cleared his throat. “Ah, no name. Not yet. One year old in a week or two, so... you know.”

“Oh-hoh, growing fast then,” the officer said. He looked to his partner who nodded and handed my father back his papers. “All seems to be in order then. Have a good morning, sir.”

“Thank you, sir,” my father said. He bobbed a bit of a bow, as best he could with me in his arms, and slipped into Martha’s place.

There was a clear air of tension in the kid kennel. Anger was faster to spark with the kids, and more of them were lazy and slower to want to play. They could tell something was up. I noticed a number of faces missing, but I hadn’t really made a point of getting to know more of the kids.

It wasn’t until that afternoon that I learned more.

“Dada,” I asked as we were making our way home. My mom was walking by my father’s side, and we were moving quite slowly. This was their time to relax after work and share juicy gossip.

“Yes, little mushroom?”

I glared. I didn’t like that nickname. “Why were those officers there?”

My father tensed up. “It’s complicated.”

“Maybe the kids know,” my mom said.

“Know what?” I asked. They had to know that I was smarter than the average child by now, but sometimes they still needed to be poked into revealing things.

“One of your friends, a boy just a bit older than you, he had his naming ceremony this weekend,” My mom said. She smiled and reached up to touch my cheek. “Something bad happened.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“The naming ceremony?” My dad asked.

I shook my head. “The bad thing.”

My father took a deep breath. “He had a name already.”

“Huh?” What was so wrong with that? Unless it was a magical thing? But then, would it be serious enough for law-enforcement to intervene? This corner of the city looked like a slum. I even noted a few heaps on the side of the road as we were passing, and I couldn’t tell if they were people resting outdoors or trash.

Would the police care enough about one destitute kid’s name?

“The ceremony is very important. You get a blessing from one of the divine when the cleric gives you your true name,” Mom said. “The boy... he had a blessing from a bad god.”

“A bad god?” I asked. Interesting. My parents didn’t seem entirely religious. I didn’t see them leaving for church, or even praying. Though I imagined that it was easy to miss.

“The nature goddess,” my dad said. “He was named Shant Noased Bhrat. A strange name. When the clerics saw that, they said it was a bad omen.”

Oh.

Oh, shit.

“Can anyone give someone a name?” I asked.

“Only a cleric,” my mom said.

I winced as I checked my class’s name. [Agaric Cleric {Rare}]. Definitely, one-hundred percent a cleric linked to the nature goddess. And I had called that one boy a Snot-Nosed Brat. It all fell together in my mind. I’d given the little brat the worst possible name.

Maybe it wasn’t all bad? The name I gave him was in English, and it sounded like they were repeating it phonetically. So to the locals it would just be a string of syllables, and even to someone who happened to speak English, with the terrible way my father pronounced it, they’d probably think it was just a fluke.

I’d still kind of messed up.

“I... know what happened,” I said.

My mother looked me in the eye. “You do?”

I nodded. I was mature enough to admit that I’d made a mistake. It helped that it was an honest mistake, and that I was still just a child. I imagined there was some way to get rid of a name after the ceremony.

“Let’s talk at home?” I asked. We were almost there anyway.

My parents picked up the pace a little, and soon enough we were back home and my father was setting me down onto the cot tucked against the far wall. My mother brought a chair over for my dad, and then she started preparing supper.

“Okay, little mushroom,” my dad said. He leaned forwards, elbows on knees and looked very serious. I almost laughed. The look didn’t suit him one bit. “Tell us about the person you saw.”

“I didn’t see a person,” I said. “Um, what will happen to the person who gave Snot Nosed Brat his name?”

My father frowned. “I don’t know. The Bullies are looking for them though.”

“Bullies?”

My father flushed. “The officers. Don’t ever call them that, it’s a mean thing to say, especially where they can hear.”

I nodded. Slang for cops. More on-the-nose than calling them pigs, I supposed. “Okay. Well, I did it.”

“Did what?” he asked.

“I gave Snot-Nosed his name. It wasn’t on purpose, I didn’t know it would stick.”

My dad sighed, then he chuckled. “So, you were playing and gave him a silly name? It’s not the same thing.”

I shook my head. “I’m a cleric,” I said. “A cleric of the nature goddess, Feronie.”

My dad’s breath caught. “Where did you hear that name?” he asked.

“The other children,” my mom supplied, though she said it hesitantly.

I shook my head. “No. I have a blessing from her. It’s called Blessing of Feronie, and it let me pick a Cleric class.”

My father dropped down onto one knee before me, hands gently grabbing my shoulders. “You have a class. Already?”

I nodded.

“But you can’t, not until you’re smart enough to understand the system. Otherwise every baby...” he looked at me, eyes searching mine. Then he pulled me into a hug. “Oh, my clever little mushroom.”

I hugged him back. “I’m sorry?”

“She can’t be a cleric, it’s... no, she can’t be. That kind of thing isn’t heard of, not with a child,” my mom said.

My father shook his head. “We can look.”

“And if it’s true, everyone will know,” my mom said.

“I can do magic!” I said.

My parents both paused.

“Magic?” my father asked.

“To make mushrooms grow faster. Uh, I just need a bit of fresh mushroom, some dirt, I can show you.”

My father stood. Then, after a long moment, it seemed that he came upon a decision.

***