SlenderWolf

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have to be a really good one and truly entertain people. Quite a lot of would be musicians, actors and authors have to think about getting a day job, or finding a romantic benefactor to keep them alive! Without a social welfare system there is nothing to fall back on. What you can be sure of, is that if nobody in your household has work, then you have no money.”

Kayt looks on in astonishment! She’s a good singer songwriter. And here, indirectly, is Mr Rafone telling her that she should be on the look out for a proper job. In school music lessons Kayt and Conning sometimes duet and they’re pretty impressive! Just ask the boys! And the girls! The unofficial Kayt and Conning fan club contains most of this year group, and lots of the younger kids throughout Broadland Park High School. And beyond!

“Don’t we get to choose our jobs?” asks KristalClear.

“Yes and no,” says Mr Rafone, well aware that KristalClear has a part time job at the stables, and that NutJob is already doing some work for The Lancastrian.

“The quality of the work that you’re likely to find depends on the diploma you get when you leave school, and that depends on how well you study, and how long you study.”

Mr Rafone’s class of fifteen and sixteen year olds will all be sixteen by the time they leave school at the end of this academic year. In Wolfland, and everywhere else, there is no system of further education. At sixteen people become adults, and they go out and find work.

“Assuming that you make the grade, then at the end of the summer term after your sixteenth birthday, you’re awarded a Diploma of Distinction. Some students leave school earlier. The best they can hope for at fifteen is a Diploma of Merit, or at fourteen a Diploma of Education. In theory, it’s possible to be a sixteen year old school leaver and receive a lesser diploma if your studies are not up to scratch.”

“It’s not officially recognised, but you’ll hear some people use the abbreviations DOD, DOM or DOE. And some drop outs talk about a Diploma of Sod All … or a DOS.”

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“Students? Don’t be ridiculous! How can we pay? None of us has that much money!”

Mr Rafone smiles that sort of smile which suggests, “come on, can nobody figure it out,” combined with a, “you know I’m going to tell you anyway,” and a, “how much longer should I keep you floundering.”

Finally he interjects, “employers.”

He pauses and looks at the astonished faces staring at him. That’s most of the class.

“So, what exactly is the Work Impost?”

The point of this Civics lesson is not to teach the class about Work Impost, but about the importance of doing something for society in exchange for money. Bluntly put, this is the “work or die” lesson.

Whether products or services, everybody is expected to work to provide something, and then they are paid for doing that work.

The spectrum is very wide with farm labourers being paid poorly, to ships’ captains being paid well. Artisans like carpenters, saddlers and tailors are paid in direct proportion to the work that they do. Grocers and merchants for what they sell, doctors and lawyers in exchange for the services they provide.

Mr Rafone likes to remind people of Darwin’s theory of evolution. Those who are the most responsive to change are the ones who are most likely to survive. The population of Wolfland thrives, because it has adapted to a new world order. It’s not about “survival of the fittest”, it’s about being “responsive to change”. Darwin didn’t say “survival of the fittest” until the fourth edition of his book, and it was only in that, because Herbert Spencer had kept badgering him.

“You adapt or die,” says Mr Rafone, “even Benet has adapted and earns a living in spite of his odd lifestyle.”

“If you have no work, for example if you’re a child, or you’re a homemaker, then somebody in the family will have to make enough money to look after everybody else in the household. If you’re a musician, an actor or an author, then you

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That’s why the Chamber funds only the highways and defence. And it means that a small civil service is enough to help deliver pubic goods. It also means that everything else has to be paid for. If you want it, you pay for it. If you want a bank account, you pay the bank a regular fee!”

“There are two other types of taxes in Wolfland. An import duty on certain types of goods. And a local tax on properties, both residential and commercial. The local tax is devoted entirely to local amenities like street cleaning, refuse collection, the libraries and the fire brigade, etc. The whole machinery of central government relies on the sales tax, when people buy things, and on some import duties, when commercial traders import certain things.”

Mr Rafone returns to his original question.

“So, what exactly is the Work Impost?”

Complete silence! Again!

“Who funds this school?”

With a slightly nervous, questioning tone Kayt suggests, “government?”

“Interesting! But no! Let’s try it this way. Who pays my wages?”

A few whispers go around the class. Without responding directly to Mr Rafone, a spontaneous discussion develops among the students.

“Parents! If everything else has to be paid for, and parents want their kids to be educated, then surely they’re the ones who are paying?”

“My parents don’t pay! They have no money at all!”

“Nor does my mum, well that’s what she keeps telling me!”

“Interesting!” says Mr Rafone, “why parents?”

“So that we’re better qualified, we get better jobs, and we earn higher wages?”

“OK, aside from parents, who else might be paying for this?”

“Teachers?”

“Or the students themselves?”

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Kayt and Conning, the two Manx girls are now locked in intense discussion with KristalClear, and there, in the seat right next to her, right on the fringe of the girl power group is NutJob!

“That took some time” thinks Mr Rafone, knowing full well that it was inevitable that these two would end up together.

He also knows that if he can get Kayt and Conning to fall in line, which he will, then all of the girl power group will make a constructive contribution during this lesson.

“What exactly is the Work Impost?”

Complete silence!

Then Kayt pipes up, “imposters at work?”

“Nice try, but no. Let’s try an easier one. What is income tax?”

KristalClear responds immediately, “it’s a tax on income.”

“Yes, but we haven’t had that for over 200 years.”

He continues, “what’s a sales tax?”

Conning thinks she knows this answer, “a tax on sales?”

“Yes, and no. It’s a tax on purchases. Sales tax is not paid by the seller, it’s paid by the buyer. Why is there no income tax, and why is a purchase tax called a sales tax?”

“Why indeed?”

“In the turbulent years that followed the energy crisis, the Great Famine, the rise in sea levels, and the mass migration in search of clean water, all the new territories suddenly found that they needed a system of self government.”

“In what is now Wolfland a local government was formed, and they created the Chamber. The Penrith Nobles decided that they were going to keep taxes simple. There would be no tax on earning money, only on spending it. That way people can earn as much as they like, and spend as little as possible in order to pay almost no tax. Obviously people cannot live without buying things. Like food, and clothes. And businesses buy things. The Lancastrian has to buy paper and ink. Hence, the sales tax brings in a good deal of money.”

“A system was devised to keep things in equilibrium, just enough taxes to keep the economy buoyant, but not too much.

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softly on the lips. KristalClear had taken him by surprise. She had been in complete control of the encounter from start to finish.

Watching her disappear further down Willowdene Road, and then off into a smaller side street, NutJob smiles to himself and slowly makes his way home. He might see her again on Saturday, but he knows that the stables will be busy all day. He might see her again on Sunday. Who knows?

He will definitely see her again on Monday morning when school starts.

Once home, NutJob takes the Saturday edition of The Lancastrian from his knapsack and places it on the kitchen table. One of the perks of working for Franklin and Faraday is that NutJob, and his parents, always have a free copy of the paper, and it’s one day earlier than everybody else.

After registration on Monday morning, the first lesson is Civics. It’s a comfortable way to start any day, especially a Monday, and it’s especially good when it’s Mr Rafone. He’s one of those teachers that everyone gets along with. He’s easy to talk to, and he enthuses students in a way that ensures that the class stays focussed with a lively, yet pragmatic discussion of the topic of the day.

When he entered the classroom this morning Mr Rafone could already hear Kayt addressing one of the boys with her well rehearsed catchphrase, “don’t invade my personal space”. He didn’t see what happened, but the back row boys were giggling and pointing.

Giving them a look which says “subdue your rebellious tendencies”, Mr Rafone briefly scans the room. As usual Kayt is sitting with the girl power group. They’re a lively lot, good natured and always geared up for a vocal debate.

They have their own provocative, cheeky style, and at least they manage to combine ​that with some valuable and helpful contributions.

On the other side of the room from the back row boys is the spot where NutJob normally sits. Where is he today?

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“They said they won’t know until nearer the time. They have several full timers already.”

In what seems like a very short time, they reach the junction where their routes home diverge.

KristalClear says, “let me tell you something.” She places her right hand on his left shoulder and leans forward, as if to whisper in his right ear. He feels her soft, warm breath on the side of his face, and wonders what’s going on. She says nothing. Gives him a soft, light peck on the cheek as if to offer a qualified “thank you”. The sort of unspoken “thank you” that says “thanks for getting the newspaper printed on time” and “thanks for being the fascinating sort of NutJob that your nickname suggests” and “thanks, you are special”.

She’s thrilled that she’s just pulled off her master stroke. Her head is buzzing.

Both of them, simultaneously, experience a dopamine hit.

With his right hand NutJob reaches for her left hand, wanting to firmly take hold of it, although he’s trembling slightly. The tip of one finger manages to make contact with the back of her hand. He realises that his finger nail is digging into her skin, and that he’s fumbling! Both on target and off target at the same time!

KristalClear doesn’t mind, she barely notices. She’s already more than halfway through her quickly planned routine, and she’s aiming to complete all the moves perfectly.

Letting go of his shoulder, fleetingly making direct eye contact, she smiles sweetly, and turns away. Then skips joyfully down the road, heading towards her house. NutJob, slightly stunned, just stands there not knowing what to do. Elated and dejected in equal measure.

He just watches her enthusiastically hop, skip and jump along the street. She had clearly decided all along that she wouldn’t turn her head to look back.

NutJob was elated that he’d secured that first kiss. And dejected that he hadn’t been ready for it, and he hadn’t been able to really take hold of her hand. He thought he’d missed an ideal opportunity to cautiously show his affection, and kiss her

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Chapter 13
Work or Die

“How can there be another printer jam?” asks Faraday rhetorically, “this is the fourth one in a row! And we’ve done all the obvious checks!”

“It’s hotter than usual today,” says NutJob, “maybe it’s the paper, not the machine. Is the paper too dry?”

“OK,” says Faraday, “let’s look at that before we try adjusting the callipers again.”

Faraday takes his chemistry set from the cabinet. They check the water hardness and the PH value. They’re both fine, so it can’t be the water. Their attention returns to the sheet callipers and the smoothers. Rather than fiddle with them in place again, they decide to remove the whole assembly, clean it up, and refit it.

It does the trick! And just in time too, the full print run is completed by 19:00 in time for the pickers and packers to prepare the bundles before the couriers arrive. With an eye on the clock, NutJob is keen to clean the press, and put everything away so that he can finish on time at 21:00.

“Must dash,” he says, “I’m hoping to catch up with Kristal on the way home!”

“Sure,” says Faraday, “and when you’re in tomorrow, we’re going to have a proper look at building our own press.”

KristalClear is already at the crossroads by the time NutJob arrives. She’s been waiting for him, and she’s keen to have their regular ten minute chat on the way home. Every Friday she has the same repetitive pattern at work, and every Friday NutJob has something new and different to talk about.

Today, he’s very pleased with the chemistry he’s learned, and he barely pauses to let her say anything!

“You’re obviously going to be an engineer when you leave school,” she says, “I hope The Lancastrian can take you on full time.”

“And the Garrison?” asks NutJob, “what have they said about work next year?”

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“You have to go fishing in the right pond.”

“But we’re not in charge of pond building!”

In a low, gentle voice KristalClear says “you need to tell all of this to the Provost! If your Manx grandad ever comes to work here, he could improve our education system in Wolfland!”

Kayt’s confused, and zooms in on KristalClear, “that’s a bit deep isn’t it? When did you get into the business of restructuring government?”

To get their attention again Conning purposefully, and audibly, lays the palm of her right hand on top of the back of her left hand, and says wistfully, “where can CandiCrush find a man? Where can I find a man? Where can anybody find a man?”

“Traveller! What reward are you seeking?”

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“It comes to some of us at about sixteen he said, maybe a bit earlier, maybe a bit later. You don’t want to wait until you’re sixty to start being nice to people. He said, if you’re not there yet, young Conning, I just want to suggest a direction that you might choose to follow!”

“That’s some lecture!” says Kayt.

“Not really a lecture,” says Conning, “but perhaps it is. It’s a thought provoking story! Grandad said it’s his favourite story, passed down through the generations.”

Thankful that she managed to convey absolutely everything without too much hesitation, Conning sits down and the tears finally start to roll. She takes a handkerchief from her handbag, and starts dabbing her face. KristalClear and Kayt both dash forward to put their arms around her.

There’s gentle sobbing for a minute or two, and continued silence for another minute or two as the girls, individually, have dozens of thoughts running through their heads all vying for attention, all at the same time, in a haphazard jumble of conflicting priorities.

And nobody wants to be the first to speak.

Their mental capacity can barely cope.

What does Conning want? What does a good apple look like? Isn’t appearance important? Who is she thinking about?

Grandad? Some boy at school? Some girl at school? An older man in Lancaster? Somebody back home on Mannin?

It couldn’t be KristalClear could it? Or NutJob? Or the imaginary, ideal man for CandiCrush?

And, why? Why is all this thinking so stressful?

Conning is the first to speak.

Regaining her composure, she lifts her head, and tries to smile at her friends. Her long, medium ash brown hair is a bit of a tangled mess and her cheeks are flushed and rosy. She calmly closes with three more remarks, delivered in a resolute, determined, strong voice, as if to mimic the style of her grandfather.

“Where can people find responsible, compassionate, and understanding men?”

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What is wisdom,
If not love and support?
Traveller!
What reward are you seeking?

Half way through the recital a noticeable quiver developed in Conning’s voice. Working without a written text, and simultaneously translating from Manx into English was a near insurmountable struggle which has left her emotionally drained. However, Conning had been determined to deliver the entire poem without interruption, because it’s a metaphor for society, for friends, and for families. For life, the universe, and everything.

She surprised herself that she managed to keep going to the end. It was the fascination on her friends’ faces that kept her going. And although this is the end of the poem, it’s not yet the end of the fable.

“What is wisdom?” asks Conning.

Instantly KristalClear responds, “love and support, according to the fable!”

“Grandad told me the fable on my sixteenth birthday, and he asked me, how old do you need to be, to be wise?”

“Six? Sixteen? Sixty?”

The girls look at each other. Kayt is Manx and even she hasn’t heard this before. Conning is still emotional, trying to hold back some tears, and she’s determined to deliver this life lesson in full.

“How old do you need to be to give love and support?”

“Both love and support?”

“Grandad says that even some six year olds can do both, both love and support”

“And some six year olds can’t.”

“Some sixteen year olds still can’t do either of them!”

“It’s about support. Sensible, reliable, rational support. A three year old can be supportive and helpful. But not across the board. You have to be older than three, have a bit more knowledge, and a lot more maturity.”

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