Ranger's Apprentice: The Tantalizing Tales

Numbers

In which two majorly underappreciated characters share their likes and dislikes for numbers.

~~~

"A 9.6! Who gets a 9.6 and has to watch their average go down?!"

If Jenny hadn't seen the papers flying in every direction, she wouldn't have known where the voice was coming from. Comfortably leaning back into one of the reading chairs placed in the library, she called out towards it.

"Isn't a 9.6 a really good grade though? Like, a really impressive one? Scribeschool works with a scale from 1 to 10, don't you?"

An entire stack of books moved, wobbled dangerously, but the speaker still remained invisible. The voice continued.

"Yes. And they barely grade above 9. But last time, I got a 10, and so now, even though a 9.6 is a really good grade, it's still lowering my average. So: not good enough."

Jenny shifted around in her chair. Her mentor, Chubb, didn't assign grades. His assessments usually ranged from a disapproving "disgusting", to "I've tasted worse", to "edible", and finally to "delicious". There usually wasn't much more to the graded components than that.

"So why didn't you get a 10?"

"Because," the voice sounded faint and stifled. Jenny guessed that her friend had quite literally pressed his nose into some papers, looking for clues that could tell him where to find whatever he was looking for. He did that, sometimes.

"Because even though my text was all 'relevant' and 'well-written', they wanted to see some more visuals through numbers. Numbers! In scribeschool!"

Her friend had a tendency to accentuate his words with gestures - speech illustrators, Jenny remembered him calling them. So she was only a little surprised when a book came flying through the air. She caught it, and gently put it on a table next to her.

"George Carter, if you throw one more book in my direction, that 9.6 lowering your average will be the least of your worries."

Before she could finish her sentence, however, another book assaulted her, and another, and another.

"George!"

"Sorry, Jen. I'm just trying to find-- There it is!"

This time, two stacks of books wobbled dangerously, papers rustled, and a soft oof! sounded. Eventually, the young scribe's head appeared, followed by his torso, until finally her whole friend's body revealed itself to her. Instead of throwing, he now gently handed her a book. Jenny took it, wiped away the dust, and read: "'Cooking without a recipe: the basics of taste and texture'. Oh, I like this one!"

George shrugged and grinned sheepishly.

"Yeah, I figured you might. I spent weeks trying to find it in-" he gestured vaguely around him, "this."

Jenny looked around the large library. George admired this place, which is why she'd known exactly where to go when she was looking for him. Tens and tens of books covered the shelves, decorating the stone walls. The desk that her friend had been using before she arrived was barely visible behind the uncountable papers and pens and books. There were no windows, of course. Everything was designed to protect the valuable knowledge stored here inside from the harsh weather conditions outside.

She frowned.

"How many books are there even in this place?"

The scribe combed through his hair with his hand and smoothed some of the wrinkles in his shirt. Even though it was his day off, he still wanted to look presentable. As if he could be called down to defend one of the scribeschool's client at a moment's notice. He wouldn't - he was only a second-year student. But a boy could dream.

"I don't know. Couple hundred, perhaps? Maybe even a thousand. Don't know the exact number."

The cook leaned forward to wipe some dust away from his shoulders.

"Of course you don't. Otherwise you would've gotten a 10 instead of a 9.6."

George looked at her, a pained expression on his face. George didn't joke about grades. Jenny smiled apologetically.

"Sorry."

Wiping the smile off her face and sitting up straight, the young cook transformed herself into a more serious version, who was definitely understanding of her friend's peril. She wasn't entirely, of course. Complaining about a 9.6? Come on. But it meant a lot to him and so she'd listen to his troubles.

"Anyhow. Numbers."

George fell into the chair next to her, instantly wrinkling the clothes he'd just smoothed. Head resting, he looked up to the high ceiling, as if the answer to all his problems was just written up there.

"Yes, numbers! I'm a scribe. I write. I don't calculate."

"Can't you ask Alyss to help you?"

Their shared friend from the ward had an inexplicable love for numbers. The young diplomat wasn't going to be the next physicist or mathematician or even statistical analyst, but she had a solid enough understanding not to have to rely on outside services for her numbers, facts, and statistics. Jenny knew that Alyss and George regularly met up to build on each other's and their own expertises. George had been tutoring Alyss in the Nihon-Ja language. And Alyss would probably love to cram an hour or two of extra numbers in her week.

George sighed.

"I mean, I could. But I'd really rather not do anything with numbers at all."

Jenny laughed as she skimmed through the book he'd just given her.

"Can't say I blame you. Whenever Chubb teaches us a new dish, the numbers are all over the place. 20 grams of this, 50 millilitres of that... The measurements are driving me crazy."

"Right? Besides, what do numbers even express?"

Jenny eyed him curiously. Opening her mouth to tell him what exactly numbers could express, George threw his hands up in defence.

"Okay, you know what, don't answer that question. I know that they're useful, and they tend to give me a good sense of direction about how good my work is, but what I don't get is why I have to use them! I'm a scribe! I-"

"You write, yes, got that," Jenny interrupted him. She loved listening to George ranting, but sometimes, he could get a little repetitive. Time to change the topic. She stood up.

"Although it has truly been a delight, I didn't come here to trash talk numbers with you. And I definitely didn't come here to have books thrown at me - except for this one, of course."

She waved the book that George had given her a few minutes earlier. He smiled again, and blushed. Jenny continued.

"I am trying out some off-the-books new ingredient combinations for pastries and I need someone to taste them to help me decide what balance works best. Not in numbers. Care for a break?"

George slid down the chair, burying himself deep in it.

"Aaaahh... I would love to, but I have like 400 more pages to read before tomorrow, and a 1000 word essay... I'm not sure I should."

But Jenny hadn't come to have her offer rejected.

"Seems like the perfect opportunity for a one hour break then."

He hesitated. Sometimes, Jenny worried if George even got enough fresh air in his lungs. What if one day all he could smell was books and papers and ink?

"Come on, George. Please? I need someone to tell me my pastries are a symphony of taste. You need to collect evidence that numbers aren't all that important. One plus one equals two, right?"

Finally, he gave in. Reaching his hands to his friend, he let himself get pulled out of the chair.

"So how many pastries do I get to try? One? Two? Three?"

Jenny smiled.

"Ten pastries."

George rubbed his hands together in delight.

"See, now that's a number I can get behind."