At seven in the evening in the Royal Capital Square, the clock perched on top of the spire slowly struck, signaling the end of a day's labor.
As a member of the glass workshop's labor force, Dalit set down the blowing pipe in his hands and left the steamy factory with his colleagues, heading towards the tavern under the street lamps.
Along the way, the group of about a dozen workers incessantly complained about the recent literacy policy implemented by the council, which not only reduced their work hours from eleven per day to nine but also cut their salaries by about twenty percent.
In its place, they were obliged to attend a two-hour basic literacy class every workday morning, with a monthly fee of one silver coin, attendance compulsory.
For Dalit, attending classes was far more unpleasant than laboring. The jumble of numbers and symbols made his head throb, and after several weeks, he still couldn't grasp the basic knowledge all those Wizards talked about.
