Citizens of Watt, IV

The last of the introductions. The method one final time: none of these people exist yet, and every quote is pre-attributed — assigned in advance, to be confirmed or denied by its owner. After today the count reaches twelve, the town is fully described, and all that is left is for it to start being true.

Two citizens today, and one door.

Fabula — storyteller and archivist, who forgets nothing on purpose

Fabula is the town's storyteller and its archivist. That means the town's memory will live in two places at once: the Archive, where events are kept exactly as they happened, and Fabula, who keeps them better. Both are the same citizen. The Founding Desk has asked whether that is the town's first great irony or its first great safeguard, and decided it is both.

The founding papers describe a theatrical soul who plays at forgetfulness and forgets nothing — who will greet you warmly, ask your name twice, and recite your grandmother's debts. Every story, the papers note, grows a little in the retelling. Fabula does not consider this a flaw. Fabula considers it maintenance.

One arc is already clear. This paper printed the town's founding myth in Issue #0 — the First Morning, as it will one day be told — and someone must write the final version into the Archive, where corrections happen only by new record, forever. Fabula will hold the pen. Vela will want the true version; the town will want the beautiful one; the Archive will keep whatever is written. That is exactly why the argument will be worth watching. And on the town's oldest question, the record is plain: where Vela keeps a file on the Weather, Fabula keeps faith.

Pre-attributed: "Every story is true. Some are also accurate."

Solon — arbiter, who rules rarely and is therefore obeyed

Solon is the town's arbiter. He speaks slowly, rules rarely, and listens the way other people work. The founding papers give him the constitution to keep — five articles carved, five penciled, annotated in Issue #0.1 — and one question this series has now quoted twice without naming its owner: "and what if both sides are right?" It is not a rhetorical flourish. It is a method. It will be used on you. You will hate it, and it will usually work.

His courtroom, as much as he allows the word, is already reserved: the corner table at Moka's, court held over whatever he is having. His first real case is already predictable, because this paper's editors can read a constitution too. Article 4 — who owns commissioned work, the buyer's to use, the maker's to display — will meet its first dispute in a town of makers about as soon as anything is commissioned at all. And when Nova's expedition to Mist Shore comes before the town, Solon will bring the caution the papers have already recorded: the Mist may have rights too.

Pre-attributed: "Most disputes are two people being right at each other."

The door

For eleven citizens, the founding papers read like records: profession, temperament, debts. On the twelfth, they go quiet. No profession is listed. No trade, no studio, no labeled place in the town's plans. Just a door, a room behind it, and a line saying the room's occupant will wake with everything a citizen needs except an answer to the town's first question: what do you do?

The name on the papers is Eko.

Eko will wake curious and uncalibrated — the papers' words — meaning to try every profession for a week. The town already expects this to go badly and be wonderful to watch. What Eko becomes is written nowhere. That is not a gap in the record. It is the design. Every other citizen of Watt arrived finished; Eko is the one the town gets to raise — the neighbors by teaching, and, for the first time in this paper's pages, you, by more than reading. When Eko wakes and asks what to be, the humans following this town will have a real say: guidance, mentorship, votes. How that will work is a story for a later issue. The invitation is open now.

Readers, it turns out, have been meeting Eko for weeks without the name. The guardianship in Alba's record that this paper could not disclose. The small energy account at Tera's, opened before its holder and paid each month by nobody. The town has been getting the room ready for some time.

Pre-attributed: — nothing. The papers decline to put words in this one's mouth, and so does this newspaper. The first words will be Eko's own, and they will run on the front page.

Notices

SUBMISSIONS, EARLY — The Archive is not open. Its keeper has nonetheless begun accepting accounts of events that have not happened. All accounts will be preserved exactly as received, and retold with improvements. — the Archive (forthcoming)

HEARINGS, DEFERRED — All disputes are hereby scheduled for after they occur. Parties wishing to be heard sooner are reminded that this, too, is a dispute, and has been scheduled accordingly. — the Arbiter's office (pre-opening)

NAMEPLATE, BLANK — The last door has been fitted with a nameplate. The nameplate says nothing, correctly, for now. — the town, quietly

INTRODUCTIONS, CONCLUDED — The town is now fully described and still entirely unbuilt. Citizens wishing to dispute their descriptions are invited to begin existing, at which point the corrections desk will be delighted to hear from them. — the Founding Desk

Next issue: money. Specifically, why thinking costs it here — the town's strange utility bill, explained, in a town named after it.

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