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Learning To Dharn
Ann Somerville
‘Learning to Dharn’ Copyright © 2011 by Ann Somerville
Cover image © Ryan Aréstegui. Cover artist Fia M. Ryan
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written
permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
For more information please visit my website at http://logophilos.net
Smashwords Edition 1, March 2011
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If
you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.
If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to
Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Published by Ann Somerville
Acknowledgements
This book received the gracious and generous oversight of individuals within the deaf community and others, especially Fia
M. Ryan, who did their best to help me remove the more egregious instances of hearing privilege. What remains is entirely
my own failing, and I apologise to anyone who is offended by the content of this story.
Thank you to those who helped, especially to Fia, who went above and beyond the call of duty on this one—as well as
creating the delicious cover art. Her advice was invaluable in improving both the writing and the story. Thank you.
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Kelten tucked a disobedient strand of hair behind his ear, straightening his collar for the fifth time
since joining the queue. After an hour in the noisy, charmless hall, he was now but one from the head
of the line. He clutched his Certificate of Competency and wondered if it would mean anything here, so
far from the university which had awarded it.
Was it a mere two months ago that he imagined he would be swept from the boat bearing him to
Inades like a hero returning from battle? Six weeks in steerage had done a great deal to knock him off
his self-erected pedestal. Now, qualified physician or not, he was just another travel-grimy foreigner
applying for work at the Labour Exchange. The stories he’d heard about there being a shortage of
doctors in this country now seemed like the tales of sea beasts with which his fellow students had
regaled him once they’d learned of his post-qualification plans. The sea beasts had, of course, turned
out to be fanciful. He hoped posts for newly confirmed physicians weren’t just as mythical.
Finally, he was before the desk of a frazzled woman. “Name?” she snapped.
“Rhede Kelten, physician.”
She looked up, and, to his knee-shaking relief, gave him a delighted smile. “Ah, good. Looking for
work as a doctor, Ru Rhede?”
“Yes, ma’am. I was hoping for a post in a hospital. I am recently qualified with a year’s experience
at Jerlde Infirmary. I attended Bunes Elite University. It’s the best in the country.” He hadn’t graduated
top of his class, though not far from it, but he’d graduated and that was all that mattered. His reports
from his internship had been glowing. That counted a good deal more than his marks.
“Ah. You’re Bunesee.” Her bright smile became somewhat less enthusiastic. “Let me see your
papers.”
She examined the certificate and his scripts carefully. “We do need doctors, Ru Rhede, but as you
can appreciate, our own people, especially those with local experience, are given preference. Someone
like you can only hope for a position in a rural hospital until you have some further training. Few of our
doctors want to work in the remote regions.”
“That’s fine. I expected that. Are there any vacancies?”
“Yes, indeed. The hospital at Gark is desperate for doctors. They’ll pay your train fare too.”
“Oh, good.” His funds were severely depleted. He didn’t think he could pay a hefty price for a
train ticket—not yet, anyway. “When can I leave?”
“Immediately, in theory. But unfortunately the overland train that goes through Gark was derailed
two days ago. They don’t expect it to be running again until three-moon. You’ll have to find lodgings
here in Tuwilo until then.”
“Is there no other way of getting there? I can’t afford a month in a hotel. Is there no other post?”
“None that can be reached without that line running. I’m sorry.” She scribbled on a form and
handed it to him. “If you’re still here and interested by the time the line is clear, present that at the
station and they’ll exchange it for a ticket. If not....” She shrugged. “I can’t do anything else. Unless
you want to try other employment in the meantime?”
“No. I mean, thank you. I need to think.” He bowed. “Thank you.”
She waved him away, not rudely, but with the air of someone with too many people to see in too
short a time. He picked up his pack and medical bag, and moved away. He had no idea how much it
would cost to stay in a hotel for a month, but based on prices back in Jerlde, he doubted he could
survive for half that time. Perhaps there were other options for accommodation.
He consulted the well-thumbed but distressingly thin Gentleman’s Guide to Inades that he’d
purchased before departure. He discovered there were indeed other options in the form of inns to the
west of the city, catering to visitors from rural parts and transient workers. The guide sternly warned
against several establishments as being too low in standard for any well-bred person, however tempting
the cheap tariff. While Kelten had lost a good deal of his airs during a gruelling and uncomfortable sea-
journey, he had no wish to be robbed. He enquired of a friendly face on the street how he could get to a
more genteel inn listed in the guide. On their advice, he paid a cu for a cramped ride in an omnibus,
walked along bustling and noisy streets feeling most out of place, and found himself outside the
“Harvest House” inn. It looked promising, clean and neat without the fancy decorative touches which
would indicate high nightly rates.
However, even its modest charges threatened to deplete his savings to nothing in three weeks. “Is
there no discount for an extended stay?” he asked the clerk at the reception desk.
“Oh, yes, sir. If you’re here for two months, we have excellent long-stay discounts. But many of
our guests are here for a month. We don’t consider that a long stay at all.”
“Oh. I don’t suppose there’s any way I could have a room on credit—”
The clerk frowned, his hand creeping towards the bell on the desk as if he might summon help to
throw Kelten out. “Cash only, in advance. Now do you want a room or not, sir?”
He took a room for three nights, feeling that was the smallest time he would need to find
alternative accommodation and recover from the journey. Really, he felt quite close to fainting. Ah,
perhaps because he was hungry. “What about meals?” he asked.
“Breakfast and supper are included in the price. There’s any number of places around here where
you can find luncheon, Ru Rhede.” Having taken Kelten’s money, the clerk was disposed to be kind. “I
personally recommend Green Fields. Across the street, first left. They do an excellent bowl of stew
with bread for two cu.”
“Thank you. Thank you very much.” It was the first thing he’d heard of since he arrived that
hadn’t threatened to beggar him.
After a hasty wash and a solid if dull meal at the Green Fields eatery, he felt more optimistic. If
necessary, he could perhaps seek a few weeks’ work in the hospital as a porter, as he had done during
his holidays while studying, much to his stepfather’s disgust. That had been good enough reason to do
it even without the fact it helped him eke out his inheritance a little longer. But would he be hired for
less than a month? Was there another answer? A cheaper inn, perhaps? Maybe there was some way he
could obtain a line of credit, since he had a firm offer of work. Yes, that might be a reasonable course
of action. He did have an impeccable background, even if it lay in another country and he knew not a
soul in this one. There had to be other Bunesee with similar difficulties living in Tuwilo. Enough of his
country folk had come over on the ship with him.
He walked the streets near the inn, noting the places looking for help and the pawnshops.
Unfortunately he had sold all his textbooks to help pay for his passage, and he had nothing else of
value, other than his pocket watch, which he could pawn. The watch’s value wouldn’t be worth the
sacrifice of giving up a useful possession. He spoke to two establishments offering credit to workers,
but both insisted on a letter from his prospective employer—the note from the Labour Exchange was
insufficient.
Things didn’t look very hopeful, but he wouldn’t be deterred so early in his journey. Despite
everything, he wasn’t sorry to be here. Tuwilo was such a different city from Jerlde—clean and wide
and new, like the whole country. His little guidebook had no information about the hospital, but the
area around Gark was said to be one of the most fertile regions of a large and fertile continent. The
richness of the land enticed people to live on remote farms, hundreds of miles from the nearest large
town. Kelten had never lived anywhere but a densely thronged city on a small and crowded landmass.
What would it be like to be so far from other people? It must be tolerable, or no one would ever do it.
He would find it exciting once he got there, he was sure. And it must be possible to get there. He
refused to admit defeat, not after the battles he’d fought and won just to be standing on this street, in
this foreign city, in this land. If his bloody-minded stepfather hadn’t crushed his will and destroyed his
dreams, a small matter of a couple of hundred cuin wouldn’t either.
Using the plentiful hot water and generous bathing arrangements at the hotel, then doing a little
laundry and having a much-needed nap, filled up the rest of his day. Though he wasn’t particularly
hungry, he was paying for an evening meal so he would have it, by blessed Mother Sret.
The dining room was full. He wondered how many of the clientele had been affected by the
derailing of this overland train. Certainly many of the diners looked like rural visitors, clean and neatly
dressed in a manner he considered old-fashioned, though whether that was his foreign taste showing, he
had no idea. He sternly told himself that he needed to resist interpreting local Inadian manners
according to his Bunesee standards. He would not give the Inadians any reason to look down upon his
nation on account of his poor behaviour.
So crowded was the room that there were barely any seats left at all, and certainly no table free for
a single person to use. He looked around and spied an elderly couple whose cheerful expressions
encouraged him, so he approached, then bowed. “Excuse me, sir, ma’am. Would you mind sharing
your table? I’m sorry to have to ask, but as you can see, there’s little space.”
“Not at all, young man. Have a seat, and gladly,” the old man said, as the woman smiled in a
kindly way at Kelten.
He bowed again and sat. “Thank you. I’m Rhede Kelten.”
“Do I detect a Bunesee accent, Ru Rhede? I’m Fet Bern and this is Merl. We don’t stand on
ceremony, so may we call you Kelten?”
“Certainly, and yes, I’m from Bunes. I’m travelling to Gark to take up work in the hospital. Or I

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