131 Days [Book 4]_About the Blood

by Keith C. Blackmore

  “Thirsty cripple,” the barkeep chuckled, holding a wet mop in one hand.

  That made Pig Knot frown, and he looked at the open windows of the lower floor then the barkeep once again.

  The bearded one cocked an eyebrow.

  “You always insult paying customers?” Pig Knot asked.

  “What?”

  “I asked if you always insult your customers.”

  “You’re insulted?”

  Pig Knot indicated that he was—just a little.

  “You’re sensitive? About being a cripple?”

  Pig Knot’s frown deepened. The barkeep was obviously a punce unfit in the head.

  “I’m a paying customer,” Pig Knot stressed.

  “You haven’t paid me anything yet.”

  “I paid you last night for the drinks. And the room.”

  “Ah, aye that. Yes, yes, so you did. You got young Jana up there, too. How’d you manage to do that?” The barkeep leaned forward on his mop as if peering out over a cliff, and a puzzled look hitched his beard. “I mean… you’ve got no legs. So… what?”

  “I manage,” Pig Knot said, not liking the conversation’s direction.

  “I wager you do. And did. You might be a legless slab of a lad, but not many take young Jana upstairs. Tell you that for free.”

  Pig Knot’s frown lessened at the combination of jab and compliment. He wondered if the man wasn’t so unfit in the head after all.

  “Well, then.” The barkeep shrugged and got back to mopping the floor.

  Nursing the pitcher, Pig Knot waited for the soup to arrive. In time, a woman dressed in kitchen clothing and an apron brought a wide bowl to his table. She placed the broth before him none too gently and cracked a wooden spoon down beside it. Then she studied Pig Knot with a withering eye and left with her nose pointed at the ceiling.

  Pig Knot wondered what he’d done to deserve that look. Normally, it took much longer for a person to dislike him. He tried the soup and cringed at its saltiness. Small chunks of ham floated therein, along with various diced vegetables bobbing about in a yellowish broth. He remembered the food from the night before tasting much better.

  While he’d been drunk.

  Then he remembered fumbling with Jana’s clothes.

  His spirits rose once again.

  The soup went down, and while it tasted too much of salt, Pig Knot washed it away with the remainder of the water.

  “Barkeep?” he asked.

  The bearded man was behind the counter, inspecting tankards.

  “A pitcher of Sunjan firewater,” Pig Knot said.

  “You’ve coin for that?” the barkeep asked, doubt thick in his voice.

  “Aye that.”

  “Because if you don’t, I won’t feel right about fishhooking a cripple.”

  That word picked at Pig Knot’s nerves. Annoyed, he reached inside his shirt, grabbed his purse, fumbled for the drawstrings, and pulled forth five coins, holding them in the air. He waved the money at the barkeep before slamming them down on the table.

  The kitchen witch appeared as if summoned by sorcery. She looked about, sighted Pig Knot, and shook her head as she withdrew from sight.

  The barkeep, however, smoothed out his lengthy chin bush, turned to the tankards lining the back wall, and selected one. He took his time and poured a pitcher from a spout. He glanced toward a window now and then, as if checking on the weather. Once finished, the bearded man came around the bar. Without a word, he placed the brass pitcher right in front of his legless customer.

  Pig Knot realized then the barkeep was a big man with numerous scars crossing his face and arms as if he’d been once cut up by many knives. A harsh scent of soap and water wafted from the barkeep’s hands. Pig Knot remained calm as the barkeep leaned over and slowly, precisely, counted away four gold pieces from the five slapped down upon the table.

  “That’s all for the soup and firewater,” the barkeep said. “Cripple.”

  If he meant to intimidate the once gladiator, it didn’t work. As big as the barkeep was, Pig Knot was just as big across the chest and confident in his own abilities. So the two stared at each other for several long heartbeats, neither one breaking away.

  Eventually, the tavern man straightened and towered over his customer, sending a none-too-subtle jab that he was taller and had both legs. He backed away slowly and returned to his tankards.

  Pig Knot watched the barkeep, sending his own message. The once gladiator picked up the pitcher and started drinking. Ordinarily, he’d take his time, savouring the firewater as it melted his gullet, but the tavern air had become decidedly cold. He believed the time had come to move on.

  A short time later, he slammed the pitcher down on the table, receiving a harsh look from the he-bitch behind the counter. Pig Knot scowled back––if the bearded punce wanted to fight, Pig Knot made it clear he was right there.

  The barkeep didn’t, however.

  A sour Pig Knot lowered himself to the floor, made it a point to ignore the hairy bastard lording over the bar, and waddled toward the exit, though not before making certain he dragged both ass cheeks over the freshly mopped floor.

  The firewater’s full potential struck Pig Knot a short time after he vacated the alehouse, and he welcomed that euphoric numbness. The world became a scintillating bubble. People streamed by him––a flow of faces, waists, and dangling arms. Some glanced his way, but most ignored him. He didn’t care. He wore his armor on the inside, he reasoned. However, he realized he needed to do something about being so close to the ground. Sunja’s streets consisted of flat, fitted stone and, in some places, brick. The smooth stones were fine to drag himself over, but some had split over time, and twice his hands grazed sharp fragments. The bricks were another matter. Dragging himself over their rough edges was like shaving stubble with a dull blade and not pleasant in the least.

  Pig Knot gasped for air and knew he’d drunk the firewater much too quickly. Another thought struck him—a builder, one who specialized in making carts and wagons.

  In his glowing capacity, the legless Sunjan hoped he could find one before he came across another drinking establishment.

  The memory of the brazen barkeep faded, replaced by alcoholic bliss. He scooted along the main street, avoiding the heaviest traffic and trying to keep to the shade. Despite the wear on his hands, he managed to wobble along, even greeting a few people who stopped to allow him to pass. That was right and proper fine, and Pig Knot slurred his thanks.

  Then the worst––but best––thing happened.

  He spied an alehouse.

  Without hesitation, Pig Knot hoisted himself up a pair of steps and over the threshold. The dark cavern was muggy, though not unpleasantly so, and shelter from the sun. People flittered in and out of his vision like frightened fish though some of the larger ones stopped and stared for a while. Pig Knot didn’t care. He even stared back, making faces at times, until the people moved away.

  He found a table, and though he didn’t remember the transaction, somehow a pitcher of Sunjan mead appeared in the center—a whole pitcher, just for him—and all of creation knew that once mead appeared before one, one had to down it.

  Pig Knot firmly believed that, so he got to drinking.

  That’s when the world truly began to get interesting.

  Feeling damn near invincible at that point, Pig Knot inquired as to where he might find a builder of wagons and got no response. Not many people were frequenting the alehouse, though, so he repeated the question more loudly.

  The barkeep, a shorter, pudgier man with a balding head and an empty eye socket, provided directions to an individual called Sanjo.

  That got Pig Knot moving, eager to find the builder and give the man some work. He finished off the pitcher and left it on the table.

  People, wagons, and animals filled the streets, even more than earlier, if such a thing was possible. The congestion befuddled Pig Knot and obstructed his view. Hands slapped him merrily on the shoulders and h
e smiled back, even patting a few thighs and rumps in return. He even buried his face into some right and proper fine legs, purely accidental of course. Some people squealed. Some cursed. A dog appeared before him, damn near magically, and he found himself staring into those soft, curious eyes… just before the animal sniffed his face and generously licked it. Someone pulled the creature away, and Pig Knot was sorry to see it go. The space around him eventually cleared, strangely enough, which was when he spotted the edge of the street. He shuffled over, not feeling his hands at all, and continued along a wall of shop fronts and gated homes on his left.

  He was looking for that someone… for that something.

  Then he remembered.

  Sanjo. The builder. Excellent.

  A short time later, Pig Knot found the man, amazingly enough.

  Sanjo’s work area was a low, single-story building with plenty of open shutters and two wide doors flung open. Sawdust covered the wooden floor and perfumed the air. Pig Knot eased himself through the entrance and spotted a tall, sun-browned man fashioning a heavy door. Two boys in their teens stood nearby, watching him work.

  The younger boy noticed the legless arrival and frowned. “Go away!” he yelled.

  An off-center Pig Knot glanced over his shoulder. When he looked back, the boy had actually taken two steps toward him.

  “I said go away!” he commanded in a voice nowhere near a man’s.

  “I’m here to make a purchase,” Pig Knot said, forcing the combined magic of the firewater and the mead out of his voice.

  “Are you?” the boy asked, screwing up his face. “Let’s see your coin, then.”

  “I’m not that drunk, you young pissdrop.”

  The boy’s lips became a white line of spite. “Go on, then!”

  “Dying Seddon, boy, is that… is that your father?”

  “Go on, I said!”

  Sanjo paused in his work, holding a chisel. Sawdust freckled his dark shoulders. The man’s eyes narrowed upon seeing Pig Knot.

  “Sanjo, is it?” Pig Knot called, his balance wavering at the edges. “The builder?”

  “Aye that. The carpenter.”

  “There’s a difference?”

  “Just preference.”

  “Oh. Well, I’ve come… I’ve come with a bit of work. For you. If you’ll call off your young enforcer here.”

  The boy’s face flushed a hot red at that. Pig Knot wondered what had wedged itself into the youngster’s crack. As far as he was concerned, he’d been quite respectful to the little dewdrop.

  Sanjo approached, dismissing the angry boy with a curt jerk of his head. “You want something done?”

  The carpenter looked him in the eye, not paying any attention to his condition. Pig Knot liked the man already.

  “Aye that.” The once gladiator waved a hand over his stumps. “You see these. I need… I need a low-riding cart. A low one. Low, I said.”

  At that point, he placed an open palm not a finger’s width off the sawdusted floor, to better clarify his needs.

  “One that will roll… roll… roll over. The stone. And bricks. And keep my lower… my lower parts off the… the streets. Out of the…” Pig Knot struggled to remember the word. “The shite. Aye that. Yes. The shite. Filthy shite. Hands deep. But allow me to, ah, push. Push along. Like that. So there. Think you can make something?”

  Sanjo considered it. “It’ll cost you.”

  “I have coin.” Pig Knot said and belched, bringing up soup and wincing at the taste.

  “Seven gold ones, then.”

  “Ten,” Pig Knot countered, placing a hand on his chest where the salty uprising had burned the worst. “If you start now. And finish… it by, oh, nightfall.”

  Sanjo smiled, showing strong teeth. “Let’s see the coin first.”

  Pig Knot reached into his shirt and pulled out the purse. He rattled its weight before opening it and fishing out a few coins.

  “Look real enough,” Sanjo said.

  “Oh, they are,” Pig Knot declared. “Been using them all morning.”

  Sanjo half squinted. “Didn’t steal those, did you?”

  That took the once gladiator aback. “I look like a thief?” The last word came out as teef.

  “You might not have any legs, but you’ve a powerful upper body. I imagine you could club someone out of a few coins if you well and truly tried.”

  Pig Knot appreciated the compliment. “Well, I could. But no. No, I haven’t. These. Are mine.”

  “No offense meant, good sar,” Sanjo said. “Merely run a fair business.”

  “None taken. I’ll stay nearby. If you like. If you think I’ll run.” Pig Knot chuckled.

  Sanjo didn’t comment on that as he considered the offer. “Best you slide yourself inside a little further. Show people you’re a customer instead of a beggar.”

  Pig Knot did as told. “Here?”

  “That’s fine,” Sanjo said. “I’ll start working on your cart right now.”

  He called the boys over, using the names Arna and Pindus. Sanjo told them to leave the door they’d been working on. The younger one, called Pindus, looked at Pig Knot with those evil eyes again, causing the legless gladiator to glower back.

  Sanjo noticed Pindus staring and slapped the boy upside the head, jarring him.

  “Apologies, good sar,” the carpenter said. “He forgets his manners.”

  “Did the same when I was his age.”

  Pig Knot meant it as a joke, but neither father nor sons cracked a smile. That didn’t bother him. He was full of good vibes aplenty––practically falling over because of good vibes. Shame he couldn’t spread it around.

  The father and his sons got to work.

  With his back against a wall and his stumps splayed before him, Pig Knot watched, his hands at his sides. At times, he hummed a tune and glanced outside to appreciate the passing womenfolk. He even nodded and winked at a few and was rewarded with the odd smile.

  Time crawled, all to the sounds of metal and flesh shaping wood.

  The crowds thinned and slowed.

  Pig Knot fell asleep at times, chin to chest, waking with a lurch or just cracking his eyes. The sun hung low on a fence of pointed rooftops, and the sky paled in broad swaths of red and pink. The smell of wood drifted throughout the shop. Sanjo and his boys worked well into the evening, not bothering to eat while Pig Knot’s gut grumbled. He’d need to eat something soon—cart or nothing. He’d need to drink as well. The effects of the firewater and mead had worn away, leaving him feeling hollow.

  Just before dark, the carpenter finished a few final touches to the project and placed it on the ground. He moved it back and forth with a foot, testing the wheels, and rolled it toward his customer.

  The movement woke Pig Knot.

  “Finished?” he asked, wiping drool from his lips.

  Sanjo presented his work with an extended hand. The boys Pindus and Arna stood off to a side. Pindus still watched Pig Knot with unchecked annoyance.

  “Excellent,” the once gladiator said and hauled himself onto the seat. He fidgeted until somewhat comfortable, tucking his stumps inside the cart’s low walls.

  “You should buy yourself a blanket for that,” Sanjo advised. “Or a cushion. Something to soften the ride, anyway.”

  “Perhaps later.”

  “Those front wheels will turn,” Sanjo pointed out, “so you’ll have no trouble steering. I’ve greased the axles, but if it goes dry, just come back, and I’ll grease them again. No coin required.”

  “Many thanks,” a red-eyed Pig Knot said. He leaned forward and rolled himself to the carpenter. “Very smooth. I’m just happy to have my balls above the ground once again.”

  “Suppose so.” Sanjo smirked.

  Pig Knot paid the man and left with a good feeling, ignoring a sour look from Pindus. He rolled outside and into traffic but realized some of the flat stones weren’t as evenly placed as others, which required some effort to pull the cart over them. He pushed himself to th
e far right, steering with his hands, and rattled along, getting the feel for his newest means of transportation. People walking about and enjoying the evening heat gave him curious looks.

  He didn’t care. He was above the ground, still had coin in his purse, and had avoided pissing himself. All that made the day a good one.

  Pig Knot’s stomach rumbled. Time to get something to eat.

  And get back to drinking.

  16

  The wagons rattled through the villa’s gates well before midnight and stopped alongside torches burning high on posts. The heat of the day had broken somewhat, but the air lacked the coolness needed for a comfortable sleep. Clavellus climbed out of his wagon and stretched. He still felt hung over, despite having drunk water along the way and pissing from the back. He didn’t regret the night of drinking, but it punished his body harder with every passing day. It seemed to punish Muluk even more, he recalled. The bump and rattle of the open roads shook the Kree’s innards more than the man cared to admit, but he endured.

  The others dropped from the wagons behind him. He was about to shout for help when he spied a white-robed Nala emerging from their home. Her face sagged with relief.

  “You’re home,” she said with a little smile. Clavellus delivered kisses to both her cheeks, shielding her from the activity at his back. A fragrance of scented water smelling of wildflowers surrounded her, and he held her close simply to breathe it.

  “I’m home,” he said. “We’re home. How have you been, my lovely?”

  “Well,” she started, drawing away just a little, “things are wonderfully quiet when you and the lads are gone, but it’s also boring.”

  “I’ll have to see if I can do anything about that.” Clavellus smiled.

  “Saucy. You must have done well.”

  “Very well.”

  “Did you win?”

  “Everything.”

  A pair of men helped Torello to the gladiators’ living quarters. The sight distracted him for a moment, but then he told her the news of their victories. Then Nala saw the new faces––the woman, a man, and an older one-legged individual who hopped along.