by Robert Beers
Near the middle of the afternoon they came upon a gulch that cut through the path, causing them to have to climb down into it, and wade through muddy water with more mud waiting for them in the climb back up to the path on the other side.
The cat complained loudly as Charity placed her onto the shelf above her, near the top of the gulch. Charity looked up at her. “Oh settle down, my feet are much worse off than yours are.” She looked back at Adam and Ethan as they wadded out of the water. “Lovely route you've chosen here. Do you think we could find one with a bit more mud next time so we can finish the job on our clothes?”
“Come on, Charity. It's not my fault or Ethan's that this gulch is here, and we can't control the weather.” Adam couldn't avoid the look Charity gave him. It spoke volumes concerning her view of what the future held.
“Well said, lad.” Ethan pulled his left boot free of the mud. It came with a sucking pop. “The baths at the Wildflower are well known for their ability to cause mud to vanish.” He grinned at Charity. “Besides, missy, some lads like a little wet dirt on a girl.”
She sniffed and turned back to climb out of the gulch. The cat stretched herself against Charity's leg, asking to be put back up where she belonged.
They looked at themselves after Ethan finished his climb out of the gulch. They were all muddy to the knees, Ethan to about a hand below. Mud streaked their tunics where they'd rubbed against the bank during their climb. Ethan brushed at his trousers. “It's a good thing the day is warm; this should wear off, for the most part.”
Charity gave him a level stare.” We'll see about that.” She said with a voice as flat as her eyes.
The moon was showing its leading edge over the mountains in the east as they came out of the forest. They could see Dunwattle's lights beyond the cornfield that grew to the forest edge. The path spread into a road that would allow two carts and oxen to pass each other. The lights of the farmers’ cottages shone along the edge of the field. A few of the farm workers looked at the trio curiously as they crossed the last league from the forest to the town.
From the first, Dunwattle proved to be a different kind of town from Silgert. The Wildflower Inn welcomed them, with its door wide open to the evening air. The happy sound of people having a good time rolled over them as they entered the Inn.
“Well, bless my beard, here's some folks new to town. Welcome to the Wildflower Inn, good people. What can old Jully do for you?”
Adam looked at the Innkeeper, thinking that there must be a mold somewhere where Innkeepers were cast. Jully could have worn Bustlebun's clothing, and upon closer inspection, he very well may have been doing just that. He had the same florid complexion and the same well-fed look as their old friend. Though obviously a number of years younger, Jully also had the same genial personality Bustlebun used to grace his own place of business.
Ethan brushed some more of the dried mud off his tunic. “Right now, Innkeeper, I think three hot baths would suit us better than three cold ales.”
Jully looked more closely at his new guests. His eyes widened as he noticed their state. “Willard!” He bellowed.
A boy a few years Adam's junior appeared. “Yes, Da?”
“Pour three tubs full of the heated bath water.” He looked at the trio one more time. “Use two rooms; we've a lady to consider.”
Chapter Six
Charity sank into the heated water with a sigh of contentment. It felt wonderful to just lie back and float in the steaming bath. A bar of cake soap floated around her toes, and the cat took tentative swipes at it as it passed beneath her perch on the thick edge of the tub.
She allowed herself to sink under the water to wet her hair, and then she surfaced and grabbed the bar of soap. It lathered quickly into a mass of suds and bubbles that she worked deep into her hair. The first rinse came out tan. “I knew I was looking like a pig.” She thought.
She lathered up again, and rinsed until the water came away clear. The cat took great joy in chasing the bubbles as they tried to escape the confines of the tub. She was working on her second overall lather when she noticed something red floating in the water.
Willard had his hands full. Da barely gave him enough time to catch a nibble as he passed through the kitchen, much less time to catch his breath. Now he was wearing himself out hauling buckets of water to and from the heater to the tubs, and to and from the well to the heater for the three new ones. He liked the looks of the girl, even though she was older than he was. He was about to knock on the door to the girl's bath when he heard the scream.
He dropped the bucket spilling hot water over his shoes. “Are you ok, miss? Shall I come in?”
“No!” The word came out in a frantic shriek. “No, no thank you.” Her voice leveled out. “I'm all right. I thought I saw a spider.”
“I've got more hot water.” He hoped the spider wasn't a big one. He was fearful scared of spiders.” I'll set it down outside the door".
“Thank you, Willard.” Charity looked at her bath water with a mixture of resignation and disgust. She was bleeding. Back when it first started, Aunt Doreen had said to her that she was a woman, officially. She became a member of a club that offered her the privileges of conceiving and bearing children along with periods of temper and cramps that had, on occasion, driven Uncle Bal to the woods for the night. She also remembered Aunt Doreen telling her that those periods could come on unexpectedly, and probably during the most inconvenient time. Aunt also said babies functioned in much the same way.
She climbed out of the tub and looked at herself. With silent apologies to Jully, she sat down to begin tearing the towel into strips. The cat peaked out from the hiding place it had fled to when she screamed.
“Sorry, little one, but you're lucky you will never have to go through this.” Charity continued to tear the strips, and then paused. Aunt Doreen had said it was one of the punishments the Creator had put on women to remind them of their place in the world. Why, then, did she feel lucky?
She retrieved the bucket from outside the door after wrapping one of the towels around herself. She noticed her breasts had grown larger again. Changes, so many changes in her life. Her brother was taller, and his voice deeper. They were both being pushed somewhere by this magik; where would it all end?
* * * *
Ethan drained the last of his third ale. He set the cup down with a thump, and leaned back, releasing his breath with a belch and a sigh. “Ah. That is good. How's the stew?”
Adam and Charity looked up, their mouths full. Ethan signaled for another ale, “I'll take that as a ‘good'.”
Adam swallowed his mouthful. “Aren't you going to have any?”
“No, I'm drinking my dinner tonight.”
Charity gestured with her spoon. “What about tomorrow's headache?”
“I know what you're thinking, Ethan the drunk, huh? Don't worry about that, I'm merely celebrating the next phase of my death.”
“You're dying?” Adam and Charity dropped their spoons as one.
“Of course, I'm dying. See these?” He lifted some of the gray hairs that mixed in with his brown. “You don't have any because you're still living, still growing. There are only two ways to be in this life. You're either living or dying. I may continue to die for the next fifty years. It can be a slow process, dying.”
“I don't understand.” Charity pushed the rest of her stew aside.
Ethan picked up his cup of ale, and looked at it. “This ale was living while it brewed. Its flavors grew, and it developed the bubbles that create the foam that gives it character. You,” he pointed at the twins, “are still growing, just like I said earlier. Living things grow; am I correct?”
They nodded.
“Of course, I am.” He sipped some ale. “Dying things don't grow. They slowly wither, like a flower that drops its petals. This,” he held up the gray hair again. “Is the way we wither, along with these.” He traced the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes. “I'm withering, just like any other flower in t
he garden. I, however, plan on making something worthwhile of my death. The ale is just a way of helping me think.”
“Have you thought of anything?” Charity asked, as she folded her arms under her on the tabletop.
“Maybe this town needs a good watchman.” Adam wiped out his stew bowl with a hunk of bread.
Ethan put his ale down with a look of disgust. “I've had my fill of that sort of work. I've been considering carpentry.” He glared at Adam's snicker. “I didn't tell you, laddie buck, so I'll forgive the laughter at my expense, but I was trained as a carpenter's apprentice long before I ever picked up a sword. My master was more than just a house framer, too; he taught me how to make furniture, spinning wheels and other useful items. It's honest work, and I've been missing it.”
“Where would you look?” Charity used to watch Aunt spin wool into yarn with a spindle Uncle had carved for her.
Ethan finished off his fourth ale. His eyes were beginning to glaze a bit. “Dunwattle's at least twice the size of Silgert. There's bound to be a need for someone who can work with wood in more ways than just building a fire with it. I'll find out where the woodworkers and carpenters hang out, and see who needs help. That's my plan, what about you two?”
They looked at each other, and then at Ethan. “Uh ... we don't have any plans.” Charity looked guilty.
Adam looked like he was rubbing one toe in the dust. “We've just been taking it one day at a time.”
Ethan roared with laughter. He laughed until his shoulders shook, and tears were coming out of his eyes. He pounded the table top with the flat of his hand. “I thought ... I thought...” He paused, trying to catch his breath. “I thought I was the reckless one, and you ... you are stepping out into this world just taking each day as it comes?”
They looked uncomfortable and stubborn at the same time. Adam leaned forward, his eyes flashing. “We've done well, so far.”
“Sure you have, lad.” Ethan still chuckled. “You've had Bardoc's own luck. You've run into sweet fellows like that lovely giant couple and me. How did that go again?”
“You've made your point.” Adam grumbled, remembering Milward telling him that it hurt a lot less to admit it when you were wrong right away than later. “What should we do?”
“Get jobs.”
Charity looked worried. “Jobs? We have no skills, how can we find jobs?”
Ethan looked at her. “Are you serious? There are wealthy traders and several Lords I know of who would give you piles of gold to lease your skill with a bow, not to mention this lad here and his sword.” He sniffed. “Skills! Pffagh! You've more skills in your little fingers than the entire Western Watch has to a man.”
Adam looked thoughtful. “I think we should try something with a little less notoriety in it, for a while. We need to learn more about where we are. I think if we become celebrities that part will be harder to do.”
“What will we do, then?” Charity shifted her gaze back and forth between Adam and Ethan.
Adam picked up his glass of juice. “We could apprentice ourselves to some worthy Craft master. We may be a little old to be junior apprentices, but I know I can do a lot more than an eight year old boy can.”
“I once thought I would like to learn how to sew like Aunt did for us and Uncle, even though she only had rags and sacks to work with. I remember some of what she tried to show me.” Charity mused. “You could work for a butcher, Adam. Remember when you used to help Uncle prepare the game he brought home?”
“But it was just rabbits and other small game. I know nothing about cows and such.”
Ethan stood up from the table. He swayed a little, and then caught himself by grabbing the edge of the table. “You two work it out between you. I'm going to bed.” He looked around the Inn's common room. “Looks like most everyone else has the same idea, maybe you should sleep on it.” He turned and headed toward the stairs to the bedrooms, listing slightly to the side as he walked.
Charity turned to Adam. “It is late. Maybe we should sleep on it.”
Adam stifled a yawn. “I suppose so. Have we really been as reckless as Ethan says?”
She stood up and stretched. “I think we've been as lucky as he says. Reckless? I'm not sure. How much of this is destiny, as the Dwarves said, and how much is us just not being prepared for being dropped into a world other than the one we were born into?” She shook her head. “I don't know, Adam. I do believe we should take our time here. Dunwattle is much nicer than Silgert, that's for sure.”
He laughed. “True. Silgert made our village seem like a little slice of paradise.” He yawned again. “I'm going to follow Ethan's advice, and sleep on it. Goodnight, Charity.”
“Goodnight, Adam.”
Ethan was gone when they made their way down to the common room the next morning. Jully had Willard serve them their breakfast while he supervised the brewing of the next batch of Ale. “That friend of yours could make me a rich man if I could find a dozen more like him. Man drinks a bushel full, he does. Near emptied one of my casks all by hisself.”
The breakfast Willard set before them was simple, but plentiful, as seemed to be the way in most Inns. A heaping bowl of thick porridge was supplemented by steaming fat sausages that popped when the knife was stuck into them. A pitcher of cream sat nearby to be poured over the porridge, and butter and honey were at hand to complete the meal.
They both had wakened with appetites, and they dug into the meal eagerly. For several minutes only the sounds of chewing and swallowing came from their table.
“Some hot tisane, miss?” Willard stood by her side of the table, holding a steaming pot by its wire-wrapped handle.
Charity slid her mug towards him. “Yes, thank you,”
Adam slid his across the table as well. “I'll have some too, thanks.”
“Will you be staying long?” Willard sounded hopeful. Adam thought to himself that the boy looked smitten with Charity.
She smiled at Willard, and the flush went up past his ears. “We're not sure yet, Willard. My brother and I need to look for jobs.”
“Jobs, ya say?” A grizzled bear of a man spoke up from a table next to one of the front windows.
Adam and Charity turned toward the voice. The man motioned them over. He was in the process of devouring a huge breakfast of biscuits and sausage smothered in some kind of savory smelling gravy. He indicated with a wave of a hand covered in graying hair where they should sit. “I heard you talking. Sorry for eavesdropping; it's a hobby of mine that keeps me content in my old age. What's this about you two looking for jobs?”
Adam took the lead with a glance at his sister. “Just what you heard, I guess. We're new to the town, and we decided that if we're going to stay here, we might as well have jobs. We're going to go out into the town this morning, and start looking.”
“Well, you can stop looking.” He pushed a biscuit into his mouth and chewed.
“What do you mean?” Adam was afraid they were about to be run out of this town, too. The man looked tough enough to do it on his own.
The chewer swallowed his biscuit, and speared a sausage with gravy on it. “I mean,” He worked a morsel loose from his teeth with a forefinger. “You've found ‘em if you want ‘em.”
Charity took a step towards the man. “You have jobs for us?”
He smiled, showing large white square teeth, and stuck out a hand that engulfed Charity's. “Hersh, the Butcher, at your service, missy.” He looked at Adam. “And yours, as well, young man, if I may be so bold.”
“Why us? And why now?” Adam's developing sense of caution was poking him in the ribs.
Hersh nodded while he fished for another sausage. “Sensible question, lad, sensible question. Why you?” He held up a finger as thick as one of the sausages. “You're available, and you seem willing. Why now?” He held up another finger, a match for the first. “My oldest boy and his sister have set out on their own to seek their own fortune. All I've left me is my youngest, Ornette. He's a good lad, mind
you. But he can't pull the weight by himself, so I ask you,” He mopped up some gravy with a biscuit. “Will you take the jobs?”
Charity pursed her lips, thinking. She looked at Hersh, and crossed her arms. “May I ask what the jobs are?”
Hersh threw his head back and laughed, his body shook. “Two sensible questions. You must be brother and sister. I thought so when I looked at you. Two peas in a pod, I said to myself, two peas in a pod.” He continued to chuckle.
“About my sister's question.” Adam held up a hand. “We mean no disrespect but we've run into some folks in the past that have given us cause to be wary.”
“Very well, lad.” Hersh stopped his chuckling. and leaned his forearms onto the table, which creaked in protest. “You ask around. Folks'll tell you old Hersh is an honest man who butchers honest meat. The work is long and hard, but rewarding, and you get to meet nearly everyone in town.”
“What about your wife?” Charity asked. “Doesn't she help you?”
“Widower. The fever took her nearly twelve winters back. Ornette was just a toddler, then. His brother and sister near raised him on their own so's I could run the shop. Could be why they left. Never had much chance for play back then, what with all that going on.” He sighed and levered himself up from the table. He towered over the twins, and his bulk was almost three of them together. “You make your decision. If you decide in my favor, I'll be in the shop. Anyone in town can point your way.” He dropped a couple of coins on the table, and left.
Jully had Willard show them the way to Hersh's shop. Willard nearly stumbled in his eagerness to get out of the Inn. He led them through the town, proud as a Pouter Pigeon to be their tour guide.
“Over there is Old man Falstaff's. Ain't no one better at Silversmithin'.
“That place be Mistress Wermott's. It be no place for the likes of us. Da said a man can get the drops there. Whatever they be. I don't want to find out.”