The Flying Swan turned out to be a nice, clean place. In fact, it was the best he’d seen since coming to this world. He could tell it was a cut above the Bend in the River, the inn where he stayed the night before. Curtains draped the windows and candelabra hung from the ceiling. Each table bore a clean, white tablecloth and the employees presented a neat, tidy appearance. One, a man of middlin’ years and dressed slightly better than the rest, noticed his entrance.
“Welcome to the Flying Swan, good sir,” he said with a friendly smile.
“Thank you. I met a traveler on the road and she said this would be a good place to stay while I am in Bearn.”
“Of course, of course, the reputation of the Flying Swan is well deserved.” Smiling broadly he said, “And who might I thank for such a recommendation?”
“A lady trader by the name of Celienda.”
“Ah, little Celienda,” he nodded. “Yes, I know her and her father well. They are old and dear friends. How were they?”
“They were well and she said to tell Jillian that she sends her wishes.”
“I am Jillian and I appreciate the deliverance of her message. We do have several nice rooms available. The ones on the bottom floor go for a silver a night and the ones on the second are a silver and three coppers.”
“A room on the second floor would be perfect,” he relied. “Perhaps one with a window overlooking the river?”
“I have one that would suit you. Do you require a stall for…a steed?”
James nodded
Motioning for a lad of about fourteen years, Jillian said, “Elren will take you and your horse to the stables. It’s another three coppers for your horse, but that does include grain.”
“That will be fine.” Turning toward Elren, he gave the lad a nod.
Elren returned James’ nod with a slight one of his own and then preceded him out the front door.
As James turned to follow, Jillian said, “When your horse is settled in, I’ll have someone show you to your room.”
Nodding his understanding, James followed Elren outside where he untied his horse and followed the lad around back through a gate, into an enclosed rear courtyard. “We lock the gate at night to prevent thieves from making off with the horses,” he explained. “I sleep at the rear of the stable for added security.”
“Thieving a problem in Bearn?”
“No, not really,” replied the lad. “But why take chances?”
The stables were just as nice and well kept as was the inn. The lad led James to the stall and assisted with removing the saddle and tack. The lad then produced a pail of grain and began brushing out his coat. He saw that his horse would be in good hands. James returned to the inn where Jillian gave him a key with the number ten engraved in a small, iron disc attached to it.
Waving over a small boy, Jillian had him show James to his room.
“Follow me, sir,” the boy said as he took James’ bags. The boy walked to the stairs and led him to the second floor. The first door on the right was number ten. The boy opened it and held the door open for him.
James passed into the room at which time the boy set the bags on the floor and waited expectantly for a tip.
James dug a copper out of his purse and handed it to the boy. “Thank you.”
“Will there be anything else?” the boy asked as he pocketed the coin.
“What time is dinner?”
“There is always something available. The full menu is available an hour before sunset until late.”
“Thank you.”
The boy nodded and closed the door as he left.
The room was comfortable and clean. He was pleased to note two windows, one in the wall opposite the door and another in the wall overlooking the river. The bed was larger as well, and soft.
There was a table with two chairs, a nightstand and a picture of a swan in flight on the wall. An upright closet with two doors sat along the left wall for his convenience. James opened the doors and found a rod with several hangers. He put his bags in the closet and then relaxed on the bed. Tired from the day’s travel, his eyes grew heavy.
Music came from downstairs, drawing him from a particularly nostalgic dream of home. The sun had set and the room was dark. What light there was came from the moon and lamps along the street. He felt very relaxed but the grumbling of his stomach could not be denied. With the music filtering up through the floorboards, he rose and made his way through the shadowed room to the door.
The light of a single candle positioned in the middle of the hallway barely reached the door to James’ room. He removed the key from his pocket and locked the door, then placed the key in an inner pocket before going down to the well-lit, crowded dining area.
A man sat on a small, corner stage and played what looked to be playing something similar to a guitar. His voice was very good and the tune rollicking. Finding an empty table, he sat with his back to the wall so he could better watch the bard. The song reminded him of folk music, something from one of the old Errol Flynn movies he and his grandfather used to watch together. A touch of homesickness came over him.
“Good evening, sir.”
Brought out of his song-induced reverie, he saw a young woman standing in front of his table. “Yes?”
“What can I get for you this evening?”
Oh, a serving girl. “I’ll take the house special and some ale.”
“Our mulberry wine is pretty good if you would care to try that instead?”
Feeling a bit adventurous, he nodded. “Ok, I’ll try that.”
“I’ll have the wine over in a second, but the special will be a bit longer.
“That’s fine; I’m not in any hurry.”
James sat back and enjoyed the bard’s music. The first song having finished, he was already into the first chorus of one with an uplifting tune, a good beat and a catchy chorus. He tapped his finger to the rhythm.
His server brought a glass and a bottle. She opened the bottle and filled his glass with the dark red liquid. Setting the bottle on the table, she smiled at him and then moved to wait on another person.
Holding the glass for a moment, he lifted it and enjoyed the aroma of the wine. It had a strong berry scent. He took a small sip and the wine’s flavor burst in his mouth, sweet and mellow. Man that’s good! Downing the rest, he poured himself another. This time he intended to take his time drinking it.
The bard finished his song to a rousing applause. Bowing to their admiration, he started a ballad of love, soft and slow. His server brought a large platter with a whole, stuffed goose. The goose had been roasted to a golden brown. The stuffing steamed with an aroma of nuts and honey. Encircling the goose was an assortment of varying vegetables, all well-cooked and soft to the touch. She also set a basket with several rolls next to the platter along with a bowl of gravy.
“Here you go, sir. Do you require anything else?”
Taking out his knife, he said, “No thanks, I think I’ll be fine for a while.” Looking around, he noticed that people were using their hands, spoons and knives to eat. Apparently forks were not the custom.
“If you need anything, just catch my eye and I’ll be over,” she said before returning to the kitchen.
James set to his meal with a hearty appetite. The goose was fantastic. The skin was crisp and the flesh juicy without a trace of pink. The rolls had a mouthwatering aroma. This was perhaps the best meal he had since coming to this world.
During the course of the meal, the bard played several more songs before taking a break. James spied a bowl sitting at the edge of the stage. From the glint of metal inside, he realized that it contained several coins. During the break, several patrons walked over and dropped in more. Tipping the bard. Digging into his pouch he came out with a gold and walked over, dropping it into the bowl. His was the only gold among the coppers and a couple silvers. He returned to his table and resumed his meal.
Soon the bard took the stage and started with another fast-paced song. He had
the crowd singing along with him. Everyone was having a marvelous time. Someone soon shouted out, “The Story of Deagan.” Others shouted agreement and the bard set into a serious ballad about a man on a quest, who slew the bad guy, rescued the damsel and finally died. Thunderous applause erupted at the end; shouts for other favorites bombarded the bard until he began another. He continued singing requests throughout the night, with only an occasional break for a drink and to rest his voice.
Having finished his meal, James leaned back and listened to the bard. The server cleared off the dirty plates, leaving him with his bottle of mulberry wine and the glass. The music was good and listening gave him more of an understanding about the people of this world. Without even realizing it, he finished the bottle and then signaled for another. She brought it over. Tipping her a copper, he poured a glassful, sat back, and enjoyed an evening of music.
Knock! Knock!
Coming awake, James started to get out of bed when a pain likely to crack open his skull erupted from behind his forehead. He collapsed onto the bed with a groan. Grabbing his pillow, he placed it over his face to block out the blinding, knife-pain inducing sun that came in through the windows.
Oh my God! I’m going to die.
Knock! Knock!
“Sir,” came a voice from outside the door. “Are you in there?”
James croaked, “Go away and let me die in peace.”
“Sir, there is a boy here who claims you requested him to meet you here this morning.” The voice wouldn’t go away. “He says his name is Miko.”
So this is what a hangover feels like? Upset stomach, headache that won’t quit. Why do people ever drink? Then he realized he was in bed. How did I get here?
The last thing he remembered was getting the second bottle of wine and listening to more of the bard. He carefully removed the pillow from his face, squinted through eyes that would barely open and looked down at himself. He was still in his clothes, a bit wrinkled and smelling the worse for wear.
“Sir, what should I tell the boy?” intruded the painful voice.
“Have him come in,” replied James. “And if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, could you send up something to eat and drink for the both of us?”
“Very well, sir,” replied the voice. “I’ll send the boy up with your food.” James heard footsteps depart from his door and move down the stairs.
Sitting up slowly, James looked at the table and the bowl of water and towel resting upon it. They must have known I’d need to clean up a little. He made it to the table and plopped down in one of the chairs. Wetting the towel, he washed his face and neck and started feeling better. His headache continued to throb, but it receded a little. He checked, and with relief, found the medallion still around his neck beneath his shirt.
Knock! Knock!
“Sir, I brought your food and the boy.”
Rising unsteadily from the chair, he used every bit of furniture between the table and the door for support as he crossed to open it. With eyes barely opened, he looked upon one of the waiters from last night carrying a plate of food. The boy Miko stood next to him. “Come on in,” he croaked in a voice barely above a whisper. “Just put it on the table.” He reached into his pocket and handed the waiter a copper.
“Thank you, sir,” the waiter said, pocketing the coin. “Will you need anything else?”
“Not right now, thank you.”
The waiter bowed slightly and left the room.
James gestured to a chair at the table and said to Miko, “Go ahead and have a seat. Help yourself to the food; there should be enough for both of us.”
With little hesitation, Miko took a seat and grabbed one of the plates off the tray. He shoved an entire biscuit into his mouth, then quickly spooned a mound of eggs on his plate. He then proceeded to eat with great enthusiasm.
James took his seat at the table and joined Miko in helping himself to the breakfast. He had barely taken his second bite before Miko finished his portion, and was looking longingly for more. “Go ahead, take as much as you want,” James told him. “Did your parents even feed you this morning?”
“Ain’t got any,” answered Miko.
“You don’t have any family at all?”
Between mouthfuls of food, Miko explained, “Got an aunt somewhere up north, but she don’t care nothing about me.”
“That’s too bad.”
“I can take care of myself,” Miko boasted. “Don’t be needing nothing from nobody,”
“After we eat, we’ll get started on those errands.”
Talking through a mouthful of eggs, Miko asked, “Like what?”
“I need to buy some things, like parchment, ink and something to carry it all in so it won’t get messed up.”
“Know a place across the river on the south side. It’s in the Temple District. Brockman’s, it sells stuff like that to the temples and scribes.” Looking at James, Miko asked, “How much you gonna pay me to show you?”
Smiling, James replied, “I’ll feed you while you’re with me and a silver a day.” Seeing the boy’s eyes open wide, he asked “If you think that will be okay?”
Nodding vigorously, Miko said, “No one’s ever given me that much before. Thanks!”
“No problem, just don’t do me wrong.”
“Oh, no sir, I won’t,” Miko said earnestly. He snatched the last of the biscuits and tried to slather more jelly on it than the biscuit would hold. With jelly dripping off most of the sides he stuffed it into his mouth. Seeing that James is also finishing the last traces of egg on his plate, Miko used his arm to wipe the excess jelly off of his face and got to his feet. He stood patiently while James finished.
“I was wondering if there was a place that cleans clothes. Maybe even a bathhouse nearby?”
Thinking a bit, Miko said, “The people here at the inn would probably get it done for you. They might even supply a bath here in your room. Some of the better inns do that.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” James exclaimed. “Thanks, you’re already coming in handy.”
Miko beamed at the praise.
Knock! Knock!
Miko crossed to the door and opened it. The waiter walked into the room. “If you are done, sir, I can take your plates back to the kitchen.”
“Go ahead, I think we’re done. Oh, and could I have my clothes cleaned today while I am out?”
“We can take care of that for you, sir,” agreed the man. “Just leave what you wish cleaned on the table. Then on your way out let one of us know and we will come and collect them. They should be returned to you by this evening.”
“Excellent, thank you. Also, is it possible to have a bath here in the room?”
“Yes, we do have tubs that we can bring in for the guests,” explained the man. “Would you like one now, sir?”
“No, I can wait till tonight. How much notice do you need to get it ready?”
“Very little, just let us know.”
Gathering the last of the dishes, he walked to the door and left. Miko closed the door behind him.
“What do you want a bath for anyway?”
“Feels good, you don’t stink and you stay healthier,” replied James. “Haven’t you ever had one before?”
“Naw, don’t like ‘em,” Miko said emphatically. “Fell in the river once, though.”
Miko waited patiently while James changed out of his dirty clothes and put on a clean set he purchased back in Trendle. He looked at himself in the “native attire.” Admiring himself, he thought, Not bad. He folded and placed his dirty clothes on the table and grabbed his backpack. He indicated to Miko that it was time to go. He followed the boy out the door, locking it behind him.
Downstairs, he informed a member of the staff about his dirty clothes and arranged for their cleaning. Turning to Miko he said “Let’s go.” James went out the door, following Miko. They entered a street filled with people.
Miko led him through the throng. After a short distance, they came to the
bridge they crossed the day before. They soon arrived at the Temple District. Several large buildings that had the look of temples lined the street on both sides. Some were made of simple stone and wood while others were quite impressive with ornamentation and delicate architecture.
Passing the temples, Miko stopped in front of a modest shop with a single door and window. He opened the door and held it for James. “This is Brockman’s.” James entered and Miko followed right behind.
Many shelves lined the walls, stacked with reams of paper, quills, and ink bottles. Ten tables were spaced about the shop, several having men copying manuscripts. He peered over the shoulder of the nearest. The scribe had a good, artistic talent. The page was beautiful with multiple colors and flourishes highlighting the script.
“Welcome, good sir, to Brockman’s Manuscripts.”
James turned to find a man who smiled warmly.
“I am Brockman,” the man said, extending a hand in greeting.
James shook his hand and asked, “You copy manuscripts?”
The scribe nodded. “Many nobles pay for copies of important works so they may have them in their personal libraries.” Motioning to the man whose handiwork James had been admiring, he said, “For instance, Lord Beleron had contracted for a copy of the Story of Beltine for his daughter. It is a favorite storybook among nobles these days.”
“That is very good work.”
“Nothing but the best from Brockman’s Manuscripts. What can I help you with?” Standing patiently, Brockman looked at James expectantly.
“I need a kit containing paper, ink and quills that I may take on my travels,” he explained. “What would you suggest?”
“I may have what you need,” Brockman said, “follow me.” He led James to one of the shelves and pulled down a wooden box.
Brockman opened the box and James saw it was exactly what he wanted. It had holders for inkwells and even an enclosed compartment for quills. There was also an open area where unused sheets of paper were stored. It reminded him of a briefcase, only bulkier.
“Would this be to your liking, sir?”
Taking the case, James saw that it was not as heavy as he expected. “Yes. I think it will suit me just fine. I would need to purchase the ink, quills and parchment as well.”
Brockman launched into an explanation of the various items he carried. James hadn’t realized there were so many different types of each. He finally settled on three bottles of ink, two black and one red. He chose a set of ten quills, half fine points and half broad points. Selecting parchment took the longest time, for there were even more choices. There was thin parchment, but it wouldn’t hold up long. Very high quality parchment that would last a lifetime but cost a gold a piece. He finally decided on something in-between, not too thick but would last for a while.
Brockman told him how much for everything. James dug into his pouch and handed over the requested amount. Brockman took the money and said with great enthusiasm, “Thank you, sir. Would you like me to have it delivered for you?”
James nodded. “Yes. I am staying at the Flying Swan.”
“Very good, sir, I’ll have it over there this afternoon.”
Once they were out of the shop, Miko gave him a disapproving look. “You didn’t even haggle with him!”
“Haggle?”
“Yes, haggle. Didn’t you think he seemed just a little too happy when you handed over the money?”
“As a matter of fact, he did.”
“That’s because you paid almost twice what the stuff was worth!”
James glanced to the door of Brockman’s Manuscripts. “I’ve never haggled before.”
“Never haggled…?” Miko stared incredulously at him. “Just where do you come from that doesn’t require haggling?”
“A long, long ways I’m afraid. I guess I’m going to have to get the hang of it.”
“Yeah,” agreed Miko. “And if you don’t, you ain’t gonna have any money left after a while.”
James mulled over Miko’s words. He came to the conclusion that there needed to be changes in the way he did things. He needed to adapt to this place and their customs. When in Rome…
“Where to now?”
Glancing around, James asked, “Does Bearn have a library?”
“The only libraries belong to the nobles,” Miko explained. “They ain’t gonna let you use them. Why do you need a library anyway?”
“Oh, I just like books.”
James missed his collection of books back home. Seeing the books the scribes were copying brought back some of the homesickness that James had begun to get over.
“Is there a candy shop in town?”
“What’s candy?” responded Miko.
“Just something I used to like back when I was home,” James explained. “How about a bakery or pastry shop?”
“There are a couple of bakeries. One is famous for its tarts.” He looked expectantly at James and a light entered his eyes when James nodded.
“Let’s go. We’ll see just how good those tarts are.”
Miko took the lead. They were soon out of the temple district. After making several turns and walking down a couple of streets, they stood outside a shop emitting a mouthwatering aroma. On the outside of the shop was a sign with a loaf of bread cut in half.
Inside they found a wide variety of breads and pastries. A fat lady in an apron was currently helping another customer so he waited patiently, spending the time looking over the various selections.
When the customer was done, James stepped to the counter.
“Welcome, welcome.” Her demeanor was warm and friendly.
Patting Miko on the back he said, “My friend tells me that you are famous for your tarts and I have come to see if he was correct.”
Beaming, the lady responded, “We do have the best tarts in town. Many of the nobles will only purchase from us because of the superior quality in all that we do.” She took a tart slightly oozing with red filling from one corner off the counter. Breaking it in two, she gave each half. James was impressed with the rich berry flavor of the filling and the flakiness of the crust.
“This is very good.” Looking at Miko, he saw him nod approvingly. “Give us a mixed variety of a dozen please.”
Beaming with pride, she took a sack and placed thirteen tarts of varying color and size within. She handed him the sack saying that it would be a silver and three coppers.
Miko nudged James in the side, who looked down. Miko silently mouthed, “haggle.”
James looked back to the lady. “Eighteen coppers.”
Miko nodded approvingly.
“A silver two coppers,” countered the lady.
“A silver,” James offered.
“Done,” the lady agreed. Handing over the silver, James and Miko left the shop eating their tarts.
“Did I do it right?” James asked.
“You did okay. With a little practice you can get them down even further.” Finishing off his first tart, Miko looked at James obviously wanting another. He gave him one more saying the rest would be saved for later.
They strolled down the street eating their tarts, when a group of boys a little older than Miko approached from down the street. Feeling a tug on his sleeve, he looked at Miko who said, “C’mon, let’s go this way,” and began dragging him down a side alley.
As they left the street, Miko paused to glance around the corner at the group of boys worriedly.
“What’s wrong?”
Miko turned back to James. “Uh, nothing.” He took James by the hand and hurried him down the alley.
“Then why are we moving so quickly?” Miko was walking fast, nearly at a run and he was doing his best to keep up.
“It’s a shortcut.” He tried and failed to keep his voice calm and nonchalant.
“To where?”
“Wherever you’re going.”
The group of boys entered the alley behind them. Seeing them, Miko released James’ hand and broke into
a run. James ran along behind Miko, not sure what was going on.
“There’s that sewer rat!” One of the boys hollered. Looking back, he saw the group racing after them.
“You’re dead, Miko!” shouted another.
“Friends of yours?” James asked. Running, he worked to keep pace with the rapidly accelerating Miko.
“No and we don’t want them to catch us either.” He led James down another, much narrower side-alley. By this time Miko was in a dead run. Dodging around corners, they tried to lose them, but James realized that they would never be able to shake them.
Racing around another corner, Miko abruptly came to a stop. They had run into a dead end. A door in the left wall stood ajar; Miko pushed through with James right behind. James glanced back and saw the boys turning into the alley, almost upon them. He slammed the door shut and put his weight against it. He no sooner got the door closed when he felt the boys slam against the other side. It groaned under the impact, but with him leaning heavily into it, the door held.
Looking around the dirty little room, he saw nothing that would help to keep the door shut. Miko had already rushed through the opposite door, leaving James alone. It didn’t take him long to realize that he would not be able to hold the door against the combined weight of the boys.
“Open that door!”
“You’re not getting away from us,” another screamed.
James frantically pressed his weight against the door with all his might. Cracks formed in the wood from the relentless pounding of the boys.
An idea came to him. He concentrated and then said:
Door of wood have the strength of steel,
Allow no entry for those who would kill.
James felt the familiar surge of power as he completed his spell. Maintaining his concentration and visualization of his desired affects, he gradually reduced the pressure he exerted on the door. Once he was confident that the spell was in affect, he turned and practically tripped over Miko, almost causing him to lose his concentration.
Miko stared at him wide-eyed and a little fearful. “You a mage!”
“Save it for later,” James insisted. “This isn’t going to hold for long. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
As they left the room, James said, “I thought you ran out on me.”
Looking hurt, Miko replied, “I didn’t know you weren’t following me. When I did, I came back.”
Passing through the doorway, they entered a smaller room, dirty and smelling like an outhouse. James realized with trepidation that there was neither a window nor a door except for the one they just came through.
“Over here,” Miko hollered.
He began moving garbage out of the way and revealed a trap door, concealed by the debris that covered the floor. The smell filling the room left little doubt as to where it led. Miko opened the trap door and began descending the ladder into the hole. He almost laughed when he noticed the disgusted expression on James face. “Do you want to stay up here?”
“No,” replied James, doing his best not to breathe through his nose as he moved to the opening. When Miko climbed to the bottom, James began his descent into the dark opening of the sewers.
Chapter Eight
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