Chapter 12: A Trip to Market Part 1

Dawn is an ugly time to be awake. Farmers are more used to it, and as they grow more experienced with the life of working from before its unseemly, rude arrival until after the sun sleepily deprives them of more light to get the things they want done as they shake their fists at the cruelty. Some may fool themselves into thinking otherwise, that it is a joyous time.

Some mad and forsaken piteous creatures called humanity may genuinely enjoy the cold embrace of the oncoming herald of another period of suffered existence. A raucous and ghastly cry of shrieking joy may escape their lips at the light shredding their delicate orbs so used to the sometimes warm, comforting blanket that can be a quiet, falsely safe night.

Jenkins would punch those people in the face with extreme vitriol and a fist more appropriately called a shovel. He was not among the most cursed entities known as a morning person.

He was miserable company until well after sunrise, when he had been given a few hours to claw away the shreds of a sometimes pleasant dream of relaxing on his porch smoking his pipe. The thankfully less frequent nightmares of losing his wife and child made his mood more of a thing to be avoided than experienced.

Standing on his porch, tightening the straps of his travel pack, Jenkins grumbled in curses as Jack, Sam, and Fred watched in silence. The bedroll on top was being ornery about staying in place.

The three of his farmhands had been with him for a few years and knew not to try to get anything friendly out of the man until a couple of hours after sunrise. Fred was less aware that Jenkins had a bad mood in the morning as the birds he liked to watch were more interesting than talking most days. The large man was agitated this morning and paid close attention to what Jenkins was doing.

Jenkins finished his last-minute preparations and turned to the trio. The bedroll tamed. Fred looked close to tears. Jenkins avoided his eyes.

“Jack, you’re in charge for as long as I’m away. Lord Tom has covered everyone’s pay and the taxes, so just keep the farm from being burnt to the ground. Sam, you’ll be stepping up into Jack’s place. You’ll all be shorthanded for a while, but Kvatch, that son of a bitch, has promised to lend one of his boys to help out now and then until you can find a replacement.”

Fred started crying quietly as he flopped to the ground in a defeated position. Jenkins had known this was going to be an issue.

“Why?”

Jenkins inhaled to yell at the man that this was hard enough without his nonsense, then let out the breath he had taken. It wasn’t Fred’s fault he didn’t understand if he mistreated the man because he didn’t. It would rub him the wrong way.

Jenkins had a philosophy about how the village worked best. It was akin to cooking a good chicken. The right spices and prep could make everything better. Throwing coarse sand that you had mixed with the pigshit of making others feel bad so you felt a little bitter would ruin the meal and piss off many people that even heard about it. Few complaints were made about the meals shared at his farm.

Fred, one of the largest farmhands in the county, was a dependable worker who tried his best despite his slower thoughts. Jenkins would do his best to set the man at ease. Seeing a grown man blubbering with snot running down his face was disturbing.

Ignoring his discomfort at the site, Jenkins walked to the man and crouched next to him. Jack looked uncomfortable and edged away from the pair. Sam kept a stoic face as he moved behind the pair on the ground and patted Fred on the shoulders. Jenkins addressed the large man crumpled on the ground.

“Fred, It’s okay. Sam and Jack will help you take care of the farm while I’m gone. Keeping the farm safe helps me while I’m out on my adventure. Until I come back, can you do that for me?”

Fred snorted loudly as he sniffed to control his now running nose and leaky eyes.

“Want to go with you.”

Jenkins grimaced,

“I’m sorry, Fred. We need you here to help with the farm.”

“Sam and Jack can.”

“They need your help, Fred. I have to leave, but I’ll come back, I promise. Can you help them?”

Fred was silent for a solid minute as he thought about the question. With a leaky face, he pushed hard at his sluggish thought, scowling furiously. Fred did not like his friend leaving, but Jenkins said he would return. With a herculean effort, he accepted that his friend would be gone for a while and summoned all of his skill at telling him he would be missed.

“Okay, see you tomorrow.”

Jenkins looked at the hulking sadness that was Fred’s form and patted his head. He responded sadly as Sam helped him get the big man to his feet.

“Yeah, Fred. I’ll see you soon.”

Fred crushed Jenkins to his chest in a monstrous display of what was supposed to be a hug. Jenkins flailed uselessly in protest as his ribs creaked at the pressure. A small smile had appeared on Sam’s face as Fred put Jenkins back down. The farmer was gasping for air as he listened to Sam’s comment.

“We’ll take care of him.”

Jack rolled his eyes at the display. His philosophy had nothing to do with chicken. It could be argued he didn’t know what philosophy meant, but it could be summed up as, if it’s not making the work go faster or entertaining, why should it happen? His chicken recipe was not widely shared across the village.

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“Two years is hardly soon.”

Fred’s eyes widened in horror. The big man stumbled away toward the barn, starting to blubber again. Sam started after the big man with a dirty look at Jack, who was starting to show annoyance at the drama. Jenkins rubbed his forehead with one hand.

“What is wrong with you, Jack?”

Jack’s annoyed expression stayed firmly in place,

“What? You’re not dead. Why should he be so upset?”

“You know, you’re a smart man, or at least you think you are. You’re smart enough to be miserable but too dumb not to take it out on other people.”

“He’s being an asshole about this. You’re not going to be gone forever.”

“I’m going to be gone. That’s what he understands. You’ve worked with Fred for years. You know he’s more like a large child.”

“So I should just make excuses for him?”

“He’s a person Jack. Sometimes he’s hard to deal with. You should be more aware that you have to be an adult. You don’t like it when I yell at you for mistakes without explaining why, right?”

“I don’t like you yelling at me at all, most days.”

Jenkins held up a hand to acknowledge the argument,

“Fair point, but think about this. You can understand when I explain to you why. Fred can’t…”

This gave Jack pause as he thought about it.

“Alright, I’ll try to be nicer to him while you’re gone. I still think he’s being unreasonable, but I can tolerate it.”

Jenkins sighed. He didn’t have time to get into this. The sun had crested the horizon, and he needed to get to the manor house. Now he needed to stop at healer Prisca’s place to get her to keep an eye out for Fred’s care on top of everything else. Sam would do his best to look out for Fred, but Jack would be in charge of things.

Jenkins stared at the man who was being his usual jackass self. He would put Sam in charge instead, but Jack knew how to read, write and could do the sums. Sam couldn’t.

“That’s a good start, but I’m gonna tell Healer Prisca to watch for you being a jackass to Fred. I’m not too fond of doin’ things this way, Jack, but I’m gonna have her arrange for Sam to learn his letters and sums as well. Sam will take over if she thinks you can’t manage the place, including Fred.”

“But-“

“No buts, Jack. We both know you’ll do a better job if you know you’ll be punished for fucking this up. I want to come back to my farm with it still in one piece. Don’t forget to put that milk out for me, as that dwarf said. I’ll not have a god be cross with me, and he didn’t say it was me or my farm that needed to do it. I’ll do the same in the city to be safe.”

Jack rolled his eyes again, but a slow smile crossed his lips at his following words,

“Now you’re being dramatic too. It’ll be fine. I won’t protest Prisca stopping by regularly, though. She’s a fine sight to behold. And I think she wouldn’t mind being held, either.”

Jenkins lifted his pack off the porch and settled it across his shoulders while snorting at the man. Prisca’s skill with herbs would teach the man respect once he spent an afternoon in the outhouse. Jenkins doubted the man would even question why she would offer to cook a “special” lunch for him.

“Write me at the capital and let me know how that works out for you. If she doesn’t thump you for being a Jackass, I’m sure Guard Captain Lowry would happily help her.”

Jack blanched at that. Everyone but Prisca herself knew the guard captain was sweet on her. The funniest part of the situation was that she was sweet on him, and neither of them realized each fancied the other. It made some villagers sigh at the romance, and others rolled their eyes at the will-they-won’t-they-shenanigans it sometimes caused. Jenkins thought they were wasting time dancing around each other when they could actually be dancing together. He missed dancing with Rukan.

“I think it would be better to focus on my new duties.”

Jenkins’s smile was dry.

“Wise decision. I’ll write by the end of the month.”

His last bits of business sorted at the farm, Jenkins shouldered his pack and headed toward healer Prisca’s. He arrived and knocked on the front door.

After several minutes of no reply, he decided she must be about her rounds and decided to pass a letter on to someone before he left. He could beg for some materials for that at the manor house. He suspected Marie would be amenable. He hoped he had enough time.

Heading to the manor house, he saw that a letter would not be needed as healer Prisca was conveniently present and discussing something with that young Milligan boy, Robby. Two of the county luciloos were present along with their horses, with a few of the village soldiers and Captain Lowry standing off to one side away from the whirlwind of fury that was Mistress Milligan.

To her credit, the unholy terror of Mistress Milligan gained her reputation for a scathing tongue in defense of anyone “interfering” with her or her family’s good fortune. To her discredit, that definition of interference was broader than it should be.

Her current haranguing of Lord Tom was quiet, she wouldn’t dare screech at the county’s lord, but the red face and clenched fists at her sides told of her anger. Lord Tom seemed exasperated but patient in his terse replies to her.

Jenkins thought part of that exasperation was with the castellan standing beside him. Castellan Joclyn seemed ready to start his own tirade at the woman. He was visibly biting back comments due to Tom holding a subtle hand toward him to prevent an outburst.

Jenkins kept his nose out of that and approached healer Prisca and Robby. The boy seemed a mix of excited and fearful. He was fiddling with the straps of his pack. She was asking him another question as Jenkins approached.

“One last time, what have you promised me to do every day before you start running messages in the capital?”

“Stretch my breakfast.”

“No, dear. Eat breakfast and stretch before you start running. You may feel fine without it, but your body won’t have the proper energy to heal if you pull something while hungry. Better to avoid getting hurt, but if it can’t be avoided, you need to be able to heal quickly.”

“Yes, Prisca.”

“Good boy, go stand with the Luciloos for now. You’ll all be leaving soon. Novice Jenkins, I see you’re able to get around fine. It seems that Dwarf was a paladin, in truth, if those scratches are feeling that good. I would have put you on crutches for at least a few weeks.”

Jenkins smiled, blushing at the Adventurer title she had reminded him he now bore and hopped briefly on one foot to show he wasn’t faking.

“Aye, the paladin was a pal o’ mine. Set me right to be sure. I have a favor to ask you.”

Prisca eyebrows raised, but she answered with a smile.

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