Chapter 7

I’d apparently managed to turn feigned sleep into the real thing, because I woke to a sharp kick to my ribs. “I don’t know what the fuck you did, you little bastard, but Cutter Redwater is at the bar downstairs, and he wants you down there NOW. Now git!” I sprang to my feet, dodging a second kick and rubbed my bruised ribs. I hated being woken up like that and usually slept lightly enough to avoid it these days, but I was still a bit off my game after my dustup earlier.

“Who?” I asked.

“Probably the man who’s going to kill you.” Jeck replied, not unsympathetic. “But if you don’t get down there he’ll probably kill ME. So GIT!” He backhanded me across the face. Backed into the corner as I was, I was unable to dodge it and my head smacked against the wall.

“Fine! I’m going! I’m going!” I matched action to words and started walking to the stairs, rubbing at my cheek as I felt my eye beginning to swell with the familiar feeling of an incipient black eye.

When I got to the bottom of the stairs I felt eyes on me and glanced towards the bar. An old man with white hair tied back in a ponytail was staring at me like he could see right through me. I froze. If the boy from earlier had looked dangerous, this man looked like death himself. Comparing him to the guards employed by merchants would be like comparing a chihuahua to a full blooded wolf. I glanced at the door, considering making a run for it. I knew I’d never make it though. While elderly, he was obviously in great shape. The man’s arms were solid with sinewy muscle even at his advanced age, his skin etched with ubiquitous scars. Running might make him mad, thereby increasing my chance of instant death, so let's not do that. I looked back at him, spit a mouthful of blood on the floor, courtesy of Jeck’s earlier backhand, and made my way over to the bar where I laboriously climbed up onto the high stool next to the man to his right.

“Jeck says you wanted to see me,” I calmly explained without taking my eyes off him.

While I’d slowly made my way over, Jeck had passed me, walked behind the bar, and started cleaning a glass with a dirty rag.

The old man glanced at Jeck, “Give the kid a drink,” he slapped a copper on the bar. To Jeck’s credit, he didn’t hesitate a second before pouring a drink into the dubiously clean glass, setting it in front of me with a practiced hand, and then making the copper disappear. I didn’t hesitate either, and took it down with a single long gulp. Alcohol does have a caloric content, and even if I was about to die I wasn’t going to pass up charity. It was my first time drinking alcohol in this world, and it tasted a bit like whiskey with a lower alcohol content. The man raised an eyebrow when I didn’t splutter at the taste. So did Jeck.

“I understand you kicked my grandson’s ass earlier,” stated the man with barely feigned amusement.

“He had it coming. What of it?” I asked back flippantly. Now the man was smiling a wide grin that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Jeck slapped his rag down on the bar,

“You both know the rules, gents. No fighting OR killing in my bar,” he looked meaningfully at the old man as he said this. The man didn’t even glance his way, just waved a dismissive hand in his general direction.

“Not what I’m here for Jeck, I’ve got business with the boy. Anyway, what’s your name, kid?”

“Don’t have one.” I responded.

It’d seemed weird to me at first that nobody had ever bothered to name me, but the more I’d thought on it, the more sense it made. No one had expected me to survive even this long, so why bother.

“Seriously?” the old man queried with a surprised expression. He glanced at Jeck who shrugged back.

“I was planning to call him ‘Smudge,' after the bar, if he made it to ten.” Jeck responded with a shrug.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

The old man looked a bit taken aback. “You forest folk are a different breed, Jeck, no question.” The old man sighed. “Couldja give us a minute of privacy though, man? As I said earlier I’ve got some business to discuss with the boy, and it’s none of yours.” Jeck rubbed a thumb and a couple of fingers together trying to get him to pay for the privilege. A knife suddenly spun through the air between us and was caught by the old man’s left hand as he slammed it point first into the scarred wood of the bar.

Jeck cleared his throat, his eyes wide. “You gents take as long as you need. I’ll be in the kitchen. Yell, if’n ya need anything.” Jeck quickly made his way out of sight, with a short stumble midway through betraying his eagerness to leave.

“My name is Cutter Redwater, and I’ve been training my grandson Knick to fight with a blade since he was two. You kicked his ass in about three seconds flat and taught him a valuable lesson about underestimating his opponent. That’s a hard lesson to learn without dying, and I consider it a kindness that he learned it this early. It’ll make him a better fighter.” Cutter paused and considered me, “I’d like to hire you to be an occasional sparring partner for the boy when we’re in town. It’d be good for him to practice fighting someone his own age and closer to his own size.” He wrenched the blade from the bar, and, without looking, tossed it to his right hand and returned it to the sheath flat on the outside of his right thigh.

I put my hand to my chin and considered the old man’s proposal. It would almost certainly mean that boy would be regularly kicking the shit out of me, but if it came with a meal I could take a beating. Wouldn’t be the first time, and if I could learn how to fight even close to as well as that kid it could very well keep me alive as I got older. “What’s the offer?” I asked, after thinking about it for a few seconds.

The old man grinned again. “I was thinking of one copper per session. Two if you kick his ass bad enough to leave him with some cuts or bruises to remember you by.”

Well if it’s a negotiation I’d be an idiot to take the first offer without trying for more. “Two per session and three if I kick his ass,” I immediately countered.

The old man chuckled at my audacity. In retrospect, a five year old kid negotiating as if from an equal position WAS a bit ridiculous, but I hadn’t lived this long without taking risks. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Nameless.” He held out his hand and I shook it with a serious expression on my face.

“You owe me three coppers Mister Redwater, sir,” The man laughed out loud, and I grinned back.

He slapped three coppers on the bar in front of me. “You earned ‘em kid. You earned ‘em.”

Then he muttered to himself in a smooth, flowing language I’d never heard before, “And, if you steal from me again, I'll just kill you.” It had the feel like he was quoting something.

“Not if I kill you first, sir,” I muttered back in the same language. Wait, how did I know how to say that?

His eyes widened. “Guess that means you’re Fucker’s bastard.” I looked at him quizzically, but he stood up from his stool without explanation and downed his own drink in one go. He slammed the cup upside down on the bar. “We’ll be back in town in a month or two for supplies. See ya then!” He made his way out the front door chuckling to himself.

Jeck came back out from the kitchen the moment Cutter left. He must have been right around the corner listening in. “You got some serious balls on you, kid. I once saw that man get drunk off his ass and kill no fewer than six merchants’ guards and two merchants in less time than it takes me to pour a drink. All for basically claiming his knives were too expensive.” I glanced at the door the old man had just left through and swallowed heavily. “Word to the wise, don’t piss that old man off. He’ll end you and leave you in the forest for the beasts just like he did them. Fuck only knows how many people he’s killed to get that old.”

“Fair enough,” I said, turning to Jeck and sliding forward one of the coppers on the bar. “Now give me a bowl of that shitty stew and an apple. Oh, and who the hell is ‘Fucker’?” Sometimes you have to take a risk if you want to eat, but I don’t think I’ll take any more risks where that old man is concerned. My heart was hammering just as hard as after I’d gotten back from my full out run. That guy scares the shit out of me.

Jeck laughed and went on to explain that Fucker was a thief that had come through town a little while before I was born, posing as an out of luck trader. Apparently he was one of the Travelers, a race of folk who could magically speak any language they heard. From what Jeck said, the most distinguishing feature of the man was his solid gold teeth and scars running from the edges of his mouth that his golden teeth showed through in an impossibly wide grin. Story was, he’d spent a few months in Tiga and then robbed half a dozen people that were particularly rude to him before skipping town without a word. There were no witnesses and no proof though, so the mayor hadn't been able to go to any real efforts to track him down. Jeck was still a little pissed that the man had run up a tab he’d never paid. Interesting to know who my father was I guess but ultimately irrelevant.

Wait a second, Cutter never even mentioned returning the knife I stole. Guess it’s mine now. I smiled. I’d go grab it after I ate. For the first time in my life I was going to have a meal at the bar. Things may just be looking up.