After the night settled in, the woodcutters lit a few campfires as people settled around them in groups to eat. I felt obliged to share the same fire as Orilay and there were only men seated around his fire. I confess that I would much rather be enjoying Haruhime’s far more stimulating conversation than talk about woodcutting tools, family, and drinking. As tired as the men were, the atmosphere was still jovial with lots of laughing and back slapping. Amongst all the light revelry, I could hear the hooting of unknown night animals from the other side of the wall. Never did I have as much comfort as realising there was a palisade wall between us and that forest. The dark night’s twinkling stars looked amazing and even stranger to me, a nearby companion galaxy, hanging in the air and taking up a two thirds of the night sky. Some leading astronomers on earth would have given their eye teeth to study that view. There were so many alien things in that world that my mind still didn’t grasp them all and yet at the same time other things were so common.

As for the food, the stew we ate that night was basic fare and although it was filling, didn’t have any spices in it and the windroot wasn’t caramelised. There were a few added herbs but if it weren’t for that, the food would be simply insipid. Surely, there must be spices somewhere. I mulled over it as I took the next tasteless mouthful of food. As the night progressed and the communal fire allowed to dim, some of the men started to head for bed. My sleeping quarters was one of the middle beds in a four-man tent, what was basically a facility to sleep in and little else. Sharing my tent with four other men didn’t leave much room for comfort or modesty for that matter, but even under those circumstances my night passed without incident.

I woke up early and refreshed, just as the dawn twilight lightened the sky in pale shades of blue, a few stars still visible above. Most of the camp slept as I quietly got out of bed trying not to disturb the other men in the tent. My breath smelt foul and I realised that my personal hygiene regimen needed some urgent attention. As I similarly discovered at Orilay’s house, the pit toilet used a shared sponge for cleaning you-know-where. It was a major dilemma for me, but there was no other recourse. Afterwards, I decided to manually wash myself down by drawing some water out of a large water trough used for watering horses and all sorts of other uses. Washing wasn’t a problem in the camp, a wooden partition existed for the purposes of personal cleaning, even the floor was comfortably planked. The quality of the water wasn’t bad either, I assumed a fresh water source existed nearby for the water to be that good. I secretly wished I could find a small river or stream to fully submerge and bathe in, absolute heaven.

Refreshed from my wash and still drying in places, I decided to lend my hand to the kitchen, after all, I had nothing better to do until everyone woke up. There was stunned silence from the kitchen team as I offered my help to the chief organiser, a no-nonsense lady called Matilda, whom I later discovered was the foreman’s wife.

“Are you sure?”

“I can offer you my help until just before breakfast.”

None of them hesitated and had me quickly covered with an apron and busy chopping the windroot. Imagine their surprise when contrary to their expectations, I threw all the windroot into the kitchen fire to roast them. Keeping those ladies away from the fire proved to be far more challenging than with Alma.

With breakfast well received, many positive comments from the workers supplemented to my ever-increasing kudos points with the women. But that compliment paled in comparison to what followed after I sharpened the kitchen knives. Even I had to admit that the women were risking their digits working with those awful, blunt knives. That morning I experienced a few close calls myself, something that would put a cold sweat on any supervisor considering the OSH implications, I promised to end everyone’s frustrations. I sharpened the knives with a circular grindstone that was more designed to sharpen the blades of axes than something as fine as the edge of a knife. It was frustrating because although I managed to sharpen the knives, I couldn’t get a finer finishing without a soap stone. Perhaps it was just as well because I just didn’t have the time to hone knives with a soap stone as my focus was on sharpening axes and saws. I started to understand from the blacksmith’s perspective why the ladies were left with blunt knives.

“Hey…sorry, what’s your name?”

For the life of me, I couldn’t remember if he ever mentioned his name to me.

“Grenfell.”

He seemed the formal type, I wasn’t going to antagonise him.

“Er, Grenfell. Do you have a finishing stone with a finer grain?”

“No.”

Well, that was a bit of a revelation. My dad always overused the saying that a workman is only as good as his tools. Somehow, I’d have to make do. Later, Haruhime came to collect the knives but we couldn’t chat for too long because we both had work to do. There was another pile of axes still waiting for me to complete, some of them needed for that afternoon. The woodcutters collected some axes after lunch and the others at the end of the day. I was nearing the end of the axe pile, closer to the time when I needed to help in the kitchen, when Grenfell passed a knife at me that looked more like unforged metal than a blade.

“That’s an incomplete knife. Jomu always said he wanted to make a decent knife out of that for himself, but he never found the time for it. I guess that legacy is now yours. See what you can turn that into, something worthy of the old man, bless his soul.”

Sheesh, how could I say no to that, not that I didn’t want the opportunity to have a knife. Looking at it closer, the form looked good and although it was only in cast form, it promised to make a good bush knife. It was designed to incorporate a handle from a different material because there were two holes in the handle for fitting metal pins, holding the handle in place.

With my work for the day finished, and about an hour to go before my kitchen shift, I decided to start working the outer edges of the roughly shaped knife. By the time I was finished, the shape of a knife blade could be clearly seen without a stretch of the imagination. Still needing to hone a cutting edge and make a handle, I ran out of time. I wrapped it up in a small bit of leather and jammed it into my belt before heading off.

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“Just what the heck did you do to the knives?”

Matilda shouted at me. Although she wasn’t angry, in contrast, she looked happy. It turned out the knives were sharpened far better than they expected. For once they were able to enjoy chopping vegetables and meat and it seemed I gathered up a few more kudos points. Haruhime stood next to me again as we chopped various bits of food. It would be stew again tonight, I suspected it was a regular item on a very restricted menu. There was one difference, a type of herb that I recognised from earth but hadn’t seen there, until now.

“Is this fennel?”

It had a white bulb looking base and green feathery leaves. When I crushed the leaves with my fingers, the smell certainly reminded me of fennel. Haruhime looked at my actions saying,

“I’m not sure what fennel is, but we call this fenna. We use it with stews.”

The close name association seemed just too coincidental, but then I had no evidence to base that on. Haruhime had a good general knowledge which showed some sort of education on her side.

“I’m curious, how are you related to the woodcutters? Are you married to one, or the daughter of one?”

She giggled,

“No, none of those. I look after and inn called the Screaming Banshee in Obon. Things are quiet and I’m just helping out to make up some money.”

“I noticed an inn on the way out. Unusual name though, who’s your usual clientele?”

“You mean visitors? We normally get adventurers delving into the dungeon.”

“There’s a dungeon?”

I wondered if it was one of those fantasy dungeons crawling with monsters and fire breathing Smaug’s.

“Have you been living under a rock all this time? It’s the only reason Obon still exists because hardly any people come through town these days.”

The tourists not flocking to Obon I could readily understand, it certainly wasn’t Disney World. Surely the dungeon attracted money through monster materials and wild spending by adventurers.

“Is there a problem with the dungeon that there’s no money?”

An uncomfortable silence descended on the kitchen. I realised I must have said something hit a collective nerve, and more importantly why was everyone listening to my conversation?

“You’re new here, so you might not appreciate our situation. Our taxes are quite heavy…”

A quick word of warning from Matilda highlighted the big issue for me and the rest I could deduce for myself. Lack of disposable income due to high taxation also throttled industry. No one loved taxes but it was a necessary fact of life in any world. That old saying, anyone could be sure of two things in life, death and taxes, rang true although if taxes also killed you, why live? Judging by Matilda’s look, I could assume that the topic was a sensitive one, but I was still curious to find out why. I decided to ask someone about it later because the atmosphere was already uncomfortable enough. But strangely Matilda then volunteered more information.

“Mr. Marset, Obon’s mayor, sets and collects our taxes. He’s also the owner of our woodcutter’s camp so we are respectful when speaking of him.”

And there I discovered the conflict of interest. Just how do workers criticise their boss when he’s paying their wages while over taxing them at the same time? That explained the restrained rebellion I was sensing. It seemed no love was lost between Mr. Marset and those people around me. He seemed the sort of person who demanded respect for giving them a job while ignoring the problems he caused them in return. Matilda’s response to my question also showed it was better to err on the side of caution because there were probably snitches in the camp that reported directly to Mr. Marset about anything that didn’t fit his expectations. I just nodded and wisely didn’t pursue the conversation further.

After lunch, back at the smithy, I realised that a smooth, river stone could also be a workable alternative as a soapstone. It would also offer me an opportunity to get out a bit, after all, I was dying to see the area. I asked Grenfell where I could get some decent river stones for honing.

“Mm, the river near the camp should have some decent rocks. Do you know where to go?”

“No, I haven’t been outside the camp yet.”

“Head in that direction.”

He pointed to the wall opposite the gate,

“You will find a river a quick walk from here. Can you find your way around a forest, I don’t want to have to go looking for you?”

Dad might have been many things, but I can’t recall him being lost on any occasion when we went into the wilderness on earth. He taught me about navigation, many times allowing me to lead him through the forests. One of his favourite games was to blindfold me and lead me into the middle of nowhere, then while hiding from me, let me I tried find my way out. At first, I was traumatised by the forced isolation, but when I quickly acclimatised and started enjoyed myself, he stopped doing it.

“My dad taught me how to find my way in a forest.”

“Hmph, your dad taught you many things it seems. Okay, tell the guards I’m giving you permission to leave the camp.”

It excited me that for the first time I had an opportunity to see a bit of the wilderness in that world, that time while fully dressed. Even along the shaded forest floor, the well-trodden path to the river was blatantly obvious. With all the comings and goings of people collecting water, a half-blind person could have easily guessed the route to the river. Even a few minutes down the trail I could start to hear the familiar sound of flowing water and came to a shallow river about ten meters wide and a metre deep running through the forest. The water flowed gently, about as fast as I could walk. Small boulders lined the sides of the stream that ran from right to left until it quietly turned a corner, some distance ahead. I couldn’t resist the urge to take my shoes off and dip my bare feet in the water. It felt wonderful walking into the knee-deep water and taking a drink directly out of the stream. Without missing the God-given opportunity to practice cleanliness, I quickly stripped the rest of my clothes off and placed them on a larger rock. Submerging myself, I felt the gently cool all the hot places on my body. I felt the urge to clean myself and started washing my face, hair, and body with vigorous rubs.

Looking up, I saw some of the trees arching over the river in a beautiful accompaniment to the gentle flow of water. I floated on my back in the water and allowed the current to take me downstream while my eyes watched the leafy boughs above me scattering multicoloured sunlight.

For a moment in time, I quietly allowed my body and mind to drift. As I rounded a gentle corner in the river, a movement caught the corner of my eye causing me to look up at an obscure shadow hidden behind a large rock the righthand side of the bank. At first, I thought I imagined things. For some reason I couldn’t help but feel a chill run down my spine as I instinctively sat up, putting my feet on the bottom, stopping my progression but remaining perfectly still with just my head above the water surface trying to see what had caught my attention. I stayed still for a long time thinking I had just imagined things and was about to get out of the water to walk back along the shore to collect my clothes, when a shadow flicked for a moment in the shade next to the large boulder. The shadow belonged to a hand, larger than my head.