Chapter 6

'Maybe I miscalculated just a bit…'

Looking around the main market square, I was starkly reminded that Balfors Town was currently suffering from a plague. There wasn’t a trace of the usual vendors that would line the commons, hawking whatever goods they happened to have on hand to the milling crowds. Even some of the stores in actual buildings seemed to be closed down.

The wooden platform that normally occupied the center of the square was missing. In its place, there was an abnormally large bonfire in the center of the square blazed away with such intensity that I could feel the heat on my face from where I was standing. Sweating and dirty laborers doused themselves in water before grabbing another cloth-wrapped corpse, trudging as close as they dared to the fire, and hefted it into the flames. Embers, born aloft by the intense flames, spiraled into the air like a horde of demonic fireflies.

The stench was stomach-churning. Like wood smoke blended with burning pork, with a sickly-sweet undercurrent of rot.

A small group of sackcloth-wearing people wailed as the corpse caught fire. I could only assume they were that particular deceased individual's remaining family and friends. A harried looking priest spoke some words to them, indistinct to my ear due to the distance between us, and gently shuffled the mourning group away from the milling crowd.

"Poor old Hagg," Alvis mumbled, shaking his head.

"You knew him?" I asked, keeping my voice respectfully low.

"Aye. Not well, mind you, but we shared an ale on occasion. I'll miss the old butcher," Alvis sighed. "Made sausages like the ones back home…"

"Andic's are better," Garrett muttered.

"Andic wouldn't know a good sausage if it snuck up on him and bit him in the rear," Alvis scoffed. "Too lean, too small, and too dry. Practically made of jerky, they are."

"Better than that Kymringr shite you call sausages," Garrett retorted. "I don't know how you can stand those grease-traps, let alone smothered in pickled cabbage like how you eat them."

"Because I have good taste," the shorter man retorted, nose lifted into the air. "Unlike some."

"You’re from the Frozen Coast, aren’t you?" I asked. His accent was just a little bit off; the way he pronounced some vowels was different from either the noble or peasants’ accents, and the cadence with which he spoke each syllable was uttered to a different cadence than I was used to hearing.

“Aye, milady, I am," he replied, nodding his helmeted head. “I’m from Corsehym, near the Eastern Reaches.”

"How did you come to be in my father's service, then?" I asked.

"It was during the last war, milady," he replied, brightening up a bit from his usual serious demeanor. "I was a part of a Kymringr warband Count Valens hired to bolster his army."

"A mercenary?" I absently asked as I glanced around the square.

"Aye, and a good one too," he boasted. "Fought in a dozen battles all over Teranthia, from Pommeria to Etrushia, and never lost a single one."

"If you were a mercenary, how come you are still serving my father?" As I asked this question, I spotted what I was looking for and slowly stood several steps in that general direction. Like the competent guards they were, both Garrett and Alvis moved with me, staying a step behind and to either side as I moved.

"I was wounded in battle, you see, and laid up here in Balfors Town to recover," he explained, patting a thigh with one hand. "Took the healers nigh a whole moon to fix me up."

"That long?" Garrett asked, sounding surprised. "They couldn't just… fix it?"

"Even the best healers can't fix everything," he chided his fellow guard. "Else Old Bark would still have his hand."

"Oh. Right, that makes sense," Garrett nodded.

"Still, that doesn't explain why you decided to stay, " I pointed out.

"Aye, milady, it doesn't," Alvis agreed.

"So, what changed?"

"I met my wife, Helke" he said, his voice growing gentle. "She was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. Fair-haired and rosy-cheeked, she was everything I could ever want."

"Sounds romantic," I told him, an involuntary smile stretching across my face. "So you decided to stay? To be with her?"

"Aye, I did. Your father was kind enough to hire me on as a man-at-arms. I've been his loyal retainer ever since."

"I'm glad to have you," I told him with genuine sincerity.

"Thank you, milady."

“Do either of you know this place?” I asked, gesturing at the sign hanging over the door up ahead. It depicted a sword crossing a shield, set inside the hollow of a laurel wreath.

“What, d’you mean the swordsmith?” Garrett asked, sounding gobsmacked. “Everyone knows this place.”

“What can you tell me about it?”

“Vigo’s a dab hand at smithing, he is,” Garrett replied, nodding his head as if he was spouting wisdom from on high. “Everyone knows about him. Merchants, knights, and nobles from all over the County come here to buy his swords and armor.”

“Not just people in the County either, milady.” Alvis cut in. “Wealthy merchants from as far away as Reeveport come here to buy his goods.”

“That’s quite a trip,” I noted. Reeveport was almost two week’s travel away from Balfors, following the Bal river road. That was roughly 150 miles, give or take a bit. “His reputation must be impeccable.”

“Some say there’s no better smith in all of Scael,” Garrett said, still nodding. “His work is a bit pricey, though. Not something an average guard or townsman could ever hope to buy.”

“Are you looking to commission something, milady?” Alvis asked.

“No. At least, not without Father’s permission first,” I replied, shaking my head. “I want to ask him some questions.”

“About what?” Garrett asked, looking befuddled.

“Smithing.”

“Well, yeah,” he replied, as if it was obvious. “What about it, though?”

“I want to know how it works,” I replied.

That wasn’t exactly true; as something of a history buff, I knew how smithing worked in loose terms. But, as a fan of Renaissance fairs and medieval arms and armor, I was looking forward to being able to see the forging process first hand.

“He might not let you, milady,” Alvis warned me. “Can’t be giving away trade secrets and the like. And that’s if he’s even open, what with the plague and all.”

“... you may be right,” I admitted, my enthusiasm dampened at the thought. “Still, no harm in asking.”

“Aye, no harm in that,” he agreed. “Just remember that even a lord cannot order a craftsman to share his skills.”

“As it should be,” I nodded. “Now, let’s see if he’s even open.”

I reached out and grasped the wrought iron handle. The little thumb lever on the top wouldn’t budge, though, no matter how hard I tried.

“Well,” I huffed. “Looks like it’s closed.”

“Aye, it seems so, milady.”

I was… disappointed. My inner geek was really looking forward to seeing authentic forging by hand.

“Perhaps I could return some other day, when the plague isn’t such a problem.”

“Perhaps, milady, but it’s also Godsday,” Alvis pointed out. “He might be closed on account of the day, not just because of the plague.”

“I… hadn’t considered that,” I admitted, shrugging my shoulders. “Well, in either case, I won’t be visiting today, then.”

Looking around the square, most of the people seemed to be either laborers working with the recently dead, priests conducting ad-hoc funeral services, and mourners. This particular square was in the wealthier district, and merchants likely paid a premium to set up shop here. Still, with the mass cremation going on, it didn’t appear that any of them were open.

“I don’t suppose there are any other markets in town, are there?” I asked. “One that might actually be open?”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“Riverside square is open,” Garrett chimed in. “They’re always open, even on Godsday.”

“That’s not the kind of place for a young noble lady,” Alvis chided his companion. “It’s full of ruffians, thieves and… uhh…”

“And what?” I asked. I had an idea of what he was going to say, but I did my best to keep my twitching lips from breaking into a grin.

“Uh… women of ill repute,” he finished lamely.

“You mean whores?” Garrett asked gormlessly.

“What’s a whore?” I asked, injecting as much innocence as I could into my voice.

“Never you mind that, milady,” Alvis said, turning red in the face. Turning to his companion, he slammed his fist into Garrett’s shoulder. “Don’t you dare be speaking like that in front of a young lady, you twit!”

“Ow! Hey, stop that!”

“I ought to make you run laps of the courtyard for that,” Alvis continued chiding the taller man. “Lady Artesia is a noblewoman, not some yokel peasant girl. Some things aren’t fit for a noble’s ears!”

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry!” Garrett protested, waving his arms around to fend off Alvis’ blows.

“And don’t you forget it!” Alvis finished, stamping a foot for good measure.

I looked back and forth between the two for several moments. Unlike the knights in the County Guard, these men-at-arms weren’t issued brigandine armor. Both were dressed in a jack-of-plate, a sort of linen gambeson with large rectangular plates sewn between the layers of cloth. It was better than just chainmail (though each wore a three-quarter sleeve hauberk underneath) but not nearly as protective as a breastplate or a brigandine cuirass.

Despite the chainmail and jack-of-plate, Garrett rubbed at his shoulder, muttering what was likely curses under his breath.

“So… can we go to Riverside Square now?” I asked after several moments of awkward silence.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Alvis sternly told me. “It’s not safe.”

“It’s not like I’ll be going alone,” I pointed out. “I’ll have you two to protect me.”

“What if we get separated?”

“I’ll stay nearby, I promise.”

“... I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Alvis stubbornly repeated, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh, come off it, Alvis,” Garrett protested. “It’s not all bad. The people like Count Valens; they wouldn’t do anything to Lady Artesia.”

“Please?” I begged, lacing my fingers together and holding them under my chin. Just like with Valens, I poured on the cuteness and gave Alvis the best puppy dog eyes I could muster. “I promise I’ll be good…”

“... fine, we can go,” Alvis relented, his face softening. “BUT! Only if you promise to follow my orders, understand?”

“Yes!” I quickly agreed, nodding my head rapidly. “I promise!”

“Very well. Let’s get going.”

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Balfors Town had, over the course of many years, gradually expanded out from Balfors Castle. Before the Cataclysm, The Teranthians had used a small promontory as a fort to secure a stretch of the Imperial Road that ran through the Balreeve Pass up to the Pommerian coast. ‘Balfors’, in this case, refers to a ford on the Bal river, whose name was given to many prominent features in this valley.

The old Imperial Road was in poor repair; most of it was little more than a dirt track these days. Still, it was an important trading route between the Pommerlands and the Electorate to the south. Balfors Castle had been established by my ancestors to help secure this trade route, allowing patrols to drive off or eliminate bandits and brigands that often preyed on unsuspecting merchant caravans.

The Bal river originated higher in the pass, and several smaller rivers and streams gradually flowed into it as it made its way north to the sea. A high ridge, spanning the mouth of the valley, caused the waters of the Bal river to pool into Lake Ansim, draining through Balreeve falls, where the Bal river continued it’s trek to the sea. The river was navigable from the sea to the falls, and for a small stretch near Lake Ansim. This far up the valley, though, and there were too many stretches of rapids and shallows to allow anything more than small rowboats to navigate it.

Still, the people in Balfors Town set fishing traps or rowed very small boats on the river to catch what fish they could. There were enough fishermen to justify the creation of the Riverside Square and a few small piers for the fishermen to use to sell their daily haul. Other vendors set up shop nearby, and as the city expanded, houses sprung up around the area, fully bringing it into the city limits.

The old Imperial Road also ran through Riverside Square. The eponymous Bal river ford was just a few miles upstream, where the Imperial Road crossed from the far side of the river to this side. Several coaching inns lined the road on either side of the square, each with stables large enough to house more than a dozen horses or mules. Most were empty, now; word of the plague had spread, and travelling merchants were avoiding the town.

Still, just like Garrett had said, the square was busy. People milled about, visiting stall after stall, bartering and bargaining for whatever foodstuffs and little trinkets they needed. Troubadours sat or stood in whatever space they could find, playing music and singing songs for the crowd, no doubt hoping to draw donations from appreciative listeners. One was playing something that sounded an awful lot like a bagpipe; unfortunately, there was no snare drum to accompany it. Most, however, were playing some variant of a lute.

In many respects, it was like seeing the largest Renaissance fair in the world, only one where there wasn’t a hint of modern clothing or devices in sight and everyone was in appropriate period dress.

“Alright, milady, stay close to me now,” Alvis said as I finally stepped down from the carriage. “We’ll take you ‘round from stall to stall.”

“Alright.”

Alvis strode forward into the crowd, shouting at anyone too slow to get out of his way. I quickly stepped into his wake, and Garrett brought up the rear. Once people began noticing my guards and I, they started making way for us. A few people in the crowd, usually those dressed with slightly finer clothing than the others, gave perfunctory bows or shouted greetings. I did my best to wave and acknowledge them, but Alvis was moving too quickly to allow me to do much more than that.

“Alright, clear out now!” Alvis shouted as we approached the first stall. A middle aged woman, who had been bartering with the vendor, turned and was about to start shouting back, but stopped when she saw who was shouting at her.

“Alvis!” I shouted, catching the man’s attention. When he looked over his shoulder at me, I told him, “Let the poor lady finish her purchase; there’s no point in being rude about it.”

“... aye, milady,” he replied, frowning, but he did as I asked. “Apologies, ma’am. Finish your bartering, if you please.”

“Thank you, milady,” the woman said, dipping into a crude curtsy. She pointedly turned her nose up at Alvis before turning back to the vendor.

I watched and listened to the two haggle for a moment. The vendor would try to play up the quality of the pile of assorted vegetables the woman was trying to buy, while she was point out little flaws here and there to try to talk him down. After several minutes, the woman and the vendor finally agreed to a price. She placed half a dozen copper coins on the stall’s countertop, stuffed the food into a burlap sack, and walked off.

“That was right mighty kind of you, milady,” the vendor said, his accent somehow thicker than even Garrett’s. “Letting me finish bargaining like that.”

“It’s no problem at all,” I said with a quick smile and a nod.

“Is there something this humble merchant can interest you in, milady?”

I let my eyes roam over the displayed goods as I tapped at the small coin purse Valens had handed to me just before we left the castle. There were only a trio of silver griffons and a handful of copper crests, but that was more than enough to buy nearly anything I could want on this shopping trip.

The vendor mostly had spring vegetables, though a couple of more durable root crops were for sale as well. They were likely leftovers from the previous year’s harvest; the things that looked a lot like potatoes looked rather worse for wear, and several onion bulbs appeared to be trying to sprout, but for the most part they still looked edible.

“Could I see those beets, please?” I asked. The merchant placed a couple of decent sized ones near enough that I, with my rather short stature, could actually reach them. They were decently sized, still somewhat tender, and still had their greens attached. “I’ll take three of these, please, and that bundle of asparagus.”

“This one here?” he said, fingering a bundle that was looking decidedly dry.

“No, the next one over,” I said, pointing to one with finer stalks that was likely less woody.

“Right you are, milady,” he said, placing the much better bundle next to the beets.

“Also, a nice head of lettuce, if you please.”

“Right away, milady.”

“Also, do you happen to have a spare burlap sack I could buy?” I asked. “I’d rather not have to carry these by hand, you see.”

“Of course, milady.” He placed the sack next to the vegetables I’d selected. “Anything else for you?”

“No, I think this will suffice.”

“As milady wishes. Everything together will be one silver piece,” he said, his eyes glinting with greed.

“A-” I cut off the instinctive invective I was about to blurt out. “My apologies, sir; I thought you were a merchant, not a highway robber.”

“A robber! I never!” he protested. “A silver is more than fair.”

“For beets like these? I think not, good sir,” I shook my head. “They’re too tender yet, and will need a week before they’re ready to eat. I think four coppers is fair enough.”

“Four?! Now who's robbing who?” he replied. “You have a good eye, I admit, because you chose the best asparagus I have on hand. No less than nine coppers will do.”

“Yes, it is quite nice asparagus; you should compliment whomever supplied them to you,” I nodded. “But that lettuce is looking a bit wilted. Five coppers.”

“It’s getting late in the season for fresh lettuce,” he agreed. “Seven.”

“Lets split the difference at six,” I said, “And I’ll come back next time I visit the square.”

“Agreed,” he said, a big smile breaking out on his face. “You’re quite the little haggler, milady.”

“Thank you, kind sir.”

Once the coins were exchanged and the various vegetables were sequestered in the sack, our little procession moved on to the next stall. I perused the wares from many different vendors, not buying much of anything. The sun was getting high in the sky, and my stomach was beginning to rumble, so I tugged at Alvis’ hand to catch his attention.

“Yes, milady?”

“One more stall, then let’s find somewhere to eat, ok?”

“Aye, milady. Which one do you want to want to see?”

“Um… how about that one, there?” I said, pointing towards a shabby-looking stall tucked away in a corner of the square. It was near a building that looked rather like a tavern; my thought was I’d take a quick peek, then drag my guards into the tavern for some food and maybe an ale (for them) or something else (for me).

“Of course, milady.”

The crowd had grown somewhat used to our presence; Alvis didn’t have to elbow anyone out of the way anymore, but neither were they making way as if their lives depended on it.

It was rather interesting; most of these people were lowborn and hadn’t interacted with the nobility much at all. I caught half-intelligible snippets of mumbled conversations where one person would comment about how unusual it was to see a noble ‘rubbing elbows’, so to speak, with the common folk. I was a bit self-conscious about it, but I did my best to act as normally as possible. It helped my own state of mind, if nothing else.

The stall I had pointed out was being run by an ancient-looking old woman. Her face was weathered and wrinkled, and her thinning hair had long since turned white. Still, her blue eyes were sharp; she looked me up and down at sat up straighter on her stool as I approached.

“Anything I can interest you in, milady?” she asked, her voice thready and wavering.

“Perhaps,” I told her as I looked at her wares. Some of it seemed to be handcrafted jewelry, mostly made of wood, leather, or inexpensive stones polished to a brilliant shine. Nothing truly valuable, mind you, and not a hint of gold or silver in them. Still, I could tell that a lot of work had been put into them. Aside from the jewelry, the old woman had a couple of quilts stitched together from various fabric pieces, and a small selection of knitted scarves or embroidered shawls.

“You have a lovely selection,” I told her, not quite lying. They weren’t my taste, mind you, but I could see the appeal in some of them at least. “Do you make them yourself?”

“Some of them, aye,” she nodded. “The children make the rest.”

“Children?” I asked. “Your… grandchildren?”

“No, milady,” she said, shaking her head. “Thasha never saw fit to bless me with children of my own. No, the poor orphans I take care of help me make these.”

“... I see,” I said. Either this woman was telling the truth, or she was a fantastic liar; I couldn’t detect a hint of deception in her expression. “Do you take care of many of them?”

“As many as I can.”

“That is very kind of you,” I said, feeling a bit of a tug on my heartstrings. I knew I’d feel terrible if I walked away without buying anything, though, so I took a look around to see if anything caught my eye. “Can I see that one?”

“Of course, milady,” the old woman said, smiling a nearly-toothless smile at me. “Here you are.”

The necklace she handed me was a black stone polished nearly to a mirror finish. A small hole had been drilled through its center, allowing it to be strung on a simple leather thong. It was perhaps the most basic handicraft one could possibly make, but it was quite nice in a rustic sort of way.

“What’s it made out of?” I asked.

“Jetstone, milady,” she told me. “Little Simic found it last moon and polished it right up.”

“Jetstone?” I murmured. The Pommeran name for it was a little strange, but the closest translation I could make into English was ‘jet’, which referred to a form of coal that was also prized as a semi precious gemstone. “Did he find it nearby?”

“Simic likes to wander in the hills, whenever he can get away with it, the little rascal,” the old woman said with fondness. “He says he found it there and brought it home.”

“Did he bring any more of it?” I asked.

“Some,” she said, suddenly sounding a bit cagey. “A bit of amber, too.”

‘Sounds an awful lot like a coal deposit coming to the surface,’ I thought to myself. Some varieties of coal were known to hold bits of amber or oceanic fossils. It really depended on how they were deposited; if they were created by deposition of dead ocean algae, they often held shells and other oceanic fossils. If they were formed by compressed plant matter, oftentimes that included the very trees that produced amber deposits, which were made out of crystallized sap. ‘That might be useful in the future.’

“Well, if he does start finding more, I’d very much like to speak with him,” I told her. “Father might be interested in a source for jetstone and amber.”

“It’s all the Count’s lands,” she said, shaking her head. “Your father wouldn’t be able to do much with it without his permission. Even a good lord like Count Salvorin is going to ask for his cut.”

Alvis opened his mouth, but I quickly elbowed him in the side. Garrett too, for good measure. When they looked at me, I shook my head; if the poor old woman didn’t recognize me, I wasn’t going to go about correcting her.

“My father has some sway with Count Salvorin,” I told the woman, trying my best to keep a grin off my face. Both Alvis and Garrett’s eyes were wide as they stared at me, but I paid them no mind. “I’m sure Simic will be rewarded if he can show us where he found this.”

“Perhaps so, milady,” she said with a shrug. “If your father happens to come by with the Count’s permission, I might be able to talk the little one into showing you.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” I told her. Taking the little amulet in hand, I deposited one of my last silver coins in its place. “Will this be enough?”

“Very generous of you, milady,” the old woman said, smiling a near toothless smile at me. “Thank you kindly.”

“Have a good day!” I called.

She wished me the same as my two guards and I turned and made our way to the nearby tavern.

“What was that all about?” Garrett asked once we were out of earshot.

“She didn’t know that the Count is my father,” I explained. “I didn’t want to up and tell her.”

“Why is that, milady?” Alvis asked. “Are you ashamed of your father?”

“Not at all!” I exclaimed. “I just think it’ll be funny to bring Father by her stall some day. Imagine her surprise!”

“She might be cross with you,” Alvis warned. “Count Valens might be cross with you, too.”

“It’s just a bit of harmless fun,” I scoffed.

“If you’re sure, milady…”

“Well, that’s a problem for another time,” I said, shaking my head. “Shall we get something to eat and drink?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Garrett sighed with relief. “I was getting quite hungry.”

With a roll of my eyes, I followed Garrett into the tavern.

‘Coal deposits, huh?’ I thought to myself. A thousand and one ideas whirled through my head at the prospect of coal. There was a very good reason why coal was so important to the Industrial Revolution, and not in the least because it could be burned for warmth. I wasn’t a chemist, so I didn’t know how to render it into, for example, synthetic dyes, but I did know some useful products that coal could provide.

Not in the least of which was coal tar, which had one very particular medicinal use; it was an anti-parasitic. Specifically, coal tar could be diluted by alcohol, then mixed with soap. When used, it kills and repels lice, among other surface parasites.

‘If I can make some coal tar soap, I can get rid of the lice. Getting rid of the lice will get rid of the plague. I’ll need to speak to Valens about this…’

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