Early in the morning just as the breakfast rush was passing, Joseph heard several familiar voices boisterously arguing down the road. He was only able to glance as he had a line waiting on him, but even then, the heads, hoods, and helmets of so many Crusaders blotted his vision.
Trevor himself was rather busy as a mass of six men with varying sizes of bows and knives surrounded his stall.
“You take commissions? Can you make five elixirs for night vision?”
“Ah, please take this and burn down your name, how many you would like, its effects, and duration. The starting price is one silver per bottle for labor and if you’re providing ingredients, it will be two silver otherwise.” Trevor passed a wooden tablet to a lanky man with an enormous bow on his back. Smoke gently blew from the bowman's fingertip as he traced his information on the plaque. Seeing him write legibly Trevor began assisting another.
“Do you sell any poisons? I don’t see any lined up.”
“Apologies, they’re not really my specialty so the only readymade poisons I have would be a basic toxin and the classic Mother’s Milk brew ‘Milky’. Of course I can also do commissions for poisons however they will be slightly more expensive than ‘Buffs’ as they’re rather dangerous to work with.”
“Ah that’s okay, can I see a bottle of Milky?”
“Of course, here’s one of my usual bottles.” Trevor brought up a vial the size of his palm with red and black string tied to its neck. The sunlight gave the oily mixture a strange kaleidoscope of colors as if it were tar.
The man peered closely at the bottle as Trevor held it up to the light. “Now that’s a good color. How much?”
“Three large copper a bottle, if you buy five to nine bottles it’ll be two large and ten small copper. Ten or more and its only two large copper each.”
“Hmm. It’s not like I need that much right now… Seven bottles then.” The man answered as he counted out and placed an assortment of silver and copper coins on the counter.
“Thank you for your patronage.” Trevor smiled as he verified the amount and scooped it into a small safe behind the counter. He then reached down and brought up a crate tightly packed with bottles up to the counter with a grunt.
“Two… four… six and seven. There you are, please come back again.”
“Will do.” The man nodded as he carefully placed the bottles in the sack on his shoulder and quickly trotted off to a group of men who were milling about nearby.
The first man finished writing and passed his information to Trevor, “I have ingredients from my last supplier before he retired, will these do?”
Trevor evaluated the jars and dried herbs brought out before him, “These will do nicely. Would you like to keep the excess material or use their value to mark down the cost? I can make 7 vials with these if you would like to do that instead.”
“No thank you, they'll go flat before I'd use them. Mark down the cost please.”
As Trevor continued to deal with customers in this way the road suddenly became noisy, more so than usual.
“Make way! Make way!” Urgent shouting suddenly became clearer as the masses parted slowly at first only to hurry to the side as they saw the cause.
“LET ME GO!” A man strapped to a stretcher shouted convulsing all the while as the group carrying and escorting him hurried down the road through the sea of people. “FATHER MUST KNOW! I HAVE TO TELL HIM! THERE IS NO TIME!”
“Shut up you fool!” Roared the man on the back end of the stretcher. “You’ll die before you can reach his office!”
Joseph reeled in shock as he recognized the voice coming from the stretcher.
“Turtle?” He muttered in horror as the procession passed his stall. The blood seeping through the leather rags that was once armor and dripping through the canvas of the stretcher was clearly in view. But the most shocking thing was not the blood nor the state of his armor, rather it was the mud and plants thickly caked to him in places as if he had worn an armor of clay made by children.
With the mad look in his bloodshot eyes he seemed a monster borne of a swamp rather than the decently well known crusader that was his typical profile.
Seeing this Joseph quickly doused the fire with a bucket of sand smothering flame and meat alike. Using rags he picked up the hot grate and tossed it into his cart after dropping the ruined meat to the sandy coals.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
“That was my friend!” He quickly explained to the few customers at his stall. “I’m sorry, I promise I’ll be back by the morrow.”
With that he hurriedly pushed his cart toward the neighboring stall, “Hannah! Please!” He exclaimed as he parked the cart next to the stall of an aged woman selling honey candies.
“Just go. Let me know if he’s alright.” She quickly shooed him away as she made sure the grate was not burning the rags.
Joseph nodded and made a beeline down the road on a path he takes every night, but was now very crowded. Struggling to push through the crowd and fumbling with the iron gate’s latch he finally made it to his destination.
“Sister!” Joseph shouted, banging his fist against the door of the orphanage. “Sister Wendy! Open the door! It’s an emergency!”
“What is it?” Wendy worriedly answered the door in her hastily worn shawl.
“It’s Roy! He’s been wounded badly!”
Wendy hurriedly pulled him in, “I’ll wake up Father Alfred, get him some food please. He wasn’t able to eat much before bed, he’ll probably be starving.”
Saying thus Wendy dashed to the end of the hallway, jogging upstairs as fast her skirt would allow.
Joseph allowed himself a sigh of relief and took a moment to ease his furiously beating heart before walking towards the kitchen and seeing the makings of an unlit kitchen fire he must’ve stolen Wendy from. Taking a flint and steel nearby he struck sparks on the pile of wood and began preparing for Father’s meal.
“No…” Joseph murmured to himself as he grabbed a large pot instead of the smaller one. “I’ve already given up on today’s profits. Might as well cook for all of them.”
He began heating up a bit of oil in the pot while he chopped onion and other root vegetables before dropping them in.
As they were being seared he heard the sound of window panes banging open far above and turned to the kitchen window just in time to see a translucent figure vaulting over the rooftops.
After they vanished between the alleys Joseph truly allowed himself to relax and slowly filled the pot with water. Allowing the water to steam before adding a little more, repeating this process until the pot was bubbling to near full and a savory scent filled the air.
Stirring in a pinch of salt for good measure, he poured two bowls and began walking upstairs to the third floor.
“Good morning, Father. I'm sorry for awakening you so abruptly.” Joseph announced at the threshold of one of only 2 rooms on the floor.
An elderly man with sparse white hair, still half asleep despite being propped up by Wendy, sluggishly turned to Joseph.
“No matter. It does the body good to breathe morning air.” He yawned, the wrinkles on his face deepening and softening with his every word.
“It would also do you good not to spend so much time trying to do manual labor.” Wendy chastised. “You're not a young man anymore.”
“Nonsense. I can still swing my mace around with ease.”
“It swings you around more like.”
Father Alfred grumbled at her nagging as he and Wendy accepted Joseph's bowls.
“Hmm. No meat? Are we that lacking in funds?” Father Alfred complained.
“Sorry, Father. There was no time to properly cook any meat.” Replied Joseph.
“Pay the old man no mind, Brother.” Wendy scowled at Father Alfred as she sipped her bowl. “It's delicious as it is.”
“Would be better with meat. Just say the word my boy, I'll make us enough money to last a lifetime once I'm back on the field.”
“No need Father.” Joseph smiled while the elderly man trembled as he attempted to stand. Easing Father Alfred back down to finish his bowl Joseph continued. “I bring more than enough money to support myself and the children.”
“What? I thought I told you to stop that!” Alfred harrumphed as he munched the last of the boiled vegetables. “A man your age needs to find himself a bride and have a child. Any later and I won't live long enough to be called grandpa!”
“The children here already do that.” Wendy interjected as she too finished her bowl.
“Hmph. They never say it to my face. It's always ‘Father do you need help?’ ‘Father let me get that for you!’ ‘Father go lay down we'll do it!’ Every last one of them treats me like I've lost all my limbs!”
“Well the children were always taught to take care around those without Avnii.”
Alfred scoffed, “I'm not without it! Everyone knows I've-!”
“Yes, yes. Your magic is amazing Father. Thank you again for waking up this early.” Joseph quickly interrupted. “More importantly, do you think you'll return to sleep in a while or will you try to remain awake. I fear the hospice will be wrongfully hopeful.”
Father Alfred grunted as he stretched, taking a moment to contemplate his condition. “I would like to remain awake, but my body has other plans. Thank you for the food but would you mind telling the doctors I will most likely have need of a midday slumber? The children have yet to awaken, Wendy can't leave them alone with an old man.”
“Of course. I'll tell of your ailments.” Joseph replied as he began walking out. “Be sure to stir the soup every now and then. Only coals are left but the heat is strong.”
“And be sure to pick up some meat on the way back. The children will grow up weak if they only eat vegetables. Wendy, where is my coin purse?”
“Ah, no need for that, Father, I've meat left over in my cart. I'll bring it over on my way back from the hospice.”
“And what of your supposed profits? I'll purchase your wares as Head of Bruce Orphanage.” Alfred continued before Joseph could reject. “I will chase you out for a criminal if you don't take your dues!”
Joseph smiled bitterly, “Alright, Father. I'll be back soon with your purchase.”
“Good. Be careful not to catch any diseases.”
“Be careful Brother.”