I was walking down the ancient dirt road as it squelched under my feet, wet from the spring rains. The freshly tilled grounds of the fields smelled of the manure they used to fertilize the earth. I could see the barest green growths beginning to sprout. I watched as children and adults toil the ground to continue the process of planting the year's crops. The buildings grew closer together as I approached the center of this small village. Two grand buildings stood at the very heart of the group, each two stories tall. Streamers of small flags stretched between the eaves in an eccentric pattern lacking any real cohesion. I resettled the lute upon my back and shrugged my shoulders to relax a little under the weight of my pack as I began to scan the place. Small shops and stalls were being set up in the early morning light. The starting cries of the people calling for customers to come and browse their wares.
A man was walking towards me. He was clad in thick boiled leather armor woven in scales. At his hip lay a thick brown truncheon to keep the peace with. He held a hand before his chest as he approached and called out in a deep voice, “Woah there traveler. What business do you have here?”
I motioned to the lute over my shoulder as I kept his gaze upon me. “I am a bard, good sir. I go from town to town telling tales in exchange for food, drink and shelter. Once I earn enough coins I buy supplies leaving the wealth I have collected back in the hands of the people and go to the next town.” I put on my best winning smile and waved at the steamers, “Is this for some festival to celebrate a special event this town has had?”
The man seemed a little disarmed by my friendly demeanor and I guessed he had more than enough problems with poorly mannered travelers in the past. “Aye, we celebrate the melting of the snow and the new growth of crops. We celebrate with drinks and merriment. Busy time for the Cat’s Scratch, our local pub and inn you see.”
I nod to tell the guard I had heard his words. “Would you be so kind as to escort me to the pub? I would like to make a deal with the barkeep.”
He scanned over my drab clothes but motioned for me to follow him. As we walked through the roads the clanging of blacksmiths and the smell of burning coals filled the air. As we approached one of the large buildings the smell of fresh baking bread and delicious smell of cooking hams flooded my nostrils and my stomach let loose a mighty growl.
The guard chuckled, “Best food in town. Can’t find softer bread or more delicious bacon anywhere in the county.” He pushed the door open and guided me inside.
The soft wooden interior was filled with merchants getting their morning food. Amicable conversation was a background mumurring. Large tapped barrels lay behind the bar. An ancient battered oaken counter lay between the barkeep and public. The air had thin pipe smoke trailing from several gentlemen. A beautiful woman, her hair an earthy brown with shining green eyes, early in her third decade by my guess, walked between tables handing out plates filled with food. The guard brought me to the counter and caught the attention of the barkeep.
“Mornin’ constable Aldrin. I thought the missus always made your breakfast,” the man’s belly jiggled as he began to laugh.
“Now Frederick, I got something else for you.” The constable waved to me. “This traveler says he is good with lute and story. You have a spare room and a willingness to let him ply his trade?”
Frederick looked me up and down. My knit hat was old and tattered. The traveling clothes I wore were relatively clean for road life. My ancient soft leather boots are halfway to my knees. Around my neck lay the holy symbols of every god the world had known. He pointed at the collection. “Are you sure you’re not a holy man?”
I laughed and shook my head, “Better safe than sorry when living on the road. Hopefully one of them is watching my back.”
Frederick laughed again, “So how long have you been telling tales and strummin’ strings mister?”
I doff my cap and bowed slightly, “Dolan is the name. I’ve been traveling and doing my work since I was knee high to a grasshopper. I was hoping you’d let me stay in a room and get some drinks and food. Provided I pull enough people to your establishment to make up for the loss.”
Frederick stroked his chin in thought, “You planning to stay long. People get mighty bored if ya don’t tell anything interesting.”
“I know a thousand stories, take my life if that ain’t the truth.” I tucked my cap into my belt. “I’ll be staying until I earn enough coin to buy supplies to get to the next place that’ll take me in.”
“You got yourself a deal. You gotta collect your own coin though. You don’t get nothing from me and my profits. I make little in profits until the caravans start passing through now that the snow has melted.”
We shook hands and I looked at the constable, “Is there a town cryer? Some way to spread word? I have a spare bit or two that can go his way should he help.”
Aldrin scratched his head and nodded, “I’m the only one that goes home to home on my daily check ups. Give me a bit and I’ll mention your little tales. If you earn enough, buy me a pint tonight.”
“Two deals back to back, must have someone watching over me.” I clasped his forearm in recognition of him being a peacekeeper.
Aldrin stopped and talked to a few people on his way out and pointed at me. Already honoring the bargain.
“May I see the room and get into more proper attire for spinning tales?” I asked Frederick.
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“My daughter will show you to the spare room for the help. You get one meal today and I serve breakfast and dinner. So be quick and you can have breakfast.” Frederick let loose a whistle and the waitress approached.
“Yes father?” Her voice was silken smooth and carried like a soft breeze in your ears.
“This is Dolan. He will be spinning tales for a few days. Show him to the help quarters. Bring him a tub to wash off with as well.” He looked at me sternly, “this is my daughter Gertrude, you treat her like a lady and keep your hands to yourself.”
“Father,” chided Gertrude. “I’m a grown woman who just lost her husband to war. You’ve no right to dictate my life.”
Frederick frowned heavily. “You’re still my daughter under my roof.” He stared daggers into me, “Plus he ain’t sticking around, right boy?”
I sighed raising my hands in a placating gesture, “I’m only here to earn some coins and restock my travel supplies.” I looked at Gertrude, “Please miss. I’d like to get cleaned up.”
She huffed heavily, motioned me to follow and gave her father a deadly glare. “Dolan, the help’s quarters are over here. It’s half storage space so it’ll be a little cramped.”
As I was guided we went behind the bar down a small hall and to a creaking thin door. She opened it and motioned me inside. I stepped inside and a small cot lay against the back wall. Stacks and stacks of boxes and crates littered the rest of the area leaving little free room to move. “Thank you Gertrude.”
“I’ll be by with a bucket once I go to the well. Don’t have time to heat you up a tub of water.” She then leaned in close. “Don’t mind my father. He loves my late husband like a son and doesn’t want him replaced.”
“I’m sorry for your family’s loss. Death is never easy.” I stepped away and placed my belongings in the cot. “I have a rag if it’s too much trouble.”
“I’ll be right back. Only take me a couple shakes of a lamb's tail.” She strode off closing the door behind her.
I could still hear the conversations happening in the main room. Creaking floorboards above me signaled other rooms in the place. I sat upon the hard cot dreading the aches my back would have in the morning. Unlacing and pulling my boots off was an arduous task but soon I was free. My thick woolen socks came next and the feeling of the cool air upon my calloused feet was heavenly. I rubbed blood back into them and flinched at their tenderness. I opened my pack and pulled out my colorful outfit. The tunic was light and had patchwork patterns of many colors. The pants were almost silken soft and a deep purple. Thin cotton socks and soft ankle high shoes came out last. Rolling my shoulders I sighed at the relief of freeing myself from the traveling garb I had. Thick and warm wasn’t always great but it beat freezing to death.
The door opened and Gertrude set a bucket down on the floor. It sloshed with fresh well water. “Try not to make a mess. Otherwise you’re mopping in here.” Her nose crinkled at the new smell of body odor now that my outfit had loosened. “Hope you got some soap cause you stink of the road.”
I laughed, “Save me a plate please. I’ll be clean soon enough.”
As she left I stood and pulled the bucket close to the bed. First I drank a few handfuls and then stripped down the rest of my clothes. The only threadbare rag I carried barely held any water but I made do. I pulled out the sliver of soap I had left and added a new bar to my mental checklist for supplies. The water was cold and brisk on my skin, washing away the last of my tired feelings from the morning. Washing from head to foot I did my best to keep from making a puddle on the floor. I pulled out my knife and did my best to shave down the hair growing on my face. Now clean I pulled on my garbs for my trade. With the lute over my shoulder I carried the bucket back to the front as I made my way to the dining room.
“You clean up well Dolan,” called Frederick. “Go ahead and set down the bucket, we will use it to mop later.”
I placed the bucket under the counter and walked around to sit down. Soon enough a steaming plate was brought to me, a generous loaf of bread and a rash of bacon piled high. “Thank you Gertrude. May I ask who cooks if you’re out here and your father is at the counter?”
“My mother handles all the cooking. Well most, she is training her replacement. She wants to focus on her bread making.” Someone called to her and she walked off.
I dug in heartily and the gnawing hunger I had grown accustomed to faded. The bread was soft to the teeth with a crunchy crust. The bacon was perfectly fried and crispy. Soon I was full with an empty plate in front of me. I dug at my teeth for the morsels stuck between them and brought my plate to the counter and sat down. “I’ll take a pint. Just one and I’ll do water for the rest of the day. Still got some trail dust in my throat.”
Frederick eyed me, “You best be worth the meal and drink Dolan. I don’t run a charity.”
I smiled, “I’m worth every bit I’ll cost you. You will make more than enough in return.” He poured a pint of wheat beer and placed it before me. It was warm and bitter but soothed my throat. “I’ll play my lute around town for the rest of the day letting people know what they’re in for before the dinner rush comes.”
I finished my pint and felt truly satisfied. I stood and pulled my instrument around and tuned it quickly.
As I strummed the conversation grew quiet as the eyes were upon me. My fingers moved in that comfortable way that long practice earned you. “Come back tonight fellas, my tales are better than my lute.” I nodded towards everyone and played a jaunty tune as I left.
People stopped and watched me as I worked my trade. Calling out to everyone that they would find me tonight at the Cat’s Scratch for more music and epic tales from the times of yore. A few people listened to me play and handed me small quarter copper bits and the occasional half bit. I nodded and thanked each of them.
Soon enough the sun was setting and people from the outskirts and farms came to town. The pub’s door was propped open and was filled to bursting. I made my way through as the crowd parted and placed myself in front of the unlit fireplace. Someone offered me a stool and I sat propped my lute on one knee. The pipe smoke was thicker and the pints flowed endlessly from the bar.
I began to strum a soft song. I weaved a subtle magic into the sound, a gentle light pull of attention from everyone. Soon the room quieted as I hummed along. The ways of magic had been lost long ago, I doubt anyone here had the ability to tell what I was doing. I instilled the whisper of a growing thirst and hunger in my words to make sure that the barkeep would make a fair amount of coin.
“Good evening everyone. I want to thank you for coming tonight. My name is Dolan, I’m a bard by trade and I was on my way home when I came across this lovely town. I want to congratulate you on surviving the winter and celebrate that spring is upon us all. Though my lute playing is fair, my tales are grander. Tonight I tell you the tale of the Two Bit Dragon. I hope you enjoy.”