7

Farley’s Auctioneers specialized in holding auctions for farm equipment, feeds, tools of the manual, tinkered, and artificed kinds, as well as livestock. If you wanted to buy or sell a pig, sheep, or cow, that was where you’d go. Operating out of a huge warehouse outside of Perentee, it made it a popular haunt for anyone in the area with an agricultural leaning. People traveled for hundreds of miles to go to the monthly event, which Mick found out was arranged for the very next day.

If this ‘Papworth’ merchant fella was indeed the pig thief, then Mick had to get to the auction tomorrow. No two ways about it. Otherwise, Rohan could be sold off and taken almost anywhere in Easterly. Then, the trail would be so cold that Alister would never see his pig buddy again.

And there was the big problem, given that the next day was a Friday.

How many other damned guards or sleuths have to get permission from their day job boss to work their cases?

First thing in the morning, Mick went to see Mr. Leabrook in his office on Coiner’s Way. He owned a three story place on the corner, just past the King’s Head. He was always complaining about noise from the tavern. One time, he was so annoyed that he’d even asked Mick to look into whether there was any way to get the tavern closed down. “You know, a bylaw that Alec’s breaking, or something.” Never mind that the tavern had already been there when Mr. Leabrook bought his building.

Mick had no intention whatsoever of getting his favorite tavern shut down, and he told Mr. Leabrook so. “And that’s just me. I’m a nice guy. The rest of the ‘hamptoners? They’ll drive you out of town if they knew what you were thinking, Mr. Leabrook.”

Although the ground floor was the nicest part of the building and could have been made into a much more comfortable office, Mr. Leabrook kept his on the top floor, purely to make people walk all the way up the stairs if they needed to see him.

“Merchants and tenants,” he often said, spitting out the words like lemon pips. “Always wanting something. ‘Mr. Leabrook, there are rats in the alley. Mr. Leabrook, our water pumps are pumping brown liquid.’ A bunch of whiners. You have to take every advantage you can get against them. Tiring them out even just a little before they reach my office gives me an edge in negotiations.”

For a guy like Mick who went running twice per day, a few stairs were nothing. All the same, he still didn’t fancy his chances against Mr. Leabrook today. As a tokenless odd-jobber, he was always going to be walking uphill when it came to dealing with a guy like his boss.

He found him sitting behind his desk, reading the Sunhampton Chronicle. Mr. Leabrook liked to go through the classified section and find interesting things people were selling. Then, he’d arrange to buy them, only to drop out at the last minute. Then he’d go back a few days later and offer an even lower price. It was a trick that nobody in Sunhampton fell for anymore. Mick would have put a stop to it, but Mr. Leabrook wasn’t doing anything illegal, more’s the pity.

“Mick, glad you’re here. I need you to climb down into the northside well. Something’s turning the water an unsightly color, and since the well is an inch inside the boundaries of Coiner’s Way, it seems that it’s my damn problem.”

The very last thing Mick wanted to do was climb down a well. The thought made his flesh creep. He wasn’t scared of many things in life, but something about descending down into the darkness made him want to run for the hills and never come back. Besides, he had other stuff to do today, which was why he was here.

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“I need to take a day of vacation leave, Mr. Leabrook.”

“Oh, do you? Well, let’s check the planner and see if we can book something in. We agreed you’d always give me three months’ notice, so let’s take a look...”

“I need it today.”

“Today?” said Mr. Leabrook with theatrical incredulity. You’d have thought Mick had just told him he wanted a raise of five hundred gold per hour or something.

“I know it’s short notice, but something urgent popped up.”

Hearing this, Mr. Leabrook’s face softened. “Is your mother okay?”

“She’s stronger than an ox. It’s something else. Guard business.”

“Sorry, Mick. Someone needs to climb down that well, and it won’t be me.”

“If it’s a water issue,” said Mick, “You ought to call out a professional.”

“And spend out masses of gold just for them to tell me it’s something obvious?”

Though he could respect a fellow spendthrift, there were limits. Mick was only ever thrifty in clever ways. If he could get the same thing with little detriment for much less gold, then it was worthy prudence. Skimping out on important things just to save some coins wasn’t good thrifting, however.

“Whatever’s going on in that well, it’s beyond my skills, Mr. Leabrook. You need to pay out to get someone qualified to have a look. Which means you won’t need me today.”

“That’s how it is, is it? More fool me for taking a chance on you,” said Mr. Leabrook. “When I think back to that day…no work experience, just back in town from years of lazing around. And I took you on, gave you a job…”

Here was that argument again. The same one Mr. Leabrook had used for years now. Mick was sick of hearing it. He was sick of working for this guy, spending most of his time doing things that he didn’t want to do, and only carving out little slivers of time to what he enjoyed, the thing in his life that he felt had purpose.

Tinkerer’s gears started turning in his head. Maybe he was dimly aware of it right then, the idea that these gears were activating something important in his mind, but he couldn’t have told you so at that very moment. All he felt was a burning feeling in his gut, where his instincts lay.

Almost as if the words were spoken for him, he said, “I quit.”

“You what?”

“I quit. Go climb down your own damn well. That is, if you can find your way out of your own arse.”

Two separate winds of emotion rushed through his mind as he walked out of Mr. Leabrook’s building. The first was, what would Ma say? She didn’t work anymore. Mick brought in their income. Was this an incredibly irresponsible thing to do? Mick hadn’t done a rash thing since leaving school and going traveling, so why had this streak resurfaced?

He almost turned back around, but stopped himself. We’ll be okay, he forced himself to think. We don’t pay rent on the house, after all, and I have my emergency savings. I’ll get another job, that’s all.

True words, but he only half convinced himself. The worry was still there, lurking in his mind, but he was able to push it away, grab room to breathe. His awareness of it was the same as enjoying a night in the tavern drinking beer with his friends, whilst knowing a hangover awaited him the next day. He could push it out of his mind for now, but it wasn’t going anywhere.

Something deep inside him told him that maybe this wasn’t a wise decision. And sure, it wasn’t the done thing to quit your job. It was a course of action a lot of people would have advised him against.

Despite that, Mick felt deep down, right in his very soul, that this was the thing he was supposed to do that day. He hadn’t known that when he got up in the morning, but there it was.

What was telling him this, though? Which part of his mind or his body was trying to reassure him? If he thought about it, he guessed it was his instincts. Those very things that any guard or sleuth worth their token would trust.

Winning against the urge to turn back and ask for his job, Mick forced himself on. His slow pace turned into a brisk walk, and then, before he knew it, he found himself running. If he put enough speed into it, he could outpace his regrets and make sure his decision stuck. This decision that was logically so wrong, yet couldn’t have felt better.