image [https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/574524632b8dded535877035/3644fcda-b5b5-43da-ab95-c0e63863c315/Sword+3.png]

9 - It’s Been Nice Knowing You, Senesio

* * *

Senesio

“Just enough for one more night’s stay,” the drink hall owner, Tholmo, said as he counted the money I’d slapped down on the counter. “Senesio, if you’re short, I can spot you a night or two, seeing as you’ve been here so long.” He paused suddenly, then frowned. “Unless... wait. You’re not going over to Konis’ place, are you? That scoundrel’s advertising new beds but they’re all salvaged from the bleeding-fever ward when it closed down, I tell ya. Ain’t no one shipping new furnishings all the way to this side of nowhere. Don’t believe his nonsense.”

“Have no fear, noble Tholmo,” I said, gesturing for a drink. “I am most loyal in my patronage.”

“Konis waters down his rum, too. I seen him doing it.”

“I’m not betraying you, my friend. The Sunk’n Norweg’s the only drink hall and inn for me in Lekarsos.” I clapped the man on the shoulder with a reassuring pat. My hand bounced off the coiled muscle there with a meaty slap, and Tholmo looked unconvinced. “My friend, I’m trading the comfort of a mattress for the swaying of a hammock. The nightly cheer of your patrons for a stern-faced crew. The carefree, drunken nights here for hard work at the edge of the world!”

Tholmo gave me a slightly perturbed stare. “Sounds like a sorry trade.”

My excitement was clearly less infectious than I’d imagined. Or maybe the drink hall owner just didn’t care to hear that his most frequent boarder was moving out.

“Not meaning any offense to your fine establishment, of course, but this is an upgrade. I’m headed out on expedition.”

“Oh. I see.” Tholmo poured two drinks, then slid one across the bar to me. “Definitely a sorry trade, then. It’s been nice knowing you, Senesio.” He raised the rum in a toast.

“To wealth beyond measure, fame beyond reason, and maybe a small kingdom somewhere warm!” I called out. A few semi-conscious patrons behind me echoed the sentiment with something between a gurgle and a cheer.

“To a bloody death in the wilderness,” Tholmo said, then downed his drink.

“Actually, uh. No, not exactly what I was going for... ” Ah, forget it. People saw things the way they wanted. No ambition for the most part. Tholmo was too blinded by his fear to imagine what could be. “To the Far Wild,” I said, then finished my rum in one swig.

It was a quiet walk up to the room. For the most part it was still far too early in the evening for business to pick up at the drink hall. All the better, though. I was in for an early morning—leaving at dawn—so a bit of sleep was in order.

“Always best to get a good night’s rest. It’s the least sexy part of success, eh, Leon?” I said it without thinking. The only answer was silence. Right. Leon had quit.

If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

No matter.

I didn’t need him anyway. This was only one of the most exciting things I’d done since coming to Lekarsos. Probably it’d be enough of a story to fill a book on its own, but I was lettered. I could... record it. Hadn’t much practice, though, and writing was mind numbing work. Why record what’s already happened when you could be working on what’s to come next? That was why I paid people to do it. If only the world wasn’t so full of ambitionless cowards.

But that was most folks, far as I’d seen. From the trade routes of Mercer to the towering columns of Cyphos itself people were—well, people. They didn’t aspire to be more. I’d thought it’d be different in Lekarsos. Out on the edge of the world, where man stood face to face with the untamed beauty and savagery of nature, surely there would be a finer crop of humanity?

And there was.

Elpida Petros was one. The most respected guide in the empire. If only she weren’t so cranky about it. And then there was that Professor Symeos. Near eighty years old and still gallivanting through the wilderness like he was twenty. And then there were the guides that served under Elpida. Madmen, they were. Making their living in the wilds. My kind of people.

No, there were a fair number of ambitious folk in Lekarsos, and now it was time I added my name to those ranks.

Most people thought I was joking. Or lying. But most of my stories were mostly true. And those that weren’t—well, consider them a promise of what was to come. The ambitionless masses had trouble imagining a man so talented and driven he could exist in that perfect spot between fact and fiction. Most of them couldn’t conceive of someone who could blur the line of reality and myth into a giant’s shadow that would stretch through the tomes of history.

Most of them hadn’t met me.

Some said it was all ego that made me this way. And they weren’t wrong. They just didn’t see the power of a weaponized ego with the skill to back it up.

“Oh, you know, that’s a good line. ‘Weaponized ego.’ Leon, you should... ” I sighed. “Ancestors above, but I need a biographer.”

Whatever. Enough focus on what has been. It was time to think about what was to come. And it all started tomorrow.

I went to the trunk in the corner and moved aside its contents—spare notebooks, reservoir quills, an extra sword or three, a few bags of black powder—and unveiled my secret weapon.

Clothing.

The finest in my arsenal.

I dressed at the height of fashion, of course, but some special occasions called for even more. Looking the part was half of playing it, no?

The shirt was of exceptional quality. Starched white cotton with wide, baggy sleeves, and a roguishly open collar that hung just loose enough to look accidental while still showing off my manly chest. The pants were tight, tan, and well-shaped in the buttocks. Gave me a bit of a boost there if I was being honest. They were interspersed throughout with gray, vertical stripes that ran the length of the fabric.

Then there were the boots. Calf-high, made of dashing leather, and fashioned after those of a cavalry officer. They looked dangerous in court and daring in the field. Truly, a perfect pair of boots if ever there’d been one. Well, except for the damage around the ankle where that swallowing plant had tried to dissolve the leather. First thing I’d do once I was back in Cyphos would be to visit Caesartis. He’d bring the boots back to their best. Could probably tailor some additions to the whole outfit, too.

My belt came next, leather and practical with a gold-flourished buckle. And paired with it, a red sash that tied tight around my waist. A splash of drama amid the ensemble.

And then, finally, my coat. Admittedly, the least beautiful part of the outfit. But practicality was needed sometimes, right? It kept the sun off, kept most of the bugs away, and did a fine job of hiding my sword when so desired. It’d also been not entirely unintentionally modeled after that of a skyship captain. Unfortunately, that piece of the puzzle wasn’t yet acquired. One day, maybe, when I was rich enough. Though, thinking about it now, that would make a great cover for my next book, wouldn’t it?

Striking a dramatic pose on the bow of my own skyship.

Now there was a nice thought.

Some people would see an expedition like tomorrow’s as a death sentence. They’d raise a glass and mumble a mournful toast. But others dressed in their finest, strapped their sword on extra tight, and turned their eyes toward the glorious, glorious future.

Right after a solid night of sleep, of course.