28 – Just Spending Time

“You’re telling me you’d like to trade this old armor and these weapons for something new?” Rolph held his hands on his hips as he looked over the chainmail shirt, axe, and sword. “What’s wrong with the weapons?”

“Well, I’m not saying something’s wrong with them. I think they’re pretty decent, really, especially the sword. I just don’t know squat about fighting with ‘em and thought I’d get something a little more my speed.” Ward was keeping his knife; he’d had some practice with a knife in the Marines, and it was immensely useful in other ways. The axe was probably a decent weapon to keep around, but it was clearly not meant for use as a tool, and Ward had seen enough in his life to know that, though he could probably swing it quickly and with plenty of force, there was a hell of a lot more to fighting with an axe than that. As far as he knew, that went double for the sword.

“So, what kind of weapon are you interested in?”

“I think a spear.” Ward was sure there was a lot he didn’t know about fighting with a spear, but he knew enough to figure he’d be better off with one than with a sword. It had more reach than other melee weapons, and if he capitalized on that, keeping enemies at bay, he’d have at least a fighting chance of stabbing them with the pointy end.

“Mmhmm, mmhmm.” Rolph nodded and looked Ward up and down, his gaze lingering on his eyes momentarily. Then, he glanced at Fay and quickly looked away. “Well, I suppose you know this sword’s worth more than any spear I’ve got for sale. It’s worth more than most of the armor I’ve got, too. If you want to trade it, I’ll fit a ring mail vest for you and let you take your pick of my spears. For the axe and old armor, I’ll pay a hundred glories.”

“Deal.” Ward held out a hand, and Rolph shook it. His palm felt like plywood, and Ward wouldn’t have been surprised to see him juice an onion with that grip.

“Good! I’ll measure you, then you can pick your spear. I’ll have Lem bring the armor by the inn tonight or first thing in the morning.” Ward agreed, and then Rolph spent five minutes taking measurements that reminded him of the handful of times he’d bought new suits. Rolph didn’t have a measuring tape, though; he used lengths of string, cutting them to represent the measurements. In the end, he had a solid fistful of strings, and Ward had no idea how the man would keep them straight. Which one represented his biceps, and which his neck? What about the lengths of his arms?

When Rolph took him to see his spears, guiding him into the shop adjoined to his forge and pointing out a rack that lined one wall, Ward spent a good fifteen minutes looking them over. He liked how some of them looked, but when he picked them up, they didn’t feel right—too long, too short, too heavy, or uncomfortable to grip. He settled on a long spear with a seven-foot haft and a ten-inch, knife-like blade with two edges. It was longer than many others but not nearly as long as some. Ward figured he wanted the weapon for reach, so getting something too short wouldn’t be wise. He liked that the darkly-stained, wooden haft was smooth and round, easy to grip, and very sturdy while still having some flexibility.

“That’s a nice one—meadow ash haft with a barrow-steel blade. You won’t go wrong with a good solid spear like that.”

Ward glanced at Fay to see what she thought, but she was perusing some knives Rolph had on a display counter. “I’ll take it, then.”

“Right! Let me get your glories for the axe and old armor. Then I’ll get to work on your ring mail.”

“Sounds good.” Ward walked over to Fay, careful not to drag his spear tip along the wooden rafters. “Something you want in there?”

“Oh, not now. I was thinking of a present for Fan; she could use a new chopping knife.”

“Pick a good one, and we’ll get it for her. Least I can do, considering you two making room for me in your home.”

“Really?” Fay looked up from the case, her brown eyes sparkling in the light from the window as she smiled.

“Sure!”

“Well, she’d love this one! Look at the lovely handle and the fine steel!” She pointed to a sharp-looking chopping knife with a light blond wood handle. It was a beauty, and the tag hanging from the handle read ~75.

“Rolph, we’ll take this knife too. Take it out of the money you owe me.” Ward wasn’t worried about glories. He had a pouch full of gemstones in his backpack and more than fifteen hundred glories from before he went into the catacombs. Besides all that, he was youthful, healthy, and smart enough to find ways to make money in his new reality.

“Right away, sir!”

Ward sighed happily. “You wait for him to get it, will ya? I’m gonna step out with this spear before I break something.”

“Okay! Thank you, Ward! She’s going to love it.”

“It’s no problem, but you have to do something for me.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, be sure to tell her it's from both of us.”

“I couldn’t—”

“Yeah, you could.” Ward pulled open the door. “I wouldn’t have bought it if not for you, so there you go.” He stepped out into the chilly air, inhaling deeply and watching as his breath plumed forth as he exhaled. “Damn, that’s nice.”

“Having fun playing bigshot with the local barmaid?” Grace snickered from beside him, and Ward sighed.

“Too much to hope you weren’t listening in, I guess.”

“Oh, relax. I’m starting to get your MO. If I picture you like I found you, a limping, late middle-aged, dad-type, I can see your actions as kind of sweet—innocent almost.”

“Are we going back to that—‘old man’ this and ‘old man’ that?”

“Can’t I tease you without you starting to feel prickly? You earned some respect in the catacombs, so don’t take it personally, okay? I’m just playing around.”

“Where you been, anyway?”

“Just resting and watching. I’ve been staying alert at night, paying attention to what your nose and ears tell me, trying to ensure you don’t get messed with while sleeping.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Well, you heard what Haley’s parents said about Nevkin, right? He’s unhinged! He has access to power, but channeling that mana through the mana-well and using it through an artifact that’s clearly beyond his ability? It can’t be good for his mind. It’ll pull out all of his worst qualities. I thought it wise to remember he also has reason to be threatened by you. I wouldn’t be surprised if the little devil didn’t hire watchers to see if you and your little princess ever came out of the catacombs. One could be observing you right now, or someone could be riding pell-mell to wherever Nevkin is to let him know you’re alive.”

“You think so? I think he thought for sure he was leaving us to die. He knew three lizards were coming down.”

“Well, you dispatched one lizard rather easily, and he didn’t know you were running low on bullets.”

“I guess so.”

Grace narrowed her eyes at him. “He should be worried, yes? You don’t intend to let him get away with what he’s done, do you?”

“Hell, yes, he should be worried! I very much intend to find the little bastard.”

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The door squeaked open, and Fay stepped out, holding a little leather pouch in one hand and a ribbon-wrapped, knife-sized wooden box in the other. She offered him the pouch. “Twenty-five glories.” As Ward took it, dropping it into a pocket on his filthy canvas backpack, she asked, “Who were you talking to?”

“Just myself. I have a bad habit of it.” Ward looked past her to where Grace was leaning against the building, and she wiggled her fingers at him, then disappeared.

Fay smiled and looked up and down the street. “Well? Where to next?”

“You know I need new clothes and shoes. I wouldn’t mind a nicer pack, maybe a leather one. Hmm, I have some uncut gems to sell. That’s enough to get us started, wouldn’t you say?”

“Sounds like a good morning! Then we can get lunch, and you can figure out what else you need to accomplish.” Fay grabbed his elbow, and Ward smiled, enjoying her familiarity. They stopped by a jewelry store first, and Ward sold his three rose quartz stones for twenty-five glories each, but that was peanuts compared to the twenty-five hundred the little glasses-wearing jewel smith offered him for the uncut sapphire.

Ward knew next to nothing about gemstones, but he knew sapphires were expensive back on Earth. Apparently, an uncut one the size of his thumbnail was worth a pretty penny in Tarnish, too. Ward talked the woman up to 3250 glories for the lot, and suddenly, the knife he purchased for Fan didn’t seem like much of a big deal.

Next, Fay led him to a cobbler—an honest-to-God cobbler—who made shoes from scratch out of leather and tough, woven materials. He used all kinds of things for soles that Ward wouldn’t have ever thought of, from springy wood to hardened leather to cork to materials that sounded like they were made-up. Ward bought a pair of lace-up leather boots with multi-layered hide, wood, and cork soles. After the stout, bearded cobbler measured his foot, he announced that he’d have the boots ready in two days. Ward couldn’t complain, considering the guy was building them from scratch.

He picked up five pairs of woolen socks while he was there, and then he and Fay went to a tailor who she swore was the best in town. Ward wasn’t sure he was great at tailoring, but the fellow was a skilled salesman. He instantly whipped out a proper measuring ribbon with numbered lines at regular intervals, though definitely not a unit of measurement Ward was familiar with.

While he sized him up, the very slender, very neatly dressed man gave Ward a rundown on what he recommended he buy: First, three pairs of boot-cut woolen trousers dyed a dark gray, black, and blue—the better to hide stains from the road. Next, five long-sleeved shirts made of hemp with pearl-inlaid buttons dyed in various shades of white, gray, and blue. And finally, a dark gray, heavy woolen jacket with sturdy stitching, a bright silky red lining, and carved-horn buttons meant to keep him warm and dry in any weather.

Ward couldn’t argue with the man, agreeing to the order along with several pairs of underwear and undershirts. As he was wrapping up the order and paying the man five hundred and fifty glories, he asked, “What about hats?”

“You can see for yourself, I’ve a few in stock.” The tailor, Mr. Thorn, pointed to a rack near the front of the store, almost hidden by a shelf full of cloth bolts. “I recommend a dark one with a wide brim; it’ll go with your coat and be wonderful for keeping rain out of your eyes. I use only the finest felted wool, and I’ll throw in a brush that’ll be handy for keeping it and your coat in good order.”

Ward nodded and walked over to the rack, choosing one that looked a lot like a bowler but with a much wider brim. He turned it over, noticing the silky gray lining and hatband, hand-stitched and embroidered with little jumping deer. “Beautiful work.” He pressed it to the top of his head and was stunned to find it a perfect fit. “I guess it’s fate. I’ll take this too, Mr. Thorn.”

“An excellent choice, Ward. You’ll cut quite the figure once I’m done with your order. I should charge more for the materials, considering the measurements!”

“He’s not that big, Mr. Thorn!” Fay laughed.

“I could make two coats to fit me for every one of his!”

“Well, I don’t have a slender, elegant figure like you, sir.” The banter had gone back and forth like that the entire time Ward had been in the shop, and he enjoyed it.

“Quite right!” Mr. Thorn laughed, adding, “Leave the hat with me, and I’ll monogram it with the rest of your order. You said your last name was Dyer?”

“That’s right.” Ward returned to the counter and set the hat down.

“Fifty for the hat.”

“A bargain!” Ward chuckled as he slapped a few glories on the counter.

“You’ll deliver it all to the inn?” Fay asked, moving to stand next to Ward. “I’m hungry!” She elbowed him in the ribs.

“That’s my cue, sir.” Ward reached out to shake Mr. Thorn’s hand as the tailor assured Fay he’d have the clothes delivered to the inn within three days. They stepped outside into the brisk air, and Ward’s stomach rumbled despite his big breakfast. He could smell things cooking in the air, and, coupled with the woodsmoke, the scents brought vivid meals to his imagination. “Where do you want to get lunch?”

“It’s a pity you don’t have your new clothes!” She turned and started up the street. “Not to worry—I know a place where even a ruffian like you might gain entry!”

“Lord, she has the hots for you!” Grace laughed, suddenly walking beside Ward. “I thought you were a bad flirt, but she’s pushing it to a new level.”

Ward, in too good a mood to let Grace’s ribbing get to him, reached over and pulled her into his side, squeezing her in a brief hug. “Don’t spoil a lovely day,” he said softly.

“Hmm?” Fay turned, smiling. “Come walk beside me!”

Ward winked at Grace, let go of her shoulders, then hurried to walk beside Fay. While they walked, the barefoot devil began to speak, hardly taking a breath between sentences, “You made a nice haul from that sapphire. You should consider buying a mount or other vehicle to get to the next city. You need to buy a map so we can try to figure out where Nevkin went. Don’t forget about toiletries! Also, I think—”

Ward made a show of clearing his throat and gave Grace a shove, sending her stumbling into the street. “Excuse me!” He covered the movement by pretending to stumble on a loose cobble.

Grace glared at him. “That was rude, Ward, and I’ll get you back! Good luck eating soup without looking like a moron anytime soon!”

Ward shivered slightly as her words came to him, and he realized he’d just picked a fight he couldn’t hope to win. “Chilly?” Fay asked, gripping his elbow tighter and leaning into him. She was getting friendly, and Ward wasn’t sure how he felt about all that. She was probably in her late twenties; he looked like a healthy thirty-something, but he was, in reality, probably old enough to be her dad. He cringed at the thought, trying to grapple with the moral implications. It didn’t help that, only that morning, Grace had reminded him about his demeanor back on Earth.

The thoughts wouldn’t leave him, and he must have shown his disquiet because, during lunch, Fay made a few comments about him seeming stressed, which he brushed off as just getting used to being out of the catacombs. They were in a simple restaurant—a counter behind which a woman made soups and flatbreads and only a handful of little tables out front. Fay claimed she loved it, especially when the weather turned chilly, and Ward couldn’t argue; the soup was delicious, and, thankfully, Grace hadn’t knocked his spoon out of his hand even once. After they’d eaten in silence for nearly ten minutes, Fay blurted, “What’s got you so somber all of a sudden?”

“Eh, honestly?”

“Sure, I wouldn’t ask if I wanted a lie.” Fay snorted and slurped a spoonful of broth from her bowl of “game hen” soup.

“All right, what if I told you I was quite a lot older than I look?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me much—sorcerers don’t age like normal folk.”

“Huh. So, yeah. Doesn’t that creep you out? I could be your dad.”

“Oh, gods! No, you couldn’t! He’s long gone, run off with a tailor or seamstress or some such—the story changes depending on how drunk my auntie is when she’s telling it.”

“I didn’t mean literally.”

“I know, silly. I’m just saying you aren’t even a little bit like my so-called father. Anyway, I don’t care. I’ve talked to a thousand old folks at the inn, and you know what most of ‘em tell me when I ask what it’s like?”

“What?”

“They tell me they can’t believe it—they’re still kids in their minds, still the same person who used to race in the derby or dance in the fair or any number of things younger folks do. So, if your body’s young, and you don’t feel old in here,” she reached over the small, wobbly table to poke him in the chest, “then why do I care if you’ve seen a few more years than I have? It’s not like I’m a little, innocent girl, you know.” When he lifted an eyebrow as if contemplating her words, she added, “Besides, what’s got you thinking about all that? We’re just spending some time together, doing some shopping.”

“Ah . . .” Ward started, but Fay winked at him, and he chuckled. “Right. No big deal at all.” After that, he relaxed a good deal. Their conversation turned toward local topics—the fair, the horse races, which Fay was desperately looking forward to, the mayor, and how he’d been lying about upgrading the sewer lines near the town center for three years. After a brief lull, Ward asked if she knew who might sell him a good horse. He’d seen horses in town and, along with the sighting, come to realize that these people were clearly human, if a bit differently evolved than those on Earth. Still, he couldn’t wrap his head around it—how could a distant planet have things like horses, pigs, chickens, and humans running around?

“I wonder—”

Ward was cut off as the soup shop’s little door burst open, and a woman in a bright red cloak, red-faced and harried looking, rushed through, exclaiming to the woman behind the counter, “Geniffa! Did you hear about the attack? Up in the villa district?”

“Hmm? Well, good afternoon, cousin! No, I’ve been on the soup all day—could have used a little help earlier—”

“Oh dear! The poor girl who’d just come out of the catacombs! Her folks dead and her nearly gone herself! She had to fight off the attacker—he’s still at large! The watch is out in the streets up there; I’d imagine they’ll be sweeping through here eventually.”

Ward didn’t realize he’d stood up, but his chair clattered to the floor behind him, snapping his attention back to the scene at hand; in his mind, he was already running through town to check on Haley. “I gotta go, Fay. I think I know the girl who was attacked.”