CHAPTER NINETEEN: AN INCIDENT BY THE ROADSIDE
Three days later, Carter found himself back at Lars Matose’s shop trying on the belt and holster. The dark brown belt was wide and fit snugly around his waist. The matching holster for the Witch Arm clipped onto it so that it hung off Carter’s right hip. The gun itself fit perfectly inside the leather carrier, which was lined in soft suede that made drawing the weapon much smoother. For something that took two days to make, it was of excellent quality. The stitching in the leather was straight and precise, and there were even elegant diamond patterns emblazoned on the holster.
“This is perfect!” Carter told Lars after trying it on. The belt was wide enough for him to fit his knife’s sheath.
“Glad ya like it,” Lars said with a grin. “The gnile hide will last ye a long time, even if ya don’t take care of it. But clean and oil it up ev’ry few months and it’ll last you forever.”
“I’ll definitely take care of it, Lars.” Carter smiled and gave the leather smith the rest of his fee. “It’s a beautiful work of art. Thank you!”
The man grinned even wider, obviously pleased at having his work praised. “Art, eh? The way you talk makes me wish I charged ya more for it!”
Carter laughed.
Their conversation continued for several more minutes until another customer arrived to claim Lars’ attention. Carter bid him goodbye and went on his way.
He returned to the Fat Kitty Inn, his place of residence for the last few days. The overpriced meals and board had been eating into his savings but he really couldn’t find anything better in Joston. He had spent the entire day previous searching for a better inn, but the places that would take his business charged even more than Mirilla did.
“Hello, Master Lee,” greeted the shapely innkeeper as he entered the Fat Kitty. She was polishing a glass from behind the bar, which was empty of customers so early in the day. As usual, she was wearing a low-cut dress to emphasize her best features.
Carter, of course, tried his best not to stare. He obviously failed judging by Mirilla’s teasing grin.
“You know I don’t mind if you look, right?” She said in a sultry tone. “I wouldn’t have them showing if I didn’t want people to see them.”
Carter laughed, nervously scratching the back of his head. Although he still had her permission, the dark-haired man still averted his eyes. He was a married man, after all.
He rubbed at his ring, feeling the cold comforting metal around his finger.
“Back so soon from your errand?” Mirilla asked.
“Oh, yeah. I just came back to put this up in my room.” Carter lifted the sheathed sword he had been carrying. There was no room on his new belt to hang it from, so he decided to just leave it up in his room with the rest of his things. He had the gun for protection, after all, as well as a knife to serve as a backup just in case. The sword was just extra weight.
“So you’ll be heading out again?” she asked.
Carter nodded. He planned on heading out of the town to find a nice, quiet, out-of-the-way place to practice with the Witch Arm. Now that he had a holster for it, he could carry it around outside of a city without worry. He needed to test-fire the thing, after all. He knew the gun worked, he had shot Ugly to death with it. But he needed practice with an unfamiliar firearm, which the Witch Arm was despite the fact that it resembled his old revolver quite a bit.
Mirilla smiled. “Well, before you leave, how about a meal to warm your belly? It’s just about lunchtime, after all.”
Carter frowned. He could almost hear his coin pouch crying.
“I’ll have the cook make you something special,” she said with a smirk as she leaned forwards on the bar and shook her chest a little. “Maybe something with milk in it.”
Damn it. Carter sighed, then sat down on the nearest bar stool. He was about to be a few silver lighter.
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With a meal in his belly and the sword safely put away in his room, Carter set off. It was a half-hour walk from the Fat Kitty to the nearest city gates. These were the eastern gates, the ones that lead to a road that cut through some nearby woods. From the information Carter had gathered, the road passed through the woods and lead to some neighboring farming communities. These were small towns and hamlets that provided Joston with the foodstuffs they used to trade with. Not many used this road at this time of year, which was perfect for Carter since he didn’t want to bring too much attention to himself when he practiced with his Witch Arm.
As expected, the eastern gates were bare of any travelers entering or leaving the city. There were only a handful of guards watching this entrance, and they didn’t bother stopping Carter as he passed through, content to wave him forward while they lounged about, lazily passing the day.
The road was hard-packed earth but it was well-maintained and free of trash or weeds. Carter followed it east as it cut through the woods surrounding the town, content to take in the peaceful sight of the trees swaying in the breeze. The sky was bright and blue, with only a few puffy white clouds floating in the distance. The woods were loud with the song of birds as well as the occasional animal call that rang out from deeper within. All in all, his journey was quite tranquil, more like a casual stroll in the park that he used to do with Anne on their off time when she was still alive.
The peaceful mood was interrupted when he heard angry shouts coming from the distance. Carter felt some alarm but kept walking forwards. From the sound of it, someone might need his help. The pace of his stride increased and soon the shouting became louder as he neared the scene. In the distance, he saw a large covered wagon pulled by horses being surrounded by a mob of about twenty people. They were obviously angry, directing curses and glares at the driver of the wagon. At first, Carter thought that they were bandits robbing the poor man, but as he got closer he noticed that they were dressed in regular clothes, though rugged and quite worn. They looked more like farmers and dock workers than brigands.
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“Go back to where you came from!” Carter heard one angry man shout out as he drew near to the scene.
“Stupid frizz!” shouted another. “We don’t want your godsless kind here!”
The carriage driver tried to say something but one of the larger men surrounding the wagon suddenly stepped forwards and grabbed him, forcibly dragging him off the wagon and tossing him onto the ground. Carter broke out into a run at that point, hoping to put a stop to things before it escalated further.
“Wait, please!” cried out the driver. He was an older man in his fifties, and unlike the rest of the people here, he was dressed in fine, well-made clothing. A long blue coat made of velvet was worn over a short orange silk robe patterned with butterflies. He also wore denim trousers tucked into calf-length leather boots dyed red. Whoever he was, he was definitely on a higher social rung than the men accosting him.
Another thing that made the man different from the mob was that he was black.
“I come to this land for peace!” The man desperately explained as he slowly got up to his feet. “In this land at war, I come to help!”
Strangely enough, he had a really thick Scandinavian accent. One that Carter would not have found strange coming from a nordic viking.
“We don’t want your help, you frizzy-haired cunt!” The big man shouted.
That was weird. Instead of remarking about his dark skin like the racists in Carter’s own world would, these idiots seem to be focused on his curly hair. What the hell was that about? Whatever, racism never made sense in the first place, so Carter shouldn’t be trying to find logic where there was none.
“I bring medicine and aid to those of your people suffering in the war!” The man continued to explain, pointing at his wagon. “Please, just let me pass!”
“You ain’t going anywhere!” The leader of the mob said. He was a tall, thick man with a shaved head and tanned skin. He would look like a normal person you’d pass by the street without giving another thought to, but the fact that his face was red with hate and his blue eyes shone with murder made him look altogether unhinged.
“We’re tired of seeing you rich foreign devils coming into our country like you own it!” The man continued ranting. Many in the crowd began to egg him on, some of whom, Carter was shocked to see, were young boys and teenagers. “You ally yourself with the invaders, paying them gold and treasures to take away our land, and now you come here to say you’re helping us?” He spat on the ground. “Bullshit!”
“Please, I have nothing to do with the war!” The rich man pleaded. “My path is to help those in need to the south, where the fighting has affected many. I-” He was suddenly cut off when a rock struck him in the head. The man gasped in pain and staggered backward, his back slamming into the wagon.
“Shut up, frizz!” shouted the one who threw the rock, who turned out to be a boy no older than twelve.
The crowd cheered and the man looked up in fear, blood leaking from a gash in his forehead. The mob looked ready to tear him apart, and Carter rushed forwards to stop it.
“Enough!” He shouted as he reached them. “Leave him alone!”
The leader of the mob turned to him and sneered. “What’s this? Another rich foreign fuck? He a friend of yours?”
The rich man clutched at his bleeding head and turned his terrified eyes at Carter. Despite his fear, the man shook his head, silently telling him not to get involved.
“Step off, squint!” shouted one of the men in the crowd. “This got nothing to do with you!”
“Yeah, fuck off!” shouted another.
Carter felt his anger boil. Ever since he had set foot in this country, scumbags like these had been giving him grief because of his race. Now, he sees them doing it to someone who was in the country just to help? What the hell was wrong with these people? Carter had had enough of it.
“No, you fuck off!” He yelled back, taking off his sunglasses so he could glare at them eye to eye. “You stupid, inbred, sheep-fucking pieces of shit!”
That only got the crowd to get even angrier. They began hurling insults back at him, though most were of the “squint” this and “foreign devil” that variety.
“If the squint wants to die with the frizz, then I say let ‘im!” The leader shouted. “String ‘em both up, let the crows eat their eyes!”
Carter drew the Witch Arm from its holster and held it at his side. “Try it, scumbag.”
“You foreign filth!” he growled. “Coming into this country, actin’ like you own it! We Southerners want no part of whatever it is yer peddling! You and the frizz can take your words with you into the hells where you came from! We will free our lands from your grasp and get rid of every foreign devil that comes here!”
“Bitch, please,” Carter retorted. “If you’re so zealous and eager to fight then why didn’t you enlist with your military and go out onto the front lines to fight the invaders? Why are all of you here way up in the north, safe from all the fighting, sitting on your asses while real men fight and die for your freedom? Why are you all here bitching and complaining, puffing yourselves up by harassing folk that can’t fight back?”
The crowd was silent, some looking ashamed, though many looked at him with misplaced anger and resentment.
“What? Got all quiet all of a sudden? You not know?” Carter sneered. “Well, I can tell you why. You’re all a bunch of God-damned cowards, that’s why. You all talk big about noble causes and fighting, but as soon as you saw the big bad fleet of the West coming towards you, all you assholes up north folded. None of you, not a single one, fought. You just let those Western pricks march into your country, and while the real Southern men put on uniforms and put their lives on the line fighting, y’all stewed up here getting pissed at the wrong people, blaming them for the shit YOU dumbfucks were responsible for. Absolutely disgusting.”
The mob angrily began shouting back at him, calling out insults and denials. All of their words were the same recycled garbage they had been spewing repeatedly since this incident began. But unlike before, their hate and rage weren’t as pure and focused. Carter’s words had introduced doubt into their hearts, so while they were still pissed off and angry, some of that was directed at themselves.
The leader’s face turned even redder after hearing Carter’s rant. To him, the foreign devil had just given words to the years of self-doubt and loathing he had, of how powerless and afraid he had been during the invasion. He had put all the feelings of rage and futility into a hatred for the foreigners who came from outside Gloria. He saw all the Dralovs, the Lacotians, the Veen, as collaborators with the West since that empire was the single nation on the continent that did the most business with the powers from beyond the seas. As far as he was concerned, the foreign devils were in collusion with the West in taking over his home. They were to blame as much as the Westerners were, and to have one of them judge him so openly made his blood boil. It didn’t matter if this Lacotian devil spoke some modicum of truth, he hated the fact that he had to hear his fears so blatantly spoken aloud.
The mob leader was a simple man. Just a farmer with no formal education or knowledge beyond his craft. He had never even left this small area around his village. So he had no words to strike back at Carter’s vile, insulting rant. Instead, he chose to reply with his fists.
With a scream of rage, the big man rushed forwards and attacked. The loud retort of a gunshot rang out just a second later.