Cryptic

by DA Chaney

  Ed grunted and wiped off her cold wet face. Staying dry was a huge joke. Not many people could stay dry in this weather. You had to stay indoors or have one of those fancy carriages with tops on them and people from around here, didn’t have those.

  Cold, wet, and hungry Ed walked the muddy streets to find the tavern.

  5

  Ed sat in a wet miserable heap in a quiet, darkly shaded corner of the The Slaughtered Lamb tavern glancing up at the straw-thatched roof in skepticism. It looked about ready to cave in. The good part would be, it wouldn’t be a heavy cave in. The bad thing would be, there would be no solace from the driving rain.

  Lanterns lit and table candles burning, it was easy to see that some parts of the roof had grown water logged with the weight and the relentless wetness and had caused it to start leaking. Puddles had already begun to form along the hard-packed earthen floor.

  No one else seemed to mind since it wasn’t out of the normal for the place. Most of the men in Lock’s Landing tended their regular business in the pouring rain because, if they didn’t, nothing would ever get done. The patrons today steered clear of the dripping mess often by moving tables or chairs out of the way of the soft spots in the roof, making due with what they had. It was easier to move out of the drips than to complain about something they couldn’t change. Ed saw the brown stain form above her own table and when it bulged and dripped, it hit the tabletop and rolled off the uneven side, toward the floor. Such was the form of entertainment for a while. Duck the puddles.

  Not far away she spotted a heavy-chested barmaid with a thick waist and beefy hands that was sporting not one but two hairy chin moles. To Ed, she looked more like a man in a dress, than a woman, which was amusing, given her set of circumstances. The barmaid was entertaining some sparse patrons by standing under a leaking spot letting the water drip into the bodice of her homespun dress. Through the lusty jeers thrown in her direction, seemingly interested men nodded drunken approval by ordering further rounds. Ed may not have been the smartest person around, but she wondered if the joke lay in the ugly woman’s achievement to score coin or that it probably didn’t actually matter who was standing under the dripping leaking roof on a day like this. The men were there to spend money to get drunk anyway. Rain had a habit of stopping outdoor work early.

  The Slaughtered Lamb catered to the hard working, sopping wet, and often overworked men from the fields surrounding the town. The only alcohol serving enterprise for a full day’s ride in any direction, it made for a dock in a dry harbor that no man dared to complain about within hearing range of the owner. There was nowhere else to go.

  The ‘inn’ portion to the tavern consisted of a few rooms that had been built onto the back of the tavern for the drunks who passed out there. They were nothing more than open rooms with hay strewn about the floor to spread out on. Surprisingly, those floors saw more action than seemed possible. There’d been times Ed herself had found been there, with nowhere else to go. A hay perfumed room and leaky roof was better than none when the rain just didn’t stop falling and when she had the coin required to collapse there in a heap. She didn’t have to enjoy the décor- it was just a place to be when there was even half a choice.

  Another tavern had tried to crop up a few years back that boasted better ale and finer women. But before it could take hold, a mysterious fire in the middle of the night had wiped it and its wares out in one blaze. The owner and ‘fine women’ split town and didn’t bother to return. It was always suspected that it was set on purpose. But as anyone knew sometimes, bad shit just happened. No one had claimed to have any involvement, but then, if they had, they faced criminal action. No matter what the real story was, people kept their mouth shut in regards to whatever they did or didn’t know. No other establishment had tried to set up since. It didn’t seem wise under the circumstances.

  So, she found herself lounging, brim of her cap shading her eyes, heavy boots propped up on the opposite chair crossed at the ankles, and watching the drunks begin to filter in, weary from the day. Some making passes at the soggy barmaid. Some regaling each other with slurred conversation. Occasionally, the door opened and more men would march in, and she’d stare in their direction looking for Brock. But he hadn’t shown up yet.

  She wasn’t worried yet because it was likely he had been waiting far longer for her than she was for him. Everything took its time. It didn’t mean that she liked it, but she had a secret to hide and she did the best she could to stay minimally exposed. She had grown used to the idea of waiting. Ed shifted on the hard chair beneath her, re-crossing her legs, hands folded in her lap. When she began to drift off to sleep, she felt the chair beneath her feet get kicked.

  “This ain’t no place to sleep.”

  Shaking her head to chase the fog of sleep away, Ed looked blearily up at the angry face of a blonde, haggard barmaid. Ed couldn’t help but notice that she probably wanted to take a nap herself judging from the deep pockets under her eyes. Clearing her throat, Ed smiled sheepishly. “Just resting my eyes. Waiting on someone.”

  The barmaid’s face didn’t soften. “I don’t care if you were waiting on the King, you can’t sleep here. Are you done with that ale yet? Can’t be hogging up this table for other paying customers.”

  Ed looked around. There were at least a dozen lopsided open tables and no real demand for the spaces. Lifting the heavy mug, she shook it. A resounding sloshing sound could easily be heard. “No. Still some left”

  “If I see you sleeping again, you’re getting the boot out of here…with or without your ale. We’re not a church.” She spun on her heel, but before she could leave, Ed put a hand out to catch her elbow. “Seen my business partner around here the last few days?

  The woman looked as if she wouldn’t answer. “Ach, come on now, I didn’t mean anything by being tired. I’ve been sitting here waiting on my friend who hasn’t shown up. I’m tired and angry on waiting for him to show. If you’ve seen him, maybe I can get out of here and find him if you know where he might be.”

  The woman pulled her arm out of Ed’s grasp sneering down at the grimy sleeve of Ed’s coat. Everyone had some kind of standards. “Stocky fellow? Brown hair, brown eyes, limps?”

  Ed leaned across the table top, “Yeah, that’s him. Big, brown moldy old coat?”

  She pursed her lips. “Think I saw him three days ago. Came in here, took a table, and was here for a bit drinking. One of Lord Lockette’s men came in asking for some volunteers for some job out on the estate. Your man, he spoke with Lord Lockette’s skinny fellow and I ain’t seen neither of them since.”

  Ed sat back feeling the hard wood against her shoulder blades. “This skinny Lord’s man—he say what the job was? Or if he was coming back? He have a name?” Three days ago. So Brock had waited at least a day for her, if the old woman from the shack had counted the days right.

  The barmaid shrugged her ample shoulders, “he didn’t rightly say. Some men went with him and some stayed put. The Lord’s man said his name was ‘Mr. Swicker’, he said he’d come back today and have a gander if anyone else was interested. Think he’s been moving around looking for more men. Didn’t get that many from here from what I could tell.”

  “I thank you for the mighty fine information. Think I’ll wait a bit and see if this Mr. Swicker comes back. Then I’ll be out of your hair.” The barmaid walked away without any further acknowledgment and reported in to the bartender. They both looked at her while they talked quietly.

  Licking her lips, she folded her hand around a mug of ale, lifted it, and drank. Ballocks, the ale was fusty. Absolutely rotten. Keeping her eye contact with the owner, she kept a straight face until he looked away. Then, she cringed and wiped her mouth on the inside collar of the coat. The sad thing was that it wasn’t even the cheapest brew in the place. It was close, but the coin in her pocket and the rotten days she’d had, made her offer up a bit more money than the lowest stocked ale. It managed to get a person drunk well enough but the first mugs of
it were the worst until the taste didn’t matter anymore.

  Adjusting her position, it took all of her strength to avoid falling asleep. Each time she felt the urge, she’d pinch herself hard to shake it off. It was quite a while before the wooden door creaked open again. By this time—with fresh bruises on her skin—the rain had stopped dripping through the roof; she hadn’t noticed when it’d stopped.

  The man who strode inside the tavern was a tall, thin, clean man dressed in much better clothing than anyone else in the shoddy place could afford to pay for. If he lingered past dark he’d be likely to be robbed. It was actually a small surprise that the man had even been able to walk inside the tavern at all without being accosted.

  Men looked in his direction, dismissed him, and went back at their business of drinking as if knowing what he’d come for. And perhaps they did since they largely ignored him even as he scanned them all one by one.

  “I am Mr. Albert Swicker. My Lord and Lady Lockette have sent me to request a few able bodies to do a bit of work. Are there any here who might be interested in such a request?”

  As he made his announcement Ed noticed that the man managed to only elicit a few halfhearted shrugs in his direction. Most of the men had families to feed and farms to take care of in this part of the area, and not many were willing to give up a means of food unless a reward was well worth it. Food stock often was more valuable than coin could immediately provide. One couldn’t eat money to survive.

  In most cases, it wasn’t worth it for them. But if they had grown sons, they might send them out to earn some extra money while an offer was available. This crowd didn’t seem altogether eager by the frowns on their faces.

  One man shouted out, “You was in here the other day. The men who wanted to go, went. They ain’t back yet, so you have all that can be spared already. Leave us poor men to our drinkin’.”

  Ed saw the man named Swicker frown at the toothless fellow’s outcry. Even for Ed, it’d been hard to understand what he’d said at first. Drunk and toothless was a misunderstanding waiting to happen. Catching his eye, Ed motioned to him. He quickly cut a path through the huddled figures and made straight for her table. Without speaking, she lifted her boots from the chair and pushed her mug at him to share her ale in hospitality. He sat down and leaned forward for the mug. If he were a highborn man, he wouldn’t have bothered to touch the mug. But he inclined his head and lifted it. Seeing him closer up, she noticed some stubble on his chin and bags under his eyes. It seemed to be a common affliction.

  Blanching after a swallow, he pushed it away like it was on fire. “Horse piss tastes better than that drivel.”

  Probably not altogether an untrue statement, but it was hard to tell, not having drunk any horse piss herself. Inclining her head to him she asked, “What is the job?”

  He looked her over and made all the assumptions that she wanted him to make. Teenage boy. Dirty, swollen face, oversized coat and boots. Probably his father‘s clothes. Poor. “Some animal attacks on the land. Lord Lockette wishes to slay them. A few staff members appear to have gone missing as well. Possibly related to the attacks. An investigation and hunt are being organized.”

  “Doesn’t he already have men to do that?” She couldn’t help but wonder why there was a need to hire outside men to do what the locals could do. As far as she knew, the estate was secluded and miles off in the country. Lock’s Landing was named for Lord Lockette in hopes that he’d bring profit to the area, but he had never visited. Little wonder. He’d probably have run screaming in the other direction. Or worse, burn the entire place down.

  He shrugged, not answering the question. It’s the information that he’d been given. Who was he to question his Lord’s written request? He picked at something on his handsome gentleman’s coat and scanned the room to see if anyone else had shown interest in his announcement. “What’s your interest? You look too young.”

  Ed shrugged. “I’m looking for a friend. Tallish, stocky man. Brown hair, brown eyes. Name’s Thaddeus Brock. Goes by ‘Brock’ though. Heard you might have talked to him.”

  Swicker sat back and tried to remember the man in question. “I talked to a few men of that general description, yes. I did not get any names, though.” If he had, he doubted he would have remembered them. He’d been all over the countryside looking for volunteers.

  “Those men take on your job offer?”

  “Several did, yes. I sent a group ahead of me, up to the estate.”

  Ed was not sure where to go from here. Brock had waited, but had moved on to a legitimate, available job. Did he still have her share left? It was difficult to know for sure. What she could relatively be sure of was that they wouldn’t be body snatching before the sawbones came back into town. No place safe to keep the bodies. So that meant she could go after him, either to help him make more money for them to split or decide to move on by herself and forget about the coin altogether. Maybe cut her losses and leave the town of Lock’s Landing behind her and travel onto Sindalberg to see if there was to be any money to be made there instead. It couldn’t have been much coin for the one body…

  “What kind of animal is it?”

  “The kind that bites.” Albert was tired and wanted to move on. Since Lock’s Landing was the last stop he had to make before returning home, he just wanted to get it over with. He’d made no new prospects on this ‘round and had almost skipped over a return stop. A few days of riding in the carriage or staying at local inns had left him with a powerful need to be home. And there was no way he was planning on staying in the The Slaughtered Goat’s accommodations, whatever those might be—likely not very good based on the condition of the place. He glanced back at the swollen, dirty boy’s face and sighed. It looked like he’d been on the receiving end of one heck of a fight. “We don’t know what the animal is. That’s part of the point. To hunt whatever it is down.”

  “If you need the extra hands, I’m free up.”

  Albert choked down the mirth in his throat. “I’m not sure this is work for a lad like you. Have you even fired a gun before?”

  Ed feigned shock. “Be serious, sir. What kind of father wouldn’t teach a son to shoot?” She honestly had never really learned. Guns were an expense that she could rarely afford. But it couldn’t be hard. The dangerous end pointed outwards and she had to be careful not to shoot her own foolish foot off. She could learn.

  “Where’s your father now?”

  Ed had the wherewithal to look saddened, casting a look skyward. “My family is dead. I have no one else and Brock is a friend. He’ll put in a good word for me once we meet back up.”

  He peered closely at the boy weighing his words, “and how is it he left without your company?”

  “We got separated and were supposed to meet up here. I believe he took you up on your opportunity before I could arrive. And he owes me some money that I could sure use.”

  She hoped.

  Albert gave his full weight to the back of the chair contemplating the arrangement. The boy could be put to work with other tasks as well. He fingered a small flat button on the breast of his coat thinking of the list of work the boy could do. It was unlikely the hunting group would allow the boy along but if he could shoot well, they might reconsider it.

  “Alright then. I have a carriage arriving shortly. I still have some business to conduct here.” He reached for his coin purse, pushed back his chair, and stood.

  Ed nodded, collected the coat around her, and rose to her feet as well, eyeing the coin purse with envy. “I could use some fresh air, Mr. Swicker.”

  “Excellent. I’ll meet you out front, then. Shouldn’t be long.” Albert looked around and figured it wouldn’t be long at all. These men had no real intentions of leaving their seats, let alone their homesteads in their present state. He hoped to grab a good stock of bread and decent ale at least before climbing back into the damnable confines of the carriage again. It didn’t occur to him to share.

  6

  Ed stepped
out into the air, scratching her nose and moving away from the tavern door. Her body ached. She’d been sitting for so long that she noticed with amusement that her back cheeks had gone numb. Rotating her shoulders to work the kinks out, she looked up at the dark sky.

  She really had been waiting all day, it hadn’t just felt like it. She rubbed a tired finger over the sleeve of the arm that she’d marked up trying not to sleep. Her body was a field of wounds from the past few days. She rubbed both hands over her face.

  The hearty smell of stink, sewage, and sour food rose in her nostrils. The scent was familiar and not one particularly unwelcome. It was what she knew and she liked what felt like home. It was what she’d come accustomed to with all its quirks and ups and downs. Just not really the home of her dreams. Maybe some day she’d figure out where her dreams were leading her. Breathing deeply, she pulled in the night scents in around her.

  Then she caught movement to her left.

  Two skinny boys in tattered clothes emerged from beneath the low eave of a closed tailor shop not far from where she stood. Their faces were gaunt and smudged with dirt as they watched her with a haunted expression. She looked the kids over and then discreetly checked the other shadows where people might be hiding as she pretended to pat her pockets.

  The boys meant trouble. Though she didn’t know if they were here for her. They were particularly dangerous to rich drunkards and maybe they’d mistaken her for Swicker. There were a few kids’ gangs that roamed the streets looking for easy marks. The majority of them comprised of orphans, who took on big fish for a bigger profit; higher profile people like Swicker seemed to be, but some were not so choosy. As was obvious in the choice of their current target.