Chapter 40: Born A Monster, Chapter 40 – Whitehill

Born A Monster

Chapter 40

Whitehill

Until the appointed day, I pulled rounds on the wall. At the beginning and end of each shift, I got pummeled with clubs.

I was actually getting better at blocking them with the shield.

On the appointed day, I got a good deal of sleep while they were downstairs arguing about whether or not they were owed a refund for the nine days I was available but not with them.

I also understand there was an argument about whether or not my tasking in Whitehill involved hazard pay, but I did not hear this directly with my own ears.

.....

Cosimo woke me early into my sleep cycle; I flagged the points of sanity and serenity I would need for not having gotten a good night’s sleep.

“Why even try getting sleep when you know it doesn’t count as a full rest?”

“It makes me feel better, Lord Cosimo, than getting no sleep at all.”

“It surprises me that you can earn as much as you can with Sloth that far developed.”

Again, not all truths are for speaking. I’d reached a plateau for my sins; if I wanted more armor against corruption, I’d have to work directly on those.

“I am an equal opportunity sinner, Lord Cosimo.”

“Go to Tangars, gather your gear and food issue. Your patron is downstairs, in the reading room.”

“Well, then I shall endeavor not to keep her waiting.”

“You’ve already failed.”

I felt that the failure was elsewhere, but pushing my point would just waste time I’d just said I wouldn’t waste.

“Tangars, this gear is on its last legs.” I said.

“You think I’m going to let a full kit of good gear burn off your body? This equipment isn’t cheap.”

“I’ve been looking for pieces of equipment on my own. The prices aren’t going down.”

“Right. So take care of this stuff.”

“It’s supposed to be a pastoral expedition.”

He snorted. “Nobody with any sense hires guardsfolk for a silver a day unless they’re expecting trouble.”

“Well, I suppose. What’s this I hear about something between their Guild office and ours?”

Tangars spat into a nearby bowl. “Not my place to talk about it. Be polite and such, and make up your own mind.”

Wait, there was something negative, and Tangars didn’t want to talk about it? Curious.

But like a dutiful soldier, I strapped on my shield, shouldered my pack, and moved out to the front door.

Adara looked worse for wear, as though she also was lacking sleep. But her smile on seeing me was genuine, and reached all the way to her eyes.

“That took longer than expected. I trust you are ready to go?”

“Absolutely.” I said.

“Philecto tells me you have developed an affinity for the pony, we have arranged to rent him again for you.”

“I’m certain Mask appreciates the lighter load.”

“Don’t we all?”

I didn’t know what to say to that, and so said nothing.

#

As we walked the edge of the Galen’s Wood, we came to a place where a ford had been obstructed by a cut tree.

“Idiots.” Gustavian said.

“Now, now.” Philecto stroked the back of his mount’s head to calm it. “They may not know who we are.”

Gustavian spit, and began fiddling with a new-looking crossbow. Adara strung her bow and set it into the saddle in front of her.

Philecto urged his horse to the front. “Hallooo!” He urged his horse to a fast walk.

Gustavian peered off into the wood. “I see four in the wood.”

Adara looked off to the right. “At least three in the brush. They’re not bad at camouflage, they’ve done this before.”

“Meh, so it’s time to do the world a favor again, is it?”

Two men with small bows stood up behind the log. “That’s close enough.”

Philecto cleared his throat. “Oh dear! Bandits! We shall just have to SLAY THEM ALL to save ourselves.”

He spurred his horse into a charge that ended when both of the bowmen hit it in the torso.

The mount braked hard, catapulting Philecto over its head. He hit the ground spinning, did a roll, and came up running. The horse veered off into the brush to the right.

“Down.” I urged Mask. He knelt on the ground. I caught one of the arrows on my shield, the other bounced off the scales of my right shoulder, leaving a small divot for six points of damage.

Adara and Gustavian took hits to their horses. These bandits were idiots. The horses were easily worth more than everything else we owned.

Or not, as the horses panicked; but if they were expecting hard falls from either rider, they were sorely disappointed.

Realizing his crossbow bolts were on his horse, Gustavian cursed and drew his blade.

Adara had already finished those on her side, and begin firing arrows into the wood.

A quick use of Flurry of Blows, and the battle forward was done.

“Shield! Gather the horses!”

Well, the horses were in pain, and weren’t about to listen to little me telling them everything was all right. Besides, the smell of my blood (and possibly their own) made them nervous. By the time I’d collected them all, the looting part of the fight had also been finished.

Mask was foraging off to one side of the road, blissfully ignorant of how close he’d come to an arrow wound.

“Well, we might need to turn around.” Philecto said. “The horses may need surgery, and I’d rather not risk them getting infected.”

I pointed to a plant. “Sage. Find me comfrey; I’ve already got the garlic. We can make medicated bandages.”

Gustavian set his crossbow into the transport sheath on his saddle. “We might also want to track them back to their camp, see if they’ve got a horse healer.”

Adara shook her head. “I have seen and caused enough death this season. It bores me.”

Using a hand saw of Gustavian’s we cut short the arrows, and made do with sage and garlic for the bandages.

We walked to where we made camp that night, struggling with the pain of our mounts.

#

We all ate a hearty meal, and gave an extra ration to our mounts as well. Anything to cut down on their load.

Medical skills were Insight, not Agility. I just didn’t feel confident in being able to pull the arrows out of the horses without doing even more damage.

Nobody wanted to talk about it; for two days we walked our horses north until we could hear, then smell, and then see the nearest town.

Whitehill wasn’t quite white; a pale brown earth showed where the grasses had been trampled.

Instead of oxen, teams of horses pulled farm plows, and seemed more common than in Narrow Valley.

The buildings were made from mortared slabs of chalk-white stone that resembled slate in texture. Inside the wall, bricks lined the streets, and artificial ditches for the flow of sewage were in the middle, covered sometimes in metal, sometimes in wood, and sometimes not at all.

Veterinarians make decent pay, especially when called upon to treat two-day old arrow wounds.

“If you hesitate to care properly for your animals, you ought not to own them.” She complained.

“Then it is good that we are only renting them.” Said Philecto.

Her face became a deep red, and she returned to putting tincture on the horse’s wounds to numb them.

Adara placed a hand on Philecto’s shoulder. “Perhaps you should go make our introductions to Lord and Lady Mortimer?”

He shrugged. “I’ve no complaints in taking a bath if it gets us sleeping in quilted beds tonight.”

“And light perfume or musk.” She said.

Sounded like an awful lot of effort just to tell someone that you’d arrived.

But, as I watched, the people of Whitehill seemed to take bathing a bit more serious than in Narrow Valley. I even spotted a number of recently washed beggars.

The only other predominant difference were the roof-cats, which watched us walking below with a bored indifference.

.....

Other than that, Whitehill seemed just like the only other human town I’d known. Mundane citizens, going about their mundane lives. Here and there, a hint that there was magic as well.

Even the two-story fortified building that announced in large gold Manoran letters “Guild of Guardsman, Porters, Drovers, and Linkboys” seemed about what I’d expected. The sounds of mock combat from the alley to one side of it were familiar.

“We need you certified before you can join us at the manor. How long will that take?”

“Two days, last time. Might be just one day if I only go for Valet and Shield-Bearer.”

“If you must choose between the two of them, choose Valet.”

But I had learned so much in the ... was it only three months? My reading skills alone were worthy of note.

Cosimo’s parallel in Whitehill’s Guild was Wren, a gangly lad at those teenage years at the end of that growth spurt. He dressed primarily in subdued reds and purples, and smelled of lilac.

#

They asked all manner of local heraldry, history, peerage, and aristocratic houses questions during my Valet interviews, and decided based on that gap in my knowledge (and to a lesser extent, my lack of Whitehill literature and poetry) that I was only a Manservant. Whatever, I wasn’t moving to this city.

“I’m sorry, please say that again?” I asked.

“In order to practice any profession in the city proper as a member of the Guild, you will need to sign yourself into contract with the local Guild. Surely, you were told something similar when you joined your provincial office in Narrow Valley?”

“Not that I recall, but I am contracted to the Guild that both of our branches are members of.”

“No, that attitude will not ride here. Your oaths to a provincial branch do not allow you to work in civilized areas. Be glad we’re willing to accept members of – of whatever race you are.”

Oh. As Whitehill parlance seemed to have it, that attitude wasn’t going to ride with me.

“So most of your members here are human?” I asked.

“Most of life,” he said, “is human.”

Oh gods, delusional.

Our negotiations, if you can call them that, fell apart over the contract they wanted me to sign.

“Eighty percent repayment?” I asked.

“Leaving you the standard one in five coins to pay your way. Don’t worry, we’ll share evenly with you once your ... twenty-four or so gold coins of debt are paid off.”

“What of the coins I’ve already paid against my debts?”

“We’ve received no coins, nor records of any payment. We must assume that you’ve been living unemployed since the date of your employment at the provincial guild hall.”

“I would need to be insane to sign to such ridiculous terms.”

historical

“Either you sign the contract, or we’ll have you tried as a debtor.”

Whatever my hatred for peg-like molar teeth, they make a soothing grinding noise when you get angry.

“I believe, then, that I have a right to a solicitor? When is the court date?”

“Solicitor? Court date? We don’t need that. You are a sworn member of the Guild of Guardsmen, Porters, Drovers, and Linkboys. We – are the officers of that guild. You will be tried here. I find you guilty. GUARD! We’ll give you a day to consider your position, in chains, before we begin to torture you. In coin, or in pain, you will repay the guild. Every. Tin. Coin.”

“You don’t get it both ways. Either I’m signed to the guild – by my existing contract, or else I have no contract to default on.”

“Possession is nine tenths of the law. You are our possession. The provincial office paid quite a bit more than you’re worth.”

I sighed. “You will live to regret this.” I turned my head away from the approaching guardsman to spit.

[You have earned three points of Vanity XP. After sin armor, 2 XP have been granted. After divisor, 1 XP has been granted.]

“Oh, I’ll live much longer than you.”

The guard led me downstairs and chained me to a wall by my neck.

But hey, free rats. There’s always an upside.

#