The Accident
Copyright© 2016 by Old Man with a Pen
Chapter 18
“I have to ask,” I said. She nodded.
“You’ve been here seven years?” I asked.
Another nod.
“And you’re intact?”
“Yep.”
“How old were you?”
“When I got here?”
“Uh huh.”
“Twelve,” she confessed. “I looked older,” as an excuse.
“Cleaned up?”
“Still twelve ... except for the boobs ... and the butt ... and the hips.”
“Saddle the horses, Timm,” I said, “We have miles to go before we sleep.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“I don’t know your name ... no ... no ... don’t tell me. I might make a mistake and call you by it. You’re Timm ... two ‘m’s.”
“Yes, Sir.”
They left the Inn by the front door. Ranged across the street fronting the Inn, were three BIG angry men. Leather armor, sword master made swords and evil terrifying masks. Behind the men, across the street, tied to the rail in front of the brothel, were three of the best looking, well fed and bulked up horses I had ever laid eyes on. They had the sheen of animals rode hard.
The hostler from the stables was with ‘em. The hostler pointed at us.
He spoke, “That’s him ... and the little one was Ivor’s horse holder.”
Well ... shit. “Who is Ivor?” I asked.
“Was Ivor, you mean,” said the big guy on the left end as he slipped off the loop from his pommel.
“The short ... shorter ... swordsman you killed last night ... and stole his horses,” said the really big guy in the middle. He slipped the thong from his sword.
The one on the right ... he, for sure, was related to the club wielder from last night ... the twinkle of “nobody home” in his eyes.
Timm growled, “I got the two on the ends ... you got the other two.”
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