Chapter 8

Aden sat on a log that had been dragged into shade of a grove of mixed hardwoods as he tried to regain his sense of smell along with his sense of calm. He watched the half-dozen men up to their knees in half-digested human waste with their wooden rakes. To him the work looked positively wretched, but they were calling to each other and making crude jokes as if they were wading in the mud by the river, having a good time. He decided that being up to knees in crap all day gives a man a specific perspective on life: the end of the day is always better than the beginning, and it is all just of matter of getting there. Since it is going to be shit all day, one might as well laugh than cry.

The three descending reclamation ponds were surprisingly well built, Aden noted. These were not structures of a poorly-rated remote garrison keep. The ponds reminded him of a well-considered and properly funded city. The edges of the ponds had metal spikes with a thick metal mesh to hold back the waste when rain flooded the system, a detail that was striking and puzzling. Even with the evident age of the keep, the system worked well with basic maintenance, moving the effluvia from the most toxic pond down to the next and finally onto the conversion pond, where the remnants were slowly transformed into a usable fertilizer.

The broken pipe had thrown the ponds out of kilter. The conversion pond was the worst, in desperate need of a base to correct the Ph. balance. They were mixing potassium salts as Aden watched only because they were able to borrow salts from the quartermaster. A wagon would be sent to a nearby mountain to harvest calcium carbonate from a small vein in a day or two.

A breeze arose and sent the odors to another direction, much to Aden’s relief. While he had to use his phyzeec to clean the axle points and restart the stone rollers at the end of the first two ponds, he was just giving orders at the last pond, teaching them how to test for the balance between acid and base. He had no doubt that they felt bamboozled, having to pay for knowledge when they only wanted to pay for wizardry. Maybe they would realize the difference between a momentary fix and consequential solution someday.

He could not tolerate any more crap jokes though, there are only so many and none of them were new. He stood to leave. His escort and chaperone, the Lieutenant Kepelnatoi, or Kepel for short, noticed his rise and made his way over. Aden gave him the universal “thumbs up” and pointed back towards the keep. The lieutenant returned the thumbs up and started in the same direction.

Kepel was big and broad. When Aden and he met at the hedges that hid the sight and smell of the sewage from the fields spreading south and east, Aden was reminded again just how huge the man was. He was a least a head and a half taller and broad enough to easily hide behind without being seen. Yet out of that massive frame came a soft, soothing voice.

“A day’s work done before noon is a good day,” Kepel said, slowing down to let Aden keep pace. “So, what is the good lady Zaya like in bed? She has turned me down and sent me scurrying with biting words on more than one occasion.”

“Should I kiss and tell?” Aden said as way of an answer. He stopped and stared up at the man. “The good lady was being extraordinarily discrete last night and this morning. How is it that you already know?”

“Widow Guttimore saw that she didn’t come home last night,” the lieutenant said. “The old bitty keeps track of everyone; gives her something to do. Since Mathie and Ezza are bound at the britches when he is visiting and the good lady has turned down every living, breathing male in the vicinity, who else could it be?”

Aden thought carefully before answering what could be a bit of a problem. “I think I feel quite privileged to have been chosen. I have apparently overcome a good deal of worthy competition.”

Kepel snorted. “You don’t have to blow smoke up my ass, wizard. It sure would be nice to have a woman keeping me warm on a cold night but I wouldn’t want to listen to that shrilling all damn day. Have you met the captain’s wife?”

“No, but I got an earful from the captain last night,” Aden said. “I suppose I will meet her later this afternoon for the foot surgery. She has some of my sympathy though: this is a remote site for a ranking officer with years under his belt. A strange place this is.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Kepel said. He stopped, pointed at a fallen fence that had been overwhelmed with berry vines. Without another word, Kepel strode over to the vine and began picking the plump berries. When he got three or four in his hand, he would pop them in his mouth. Aden joined him and started harvesting his own midday snack.

“The town folk say that the keep has always been a garrison, but they don’t know nothing,” Kepel said. He took a few more berries and swallowed. “They’ve only been here four or five generations because the then governor emptied the debtor’s tower and had them marched up here. They may not remember but governor’s staff does and that’s my brother.

“Got me this posting, he did,” Kepel said, continuing between bites of berries, staining his lips. “I like to fisticuff a little too much for my own good. No one cares out here and the warrants aren’t going to find me this far north.”

“You were saying about the keep,” Aden said, encouraging him to speak further. The place confounded him too.

“One, the towers face south when the last enemies must have been to the north,” Kepel said, confirming what Aden had already noted. “Two, the layout of the streets inside the gate are broad avenues, not any manner of defense in case of a breach. Three, there is no room for cannons, catapults, or any heavy armaments on the walls. Hell, there isn’t even room for storage for them inside the keep.”

Aden’s thoughts were rapidly dismissing the possibilities. A sense of unease began to creep down his spine as he eliminated all but the obvious.

“Four, there ain’t no holy place on the square, not anywhere in the keep,” Kepel said. He wiggled his four fingers and then held up his thumb. “Five, look in the basement at the foundation stones and such. There ain’t no rot, no cracks, no chips, no mold and no vermin. Who ever heard of a walled keep without rats?”