Chapter 2

“Old fool, trouble landed on our steps.”

“Send her to the plains.” The wife had long been accustomed to her husband’s meanings.

“There isn’t a blemish, mark, or sunline on that girl.”

“Royalty.”

“Don’t you think I don’t know that?”

“Followers.”

“Clean this and I will ask.” Martha thrust the wicker basket of clothes at her husband of thirty-two-years. A short chant later, the one-eyed man passed the container back to his wife before heading back outside to sit watch on the porch.

While wiping myself down with a clean towel, which was a long cry from burlap, but too close for my tastes, I looked at my reflection in the six-by-eight-inch mirror which rested on the tall thin dresser next to the tub.

Shit... No wonder everyone’s reactions are so extreme. My Avatar went from pretty to flawless. A hint of rose on my lightly tanned cheeks, sparkling blue eyes, and enough red on my lips to be genuine. Only in a the most expensive renders had I seen anything close to this face.

Was it my Regeneration that cleaned and perfected my skin, or just the game transfer? This would be troublesome. Pretty was one thing, perfect was another.

“Dear, can I come in?”

“Sure.” I opened the curtain for my benefactress.

The boots weren’t that bad to get on, but the tight leather pants were another story. No wonder why my ex-girlfriend wiggled to such an extent when getting into those painted-on jeans of hers.

“Would you care to stay for supper?” the white-haired elderly woman asked. I noticed a touch of worry for the first time since meeting her.

“Martha,” I asked in that mid ranged teenaged sultry voice that I had chosen for this toon, “will me staying here cause you or your family problems?” I paused and waited for an answer before accepting her kind offer.

She had been the only one nice to me so far. And though I planned on getting information from her, I would not do so at her expense.

Pursing her lips. “Not from any of them,” she replied in disapproval, referring to the townsfolk. “What about your family?”

Ah, a girl alone. I understood. “I don’t believe anyone is pursuing me or seeking me out. If there were, I wouldn’t stay here.”

Even though she didn’t hear a lie, she didn’t believe me on the second part of being sought out. The first was iffy. I did believe that Martha had a way of discerning the truth, a built-in lie detector of sorts, either magical, or from age and experience.

After a slight pause, she led me to a small oaken kitchen table and encouraged me to sit while she finished dinner preparations. Her questions were mostly innocent, asking about my family and why I was so far away from home.

I spoke politely about my parents who were good people. On the matter of why I was so far away from home... “I sat down to play a game with a friend when a bright light disoriented me; the next thing I knew I was on the border of a forest and a wheat field.”

“Where are you from, dear?” she asked while removing the bread from the oven.

“Springfield.”

“Isn’t that across the southern sea? Getting home will not be easy for you.”

“That I know. I might never make it back, that isn’t to say I can’t try. Does it?” I smiled a strained smile.

A quick glance at me sitting there with a determined grim smile sparked a worry for those that tried to oppose me. I even noticed a fraction of a shiver, which led me to consider that my perceptions had probably improved.

“Martha, since I left home unprepared, I need a way to make some money. Do you have any suggestions?” Clang. I had no idea what thoughts of hers caused that reaction, and suspected I really didn’t want to know.

“What type of work were you thinking of?”

Was the concept of me working so outlandish to her? This had to have been a medieval agronomic society. With magic. Enough magic that she could fill a tub with water casually. The only jobs I was qualified for were civil engineer, scholar, soldier, mercenary or adventurer. Unless I could convince a warband that I could design siege machines. That was not excluding that they don’t already have them. I could also be a tutor in the maths and sciences. But those subjects only.

I was damn lucky that I spoke the same language. That, I had already admitted that to myself. As for the local literature, I had no clue on this world; geography the same. Hell, I’d never used a quill and ink before. Writing might be an issue too, that was if they even used a quill and not some magical counterpart of a pen.

“Adventurer would be my first choice. Mercenary the second.” Clang. The ladle bounced off the stone floor again.

“Lady Cynthia...” I had told her my name earlier. But she added the Lady herself.

“Cynthia please. Do you have a better suggestion?”

“I am an acquainted with the Duchess of Danbury. A recommendation letter would get you an audience.”

“That might help, but I’ve had enough of petty politics lately. Besides, if an adventurer gets out of hand and I break his head, only a few of his friends will get riled. Nobility, not so much.”

Watching her translate my remark, the only thing I could think of was interface translation error. “Martha, if the nobility here are anything like I expect, I would be subjected to unwanted advances. Do you disagree?”

Remembering her time adventuring, she recounted, “Some are probably worse. But not all are of them bad. Duchess Laine’s line had always enjoyed a good reputation. Her Grandfather was a renowned adventurer. We even traveled with him when we were young.”

She and I spent the next fifteen minutes arguing the pros and cons of the nobility sheltering me. Pros from her and cons from my end. Seeing that I wasn’t going to budge, “Old fool, come and eat,” Martha called out in the end.

The veggie stew and fresh bread smelled wonderful, not eating all day besides the two juices had given me a headache. As much as I wanted more, I kept my portions moderate.

Knock, knock! “Martha! Quit hiding that girl.”

Martha looked at me for approval.

“I don’t mind,” I responded, “besides this is your house.” I shrugged, which caused an interesting sway under my shirt. A movement that even jogging all day hadn’t prepared me for.

She let the loud intruder in. Dollars to doughnuts he was a politician.

“Who are you? Girl, I summoned you and yet you are hiding with these people.”

“Who am I? Someone like you doesn’t have the qualifications to know.” I read that somewhere when I was young and always wanted to use that line once.

“You!” He had his hands on his sword hilt. His deeply tanned face with a few days’ worth of stubble reddened.

“Would you be the mayor of this...” I waved my spoon unable to think of a derogatory enough term.

“Lord Mayor to you, girl!”

“Then it would be your son that called me a whore. Ten lashes and his next thirty days pay distributed to the poor will suffice.”

“How dare you! Who do you think you are?” his sword cleared the sheath.

“Unless, of course, you want me to inform father. I can just imagine his reaction.” I shuddered at the thought of dad’s laughter at my situation. “Believe me, there would be no leniency from him on this matter. Ever.” He would tease me about this for the rest of his life.

“Not a word that she said has been a lie, Bertrand.” Martha added her two cents to the wavering politician.

Defeated, the Mayor sheathed his sword. “Who are you ... Lady?” The title, he added reluctantly.

“Did you barge into this Goodman’s house just to ask my identity? Tisk, such manners.” I took another small spoonful of the delicious soup. “This is excellent, Martha. Is it possible to share the recipe?”

A single tear dripped down the old man’s cheek across from me. I wondered what that was about.

“Lady, forgive me, I was over excited on hearing wombums attacking. Would you share your findings?” he asked with oil. Seriously, how cliché? The writers should be slapped.

“A pack of those creatures attacked a small farm. Four ran away after I soiled my hands while disposing of the rest of the vermin. If that is all, you are dismissed.” I took another spoonful of soup, trying not to remember the gore from earlier. Knowing he was dismissed without a recourse or an excuse of staying, unless he wanted a fight, the so-called Lord Mayor of this tiny village clumsily bowed and went to leave.

“Remember, Mayor. Ten and thirty. Sunset at the latest.” The smarmy politician completely slumped while fuming, leaving us wordlessly.

“Was that wise? Bertrand does have an official position.”

“That coward? This town must have done a great evil to get him as mayor.” He was worse than the slime of an assistant plant manager I routinely dealt with. The complaints against that pig were near endless.

“He’s married to Lord Lynn’s second youngest daughter.”

“Nepotism to the detriment of everyone else. I am quite familiar with that,” I grimaced. “Martha, I am sorry for causing a disturbance.”

“Janie’s red cloak,” came from the odd old man. This time a wavering emotion showed in his speech.

“Len!” Martha ran over to the old man and embraced him. I didn’t even try to understand the subtleties. Sipping the weak apple ale, I moved outside to give them space. Seeing that they were comforting each other for some unknown reason, I quietly left the table. Behind the combined mercantile and house, I found a sturdy, odor-free outhouse. More magic I surmised. Inside was a wooden paper dispenser. I removed a sheet of brown fast-food quality napkins and grimaced. It would have to make do. Although, I appreciated the covered bucket and handy soap.