Chapter 5

Well, there’s no place better to hear the gossip and scuttlebutt than the local tavern, he quickly decided, and he turned around his horse-train to head towards the rear of the Axe and Forge, where he knew the stables were. As a boy he had wandered through the town and had known every building and paving stone, and now perhaps he could put that knowledge to a little practical use.

The stable boy, a lad no older or larger in size than he had been, when taken and thrown into a dungeon, eyed the three baggage horses (and it’s thick, heavy saddlebags) with clear larcenist intent, but sensibly he was immediately wary of Mather’s glare of pure malice upon him. No, the Axe and Forge had always been a place thick with criminal malevolence of numerous varieties, of which plundering strange travelers was but a minor hobby, from what he had heard. Needless to say, his villain of a father had done much business here, and not just with the cheap whores that occupied to the top, third floor of the inn.

“Boy, I really wouldn’t even consider it,” he sighed with as much politeness as he could muster. That boy really need a good hard cuff upside of his thick skull! “My horse is a killer and not an animal to be trusted, so forget your obvious plan to quickly find a new owner for him. I’m on the High-King’s business and my bags, well most of them, bear his seal. Should you even think about having some curiosity about what items might be in my bags, I can assure you that you can’t run either far away enough or fast enough to avoid my catching you. I know ... threats of whippings or even a hanging don’t scare you, because you’re a tough little bastard, but know this ... that I’m a tougher, bigger and meaner bastard and my very own father taught me dozens, if not hundreds, of cruel things to do to annoying children that could turn all of your hair as white as a ghost. Trust me.

He then gave the boy a certain look that his father used to present, right before an especially nasty torture session was about to begin, and at once the lad’s face began to turn sheet white. Ben gave the kid a mental bonus point for not pissing his britches though.

“Here’s a tu-copper for your forbearance,” Ben sighed, deciding it was time to use the carrot, instead of more stick, “and there will be a second one for you when I return in an hour or so, dinnertime at the latest. In return, I’d like all of the mounts to be fed with an oatcake or two and watered, and give the nasty brown beast in front of you a good brushing, if he’ll let you get near him ... which I frankly doubt. The packs and saddlebags can all stay put, in place... unmolested. Do this for me and we’ll not part as enemies, and your young bottom won’t experience the pleasure of being molested with a red-hot poker ... just for starters.” This time, the lad’s bladder broke free as he obviously soiled himself. “Mather! Sniff this boy and mark his scent ... Good ... I think the two of us have an understanding, yes!”

He flipped the boy a copper coin, but it was a nice bright, newly coined one of double the regular weight. Probably, sensing the current poverty of the town, in weight it was about equal to three of the usual heavily worn and clipped coppers that commonly were found in the furthest extremities of the 27 Kingdoms. Having the weight of six coppers was a rich afternoon’s work, for most any menial profession and if the lad had much sense he’d be well satisfied with that. If not ... well, Mather might enjoy a short, hard ride, following the boy’s scent wherever it might lead, in-town or running for the wilderness.

Entering the inn and walking up to where a tavern wench was serving up weak ale to a ha’dozen of the locals, Ben sat himself down at the bar nearby and ordered a pint of the usual, which would have been called rank-piss by Prince Carl, if served to him. Already, being obviously a stranger and wearing heavily travel-stained leather, but of an obviously good quality, the young count caught everyone’s immediate attention, but he decided to keep his identity a secret for a while longer.

“Stranger in town, eh? Business here or passing through into Randborg?” The grey-haired codger of advancing middle years stated, trying to take the measure of this slightly odd visitor. The gent’s clothes were clean and not of bad quality, but perhaps a bit over-worn, as if washed a few times too often. Perhaps a merchant, Ben thought, and just a bit down of his luck lately.

“High-King’s business, bearing a message to his county steward up at the keep. It’s in a sealed oilskin, but if I’ve read the tea-leaves right, I’d safely wager that he’s about to be recalled home ... I heard rumors at the palace that a new count for this land was going to be named, so I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he wasn’t already on the road here. In fact, I just may have ridden past him, or someone like him, very early this morning. A young nobleman certainly, with the hard look of a soldier about him ... and traveling with a grey-cloaked woman who made my blood run quite cold, at the very sight of her. A pair of killers ... if ever I saw any!”

“Guyot won’t be liking that, but it does take a hard man with a will ... and balls of stone to rule from Baad Mountain, so we could hardly do any worse off than we’ve suffered as of late,” the elder merchant laughed, spitting upon the floor at the mention of the man’s name.” The others’ around the bar did likewise, all spitting and taking a long drink of their weak ale as well afterwards, and as a whole they agreed that any change of rulership was likely to be an improvement to their lives.

“Happy news then?” Ben enquired, after counting out about eight rather well-worn coppers from his purse, “well, I suppose that means I should bear ye the next round of drinks, but be gentle on my purse ... the Chief Steward was far from generous with my traveling expenses.”

The news was indeed quite happy, and after a well-spent ha’hour spent just listening to their conversation, the secretive young count could learn most of what had ailed the town, and much of what had collapsed all of the local industries. For starters, the ironwood trees, nearly all of them, were gone; all taken in harvest as ‘war reparations’ by Lord Egner’s soldiers when they came raiding shortly after Ben and his father had been taken prisoner. Every tree that could be cut down, was ... and then hauled off on great wagons west to Helsborg, the petty-king’s own realm, about a week’s travel to the west.

The silver mines, never extraordinarily productive in past years, were now as fallow as the fields. ‘Cursed’, he was told, by a most ancient member of the Fae, one of the eldest of the Fairy Godmothers, it was stated. This was done at the very time the old Petty-King Bad and his family had been taken as prisoner, the curse performed even as the prison wagon rolled past, enroute south. Not even a handful of even weak silver ore within the mines could now be found, even for the luckiest miner. Now, the pittance of men that remained there, spent their hours toiling over the old slag heaps, re-melting generations of past waste spoils from the furnaces to glean out a pittance of an income, from the dregs that had been left behind.

Guyot too, emplaced in power here to act in the name of the crown (until the final legitimate heir of Baad had been released or a new count appointed) had labored hard to line his own pockets exceedingly well, passing on (it was said) but a pittance of his heavy taxation properly to the High-King’s coffers. The hearth tax, which even the poor had paid, had gone from a pittance (from 1 copper coin annum per room in the poorest dwellings, to a maximum of 8 coppers for the finest houses) to triple that, within a few years. This last autumn tax that had recently been paid, the rate was now a full silver per room for all, and many townsfolk had been unable to pay.

Taxes upon businesses had also increased annually, each and every year, until few merchants remained and the survivors were squeezed ever-harder. There were taxes upon all goods, and even raw food, brought north across the bridge into the town, and even higher export taxes upon anything that left going south or west. Even the meagre flocks of chickens, cows, ducks and sheep were counted annually and taxed, until few now remained. Every coin that could be found or seized soon found its way eventually into the acting steward’s private purse, until even the formerly rich townsfolk and merchants had naught left to bleed. The town, and its former inhabitants, had been entirely taxed to death.

With little or no income, most of the villagers had simply left over the years, their homes mostly now empty and left to the elements. With little labor, only a few fields could be put to the plow, and fewer every season.

Oddly, even the ‘evil’ Baad’s were remembered now with some genuine fondness. Sure, they admitted, all of the Baad’s were wicked and likely quite insane ... but the town had been prosperous under their rule, and few children in those happier years cried themselves to sleep at night with empty bellies. And if comely maidens tended to regularly experience unhappy accidents or just disappear forever within those castle walls, those were problems for other people. Local girls, someone laughed, usually had more sense than to work up at the castle anyway, unless they were only suited for doing ‘night-work’ in the first place!

“Does old Dietta still run this inn?” Ben casually asked, as he arose from the bar to make his departure.

“Now that’s quite the oddest question for a stranger to be asking, she does, but she does no business with outsiders,” the rather hard-eyed slattern behind the bar replied, and everyone now looked with some fresh suspicion at the traveler.

“Not in the least,” Ben laughed, “as I was in truth born no great distance away from here and my father, a rather dishonest man himself, truth be told, bragged when I was a boy that he had done much profitable business with her here. I was still just a lad when my family moved from here to the very capitol itself, and never before had my business brought me back to this town or inn since. Now, I must reach the keep before dark to deliver my message, but if I can manage it upon my return, I’ll confirm, if I can, any happy tidings that might be of benefit to your ears ... and purses.”

Ben tipped his head slightly in thanks and turned about quickly to make his escape before any uncomfortable questions could be made, like the name of his father ... and a few moments later the horses were made ready by the stable lad for his final, much shorter journey, up the mountain road to Baad Castle. A brief glance was enough to confirm that his bags had not been opened or plundered, so with another brief nod, the final tu’pence was tossed to the lad, as had been promised.

Now, his journey was soon to be completed!

Dusk comes rapidly and early near Baad Mountain, especially by the start of autumn. By mid-winter, the day might only last for about four hourglasses in length, compensated for in summer by near equal longer hours of daylight, Ben recalled. This early evening the time might have been only about the fourth hour of the afternoon, but clearly sunset was already less than an hour away. Fortunately, the drawbridge over the chasm that protected the front half of the castle that was not hewn into solid stone was still down, so that he and his mounts could cross to where a heavy iron portcullis blocked entrance past the gatehouse, into the courtyard of the keep. Providently, a guard was present nearby to call out to, so he could petition to now enter his old home. The guardsman was elderly, quite a veteran white-haired gent that with but a moment of reflection, Ben easily recalled his name.

“Open the gate up, Master Sergeant Gilgen, for I have much business to accomplish this night within these great walls!”

“Go bugger yourself, young merchant, for there’s no silver for you to gain here!” The old codger bellowed out, with quite a good stern voice.

“Sod that, you old goat-humper,” Ben laughed, “it’s far worse than that, for this is no itinerate peddler you see before you, I’m the poor bastard that’s now responsible for this well-accursed county! I present now before you, your new count, liege and lord. And why hasn’t your tired old carcass been put out to pasture already? So get that fucking gate opened up so I can get my tired ass off of this horse and I’ll give you a heaty welcome ... or I can give you a kick up your ass instead, your choice. It’s me, Prince Benjamin, now just called a count, sadly, but it’s now my home once again.”

Goat-Humper had been Gilgen’s nickname, back when Ben was a lad, solely due to his fondness for roasted goat, a common dinner fare in the later, poorer years that most of the other guardsmen highly disliked consuming due to its toughness and strong taste. There were stories though from others, back in the day, that when the soldier was younger he had engaged in carnal knowledge of a nanny goat (perhaps repeatedly) ... but Ben had decided then, as a boy, that perhaps he didn’t really need or want to know the truth of those rumors.

“Well butter my buns and call me a biscuit, you are quite the likeness of that young lad ... and you do have something of his father’s eyes.”

“Well, I also have something of a signed royal charter too, proclaiming that me, Sir Benjamin von Baad, Knight, is named as Count of Baad. And yes, that would indeed be much of a surprise to my father, or eldest brother, had either of them survived and returned home. Theirs was not a happy lot, facing the High-King’s justice, as you can quite imagine. My own fate was quite undetermined as well for a great many years, but that’s a tale for later, hopefully involving better tasting ale than can presently be found at the Axe and Forge!”

Up went the portcullis, and the old veteran guard gave the young man a fairly hearty welcome. They had in truth not been particularly close, or even much in the other’s company in those days when Ben was still a young boy, but even then he had never borne the young prince any ill-will, and on occasional had been quite helpful helping the child evade his father’s ever-present ire.

“Now, if you and perhaps also another younger but veteran guard could be found to assist me, I need to deliver what will be extremely distressing news to the petty bureaucrat and thief who has been sitting on my father’s throne for the last six years, or more. He might become difficult to evict from this castle, and if so I’d prefer to have a few reasonably impartial witnesses present, just in case he decided to become violent and I need to skewer him, or somehow he tries to take flight home from one of the upper towers.”

“That used to be a far from uncommon unlucky occurrence, back in your father’s day, but since you’re enjoying the High-King’s peace, I would assume that this pleasant custom is about to fall into some disfavor?”

“I presume so, the happy tradition to be remembered only for high festivals, the birthday of the High-King, banking holidays, and perhaps only on days that end with a ‘y’.”

“A sensible practice, my count,” the old sergeant laughed, “I can see that you will govern us long and wisely! Now shall I summon the stable master? He’s quite alone in this duty, with no stable boys or other attendants in service. In truth, your four mounts will have only two companions in their stalls, the steward’s own horse and the mount for the town constable, and he only requires it about once a week when he does a ranged patrol outside of the town.”

“Please do. Tell him to have the three rear pack horses stripped down and placed in a larger stall together. I’m not sure if I will be keeping them for long, if there is no need here for them.”

“Very little that I can imagine, my lord. I also understand that the price of feed grain is most dear at present and our own supplies of fodder are not at all equal to the standards that your late father demanded be kept.”

“Then have them fed up a bit with whatever can be found at hand plus any grain can be found within these walls, and I’ll rehome them as soon as possible ... we might just need those coins, I do fear. Now keep my big brown mount saddled but have the stable master put him in some quiet dark corner, out of sight, and get him a feedbag. I just might need to take a sudden ride outside later this evening. If the stable doors are locked at night, see that I’m provided a spare key ... I tend to keep odd hours and do my best thinking riding on my horse.”