Chapter 3

After three days on the road, Malcolm had finally reached his destination. He rode into the small town and took stock of his surroundings. There was a general store, an inn, a blacksmith, and an open market in the center of the town. A handful of houses lined the streets. The stable was at the other end of town. He figured the town had fifty residents, although another couple hundred people probably lived on properties around it.

Malcolm kicked his horse with his heels and directed it towards the stable. Stables tended to be away from the center of town since the smell of manure and the horse flies were not exactly an invitation for next door neighbors. Upon reaching it, he dismounted and tied the horse to one of the fence posts of the corral. The wood was in much better condition then the wood at the stable where he had purchased his horse.

The owner, a man in his early thirties, stepped out of the barn. His eyes went to the horse before they turned to Malcolm's direction. In a quiet voice, he said, "Two pinches a night. I'll clean your tack with saddle soap and check it for wear, although they look in good condition from here."

"Fine," said Malcolm lifting his saddlebags off the horse. The price was a little high, but the man looked like he knew what he was doing. He said, "This horse has no spirit, but is dependable. You'll have no call to beat it."

"Man who beats a horse deserves what he gets when the horse kicks him," said the man. He went over to the horse and rubbed a hand over its' flank.

Malcolm was sure that the horse actually relaxed even more than it was. If it got much more relaxed, he was convinced that the animal would fall over. He said, "I'll be here for a day or two. Need to get supplies before I continue on."

The man bent down and examined the hoof on the front leg. The animal didn't put up any kind of resistance. He commented, "Take two days and I'll have your horse in the best condition possible."

"I'll let you know tomorrow," said Malcolm.

"Good enough," said the man as he untied the horse. He led the animal into the barn where he would take care of it.

Shaking his head, Malcolm headed back towards the center of town where the inn was located. The inn had a sign with a bed, a tankard, and a plate on it. Like a lot of inns located in towns of this size, this one didn't seem to have a name. Coming from modern America, it always surprised Malcolm to discover that most places didn't have names. They didn't name their businesses, their towns, or roads. The local inn was known as the inn. It was only when the town grew large enough to support more than one inn did anyone think of naming them.

He entered the place finding it was not as clean as the stable. The dirt floor was covered with straw, although the area around the fireplace was clear. The straw was necessary to keep it from turning into mud when folks spilled their drinks. The owner was behind the counter and watched Malcolm assessing him in terms of the danger he represented. A woman, who had seen better days, sat in the corner of the public room assessing him in terms of how much money he carried.

Malcolm made his way to the counter and said, "Need a room for a night or two."

"Two pinches a night if you want a common room, three if you want a private room, and five if you want company," said the man pointing to the woman in the corner when he mentioned company.

"Does that include board?"

"Of course it does," the man said.

"I'll take the private room," Malcolm said. He glanced over at the corner where the woman had opened her blouse to display her tits. They hung down almost to her navel. Turning back to the owner, he said, "No company."

"She's a good fuck."

"No company," Malcolm repeated.

"Everyone in town has been with her and no one has complained yet."

"No company."

"Your room is the door over there with the picture of the cow on it," said the man pointing to the far wall.

One of the doors had a picture of a four-legged animal that might have passed for a cow. The other two doors had pictures of a bird and fish respectively. Malcolm shook his head at the idea of a room off the public room. There'd be little or no sleep until the bar closed down. Frowning, he said, "Okay."

"I'll take a pitcher of watered wine," said Malcolm setting out three pinches for the room.

"Two pitchers of watered wine for a pinch," said the owner as he turned to fill a pitcher from a large wood barrel mounted behind the bar.

He put a pinch down on the bar and accepted the pitcher from the owner. The man handed him a clay cube and said, "For your second pitcher."

The woman in the corner yawned loudly in an attempt to get attention. When she noticed Malcolm looking at her, she stuck her thumb in her mouth and sucked on it. Removing the thumb from her mouth, she said, "I'll give you a handjob for your second pitcher or a blowjob for a pinch."

"Not today," Malcolm said. He figured she was an indentured servant and was hard at work to clear up her indenture before she ended up in a worse place. She'd collect the tokens for the pitchers of watered wine and turn them in as payment towards her indenture. At a pinch or two per day, it would take her forever to pay off an indenture. He decided that the time to ask about it would be when the public room was filled with more people.

Taking a seat in the far corner of the room, Malcolm poured filled his tankard with watered wine. He took a sip and grimaced at the slightly sour taste. If it sat around much longer it would become vinegar. The woman laughed at his reaction and said, "The beer is better."

"Might be, but I want to remain sober enough to untie my pants before taking a piss," Malcolm replied with a grin.

The woman laughed good-naturedly and said, "Pay me a pinch and I'll untie your pants as frequently as required. I'll even hold it for you while you piss."

Laughing, Malcolm replied, "I imagine that would make it impossible to piss."

It was approaching dark before the inn started filling with regulars. Malcolm watched the men enter and place their orders. Half of the men greeted the woman, calling her Molly. He watched as men went over to Molly and struck private deals for her services. She'd take the man over to the room with the fish on the door and stay inside for a few minutes. They'd emerge with the man wearing a smile and her dropping off something for the owner.

After finishing the vile pitcher of watered wine, Malcolm went to the bar and turned his clay cube for another. He requested his meal, which turned out to be a roasted half a chicken, some fried potatoes, and a slice of bread. He carried the pewter plate and pitcher back to his table. Sitting down, he started to eat. Like most of the people, he used his knife to shovel the fried potatoes into his mouth and used his hands to eat the chicken.

Considering there were only four tables in the inn, it was late before any sat down at his table. The man looked at the empty plate and the half-empty pitcher before taking a sip of his beer. In a loud voice, he said, "I notice you ain't been with Molly. What's the matter? She not good enough for you?"

This was the opening that Malcolm had been waiting for the entire evening. Sitting back, he answered, "You ever heard of Rebecca of Silver Town?"

"Rebecca of Silver Town? Who hasn't heard of her? There aren't many women who can pay off a fifty conch indenture in two years," said the man. His loud repetition of her name caused everyone to stop talking and turn to listen to the conversation.

"Yeah. I helped her move after she paid off her indenture. She ruined me for other women," said Malcolm. He drained his tankard and refilled it. Shaking his head, he said, "Positively ruined me for other women."

One of the men asked, "Is it true that she had four breasts?"

Nodding, Malcolm said, "Yes. Two above two and each of them perfect. The ones above were bigger than the ones below. Each was topped with the finest pink nipples you could ever imagine."

"I'd heard that about her," said the man who had asked the question.

"I'd pay a shell to see that," said another man.

"Me too."

Looking as pathetic as he could, Malcolm said, "That's not the reason she paid off her indenture so quickly."

The man across from him asked, "Why not?"

"She had the finest pussy that ever graced a woman. She would settle down on top of your cock and milk it without moving. It was the most incredible feeling a man could ever experience. She charged twenty shells for an evening and no man ever wanted his money back," Malcolm said. Every word he said was true. He didn't know how good she was in bed, but he had helped her move.

"You paid twenty shells to sleep with a woman?"

"No. I helped her move when her indenture was over," Malcolm said. His comment was greeted with silence. He waited for the inevitable question and didn't have to wait long.

"So you're saying you know where she lives?"

"Sure do," answered Malcolm. Shaking his head, he said, "I stop by every year and propose to her, but she turns me down every time."

"I'll give you two pinches if you'll tell me where she lives," said one of the men.

"No. If I do that, she'll move and I'll never find her again," said Malcolm. The trap was baited and now all he had to do was wait for the prey to arrive. Standing up, he said, "I'm turning in fellows. Always gets me sad thinking about Rebecca."

Malcolm went to his room and opened the door. He turned around to get a candle when he found Molly standing behind him. She held up a lit candle and said, "You really did know Rebecca?"

"Yes, I do," answered Malcolm carefully putting it into the present tense.

"No wonder you turned me down," she said with a slight frown. She handed him the candle and returned to her chair.

He entered the room and looked around. The bed was a typical woven surface, but this one was loose rather than tight. A chamber pot was under the bed exactly where he expected it. He slid the bar that would keep the door closed while he slept into place.

Even though he was confident that he wouldn't be disturbed, he placed his axe and knife where he could grab them in the dark. He lay down on the bed and blew out his candle. From inside his room he could hear the murmur and tone of the conversations in the public room. It was clear that opinion was divided over whether he actually knew Rebecca of Silver Town.

It was early morning when he woke. There'd been a few interruptions during the night as people knocked on his door wanting to learn more about Rebecca. He had ignored the attempts to get his attention, but it meant that he had passed a miserable night. Getting out of bed, he went to the door and opened it. The place was closed and the owner was nowhere to be seen.