Chapter 3

Mike stepped out of the bank and took his first look upon Chaos. The majority of buildings surrounding the bank were made of stone. Further up and down the road were cheaper wooden structures. The wooden buildings were made of rough cut lumber. Most of the buildings weren’t painted leaving them in various states of decay.

The wind shifted bringing with it the overwhelming stench of a distant tannery that nearly made him sick to his stomach. The heavy smoke of burning wood hung heavy in the air bringing tears to his eyes. A horse drawn wagon passed by filled with stiff hides. He hoped that the wind didn’t normally blow in that direction. He couldn’t imagine spending a week living downwind of a tannery.

He looked around and spotted the stables at the end of the street. The corral was larger than any that he’d ever seen in his life. It had to be holding twenty or more horses. The idea of cleaning up after that many horses was enough to make him tired. He realized that he was beginning to attract attention and muttered, “Well, I can’t put it off any longer.”

He made his way down the street to look for work. A number of men watched him as he walked past them. His lack of weapons let them know that he wasn’t a threat. It also suggested that he didn’t have much of anything worth taking. Even a poor man owned a club.

He reached the stables without a problem and went to the corral to check out the horses. He wasn’t a connoisseur of horses and all of the animals looked the same to him. A man approached him and asked, “What do you want?”

“I’m looking for work,” Mike answered turning to face the man who had asked the question.

The man studied Mike for a moment taking in his size and build. He was built like a warrior, but he didn’t have a weapon. He frowned and said, “I imagine that you don’t have any money.”

“Right,” Mike replied.

“Judging you by your build, I’d say that earn your living with a weapon,” the man said.

“Yes,” Mike answered.

“Considering that you aren’t carrying a weapon, I guess it would be safe to assume that someone beat you in a fight and you lost everything you had,” the man said.

“I never had much,” Mike said shrugging his shoulders. He didn’t have any wounds that would suggest that he had been in a fight recently.

“I pay a shell and two quad per week. I only pay a week’s worth of wages for a week’s worth of work. You’ll work seven days a week. If you walk before the seventh day, you get nothing,” the man said.

“Fair enough,” Mike said. The terms had agreed with what Cat had told him he could expect.

Shaking his head, he added, “You can sleep in the barn with the horses.”

“Sounds good,” Mike said thinking that it sounded like a smelly place to sleep.

The man said, “I’ll pay you a pinch this evening so that you’ll be able to eat.”

“Thanks,” Mike said.

“First thing in the morning, you’ll water and then feed the horses. After that, you’ll want to collect some wood from the woods to trade it for food at the market. A good load of wood will get you a loaf of bread and some sausage. When you get back, you’ll muck out the stalls,” the man said. Mike wasn’t the first down on his luck fighter that had come to work for him. Most of them didn’t last more than a day. He’d pay them a pinch. If they didn’t stay the week, that’s all they would get from him.

“Yes, Sir,” Mike said.

“Muck out the stalls,” the man said.

“Yes, Sir,” Mike said. He paused and asked, “What do I call you?”

“Boss,” the man said.

“Well, Boss, I’m Mike.”

The man snorted and said, “You’re ‘Hey you’ until you’ve been here long enough for me to bother learning your name.”

“Yes, Boss,” Mike said with a smile. He was used to that kind of attitude from folks who figured that you wouldn’t last the week.

“Well, get to work,” the man said pointing to the stables.

Mike worked through the day shoveling manure into a wheel barrow and then from the wheel barrow into barrels. Twice a day a wagon came to collect the barrels of manure leaving behind empty barrels. After a couple of questions, Mike had learned that the tannery used the manure as part of the tanning process. They made something called dung water and soaked the skins in it to make them supple. Mike didn’t know much about tanning, but he had thought they used urine and not dung. He would learn later that they used both urine and dung, but at different points in the process.

He had just finished shoveling the manure from the stalls along the right side of the barn and sat down to take a break. He hadn’t been sitting down for more than a minute before a man with one arm approached him. Mike looked up and took in the man’s appearance. The sword strapped to his waist suggested that he was a survivor of the slave war. He asked, “How can I help you?”

“I’m Carl. I serve as the King’s Representative here,” the man said resting his hand on the pommel of his sword.

“Pleased to meet you,” Mike said. He looked at his filthy hands thinking that he should shake hands, but then remembered that wasn’t the custom on Chaos. He said, “I’m Mike. I am currently serving as the chief remover of horse manure at this stable.”

Carl laughed at the pretentious introduction and said, “John said he had a new man working for him.”

“If John is the boss of this here establishment, then that would be me,” Mike said with a nod of his head.

“I hear that you usually earn a living with a weapon,” Carl said. Judging by the guy’s build and the way he carried himself, it was pretty much a foregone conclusion that he was comfortable with a weapon in his hand.

“Are you hiring?” Mike asked confident that the answer would be negative.

Surprised that the man had the nerve to even ask the question, Carl shook his head. No one would hire someone who had lost everything like that until he won something back. He said, “It doesn’t look to me that you have the weapons necessary to sell your services.”

Mike laughed and said, “I’m a terror with a shovel full of manure. You can ask the horses. They’ll tell you the same thing.”

Carl laughed and said, “I’m not hiring.”

“I didn’t think so,” Mike said.

“I hope you won’t cause any trouble,” Carl said. Too many times these guys would go out and pound on some defenseless slob to get what they needed. It wasn’t entirely negative. In the process of a good fighter making their way back to the top, they’d often take out a lot of lowlifes. He said, “If I hear of some farmer getting roughed up, you’ll be the first one that I come after.”

“You won’t have to look too hard. I’ll be here shoveling manure,” Mike said.

Carl nodded his head and said, “Just stay out trouble.”

“Will do,” Mike said. He watched Carl walk off wondering how he had lost his arm. Odds were good that it was during the slave war. Of course, being a King’s Representative had its dangers as well.

By the end of the workday, Mike was pretty tired. He had just finished watering the horses by carrying water to the corral one bucket at a time. It was dull boring manual labor, but it gave him time to think. He realized that after being on Chaos for most of a day that he had only met two people and he had made no progress towards getting a weapon.

Relaxing under a nearby shade tree, the Boss watched Mike work without making any comments. The fact was that he was enjoying a day off. Running a stable required working seven days a week. The horses had to drink water and eat every day. With no one working for him, it was up to him to do everything.

When Mike finished filling the watering trough, the Boss came over and handed him a pinch. In a gruff voice, he said, “Get something to eat. We start early in the morning.”

“Yes, Boss,” Mike said. Knowing that he didn’t know of a good place to spend his money, he asked, “If you wanted to get as much as possible for this pinch, where would you go?”

“The Three Ducks. It is right down the street. You can’t miss it,” the man answered.

“Thanks, Boss,” Mike said. He went to the well and brought up a bucket of water. He washed his face and hands. Once that was done, he carried the bucket over to the trough and poured it in. He went back to the well and picked up his pinch.

It didn’t take him long to find the Three Ducks Inn. It had a wood sign with three ducks painted on it. Mike went in and looked around. The crowd was pretty rough looking. Everyone, with the exception of him, had a weapon. He went up to the bar and put his pinch on the counter. He said, “I’ll take everything this can buy.”

“That would be a pitcher of watered wine, a hunk of bread, and a bowl of stew,” the barman said taking the pinch.

“Sounds good to me,” Mike said.

The barman slid a pitcher of watered wine across the bar along with a pewter mug. Mike took them. He poured a little of the watered wine into the mug and took a sip. Smiling, he said, “That takes the edge off of my thirst.”

Without even acknowledging the comment, the barman put down a bowl filled with a thick stew. There was a slice of bread laid across the top. He said, “Here you go.”

“Thanks,” Mike replied. He picked up the bowl of stew in one hand and the pitcher and the mug in the other. He carried them over to the nearest table and took a seat with his back to the wall. Once there, he looked around the room. Carl, the King’s Representative, was in the place talking to a man with a horribly scarred face. He didn’t envy Carl his job and then realized that Carl was basically a cop.

He looked down at his bowl of stew and discovered that he didn’t have a spoon. Looking over at the table next to his, he watched one of the men use the bread to shovel some of the stew in his mouth. Shrugging his shoulders, Mike did the same. The stew was hot and the watered wine was wet. He had no complaints about the meal.

He looked up in time to spot the guy with the scarred face making his way over to the bar. He was right in front of Mike when one man called out to him, “Hey ugly!”

The guy with the scarred face turned to look at the man who had yelled at him. A man who had been buying a pitcher of watered wine moved behind the guy with the scarred face. Mike thought it was odd that the second man was approaching so close to what was about to be a fight. As the man with scars dealt with the man with who had called out to him, the second man pulled out a knife from his belt. The man stopped right in front of Mike and pulled his hand back in preparation for stabbing the guy with scars in the back.

Not appreciating the tactic being used, Mike reached out and grabbed the man’s wrist that held the knife. With a good hard twist of the wrist, the knife hit the ground. The guy looked down at his wrist in surprise. Mike backhanded the guy with his free hand and sent him to the floor. He looked around the edge of the table and saw that the guy was knocked out. He didn’t release the wrist until after he was sure that the man wasn’t in shape to retaliate.

Seeing that the guy with the scars was having no problems with the first guy, Mike shrugged his shoulders and went back to eating. The guy with scars took out his opponent with a nasty blow using a pewter mug across the temple. Mike grimaced thinking that the guy would be seeing double for the next month or two.

Across the room, Carl had seen the situation develop. He started to make his way over to the fight, but the direct path was blocked by others standing up to watch the fight. Seeing that Mike had taken care of one man, he nodded his head.

The guy with the scars on his face turned around and looked at the guy on floor. He had caught the action behind him out of the corner of his eye and knew that he had narrowly escaped getting killed. Shaking his head, he knelt down and removed the weapons and the coin purse. He tossed them on the table and said, “These are yours.”

“Thanks,” Mike said eyeing the spoils of battle. There were two knives and a coin purse. One of the knives was a real weapon while the other was a utility knife. Both were appreciated.