Don't Like my Writing? Tell Me About It.

Installment #2, unedited and raw.

Thonas found a bit of spring in his step as he wound his way through the alleys and cobblestone streets of Nanholve.  A faint glow was beginning to form at the edge of the sea as the sun was fighting its way from it’s nightly slumber.  He heard the scrape of footsteps move quickly out of his way as he crossed out of one shadow into another.  While most in the sleepy port city did not know his name, they recognized his face and stayed out of his way. 

            He found his way to the port side Sailor’s Mast Inn, where he was too meet up with the rest of his traveling party.  Once again, as he had many time in the past years, he had accepted a job escorting a caravan over the Pass to Salaile.  Once his mates had waken up, they would prepare for an early afternoon departure. 

            The front door of the Sailor’s Mast had the look of a patchwork quilt.  Different sized and shaped pieces of wood had been hammered into places that either a fist, foot or head had been pushed through during a rowdy night of drinking.  Boards cover what had been several windows. The sign announcing the name of the inn had long been torn from it’s hanging post and was simply nailed to the side of the building above the door. 

            Several scrolls had been nailed up next to the door looking for workers to join on upcoming sailings and caravan.  The scrolls that were generally successful were the ones that had pictures along with the words as the average sailor hasn’t grasped the art of reading. One such successful sign displayed a rather seedy drawing a voluptuous woman with an arrow pointing to the brothel next door.

            Thonas shook his head at the sign, “Rosie,” he laughed, as he pushed his way through the door. Being so early, the downstairs of the inn was deserted. The Sailor’s Mast was a two-story building.  The downstairs brandished tables scattered about randomly, some with chairs, and some without, a bar and a kitchen for preparing the slop the owner tried to pass off as food.  The walls were decorated with various sailing paraphernalia, such as nets, pieces of sails, ores and the like.  Dirt and mud disguised the true nature of the floor, but Thonas was pretty sure it was wood under all the muck.  The upstairs provided eight sleeping rooms, each with four cots, save one.  There was one room at the end of the hall with only one bed. Everyone knew that was for the pub wenches that were taking turns entertaining guests.

            Thonas had never ventured into that room; however, he did have the luck of sharing his room with the group leader, Udorus, a mean, angry little dwarf.  Most nights, cold or not, he usually had to sleep with the window open, just to prevent suffocating from the smell the dwarf released from his bowels unconsciously.

            As Thonas neared his room,  he was surprised to hear the voices of two people talking. He was certain one of them was Udorus, but could not place the other.  Both voices were low enough that he could not make out what they were saying.  He hesitated, and forced a cough before opening the door, hoping to give them a chance to halt their conversation before he entered.  Thonas glanced quickly around the room to assess the situation and found Udorus was sitting on the edge of his cot and a cloaked figure stood above him, the strangers face completely concealed from view.

            With a jump at the sight of Thonas and a stutter, Udorus sputtered to the cloaked figure, “I be tellin’ ye already, I don’t be needin’ any more crew for this trip, Thonas there,” the dwarf pointed a shaking finger towards the door, “has rounded up our last person this mornin’.” 

            The cloaked figure gave a slight jerk at the mention of Thonas, but did not look his way.  The unknown man nodded, drew his cloak closer around his body and swept himself out the door.

“What was that all about?” Thonas asked.

“It be nothin’” Udorus replied hastily, waving off the whole conversation, “Just some jobless wanderer lookin’ fer work.”

            Obvious that the dwarf would speak no more about the matter, Thonas changed the subject. He tossed a coin purse to Udorus and told him, “There is the gold I promised ye for taking the boy on this trip, he’ll be on the pier this morn.  Remember you our plan?”

“Aye,” the dwarf replied, “ I know what yer wantin’ me to do.”

Here’s the first chapter of a “book” I started to write a couple years ago.  It’s unedited and raw.  I’ll post the next chapter soon.

     The sign hanging from the post above the door squeaked as the breeze blew in off the ocean.  The predawn light did not allow for the wording to be read off the sign, but he knew what it said.  For nearly two decades he had frequented this little shop.  There was little he didn’t know about the building and the contents inside.

     The building was not fancy, wood and white-washed plaster had been the original siding, but years of standing next to the sea left large patches of moss growing over the sides and roof.  It appeared as if the building were sprouting patches of hair on its otherwise balding head. The white-wash was long from the white it had been years ago when it was first built.  It was now grayed and had long stains running down the sides from years of rain bleeding off the roof.

            The two front windows, one on each side of the central door, were dingy. The residue of the sea salt carried in the air left the glass covered in a white, crusty film.  It would appear the owner had long lost interest in scraping them clean. Small areas were rubbed clean, probably from a child that had ventured up to see if there were candies for sale inside.  A single wood door was the only entry or exit for the storefront and living quarters above and behind.

            He stood in the shadows, watching, waiting for a sign that the owner of this store he watched so intently was roused. The combined smell of sea, fish and garbage wafted through the alleyway causing his nostrils to flare in the hopes of gaining fresh air.  He had been unconsciously twisting the end of his  goatee into a sharp point as he leaned against the wall of the abandoned building facing his target. 

            His other hand fingered the dagger tucked neatly into his belt. He did not worry about being seen as most of the city was not yet awake. The only ones wandering the streets now were the drunken sailors heading back to their ships, wenches returning from their advantageous nights with well paying travelers, beggars digging for scraps and thieves feeding on all of them.  To the average person, he surely would have qualified as the latter. 

            As he stood his vigil, his mind wandered. How many times had he stood in the shadows watching this building over the last eighteen years? “It will be good to put all this secrecy and falsehood behind us,” he attempted to reassure himself.

            The faint glow of a candle from the upstairs bedroom brought him back to the present; it was time.  He moved so quickly and silently, that any rogue would have been impressed.  He cracked the door just enough to reach his hand to the top and restrain the bell tied to a leather tether above the door before it rang out, drawing attention to his entry.  He allowed himself a smirk in amazement at how many people do not bolt their doors.  A single floorboard did not give away his presence as he moved through the shelves an leapt the counter baring his way to the living quarters in the back of the store.

            Drawing back the separator curtain, he helped himself to a seat at the modest kitchen table.  This allowed him a clear view of the stairs leading to the sleeping quarters above.  The kitchen and living areas were still dark, but the man reviewed in his head the location of each major object in the home. Several cushioned benches found their way in an otherwise bare living quarters, and the kitchen area held only a table, two chairs and a fireplace.  A empty cooking pot would be hanging in the fireplace and yes, there it is, a magnificent broadsword placed over the mantle. 

            The sword looked very out of place in such a humble home.  The blade was intricately carved with runes that most humans could not read, and gold was laid into each one.  The hilt, while wrapped in leather, was seamless, smooth and soft to the touch.  It’s balance was so precise it could be balanced on a single nail.  The craftsmanship of such a weapon is not one to be found in the realm of humans. Surely any visitor to this home would question how such a masterpiece came to the likes of a shopkeeper.  However, he was certain, in almost two decades, there were very few people that had the opportunity to grace this kitchen with their presence.

            While it couldn’t be seen fully from his vantage point, he knew the upstairs contained only two bedrooms, one for the man of the house, and the other for his boy. The woman of the house had died long ago.  Perhaps that was the reasoning behind the modesty and lack of decoration within the home.

            The room lightened slightly as the candle and the man carrying it descended from his bedroom.  Before the light fully came upon his unexpected visitor the old man caught sight of the shadow of a man sitting at the table.  He tried to step back, letting out a little cry of shock and tripped backward onto the steps. The flame of the candle jumped, hot wax splattering onto the hand of the old man making him wince.  Whether it was truly from the wax or if it was from the sight of the man at his kitchen table is not completely certain.

            “Careful Adrian,” the younger man teased leaning forward so the light of the candle engulfed his face, “Ye’ll wake the boy; we’re not quite ready for that yet, are we?”

            Shaking his head in reply, he found his way down the remaining steps and joined his visitor at the table, feigning a deeper anger then was truly there, Adrian attempted to scold him,  “What’s the meaning scarin’ an old man like that, don’t ye know how to properly knock on a door?”  he replied with nothing more then a half-cocked grin, it just wasn’t his style to enter the customary way and Adrian knew it. The old man fell silent, staring hard at the man before him. He visually searched the kitchen for something to waver or change, hoping this was still a dream and he had yet to wake. 

            As he looked around, the room seemed to grow unfriendly with nothing more than the candlelight to try and chase away the shadows of the lingering night. The corners grew deep, as if they never ended and one could simply disappear into them forever. Drawing his attention back to his guest, the old man knew he was awake; he could not fool himself, as much as he wanted to.  Drawing in a deep breath he looked directly at the man sitting across from him, and even though he knew what the answer would be before he even finished uttering it, he asked, “Yer ready for him are ye?” in a dry whisper.

            Preparing himself, he held fast to the table with both hands, fearing he would fall to the floor if he did not, his gaze dropping from gray eyes of his guest to the rough and scarred wood under his hands. He felt the room spin, and while he didn’t look up, he knew the reply had been a nod.  Adrian continued in his whispered voice, his eyes cast down, “I’m not sure he’s ready for you.”

            “It matters not if he’s ready for me,” he reminded Adrian pushing himself up from the old mans table, “He is mine, and I have paid thee well for thy care in raising him.”

            From inside his vest, he pulled a purse of coins and tossed it on the table in front of the old man.  “Here is thy final payment, be sure he is on the pier this morning, I will take it from there.”

With that being said, he turned on his heel and strode as silently from the kitchen and storefront as he had entered. One thought filling his head, everything would be as planned.

            Adrian did not bother to look up as his visitor left the house.  He lowered his head to his hands and wept. It would not be until the sun fully shown through the kitchen window, relieving the now spent candle of its duty that he stopped.