Uroboros chapter 2 part 6

6

The blonde man and his little party arrived at the port of Lock early in the morning. Mikey Sturns dropped anchor and went about scoring the Frak to the dock with his neat and infallible sailor’s knots. The sun was still low in the sky but the temperature was already beginning to rise. This was shaping up to be one of the most fruitful runs of his career, with his tobacco seed ready for trade and the gold from his passenger, his new ship was almost within reach. As the unpleasant as the blonde man was, he was quiet and kept to himself mostly. He also seemed to have that monstrous pet of his under control.

Mikey was going to see the port master about his fee. Ships were always in danger of looting, but it was mostly the merchant ships that had that king of trouble. Smaller grain and seed ships were never the targets of these carbuncles. The Frak and her freight were safe so he would head into the town for an early breakfast before continuing with business. The hot mean was well deserved and hopefully the blonde man would be gone before his return. All was well with Mikey Sturns.

He never heard the blonde man approach from behind. In one quick, fluid motion the blonde man grabbed Sturns by the throat and buried his bowie knife in the man’s lower back. Mikey dropped the scatter rifle he had been holding and staggered forward in shock. The tip of the blade poked out of his stomach and shirt just above his belly button. Blood began to seep from the wound and stain his brown cotton work shirt. Mikey clawed at his back weakly, trying to get at the handle of the knife. He could not reach. He breathing became jagged and a small line of blood fell from his mouth. The captain fell to the deck of his own ship. The blonde man stood over him. Mikey struggled to breath. His last conscious thought was that he wasn’t going to get that new ship after all. No, sir, no way no how.

The blonde man stood there for a moment, watching the captain die on his own ship. His expression was impassive. He then bent down, removed his knife and carefully cleaned it on the dead man’s shirt before returning it to its sheath. He took the dead man’s coin purse and went to gather his things.

Fenrir came to him. The wolf lowered its head and the blonde man petted it in short thoughtful strokes. The beast’s eyes closed as he did this.

“Can’t let them know we’re coming, right?”

The wolf opened its green eyes and looked at him as if in agreement.

“I’d like to meet cousin on our own terms.” The blonde man said.

“Now, take care of that would you?” He nodded towards the now dead Mikey Sturns.

The wolf padded over to the captain, teeth bared and had its breakfast. An hour later the man and his Fenrir were walking the warm, busy streets of Lock.

Martin had said that they had a few errands to run and that they would run them on the way to lord Dameer’s shop. Davis had no objections. He now had the broken sword wrapped in a clean sheet and tied to his back. Martin was wearing a rather garish, white, wide rimed hat that kept the sun off his plump face. He also had a clean red dress shirt and boots that had no business being so shiny walking down the dusty streets of Lock. He must polish those bad boys after every use, Davis thought. Or maybe he just enjoys cleaning boots. He remembered how clean his own boots had been when he had put them on.

The streets of Lock were busy, but not crowded. Chickens ran in the streets and shamelessly venders peddled their wares. They called to all passing by that they had the best this, and that nowhere in town could ye find a better that. And everything from spices to books were being sold. The smell of the river was mixed with the sweet smells of cooking bread and meats and spices. And underneath all those smells were the smells of the sweaty people and the faint smell of animal manure. All the noise and chatter was loud and constant.

Davis felt a little overwhelmed. After the quiet, sterile roads of the wastelands, this place was an affront to the senses. He followed Martin who made his way easily through the crowds with the walk and step of a city man.

Davis saw small dog playing with a group of kids. Woman hanging clean clothes from their wash lines. The people of the place had developed a natural immunity towards the heat it seemed. Going about their business undeterred.

All was well in the town of Lock.

They stopped in front of a large mercantile. It was a wooden building two stories high. Not clay like most of the houses and shops in this part of town, but a wood construction. The large shop had clean windows and large batwing doors in the entrance.  The large painted sign above the entrance read Lock & Key. Below in smaller text. Supplies & Sundries.

“Here we are dear sir.” Martin said and Davis followed him into the shop.

True to its name the large shop had rows of display racks and tables all filled with tools and knick knacks. Davis would not be surprised if a fair bit of this towns business ran through this shop. They went straight for the shop keeper, who was an older fellow with neat white hair and a deep tan. He wore a clean workman’s apron and faded blue jeans.

“Ian Merkel, gentlemen.” The man said. He shook their hands and smiled. He had yellow teeth but a sunny enough smile.  His eyes were shrewed and seemed to study them carefully. Davis was suddenly sure that Mr. Merkel had a revolver somewhere close at hand. “How may I be of service to ya, sirs?”

Martin reached into his pocket and produced a small leather purse.

“My name is Martin Chainsville. My master lord Dameer has but in an order for us.” He produced a small piece of paper and unfolded it. He read it for a moment, seeming to check this was indeed the document he needed, and then handed it over Mr. Ian.

            The shop keeper studied the note for a moment then neatly folded the paper and tucked it carefully in his pocket.

            “Very good then.” Ian said. He went to his counter and rang the bell that was there.

            “I have been instructed to supply you with anything you may need, free of charge of course. In addition to that Mr. Dameer had put in a special order for two particular items, which I have procured for ya, sir.”

            Davis shot a questioning look at Martin. The pudgy man simply smiled and nodded.

            “I do a fair bit of business with lord Dameer’s Pharmacy and Potion shop, so he will be covering the bill, of course, at a discount.” Mr. Ian said smiling. Like most shop owners, this Mr. Ian seemed to be happiest when conducting business and making money. A young boy with black hair and a round face appeared from the back room of the shop.

            “Fetch me the items for Mr. Dameer’s client, son. And be quick about it.” Mr. Ian said amiably. The boy stuttered out a “Yes Sir” and disappeared into the back again.

            Ian looked at Davis and smiled.

            “Well then, sir. Whatever supplies ya may need.” He held his hands up in a “go ahead” gesture. Martin sat on one of the stools by the counter and asked Mr. Ian for a cup of coffee if he had any. “Only the good stuff unfortunately.” They both laughed.

            Davis walked about the large shop and collected his items. He wasn’t too surprised by the generosity of lord Dameer. The friends of the Wizard were often all too eager to help. They were rewarded with gold or silver or large precious stones. All of which Davis was sure the Wizard could create out of thin air whenever he wanted. So, Davis shopped.

            He selected a large leather, satchel style purse. It sat comfortably at his back. Several nicely wrapped lengths of rope, an extra pair of jeans in his size, several cotton shirts, extra pairs of socks and a black flat brimmed, flat-top cowboy hat with a black silk band. He brushed his hair back with his hand and put the hat on.  As he selected each item he carefully placed it in his new pack.

            He selected a sowing kit and several large squares of fabric that could be easily worked. He found a flint and steel that looked durable and added them also. At the end of one of the rows he found displays of tobacco and fixings. He filled the largest leather tobacco pouch and took a smaller pouch and filled that with papers for rolling. He then picked out two small wooden boxes filled with sulfur matches.

            As he walked the store, he collected several more items including a good bowie knife and sharpening stone. The knife had a beautiful wooden hilt and brass cross guard and pommel. It had a good weight. As Davis finished he went back to the counter. Mr. Ian and Martin were conversing cheerily and drinking their coffee.

            “All set then, sir.” Davis said to the shop keeper. Mr. Ian seemed pleased to see the gunslingers full gunna. He nodded approvingly when he saw the blade Davis has selected. It now hung in its new handmade sheath from his gun belt.

            “Almost.” Mr. Ian said and rang the small bell on his desk again. The boy emerged from the back again, but this time he was carrying two wooden boxes. One thin and rectangular, another thicker and square.

            “The special items requested by lord Damir. Ya can’t leave without these.” Mr. Ian said in a tone of excitement. He set the boxes down carefully on the counter and opened the small one first.

            “Mr. Damir had requested the finest revolver I could find. I dare say I have found something quite special.” The shopkeeper said with a touch of pride in his voice.

            From the box he produced a large, six round, single action revolver. The steel had a smooth and polished black finish. The grips were of some black wood that Davis didn’t recognize.

            “Axe-Breaker they call it, or Black Ironwood.” Ian said handing the weapon to Davis who was admiring the grips. “The hardest wood in the world some say. Beautiful stuff. Although rather hard to work with.”

            Davis nodded. There were two small silver coins inlaid into the wood on either side of the grips. On these was the symbol for the word moirai. He studied these for a moment.

 Inside the box was a sack of ammunition. He grabbed six rounds and quickly loaded the chambers one at a time. Then he spun the weapon once around his index finger and dropped it into his holster in one liquid motion. It fit perfectly. It was weighted perfectly.

“A fine weapon.” Davis said to Mr. Ian, who was smiling like child at the little trick the gunslinger had just preformed.

“Yes! Fine Indeed!” Martin proclaimed. Davis added the sack of extra rounds to his gunna.

“And also this.” Mr. Ian said as he opened the rectangular box.

Inside was a long, black, curved sword in a black wooden sheath. This was not like his old, straight double edged sword. Davis picked it up, admiring its weight as he drew the blade. This was a single edge sword of folded black steel in the style of the green folken. The curve allowed the weapon to be more easily drawn. The wrapped handle was long and ended in a black steel cap. Inscribed on the blade was again the symbol for moirai. This weapon was beautiful. It was elegant and deadly.

Davis returned the blade to its sheath with a click. He held it in his left hand and would set the weapon to his gun belt when he had the time.

“Two beautiful weapons.” Davis said and this time gave a small bow to Mr. Ian, who seemed very pleased.

“Well, Lord Damir asked for the best.” Mr. Ian smiled and returned the small bow, a little embarrassed.

“Right, then it is time to go meet my lord.” Martin said, standing up and finishing his coffee.

“Thank you for all your help!” Martin said as the men all shook hands again and said their goodbyes. Davis and Martin walked through the batwings and onto the warm street.

Mr. Ian did not move. After a few minutes the shop boy with the round face came to him.

“Black hat. Black gun. Black sword.” The boy said. “That man looks like a reaper to me.”

Mr. Ian Merkel nodded. He knew exactly what the boy meant. That man Davis, maybe he wasn’t a reaper or a demon. But he was a killer, a swift taker of life.

“Moirai.” The shopkeeper said under his breath. He then washed his hands and went about his day.