Dan and the Bottle Ch. 23

Richard thought it over for an instant, nodding after a moment. Ale was better than nothing.

As they stood by the wagon, young Thomas caught up to them, a small bundle of furs in his rucksack. He caught sight of Richard and flashed an evil grin for a moment.

Richard saw the look, and knew what it meant. He beat a hasty retreat. He didn't want the trader to know that awful nickname... but he also knew he couldn't fight the young squire... he was training to be a man-at-arms in the king's army, and was a well fed five foot seven besides. Little Dick was a diminutive five feet tall. He'd never won a fight in his life.

Of course, he hated the nickname for an entirely different reason... he had treated himself, one night, to one of the tavern sluts at the Drunken Dog, She remarked to one of the other whores that worked there that the name suited him, and now half the town knew it.

Thomas watched and waited until little Dick was well out of sight before opening his pack.

The first fur out was a fine beaverskin, minus the tail, which the trader didn't doubt had wound up in a soup pot. The skin still had the hair on the outside, and the inside was a rich, mellow light brown... the sign of a properly brain tanned skin.

"This is more like it... " Trader Joe remarked, seeing the quality work the young man had done. He knew he could easily expect to get twenty dollars for the beaver alone, and the boy had added a dozen fair sized rabbits, three minks, and a large marmot, which had likely fed the boy's family for a week. He knew quite well that no scrap of meat was wasted in these little kingdoms, which had fallen back into feudalism over the years since the bombs had fallen.

The younger man also had a small tool box and an even smaller tackle box, filled with old fishing lures.

"What would you like for these furs, young man?"

"I was hoping to get a few new traps, Sir Trader... and perhaps a fish trap, if you've any of those to spare. I also need a few needles and a spool of thread, if you could spare them, for my mother. I know she's always needing more of those."

Trader Joe looked over his shoulder at his son, who was also his apprentice, and gave a quick, curt nod, and soon the trade goods were stacked at the back of the wagon, including five new small game traps. "Will there be anything else, young man? You've still got a bit of credit here... if there's aught else that you need..."

"Nay, good Sir... unless you've got a decent spool of fishing line. I've a good rod and reel, but no line for it."

Joe looked over his shoulder again and nodded, and a small filler spool was quickly added to the small pile. Reaching into the small pouch at his belt, he counted out four pennies, a nickel, and a dime, and handed them to the boy with a smile.

Young Thomas looked at the riches in his hand, awed at the trader's honesty, unaware that the man was still getting the far better end of the deal, and thanked him profusely before gathering up the trade goods and scurrying away.

Back at home, he was confronted by his mother as he came into the small home they shared with his sister and her mostly useless husband.

"And just where have you been, young man? Carousing with those trulls in town again, no doubt!"

He blushed for a moment... a mere year ago, he'd caught a disease from one of the whores at a tavern in town... it had taken an herbalist nearly four months to cure, and at one point, the man had suggested amputation of his poor, dripping dick to cure him.

"Nay, Mother... a trader came through town, and I had to wait until he was well away from the King's men before I could trade with him. I didn't want to spend time in the dungeons for trapping on the King's lands, after all. Here, I got these for you." he replied, handing her the small black vial, which would have been used, before the war, for 35mm film, but now held several dozen fine needles, then added the three spools of black thread, the dime, and the pennies.

The two nickels would wind up in his savings jar, he'd decided... he needed a better ax, for cutting firewood in the nearby woods, and the smithy in town would only deal in hard coin.

The minute she caught sight of the three spools of thread, the coins, and the vial full of needles, her jaw clamped shut and her expression softened. She knew her son had likely thought of her needs before his own, and she instantly regretted her sharp words.

"You're a good lad, Thomas... I'm sorry... I know what these must have cost you."

He smiled in return. "Worry not about it, mother... I got five new traps and a new fish trap, besides... have we anything I can bait them with? I've no duties at the Lord's castle for the next three days, so I can set them tonight, and perhaps we can have some fresh meat by tomorrow's eve. I got some fishing line, too, so I can restring Dad's old reel and perhaps catch us some fresh fish in the meantime."

Her eyes lit up at this, and she turned to the counter to get some of the biscuits, left over from the night before. They were as hard as small rocks, and she had thought to cook them up in some of the left over chicken grease to soften them, but if they could bring in fresh fish...

After a half hour of preparation, he grabbed his dad's old tackle box, his rod and the newly strung reel, and the baited fish trap, and headed for the small pond his home backed up to, and set his small site up... within two hours, he was headed back home, half a dozen fish in the basket, his short trapline set, and he'd even managed to locate a small patch of wild kale for a salad. His mother would be pleased.

Sir Geoffrey, meanwhile, was listening intently to 'little Dick', who had run all the way back from the southern road to report on the activities of one of his Squires. Feigning interest, his first question was, of course, "And how came you by this information?" He knew of little Dick; he was well known for informing on his fellows in a vain attempt to further his position in the town. He would never manage it; cleaning up horse shit in the streets was all he was useful for, though he kept trying.

Young Thomas, on the other hand, was a different story altogether. Sir Geoffrey had run across him as a lad, gathering edible mushrooms in the forest, to help feed his mother and his older sister. The boy's father, he knew, had been killed in a logging accident, some years back, and his efforts to provide for his family had struck the Chamberlain's sense of Honor. He knew full well that the boy ran a few traps, but refused to turn the boy in, because he knew, as well, that it was only enough to keep his small family alive. He kept very little of the money he earned as a castle guard, and worked a meager farmstead besides.

Growing tired of little Dick's attempts to lie his way out of a trip to the castle's dungeons, he dismissed the little weasel of a man and summoned one of the other guards, who worked with the Thomas daily, and asked for a report on the young man.

"He's a good man, Sir Geoffrey. Quite good with quarterstaff and spear, and a fair hand with a bow... and deadly with a crossbow."

"I see... tell me, has he been flashing about any extra coin, in recent days?"

"No, Milord... if anything, he has lamented the fact that his savings will not yet cover the cost of a new axe, that he might clear a bit of deadwood in the forest near to his home, and stock it up for the winter. Seldom does he think of himself; his first thought is generally of what he can do for his mother."

Geoffrey nodded absently as he dismissed the young man, telling him to speak of their conversation to no one.

His next summons went out to the castle's smith; when the man turned up, he was informed that the Chamberlain required a new axe for the chopping of wood and a short bow saw, besides.

"Bind them into good hickory or oak, and be so good as to deliver them to the home of one of my squires-- young Thomas Densmore. Wait...bide a moment, if you could."

Reaching for a sheet of parchment, he dipped a goose quill into his inkwell and began writing.

'Be it known to any and all... Thomas Densmore, Squire to King Percival, does have Royal right to trap and to hunt on his Majesty's lands from this day forward.'

He quickly added the date, using his own ring to affix a seal, and rolled it into a scroll, passing it over to the man before him.

"See to it that this is delivered to the young Squire, as well. He is a good man, and deserving of these gifts of his King."

"Aye, milord... should I reveal the source?"

Sir Geoffrey thought it over, but shook his head. "Nay, goodman... I've no doubt he'll surmise that on his own, if I've not misjudged the man completely."

Thomas got home from the small pond and handed off the three bluegills, two bass, and four perch to his mother, just ahead of his sister's entrance, who was a tavern maid in town. She was also a part time whore, a fact that he thought his mother was blissfully unaware of. (She wasn't, but she was, in a twisted sort of way, proud that her son, at least, in an effort to spare her feelings, had never mentioned the fact.)

The evening meal was finished and his mother and sister had just finished clearing the table when the Smith's apprentice showed up at the door.

Thomas looked over his shoulder, making sure that all evidence of the evening meal was cleared from the table, before opening the door and admitting the young boy, whom he knew to be one of the Smith's own sons.

"My father bid me to bring you these, Squire, with the message that you use them in good health."

Thomas thanked the young man, fishing a penny from his belt pouch and handing it to the boy before closing the door behind him, eyeing the wooden box curiously for a long moment before opening it. Catching sight of the saw, and the double bitted axe, he nearly lost his balance.

He'd nearly missed the two rolls of parchment, but now pulled them from the corner of the box and stretched them out on the table. The first was obviously from the Lord Chamberlain... a Royal permit to trap! He silently gave a prayer of thanks that he'd gained the sight of such a fair minded and powerful man.

The second was a note, rudely scribbled by the Smith himself, that read 'Mention these gifts to no one, young man... I was instructed to not name their source, but it would appear that you've acquired a powerful patron.'

Over the course of the next two weeks, Tom managed to cut several dead trees up, stocking several cords of firewood and keeping his mother busy smoking the extra rabbit and fish his traps were bringing in. He also dipped in to his savings, buying a good shank of venison to smoke, and several dozen old canning jars, ensuring his family's food supply for the winter. Between the traps he was now 'legal' to use, and the bow he was currently working on, he knew he would soon have more than enough meat smoked and stashed to keep his family fed through the winter months. He was no great shakes at the art of building bows, but his father had taught him enough... and an old man in town, known as 'Brother Fletcher', made some of the best arrows in the area; he was quite reasonable in his pricing, as well. He'd even found a good stand of Ash trees, which were springy enough to build several longbows from. He would have to spend some time scavenging some metal to thank the smith, and have some arrowheads made.

The lord Chamberlain, meanwhile, had come under scrutiny by the King... he had heard that the man had granted one of his junior soldiers the rights to hunt and trap on His lands, and he wasn't happy about it.

"Sir Geoffrey... what is this tale I'm hearing about you choosing a new favorite?"

"Milord? I know not of what you speak."

"I believe the boy's name is Thomas... you've issued him a royal permit to hunt and trap on My lands. He also recieved several gifts from you, by way of the castle's own smithy... a new axe and a bow saw, if memory serves."

"Oh... yes, milord. The young man in question is one of the better men-at-arms, according to his sergaent... a hard worker, a fair hand with spear and bow, a decent swordsman, and quite deadly with a crossbow. I knew his father, who was killed by a falling tree, while building some of the fortifications for this very castle. Young Thomas had to take up the mantle of provider for his family at a very early age and has struggled ever since. His pay from service to you goes to his mother; rumor has it that he keeps not a penny for himself. He traps a few coney and other small game, animals you might consider a nuisance, did they get into the fields supporting this castle. Even so, he is loyal to you to a fault. Did we have a thousand more like him, we could take the Kingdoms to our west and south in less time than it takes to speak of it."

"That doesn't explain the axe and saw."

"The boy cuts dead wood in the forest to heat his family's home... he cuts no living wood, only the deadfalls that he finds. This also serves your majesty, in that it reduces the fire hazard in the forest. He also sells a bit of his firewood here in town; enough to help his mother pay the taxes, at least. All in all, he's a good man, and a credit to his father."

The King rubbed at his chin for a moment and nodded. "Well enough, then. You may continue."

"Thank you, milord. Now... on to other business. Baron Pinkerton is once again making noises about a Knighthood for his son."

"And... what do you think about this? Is the man worthy?"

"In truth, milord? ...No. He is a shiftless, lazy layabout who spends more time screwing the serving girls than training at arms. One of our squires would carve the man up like a Christmas goose."

The King snorted. "Sounds like he's his father's son, alright."

"Indeed... the Baron is again making noises about attacking Duke Jared, in the next valley, though I doubt much will come of it. Jared is well liked amongst the Council; while the Baron is mostly despised, both for his tactics and his manner."

"What do you think the end result will be?"

Sir Geoffrey stroked his thin beard for a moment, giving him time to think.

"In all honesty? I think the Duke will wipe the floor with the Baron. His troops, while fewer in number, are superbly trained. The Baron's men are little more than a mob of rabble by comparison."

"Very well... warn the Baron. Let him know that we will take the side of the Duke in any conflict between the two."

"Aye, milord. And what of the proposed alliance with King Harold, to the south?"

"I considered it, but... in truth, I think my daughter would cut the throat of Harold's son in the marriage bed." he replied with a bit of a grin.

Sir Geoffrey smiled thinly and nodded in agreement. He knew the lady Anne to be possessed of a violent temper; when Baron Pinkerton's son, Jacob, had been here to train with the King's men, His Majesty had idly mentioned the thought of marrying her off to the young man, in hopes of securing her future.

She had replied by threatening to move into town and become a tavern wench. The discussion went downhill from there.

Over the course of the next several years, young Thomas, now able to trap without worry, began setting his trap lines in a wide arc around the forest behind his house, eventually adding a small number of 'live catch' traps to his collection. Using the newly acquired saw, he built a dozen cages and started keeping some rabbits for breeding, and skinning them for furs and meat, even as he and his mother expanded the area they had under cultivation. It soon brought them a limited amount of prosperity, which Thomas took full advantage of; the money he had been saving for an axe was redirected, along with the coin he'd made from dozens of furs. He used it to buy a crossbow and several dozen bolts for it.

The sudden abundance of protein in his diet had an effect on Thomas as well... where he had been a somewhat short and scrawny lad, a sudden growth spurt saw him grow nearly half a foot in height, to six foot two inches, and between his farm chores and the constant training he was undergoing, he packed on forty pounds of muscle.

Added to this was the fact that he was a quick study, and was soon one of the better swordsman in his platoon, climbing to the rank of corporal, then sergeant.

Of course, none of this was missed by the Lord Chamberlain, nor by his Majesty, the king... it was the king, in fact, who ordered his promotion.

He was also noticed by the lady Anne, who spent part of her time watching the men-at-arms training from one of the towers in the main keep. As she watched, he put his training platoon through the paces, first running them until they were ready to drop, then immediately handing out practice swords and spears and splitting them into two groups to do battle upon each other. When his captain questioned him on this, his reply was classic... "I'm training them to fight, not to die."

Of course, the Lady Anne watched for a different reason altogether. She was trying to come up with a good reason to summon him to her chambers.

Trader Joe was an infrequent visitor to the Densmore home; he knew that Thomas was one of the better tanners in the area, and stopping there usually netted him the best furs. Today was no exception; and the trader had something special for the young man.

The strange metal object was like nothing Thomas had ever seen before... it was shaped like a scaled down crossbow stock and fit his hand as if it were custom made for him.

"It's called a 'pistol'." Explained the trader. "It shoots bullets, faster than a crossbow, and it's good for small game."

Taking the gun back, he demonstrated how to load it, cock it, and then fired a shot at the nearest log wall. The sound generated by the weapon startled both Thomas and his mother, who clamped her hands over her ears at the supersonic 'crack'! of the gunshot.

"Why have I never seen one of these before?"

"Legend has it that years ago, the government took them all away from people, because the government was afraid of what the people might do to it. Many people protested, claiming it was their right to own them, but it did them little good. Some, however, hid them away... in storage lockers, and hidden rooms in their homes, and some few even went so far as to bury them in hidden caches. It seems many were on the verge of open rebellion, but the war came to us first, and the locations of many of these hidden guns were lost to time" He tapped the thin wooden box. "I got this one... and several more like it... from another trader, who came up from the south."

"And how many of these 'bullets' do you have for it?"

The trader smiled, knowing he'd just made a sale.

Thomas had already thought over the possibilities... a mere week ago, he'd nearly lost his hand, when he'd caught a winter wolf in one of his traps; he'd had to get a bit too close to dispatch the animal, and had nearly ruined it's pelt in the process of killing it, besides. With this 'gun', he'd never have to get that close again. He quickly laid out a dozen rabbit furs, three beaver skins, the wolf hide and two deer hides.

Trader Joe reached into his sack, producing three heavy bricks of .22 ammunition, totaling fifteen hundred rounds for the small automatic.

"Keep these well hidden... I've no doubt your king might try to take them from you, did he know you have them."

Thomas nodded wordlessly as the trader gathered up the furs and prepared to leave. Before he left, though, he handed Thomas another small box, this one full of a variety of fish hooks, which Thomas had been asking about on his last visit.

In southern New Mexico, the commander of the local contigent of the Cuban army was busy holding court. The table was laden with all manner of food, taken from the locals, and he and his officers were busy stuffing themselves... while those same locals were existing on half rations of what little they had been able to hide. The Cubans didn't stop there, though... they laid claim to every game animal in the region, as well, and had been known to murder hunters who tried to take advantage of the area's blacktail deer and Pronghorn Antelope population in order to feed their families.