Tales of a Horse Thief, Part 3b
Loden went back to the entry, he puffed on his pipe and looked over to the old man who still sat under the veranda with his dogs. The dogs and the old man looked back at him. Loden wondered about the lack of other folks around, no sounds of work, laughter or play, no children.
The old man spoke up after a few moments while the two of them had quietly puffed on their pipes and the hard rain poured down. “Lucky for you we were here. Bound to be some flooding in the low laying areas.”
“Reckon you’re right on that. Quite the place you have here.”
“You came up the trade road from the south?”
“I did.”
“Good, good. We’ve been waiting for the trade caravan from Maldorn. Usually comes through this time of year.”
“Oh yeah. Well I did pass by a large caravan, might have been here the day after tomorrow except this rain will have delayed it.”
“True that.”
“I’m going to get to work here, seems to be a fair bit to do.”
The old man nodded but made no further comment.
Loden found some tools in a corner and selected a couple of shovels. Starting at the back near the well he shovelled and scraped, pushing the gunk towards the door. As he worked the sound of the rain gradually receded and the light from outside slowly became brighter. When he needed to Loden moved the animals around and continued to shovel and scrape.
After a long while the old man and a couple of dogs appeared in the door. The old fellow had a staff in hand. “Just pile this shit in the yard. The rain seems to be mostly done. I’m taking a walk around.”
Loden kept shovelling, “Right.”
“Just head inside when you’re done, should be a warm hearth and some food.”
“Great.” Loden kept at it, he found a wheel barrow and transferred the slop to the yard. He found more lamps and oil and lit a number of them to provide more light. Again wondering what the ceiling had been finished with to reflect so much light. The hand pump at the well seemed to be in working order and Loden pumped water and sloshed it across the floor, scraped and pushed more of the crap out the door, making sure to draw plenty of water up from the well. Maybe it would not be too polluted.
When he was done he cleaned himself off then stood in the stable’s doorway and had another bowl of tobacco. He could not help but wonder why these folks treated their livestock so poorly. Maybe the able bodied folks had moved away or died off last winter. Hard to tell.
Loden ascended the steps to the top of the foundation stone and crossed under the veranda roof. Though maybe this part was a gazebo, a big porch, whatever folks called it. He paused in front of the door and listened, there was a thump of something heavy then a splashing. He could also smell food and his stomach gave a loud gurgling grumble.
He gave a knock and open the door, “Hello. Remder told me to come on in after I’d finished cleaning the stables.” A woman of indeterminate age stood between the fire place and the door dumping steaming water from a pot into a modest sized copper tub. Her hair was long and wild and she wore a short shift with a low neckline that did little to hide what lay beneath. Light from a half dozen simple lamps and the low flames of the fire provided a warm glowing feel to the place. A large table dominated the room, one end cluttered with baking supplies and the nearer end cleared and freshly cleaned.
The woman gave a toothy smile, “Hello, my labouring hero.” After setting the pot to one side of the fire place she gestured for Loden to sit at the table. “By the sounds of it you’ve worked up a good hunger, let’s get you fed.”
Loden gave a nod, hung his heavy coat on a peg by the door and kicked off his boots, “It all sounds good to me.”
“One has to look after one’s self. Good food, good exercise and good loving all make a great foundation for good health.”
Loden smiled, “I couldn’t agree more.”
She ladled a thick stew into a pottery bowl and dug some potatoes from the coals, as well, flat bread from the small oven, “Do you like goblin jam? I eat it on everything.”
“Can’t say I’ve had goblin jam, not sure what it is.”
“Well here,” she snatched a jar from a small shelf and skillfully slathered his bread with a fine paste, “I love the stuff, don’t go anywhere without a jar or two.” She smiled at him, “You eat up, there’s plenty more if you want it.”
Loden nodded his appreciation and took a large bite of bread, the spread was both meaty and had the sharp taste of currents, not bad really. The stew and potatoes were excellent. He ate as she went about various tasks around the kitchen. When he had finished his first serving she ladled more stew into his bowl, removed charred leaves from another fat potato and slathered goblin jam onto more bread. All this he ate as well and when he was done he sat back with a contented sigh.
A large house cat came part way down the narrow stairs to the right of the fireplace and proceeded to study Loden with great intensity and obvious disdain. The woman cleared the table in front of him, “Lets get you cleaned up. Hop in that bath and I’ll do what I can for your clothing.”
Loden complied, only paused a moment to wonder if she was going to give him some privacy to strip and get into the bath. Instead, she looked on and then held out her arms to receive his garments. When he settled into the hot water he could not help but let out another contented sigh. Meanwhile the woman had laid his clothing out to dry, periodically taking the time to brush or scrub some part or another when she detected dirt. Then she set about putting another pot of water on the fire, sloshing more of it in her efforts. With drooping eyes and a full belly Loden sat in the steaming water and watched her work, ignoring the cat which was still studiously watching him.
He must have dozed off, because suddenly the woman was crouched by the tub, a small bowl of soap in hand. “Best not to soak too long traveller, lets get you scrubbed.” She then proceeded to lather soap into his hair and scrub him down from head to foot. She was not shy about it and as he became aroused she gave him a toothy smile.
Wondering about the relation between the woman and the old man Loden did his best to calm his rising desire. Though after the scrubbing she ordered him to stand and started to dry him, first by sloshing the water off his body with her hand and then she shrugged out of her shift and used that to pat and rub him dry. She ordered him to step out of the tub and dried his legs and feet then turned her attention to his engorged member. The cat let out a meow of protest and scooted back up the stairs.
What followed was the most vigorous sex Loden had ever had up to that point in his life. The woman seemed insatiable and she was very aggressive. Loden lost track of the times he had an orgasm and marvelled how she could so quickly rise his interest again and again. By the end of it all he was exhausted and worn, she cleaned him off and left him laying in a small cot. Overwhelmed he fell to a deep sleep.
—
He awoke with a start. He was unsure where he was. He looked around and through a small window above the cot he could see the day was overcast, though could not tell if it was later the same day or the morning of the next. He rose and went into the main room of the cottage, a single lamp on the table provided dim light, banked coals in the fireplace still gave off plenty of heat and he gathered his dry clothing and dressed. The woman was nowhere to be seen.
In a bit of a daze he put his boots on then stepped outside. Remder, the old man, sat in a chair surrounded by his dogs. With his pipe stuck in one corner of his mouth he held a small whetstone in one hand and a simple short sword in the other. The old man looked to Loden and raised an eyebrow, “Recovered from your labours?”
“Uh? Yes.”
“Good. Have a pipe if you want, there’s good tobacco in the pug there by the door, BlueGrass from Wikkersak.”
Loden ducked back through the door and retrieved his pipe. He crouched and filled the pipe, listening to the sound of the stone run along the edge of the blade as the old man focused on his task. Then he found a nearby spot along the railing and leaned back, enjoying the pleasant flavour of the tobacco.
“I’d imagine the rain will slow the caravan down a bit.”
“Yeah, I’d guess that’d be the case.”
“You think they’ll have any troubles along the road?”
“How do you mean? Troubles?”
“Well, I’d assume they have enough guards and outriders to protect themselves.”
“I’d say, short of running into an army they should be alright. A score of outriders and likely double that for guards. Maybe another score or so of the rest of them that could fight.”
“Still the same merchant lord from West Port running the show?”
“I believe so.”
The old man looked like he might have asked more questions, but he paused and focused on sharpening the sword before continuing, “Sounds like they should be alright, if not a bit delayed.”
“Sounds right to me.”
“Well, I’m heading out soon. I figure you can likely make do here overnight.”
“Alright.”
“Thanks for cleaning out the stables.” Remder rose to his feet, most of his dogs doing likewise. He tucked the stone into a small sack and sheathed the sword then belted it around his waist. He picked up the small barrel of tobacco, collected his walking stick and whistled the dogs to follow along. Loden was soon left to himself, wondering where the old man was heading.
Loden moved to the nearby chair, puffed away on his pipe and enjoyed the solitude. Bird song, the croak from a nearby frog and the sound of dripping water. Loden felt at ease; there was no hunger or thirst, no aching wounds and no enemy closing in. He sat long after his pipe had gone out, the day seemed to go on forever.
His eyelids had grown heavy and he nearly dozed off again, his pipe slipped from his mouth and fell to his lap, startling him. He sat up in the chair. With a sigh he stood, retrieved his pipe and stretched. He wandered into the stables and dug through his saddle bags until he found the brush for the horses and spent some time brushing their coats and talking softly to them.
His thoughts drifted towards the recent past, his flight from the Tannicans, the siege the summer before. Familiar faces forever gone, others lost to fates unknown. Loden was about to saddle the horses and head out on the road again, he felt the pressing need to put more distance between himself and the armies that haunted him. Could one really be haunted by an army?
Leave a Reply