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"Actually," he said, "Monshikka and I are looking for a body to hire."
"Really," said Arrowsmith. "What kind of a body?"
"Temporary hired hand. Winter is getting close, and yesterday a tree decided to die on our barn.
Boom. So we need someone to help out. Well, we have seven people living up in that cabin, I
suppose we could do it ourselves, but Blackbird is too little, and you can't tell Lord
Sylvannamyth to do anything, and the only two competent sane people won't be back for four
days, they're getting the horses down to winter pastures."
"That only adds up to six, what about number seven?"
"Thief of Marakim," said Misty with a dismissing wave of his hand, as though that explained
everything. Then he blinked at Arrowsmith with mock innocence. "You wouldn't happen to
know any large men who might want to earn a little extra silver, would you?"
"Oh, I get it," said Arrowsmith. "You need a big guy to do the heavy stuff, and I'm the biggest
guy you can think of."
"You're not the biggest guy I could think of. I could never think up anyone of your size. You're
the biggest guy in the country."
"I already have a job. Sorry."
"Five taupins a week, and your food and bed. And we won't make you sing all night with no
beer."
Arrowsmith stared at Misty. "Five taupins a week? I don't earn that in two weeks here. How long
a job are we talking?"
"A little over a week, perhaps two. Certainly no more than that. I'm sure Merc could spare you."
Arrowsmith leaned against the counter and thought about Misty's offer. It was a lot of money,
he'd been in town long enough to know that. It would also be a chance to see how these people
functioned as a family. His time so far on this world had been spent at the Troll, and although he
liked it well enough, he wasn't too thrilled about living at his workplace. He wanted to see how
the locals ran their homes. He looked over his shoulder towards Merc, who was staring back at
him.
"I heard what he said," Merc snapped before Arrowsmith could say anything. "What happens if
there is a snowfall? Then you'll be stuck on a mountain and I won't have any entertainment for
the miners."
"The miners went home, Merc," said Arrowsmith. "They won't be back until spring."
Khinna had also heard the conversation, and she now came to Arrowsmith's defense. "Oh, let the
boy go. You'd have him playing to an empty room. Let him earn some extra pay before winter
comes. It certainly won't do anyone any harm."
Merc glared at her for a moment, then turned his one good eye towards Arrowsmith. He pointed
at Misty. "He and all of his friends are mad, I just want you to know. Stone cold crazy, each and
every one of them."
"Merc!" exclaimed Khinna.
"It's true," he muttered, studying the mug he was polishing. Khinna smiled at Arrowsmith.
"You can go if you like," she said. "Now that the mine has closed for winter there is nothing for
you to do here. There won't be any overnight guests for a while."
Arrowsmith looked from Khinna to Misty. "So, go get your bag," Misty said. "Monshikka and I
will wait."
Arrowsmith shrugged. "Okay. I'll be back in a moment."
He left the common room and went to his own small chamber. He walked into it and stared at the
mess. It was a very small mess; he no longer had a lot of possessions, but he certainly had not
planned on going anywhere. Finally he just began tossing clothes into his saddlebags, packing
everything he owned onto Harley.
He changed into a few of the warmer clothes he'd bought. Cloth, he'd been told, was hard to find,
and highly expensive. Most clothes were made of wool or leather, and the locals were masters at
creating very fine and soft leather. Arrowsmith had acquired a pair of leather pants and a wool
sweater, both of which needed to be made for his size. The pants fit well, but the sweater itched
and smelled like a sheep, and he never wore it without something under it. He yanked it over his
head and struggled into it, then looked around for anything he may have missed. Satisfied he had
everything, he closed the saddlebags and pushed Harley out of the room.
Harley rolled along the wooden floor agreeably as Arrowsmith pushed him into the common
room. His red and gold paint gleamed in the sunlight, save for the scraped patches. Arrowsmith
would have sworn that the damage had been worse, but it didn't seem to be as bad as he had
thought. He pushed the bike into the center of the room, then leaned it on its kickstand. Picking
his leather jacket up off of the seat, he grinned at Misty.
"All ready to go," he said, putting on the heavy jacket with its draperies of chain.
Misty stared at Harley warily. "What is that?"
"Oh. Misty, this is Harley. Harley, this is Misty. We're going to be working for him for the next
two weeks."
Harley, in typical motorcycle fashion, said nothing. Misty continued to stare at the bike.
"Hello," he said uncertainly.
Monshikka walked over to the machine, studying it carefully. Merc just shook his head and
sighed. "Well, I guess you should do all right for yourself after all, Arrowsmith. I'd forgotten
you're a little odd, too."
"Yes, I am." He threw one long leg over the back of his bike and sat on the leather seat. "So, how
do I get to your place?"
"Aren't you following us?" asked Misty.
"Well, Harley moves faster than a horse. I thought I would go on ahead, then wait for you."
Misty was still giving the motorcycle a questioning look. "Just follow the road out of town. Turn
left outside of this inn and keep going. You'll reach a crossroads, just go right across it. If you
keep going in a straight line, you'll get there."
"Right," said Arrowsmith. Then, before Merc could tell him not to, he kicked the bike into life.
Its low snarl filled the room, making the floorboards shake. Merc yelled at him, waving his
polishing cloth. Arrowsmith just smiled and waved, then rode out of the building. He turned left,
as Misty had told him, and followed the road out of town and into the woods.
The cool autumn air smelled sweetly of golden leaves, and the sky was the purest shade of blue
he had ever seen. He drove slowly over the dirt road, looking at the few remaining splashes of
gold and red on the trees. They were nearly naked now, but still beautiful. There was nothing to
mar the beauty of the land. No ugly tourist attractions, no garbage, no buildings, fences, or dead
cars left to rust in a ditch. Arrowsmith had been to many beautiful places in his life, but always
something had ruined the perfection of the land. Usually it was the black thread of power lines
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| Cytat |
Dobre pomysły nie mają przeszłości, mają tylko przyszłość. Robert Mallet
De minimis - o najmniejszych rzeczach.
Dobroć jest ważniejsza niż mądrość, a uznanie tej prawdy to pierwszy krok do mądrości. Theodore Isaac Rubin
Dobro to tylko to, co szlachetne, zło to tylko to, co haniebne.
Dla człowieka nie tylko świat otaczający jest zagadką; jest on nią sam dla siebie. I z obu tajemnic bardziej dręczącą wydaje się ta druga. Antoni Kępiński (1918-1972)
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