Chandler's Ride: Chapter 2

Posted: October 19, 2005 - 10:58:55 am



Alice shook her head and argued, "It may be a simple mission, but it is the only

one that I have for you."

Confused by only having a single mission from which to choose, Malcolm said,

"There must be more than one Damsel in Distress."

"This is the only mission that can be taken at this time," answered Alice. She

didn't want to tell him the reason for it.

"Why is it that I don't believe you?" asked Malcolm looking at Alice through

eyes that had narrowed into slits. Her manner reminded him of his early missions

where she often chose opponents and missions that were well below his abilities.

"It is the only mission that you can undertake now," answered Alice. At the look

on his face, she said, "Look. She's not the only Damsel in Distress. There are

some others, but none of the Heroes are to go after them until the Caretakers

decide how to address the situation."

"What's the big deal? You tell me where she is, I study the situation, formulate

a plan, and then rescue her," said Malcolm.

Alice wondered how she could put the situation into a proper context. She said,

"There are at least ten thousand villains involved. It is bigger than one Hero."

The idea that a Caretaker would admit that a situation was bigger than one Hero

was shocking. If she and the other Caretakers believed that, then he would get

no help in trying to rescue the Damsel. Abruptly he asked, "So tell me about

this Damsel I'm supposed to rescue?"

"Lilly was kidnapped by a villain named Derek and is being held for a thousand

conch ransom. There's a man who is willing to pay her ransom in the hope that

she'll marry him, but the odds are good that Derek will kill her even if the

ransom is paid. He's done that before."

"So she is truly in distress. That's good to know. Tell me what I need to know

about this Derek guy." Now that they were discussing the adventure that he was

to undertake, Malcolm became totally focused on the briefing.

Alice began to give a background history of Derek. It was a strange tale of a

son of a rich man falling into a lifestyle of depravity. Even as a teenager,

women tended to disappear in the area where he was living. When his father cut

off his funds, Derek began his career of kidnapping for ransom. After one of his

victims attempted to get even, Derek stopped releasing his victims even after

receiving the ransom.

In terms of skills at fighting, Derek wasn't much of a threat. The problem was

that he protected himself with the kind of care that only a true paranoid

personality could afford. His current place was actually surrounded by a moat

filled with dangerous animals. The area between the moat and the house was

totally barren. Five very vicious dogs patrolled the area. Alice had discovered

evidence that Derek even had bobby traps inside his house.

Malcolm wondered how to approach Derek that assured a reasonable chance of

success. He wasn't going to be able to attack him at the house since Derek was

prepared for any kind of approach to the property. Surprise would not be

possible with five dogs running loose on the property.

Alice brought up maps of the area for Malcolm to study and he spent hours going

over every inch of the maps. He was the type of Hero who entered a situation

knowing as much as was humanly possible. He didn't like surprises and would

rather arrive late than dead. He felt that there was nothing heroic about

rushing into a situation unprepared. There was another word for that - foolish.

Alice watched Malcolm study the briefing material. Her time with him had taught

her that an interruption for something as simple as a meal would not be

appreciated. She waited patiently watching for the signs that he was done so

that she could order the bath to be prepared. When the expression on his face

changed, she knew he was slowly extracting himself from the material. She looked

up to the ceiling and said, "Draw a bath."

Malcolm sighed and sat back with a thoughtful expression on his face. She had

done her normal outstanding job of acquiring data about the villain. Turning to

Alice, he said, "I'll need to think about it overnight. Perhaps an idea will

come to me."

"Our bath is ready, my Hero."

Shaking his head, he replied, "I don't understand how you can always have the

bath ready for me as soon as I finish going over the material."

He stood and walked over to where Alice stood. With ease, he picked her up and

carried her in his arms to the bathroom. She giggled in pleasure at the ease

with which he held her. The doors opened automatically as they made their way to

the bath.

It took little effort for the robes they wore to be dropped onto the floor and

vanish. Holding Alice in his arms, he entered the bath. It was the size of a ten

person Jacuzzi, but only two feet deep. Alice kissed him gently. He set her down

so that he could caress the rest of her body, but she stepped out of his reach.

Alice proceeded to bathe his body with a soapy sponge using soft strokes that

hinted at pleasures to come. Malcolm considered how rare it was for a man to be

treated with such tenderness. In the movies on Earth, it was the man who bathed

and pampered the woman. In a way, the reversal of roles seemed wrong to him, but

for the moment he enjoyed the feelings knowing that he would have his turn at

bathing and pampering her.

Malcolm kissed Alice one last time and stepped into the portal to transition to

Chaos. The days spent preparing for the adventure had come to an end. Along with

it, the time to bid farewell to his caretaker had come. There was the normal

sensation that accompanied the shift to Chaos and he looked around at the small

room of the bank.

He stuck his finger in the hole and watched as his container appeared on the

table. Opening it, he examined the contents. His first act was to grab a knife

and slip it into his belt. Now that he was armed, he could afford to take his

time selecting what he would take on this mission. He grabbed his coin purse and

added that to his belt. With a weapon and money, he could thrive on Chaos.

Looking over his stock, he took out the morning star, a spiked lead ball

attached to a wooden handle by a long chain. It wasn't only lethal looking; it

was a lethal weapon. One blow could shatter bones and pulverize internal organs.

He considered taking it, but decided that such an obvious weapon would scare

away his prey. He set it back in the container.

He picked up the four-foot stick and decided that it didn't look lethal enough.

A truly paranoid man would figure it held a sword. The paranoid man would be

nearly correct. It contained a core of iron that made it an extremely dangerous

weapon.

He put it back and considered his choices once again. The weapon required would

have to be dangerous enough to be believable and not so dangerous to scare away

the villain. Smiling, he picked up the short war axe. It was perfect. The short

handle would put him at a disadvantage against a sword. A shield would blunt its

effectiveness. It was the kind of weapon one would expect in the hands of a

larger man.

He grabbed his saddlebag, saddle, and gear from the container. He closed it and

watched as it disappeared. Opening the door, he left the small room. As always,

he wondered how it was that nobody seemed to notice a man carrying a saddle

suddenly showing up in a bank. He stepped outside and took in his surroundings.

The smell of humanity assaulted his nose and he knew it would take a day before

he would stop noticing the stench.

The stable was just down the dirt street from the bank. He turned and headed

towards it taking care to avoid the piles of manure, puddles of urine, and trash

that lined the street. If there were a horse to be purchased in the area, then

the stable was the place to find it. The building looked as if it had seen

better days. There were a couple of horses in the corral, none of which looked

exceptional.

Entering the building, Malcolm called out, "Hello?"

An old man carrying a pitchfork backed out of one of the stalls. He looked over

at Malcolm and took note of the saddle knowing that one of his horses was about

to be sold. The only question was how much money he'd get out of the deal. With

a rumbling from his lungs, he brought up a glob of phlegm and spit it out on the

floor of the barn. In a graveled voice, he said, "I got two horses for sale."

"Let's look at what you got," said Malcolm. His eyes took in the worn tack,

uneven floor, and splintered wood. He knew he wasn't going to find a racehorse

in this dump.

The old man led him to the corral and pointed to a dun colored horse. It was an

average looking horse that appeared to be in a little better condition than

Malcolm had expected to find in such a stable. The old man said, "That's the

better of the two."

Malcolm set his gear on the ground by the corral. Not trusting the wood to

support his weight, Malcolm slipped between the rails of the corral and

approached the dun. The horse let him approach without the normal nervousness

indicative of a highly spirited animal. A thorough check of the horse's mouth,

legs, and hooves showed that it was in good condition. Frowning at the lack of

spirit, he knew that he wouldn't be able to push the horse if it came down to

having to flee. He turned to the old man and asked, "What are you asking for

this one?"

"One conch, ten shells," answered the old man. He leaned against a post of the

corral fully prepared for a long bargaining session.

"I figure you paid thirty-five shells for this animal," said Malcolm. Based on

the old man's reaction, he knew he had hit the amount dead on. Walking back to

the fence of corral, he slipped between the slats of the corral. He picked up

his saddle and said, "One conch, take it or leave it."

Figuring he could get another five shells, the old man countered, "One conch,

five shells."

Malcolm turned and started to walk away. He'd made a fair offer for the animal

and it had been rejected. The old man asked, "Where are you going?"

"To the inn to eat and then to the market to get supplies," answered Malcolm

knowing the man would show up at the market to accept his offer. He headed

towards the inn.

The old man watched him walk away. At first, he was confident that Malcolm would

turn around after a few steps and accept the offer. Riding a horse would be a

lot more comfortable than walking. Definitely, riding would be a lot faster than

walking. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he watched Malcolm go into the

inn and knew the man would be willing to walk rather than pay even a single

shell more than one conch.

After eating a meat pie at the inn, Malcolm went to the market. He watched

different women bargaining with the vendors. After watching for five minutes, he

noticed an old woman negotiating with one of the vendors. Her sharp eyes found

every flaw of his goods and her honeyed tongue had nothing except praise for

hers. He watched her for a minute before approaching her. When she had finished

haggling with one of the vendors, he said, "Ma'am, could I talk to you for a

minute?"

She paused and looked at him, studying him for a full ten seconds before she

asked, "What do you want?"

Holding up four pinches, he said, "I need provisions for three days on the

trail."

The old women looked at the coin with hungry eyes and asked, "So what do you

need from me?"

"Get me the provisions and whatever is left from this, is yours to keep,"

answered Malcolm. He knew that with her sharp trading skills, she'd be walking

away two pinches at the least. She started to reach for the coins, but he

stopped her when he said, "I like to eat well."

"Of course, a strong young buck like you is going to want only the best," said

the old woman with a chuckle. Her hand whipped out as fast as a sword thrust to

grab the four pinches. A look of surprise flashed on her face when the coins

weren't there. He dropped them into her hand and then handed her his saddlebag.

Malcolm watched her move her way through the market. She bickered and bartered

with the kind of skill that comes only after a lifetime of experience and with

the intensity that came from being poor. He revised his opinion of her bartering

skills. She'd come out with two pinches and a day's worth of food.

The hot sun beating down on the place he was standing was becoming

uncomfortable. He moved over to a shady spot and waited. The saddle and gear was

beginning to get heavy and he set them on the ground at his feet. He'd only been

there for five minutes when the old man from the stable showed up. The old man

asked, "Are you still interested in the horse?"

"I gave my offer," said Malcolm looking at the man.

It was a reasonable offer and the old man knew he'd take it. Shaking his head,

he said, "Okay. One conch for the dun."

"Good, I'll be by later to pick it up," said Malcolm.

"What are you waiting for?" asked the old man wondering why Malcolm wasn't going

to get his horse immediately.

"Her," said Malcolm pointing to the old woman.

"Ah, the widow Appleton," said the old man. His opinion of Malcolm's ability to

get the most for his money was already good. Seeing that he had chosen the old

woman to do his bartering for him raised the old man's opinion of him even more.

Keeping his eyes on the old woman, Malcolm didn't continue the conversation.

Instead, he said, "I'll bring the conch with me when I get there."

Knowing he was being dismissed, the old man turned and made his way back to the

stable. He knew it would take the old woman at least two hours to barter her way

through the market place. By the time the man came to get the horse, it would be

almost too late for him to go. The old man chuckled at the idea of charging the

man a pinch for stabling his horse for the night.

Malcolm waited for the Widow Appleton to work her way across the market. She was

slow, but she got good value for the money. He watched her slip items into the

saddlebags, including fresh fruits, smoked meats, cheeses, small loaves of

bread, sacks of dry goods, and bundles of vegetables. If he'd been in a hurry

and done it himself, he'd have gotten half as much for twice as much. When she

finished, she brought over a bulging saddlebag and said, "This should feed you

well for three or four days."

"It should indeed, ma'am. You've done a good job," Malcolm said. He slipped her

an extra pinch as he added, "Here's a little something for a dark day."

Looking at the coin, the Widow Appleton sighed and said, "The one good thing

about my age is that the number of dark days ahead of me are less than the

number behind me. Take care of yourself on the trail."

"Thank you." Malcolm gathered his gear and headed towards the stable. It was

still early afternoon and he could put a little distance behind him if he left

immediately.

The purchase of the horse didn't take long. The horse didn't balk at being

saddled - a fact that sped up getting ready for the trail. Malcolm rode out of

town on the sedate animal wondering if he'd make reasonable time. The horse

wasn't fast, but it did move at a steady consistent pace that ate up the miles.

Leaving town, he passed small truck farms. These were places that raised large

vegetable gardens, fruit trees, and chickens for sale to the nearby town. A

local dealer would deliver the majority of their crop to the town on behalf of

the farmers. The individual would pass by in the morning in his wagon and

collect goods from the individual farmers. Late in the afternoon, he'd return

giving out the trade goods collected during the day while keeping a percentage.

Farther away from the city, the truck farms gave way to places that raised

wheat. Each wheat farm was basically identical to the next. A small house

surrounded by a vegetable garden, one or two cows, a flock of chickens, and two

acres of wheat behind a barn. Each had a couple rows of corn. Most had a small

orchard with apple or plum trees. With hard work, each place could support a

family of eight and earn enough to make minor improvements over the year.

It would be easy to think these people had a good life, but it was just the

opposite. Their clothes were threadbare, sanitation was an outhouse that stood

beside the family well, and work lasted from sunrise to sunset. The small houses

were cramped and there was no privacy. Husbands and wives had no choice but to

have sex in the presence of their children, hidden from view by the darkness and

a blanket.

Life as a child was dangerous. Animals kicked and could cause permanent damage.

Farm implements were often sharp and unwieldy for small bodies. A moment of

daydreaming and the child could be injured or killed. Discipline was sharp and

included frequent beatings. Those who survived their childhood were often eager

to join a military group seeing it as an improvement. Childhood ended at

fourteen or fifteen with marriage to a neighbor's kid.

Malcolm shook his head as he rode past farm after farm. He couldn't imagine a

tougher life. One bad season and food would be a problem. Every year, disease

would take a few. Women died in childbirth at ages that most people where he was

from would consider impossibly young. Men died as a result of accidents leaving

behind young widows or a bunch of orphans. A fire would destroy everything and a

family could end up starving or freezing to death over the winter.

When it approached dark, Malcolm started looking for a good place to camp out

for the night. He was giving up hope of a good spot with fresh water when he

finally came across a mill beside a river. The horse, as if it knew his

thoughts, came to a halt outside the gate. A short squatty man came out of the

mill and approached the gate. He called out, "Hello. I'm Eric the Miller."

"I'm Malcolm. I need a place to camp out for the night. May I camp over there by

the river?"

"It'll cost you a pinch, but for that I'll have one of the kids bring out a bowl

of stew," answered the Miller.

It was not a common practice to charge for a good campsite, but usually people

would offer a barn and food for a pinch or trade goods. Malcolm nodded his

agreement and said, "That will be fine Eric the Miller."

"There's a fire ring down there. Use that. I also have a stack of firewood that

you can use, just keep the fire low. If I see it burning too big, I'll put it

out myself. You can fish in the river for breakfast if you should need it."

"Thanks," Malcolm said feeling a little better about the pinch charge for the

campsite. He pulled out a pinch and threw it to the Miller. The man caught it in

midair.

It took some time to take care of the horse and set up camp. After watering the

horse at the stream, he hobbled it so that it could graze without running off.

His bedroll went directly on the ground. Looking up at the sky, he decided not

to set up the tarp.

The one task that he hated more than any other was starting the fire with a

flint. Despite years of practice, it always took him longer to do that than

anyone else he ever met. After a few nasty comments about a world that hadn't

yet invented matches, he had a small fire going. Since he wasn't going to be

cooking, it didn't need to be large.

Malcolm had just finished setting up camp when a boy about ten years old came

out with a bowl of stew. Handing over the bowl of stew, the boy said, "I'm

David, the Miller's son."

"Hello David," Malcolm said. He looked at the bowl and saw that the boy had

probably spilled a little of it while carrying it out. It didn't matter, he'd

eat some of his bread and fruit to complete the meal.

"You're an adventurer, aren't you?"

"I guess you could say that."

"Can I come with you? I'm a good hard worker. I know how to cook and clean up. I

can take care of horses."

It was not an uncommon request and Malcolm knew how to deal with it. Lots of

boys in the country dreamed of becoming an adventurer and becoming rich.

Somehow, few of them understood what it took to become rich as an adventurer or

just how dangerous a lifestyle it was. Malcolm said, "David, I fear that you are

a little young yet."

"I'm not so young," countered the boy trying to look larger than he was.

"Can't wait to start splitting men's skulls with an axe, huh? Of course, that

would be if you were lucky. Most likely, someone your size and strength would

have your skull split in two in the first fight. That's what happened to the

last three boys that I took with me."

"Uh, the last three?"

"Yep. It was a shame about the last one too. He was a good fuck," Malcolm said

with a smile. Usually that was the line that made the boys change their mind

about joining up with him.

The boy back peddled and said, "Maybe when I'm older. Wash the bowl and put it

by the fire ring. I'll pick it up in the morning."

Malcolm smiled as the boy headed back towards the house at a fast walk. He knew

it would be years before the kid approached another adventurer about joining up.

It would be for the best. At least the kid stood a reasonable chance of seeing

his next birthday staying at the Mill.

He turned his attention to the bowl of stew. He could only guess what kind of

meat was in it, probably muskrat. He pulled out one of the small loaves of bread

that the Widow Appleton had gotten for him. It was still fresh. In a day it

would be hard as a rock and he'd have to soak it to be edible. He ate thinking

he'd had worse meals and he'd had better. For trail fare, it wasn't that bad. Of

course, being outdoors all day tended to make even the worst meal taste better.

After eating, he washed the bowl in the stream and carried it back to the fire

ring. He returned to the stream and looked at it. He'd forgotten to ask if it

had leaches in it. Shaking his head, he stripped and waded out into the water

until it came up to his knees. He stood there for a few minutes and waded back

to the shore. Once there, he examined his legs and feet. Swearing, he pulled off

one of the black bloodsuckers. Aloud, he said, "No bath tonight."

After double-checking for additional leeches, he dressed and returned to the

fire. Looking through his saddlebag, he pulled out a small ceramic pot that held

a salve that kept the mosquitoes at bay. It worked well enough so that, with the

smoke from the fire, the majority of winged bloodsuckers found something better

to bite.

Lying down on his bedroll without removing his leather boots, he stared up at

the night sky. The sky was perfectly clear and the stars were bright. One of the

things that he missed was the moon. It didn't seem right to him to have a night

sky without a moon in it. It made the night seem ten times as dark even though

there were even more stars in the sky than on Earth.

He fell asleep to the sounds of bullfrogs calling out for mates. An owl

announced its presence in the middle of the night. The horse grazed and

occasionally let loose with a snort or neigh. Fish jumping out of the water to

eat flying night insects made splashes. Smaller mammals moved about making

rustling noises. Malcolm slept through the night undisturbed by the natural

sounds of night.

Malcolm woke up in the morning to the sounds of birds singing. He felt refreshed

from his sleep. As he yawned and stretched, he looked around at his

surroundings. The ground was covered with dew that sparkled in the morning sun.

Wisps of fog floated over the slow moving stream.

His bladder reminded him that he had an important morning function to fulfill.

He walked over to the nearest tree and untied his pants. Pissing against the

tree, he thought about how his neighbors on Earth would react if they found him

doing the same thing in his back yard. On Chaos, the sight of a man relieving

himself in public was so common that people didn't think anything about it.

After washing his hands in the stream, he returned to the campsite and prepared

a breakfast of cheese, slices of smoked meat, and bread that was quickly going

stale. The bread made him think about the advantages of plastic in storing food.

It was amazing how many of the modern conveniences people took for granted.

He ate his meal thinking about what Alice had said about finding an Earth woman.

As much as he hated the idea of cheating on Alice, her idea of finding her

opposite on Earth was attractive. He wondered where he could find a woman who

enjoyed camping, fishing, and hunting. Too many of the people back home who

enjoyed camping were environmental idealists. One week on Chaos and they'd be

stark raving mad. After a month, they'd likely be dead.

He was packing up camp when the Miller approached. The squatty man stopped a

dozen steps away and asked, "What did you tell my boy last night?"

"Nothing much. Just did my best to convince him not to become an adventurer,"

Malcolm said watching the Miller with care.

"You did a good job of that," said the Miller.

"That's for the best. Young boy like that would get killed or raped in no time,"

Malcolm said stating a reality of life in Chaos.

"I appreciate it. Even since my last wife died, he's been doing the cooking and

cleaning. He's been miserable, but his sisters aren't big enough to reach the

top of the stove. I've been afraid that he'll run off," said the man shaking his

head. The loss of the boy would be a major blow. It was impossible to be both

mother and father to four kids while earning enough to keep everyone fed and

clothed.

"I see that all the time when I travel."

"Well, take care on the trail. It's a dangerous world out there," said the

Miller. He rubbed his side where he had a scar from his days from when he had

decided to see a bit of the world. He had lasted a month before crawling home on

the verge of dying from a wound received in a simple bar fight in a big city.

"Take care, Eric the Miller."