Crossroads Rules: Chapter 3

Posted: June 05, 2005 - 10:19:13 am



The main street of the town was a mess. Rain had turned it into a strip of mud

that sucked at the feet and threatened to pull his boots off with each step.

Although he had expected to see wood planks laid out to make crossing the street

less messy, there were none. It wasn't even clean mud, but had manure from a

variety of animals mixed in with it. The air was ripe with the odor of shit,

spoiled food, and human activities.

In the middle of the town, a two wheeled cart pulled by an ox had sunk to its

axle. Even the ox had sunk into the mud. It was struggling to pull the cart free

while the drover was whipping it. The cart wasn't the only one stuck in the mud.

There were two others that were in just as bad of a situation, but the drovers

had unhitched the oxen and led them away leaving the carts where they were until

the rain stopped.

Sid couldn't tell what the carts were carrying, but they must have been heavily

loaded based on how they had torn up the street. What looked like a small puddle

often turned out to be a deep hole created by an ox. The slick mud made slugging

across the street difficult, but the holes and ruts made it nearly impossible.

A cold biting rain was falling, thoroughly soaking Sid as he trudged his way

towards the closest inn. Although it was only across the street and four

buildings down from the bank, it seemed like a long trip. By the time he reached

the narrow strip of wood that served as a porch for the inn, his leathers were

soaked and his boots were filthy. He muttered to himself, "Not a very auspicious

beginning for this adventure."

He looked for, and found, a small metal stand next to the door of the inn. A

pile of mud surrounded the stand giving a clue as to its purpose. He had

observed another man using a similar stand in front of the bank. Sid went over

to it and scraped his feet along a projection of metal removing the majority of

mud that covered his boots.

He stood outside the inn for a moment before he commented, "Never thought about

what it meant to have paved streets."

There was no one to hear him since anyone with brains had stayed indoors. He

opened the door and stepped into the inn. A sudden blast of smoky air brought

tears to his eyes. A small fire in the fireplace appeared to be spewing more

smoke into the room than out through the flue.

Pulling the door closed behind him, he paused to look around the room. The

fireplace was along the right side of the room. There was a long table to his

right and two long tables to his left. The seats were pairs of benches that ran

half the length of the tables. There was a short counter at the back of the

room. A short bald man stood behind the counter watching him. In a loud voice

that could carry over a crowd, the man shouted, "Wipe your feet."

Sid looked down and saw that he was standing on a horse hair mat. He wiped his

feet a couple of times and then stepped away from the door. Seeing that the man

wasn't coming to greet him, Sid walked over to the counter. Upon reaching it, he

said, "I need a room for the night."

"Board?"

"Yes," answered Sid since the only place to eat in town was the inn.

"Three quads for room and board for the night," said the man with a grunt. He

had already taken note of the fact that Sid carried a staff and a homemade one

at that.

"Three?" asked Sid bothered by the unusually high price. The typical rate for a

night in an inn was two quads. The price could run up to six quads for a night,

but that was for a high-end inn located in a very large city. Looking around at

the rough wood walls, simple tables, and pewter tankards it was obvious that

this wasn't a high-end inn.

"Take it or leave it. You leave it, you get to sleep in the rain," said the man.

For the first time since Sid had entered the building, the man smiled.

Sid grimaced at the sight and felt like telling the man that he shouldn't ever

smile. His mouth was filled with crooked teeth that were a sickening shade of

yellow green. The man was disgusting and greedy.

Considering that there wasn't much of a choice concerning where he could stay

the night, Sid bowed to the inevitable. He pulled out his coin purse and removed

three quads. Handing them to the man, he said, "The room had better be clean at

these prices."

"Clean enough," replied the man as the coins disappeared. Gesturing to the

hallway to his left, the man said, "The room is the first one on the left."

"Got one further from the public room?" asked Sid thinking that a few loud

drunks in this room would keep him awake the whole night. Even putting some

distance between him and the public room wouldn't assure a good night's sleep.

The odds were pretty good that he'd have to share the room with others and one

of them was bound to snore.

"Only got one room," answered the barman with a chuckle.

"Pitcher of watered wine," requested Sid realizing that he was not going to much

sleep that night.

"That'll be two pinches," answered the barman giving him the same creepy smile.

Before the words had even left his mouth, Sid had swung his staff in an arc and

slammed the length of it flat on the counter with a loud bang. There was less

than a half an inch between the staff and the barman's hand that had been

resting on the counter. Growling in a low voice, Sid said, "Don't play those

games with me."

The speed and ease with which Sid had swung the staff surprised the barman. He

was talking and then the next thing he knew the staff had struck the counter

right next to his hand. Looking down at the staff, it was clear to the barman it

was exactly where Sid had wanted it. He had barely seen the young man move.

The barman was used to a rough crowd and prided himself on being able to spot

the customers who were likely to make trouble. Belligerent drunks weren't

usually a problem. While they were busy swaggering around, he'd just hit them up

side the head with his club. They weren't dangerous, just loud. The dangerous

ones were the quiet men trained in the use of weapons.

The barman reevaluated Sid and decided that the young man was to be treated with

a lot more respect. In as calm a manner as possible, he moved his hand away from

the staff and said, "I believe I may have misspoken. The... ah... price of the

room and board includes two pitchers of watered wine."

Sid smiled as he replied, "I thought that might the case."

Turning away from the counter to fill a pitcher with watered wine, the barman

eyed his club that rested under the counter. Glancing back at Sid, he noticed

that the young man was once again holding his staff in the same easy manner as

before. Deciding it would be better not to try anything, he went ahead and

poured a pitcher. After grabbing a pewter tankard, he returned to the counter

and set them both down.

Sid carried the pitcher and tankard over to the table near the fireplace. His

clothes were still wet and he wanted to get dry. He positioned the bench so that

he was seated with his back to the wall, straddling the bench. There was no way

that he was going to sit with his back to the barman or in a manner in which it

was difficult to stand. His placed his staff so that it leaned against the wall

within easy reach.

He filled the tankard with some of the watered wine and took a sip. Much to his

surprise, it was a high quality watered wine. He settled in for a long wait. It

would be several hours before dinner was served and hours after that before he

could head to bed. Until then, there was nothing for him to do except wait and

think about how he was going to complete this adventure.

Looking around, Sid considered his situation. He was less than a hundred yards

from the Damsel in Distress and he still had no idea how to rescue her. The man

holding her was very dangerous. It made sense that he was skilled with a weapon.

One didn't earn enough to retire to a house in a city at such a young age

without using a weapon to achieve such wealth.

The time passed with him thinking and drinking his wine. Deep in his thoughts,

Sid was only peripherally aware of others entering the public room. The noise

level slowly rose until it was too loud to think. Looking around, he examined

the individuals who had joined him in the room. More than a dozen individuals

were crowded around the other two tables. Most wore knives, but two were

carrying clubs and one wore a sword.

Sid noted with a smile that his table remained empty of company. A few

individuals turned to look him over, but quickly returned to their conversations

when they noticed he was watching them. Based on the attention that he was

getting, Sid wondered how many strangers came to this town. He thought it was

likely that the recently deceased Hero had been the last stranger to visit.

Sid poured the last of the watered wine into his tankard. It only filled about a

quarter of his cup. He took a sip and looked over at the barman positioned

behind his counter. In Chaos, the barman never left the safety of the bar since

customers were expected to come to him to get their drinks. Some of the bigger

inns might have a barmaid who would serve the customers, but those kinds of

places were rare.

A small scuffle broke out between two men with clubs. Sid watched as the larger

of the two men pushed the smaller in his direction. The smaller man appeared to

stagger backwards with his arms windmilling as if to maintain his balance. Sid

grabbed his staff while standing to move. Without pause or hesitation, he moved

to stand in front of the fire while watching the other man. At the last moment,

the smaller man turned towards where Sid had been sitting. His club was raised

in the air in a perfect position to descend on a person sitting at the bench.

The man's face showed his surprise that Sid was no longer there.

The man slowly turned until he faced Sid realizing that his trick had been

anticipated. He took in the relaxed stance and casual manner in which Sid held

the staff. After shooting a glance at the larger man, he said, "Sorry, we got a

little carried away with our argument. Didn't mean to frighten you."

Sid laughed and shook his head at the audacity of the man. At the sound of his

laughter, the others in the room got very quiet. Sid looked over at the larger

man, observing that he had actually taken a step back. He said, "I wouldn't

argue with your friend anymore if I were you. You never know what kinds of

accidents will happen when you argue with friends."

"Yeah, you're probably right," said the man as he edged over to the other side

of the room. He understood the implied threat.

"Nothing probable about it," said Sid with a smile. It wasn't a very friendly

smile.

The man returned to the other side of the room as fast as he could make it

without turning his back on Sid. When he reached the side of the larger man, he

stopped. The larger man put a hand on his friend's shoulder and said, "It might

be a good idea for us to go now."

"Yeah, I think so," said the smaller one.

After the two men left, Sid went over to the table and picked up his empty

pitcher. Every eye watched him as he carried it over to the bar. Upon reaching

the counter, he asked, "When's dinner?"

In the silence of the public room, the voice of the barman was overly loud as he

answered, "When ever you want it."

"I'll take it now," replied Sid. He leaned against the bar giving him a clear

view of the room and the barman. The room watched him.

"Bird or beast?" asked the barman.

"What manner of beast?" asked Sid knowing that beast could refer to any meat,

including mutton, goat, pork, venison, and beef.

"Rabbit," answered the barman.

"Sounds good to me."

Refreshed from a full night's sleep, Sid woke alone in the room of the inn. No

roommates had disturbed his sleep and the public room had been exceptionally

quiet once he left. Sitting up in the bed, he stretched and yawned. For a half

second, he started to search for his boots, but recalled that he had slept with

them on. The last thing he wanted was to have to run out of the inn in the

middle of the night barefoot.

Standing up, he looked down at the bed. He had expected a bed frame with ropes

upon which a straw mattress infested with all kinds of biting vermin would rest.

That kind of bed was the source of the saying, 'sleep tight, don't let the bed

bugs bite.' In the dark of the previous night, he hadn't been able to make out

many details about it. Now in the light of morning, he could see how the bed was

actually constructed. A thick heavy denim-like material had been cut into strips

and woven together to form the sleeping surface. The ends were held tight to the

frame by hooks. It reminded him of one of those aluminum lawn chairs with the

woven vinyl straps.

Under the bed was a chamber pot. Since the inn didn't have a privy and he didn't

feel like pissing out the back door, he decided to use the chamber pot.

Finishing his business, he put the cover back on the chamber pot. Now that his

bladder was empty, his stomach demanded food.

Sid wandered out of the bedroom and into the public room in search of food. A

plate of cheese and small loaves of bread had been placed on the table where he

had waited through the night. Setting his staff down by the table, Sid turned

his attention to the food. Rather than a metal knife, there was a wooden knife

laid across the block of cheese. He cut off a chunk cheese and grabbed one of

the loaves of bread.

The barman watched him from behind his counter. He shouted, "I've got hot tea."

Carrying his staff under his arm, Sid took his cheese and bread over to the

counter. Leaning against it, he said, "I'll take some tea."

While the barman went to get the tea, Sid took a bite out of the cheese. For

Sid, cheese came in two major flavors - American and Swiss. This was neither and

most closely resembled Edam. He found he liked it and decided he would have to

explore Earth cheeses upon his return.

The barman returned with a pewter tankard of hot tea. Sid looked at the tankard

and asked, "You serve tea in Pewter?"

Shrugging, the barman answered, "It's cheap and it doesn't break."

The comment reminded Sid of the fact that Pewter had been the plastic of the

distant past on Earth. At the same time, an image of Clint Eastwood in one of

his spaghetti westerns flashed through his mind. He smiled as an idea came to

him. Picking up the hot tankard, he took a sip of the tea. The barman waited

expecting Sid to return to his table. Instead, Sid asked, "Is there a blacksmith

in town?"

"Sure, he's up at the end of the street," answered the barman surprised by the

question. The previous night, Sid had sat alone at his chair without talking to

anyone.

"Is there a place where I can get a pewter plate?"

"Yeah, you can get some from the general store two buildings down the street."

Since the barman didn't make a gesture that would let him know what direction

was down the street, Sid realized that he was going to have to go exploring

through the town. After taking another bite of cheese and bread, Sid asked, "Is

it still raining?"

"Stopped last night," answered the Barman. He stared at Sid wondering why he was

suddenly talkative.

Finishing his breakfast, Sid said, "I might need a room tonight."

"Same price," answered the Barman wondering what his business was here in town.

It was odd that he didn't know if he would need a room for the night.

Looking over at the Barman, Sid asked, "Do you let your customers get jumped by

other customers in here?"

The reference to the events of the previous evening caused the man to color

darkly. He'd been surprised by the actions of Harry and Larry. He shrugged his

shoulders and answered, "It's a dangerous world. Sometimes things happen."

"You don't say," replied Sid looking at the barman with narrowed eyes.

"I do say," said the barman. There hadn't been anything he could have done about

the two men. Looking back at Sid, he said, "You handled yourself well."

The small store was packed with merchandise, most of the items were easily

recognizable. There were bolts of cloth, shovels, axes, nails, and other items

of common daily use both in Chaos and Earth. There were also things that were

common antiques on Earth - butter churns, washboards, and chamber pots. There

were some things that took him some time to figure out. One was a device for

making toast by a fireplace.

He found the pewter ware near the back of the store. Picking up one of the

plates, he noticed that it was bent and dinged. Most of the plates appeared to

have already suffered some damage in transport. The fact that the plates didn't

look brand new didn't bother him. It was the fact the plates showed signs of

damage that dismayed him. The nicks meant that the metal was probably too soft

to stop a knife. He lifted a plate and saw that it was barely thick enough to

serve as a plate. Disappointed, he shook his head and looked around the store to

see if there was something else within it that would serve his purpose.

The shopkeeper came over and asked, "Are you looking for something?"

"I was, but you don't have what I need," answered Sid. He knew that browsing

through a store was something that one didn't normally do in a place like this.

Folks knew what a store contained and normally asked for what they required

directly. The storekeeper would collect the merchandise rather than the

customer. His ignorance of some of the items within the store would be viewed as

strange.

Sid left the store and stood outside looking around. Out in the street, men were

struggling with the carts that had become stuck during the rainstorm. The mud

was a little firmer since it wasn't raining, but it was still slick and grabbed

at the men's feet. It would be days before the mud would dry enough to

adequately support one of those carts. Looking at the condition of the road, he

wondered if they ever had four days in a row go by without rain.

He looked across the street where the Damsel resided. Deciding to make one last

attempt to pursue his plan, he headed down the street to the blacksmith's shop.

Cursing the lack of sidewalks, the trip down the street left him in a bad mood -

almost as foul as the odor of the mud.

Upon reaching the blacksmith's shop, Sid looked around. The building had a back

wall, two half walls along the side, and a rather substantial roof. The rest of

the building was open. The dirt floor was dry because of the heat coming off the

furnace. Even at the front of the store, he could feel the heat coming off the

furnace.

A small table held what he assumed were objects produced by the blacksmith. He

was surprised to see the number of weapons on display. There was only a single

plow blade and no horseshoes. The lack of horseshoes surprised him since he

assumed that every blacksmith had horseshoes.

The blacksmith, a huge man with massive arms, came out from behind the building

carrying a basket of charcoal. Glancing over at Sid, he poured the charcoal into

the furnace. Stepping over to the bellows, he started pumping it as he asked,

"What can I do for you?"

Jerry had knelt down to look at a basket of rusted chunks of metal. Recalling a

passage in his history book, he looked up and asked, "Is this bog iron?"

"Yes. You know your metals," said the blacksmith surprised by the question. He

pumped the bellows a few more times trying to decide what he'd do if the

stranger asked him where the found it.

"I thought so," said Jerry as he examined a piece of the bog iron. He dropped it

back into the basket and stood up to face the blacksmith.

"What do you need?" asked the smith while examining the furnace. The temperature

in the furnace was approaching the point where he could smelt the bog iron to

form what was called a bloom. It was the first step in a long process to turn

the bog iron into a form that was usable. He pumped the bellows to keep the air

moving through the coals.

For a moment, Sid struggled to remember how to specify a thickness of a quarter

inch before recalling that a quarter inch was the thickness of a pinch coin.

That wasn't enough to specify the dimensions that he needed. It took him a

minute to recall that the thickness was referred to as 'on the thin' while the

diameter was referred to as 'on the thick.' This system of measurement was about

to drive him crazy. Having thought out how to make his request, he said, "I need

some iron plate, three hands by three hands by a pinch on the thin."

"Don't have any," said the smith, "and you couldn't afford it if I did. That'd

be enough iron to make three swords and a dozen knives."

"Okay, it's just not my day," replied Sid shaking his head. He didn't know if

he'd be able to afford a piece of iron that large or not, so he didn't debate

the smith on that point. He glanced at his staff and thought about asking if he

could make metal caps for it, but knew that would take too much time.

"Anything else?" asked the man.

"No," replied Sid as watched the blacksmith work the bellows some more. The heat

coming off the furnace was almost more than Sid could stand. He watched as the

smith started dropping pieces of bog iron into the furnace wondering why the man

wasn't using a crucible. He didn't know that the heat of the furnace wasn't

enough to melt the iron. He wished he could stay to watch the whole process, but

there was a damsel up the street who needed rescuing.

Walking up the muddy street, Sid paused to watch the men trying to get one of

the carts out of the mud. The three men were covered in mud, the ox had churned

up the whole area, and the cart was tilted to one side. He still couldn't make

out what was in the cart. He did notice that the wheels were made of solid

planks of wood rather than a wood rim with spokes. There weren't metal rims on

the wooden wheels of the cart. In fact, he couldn't see any metal on the cart.

Finally reaching the front porch of the house in which the damsel was being

held, Sid took a few minutes to clean his boots on the metal stand. The bronze

device had tarnished with time and weather. There wasn't any mud around it, so

he concluded that the man hadn't had any visitors or someone cleaned off the

porch earlier that morning. Movement at the window let him know that the owner

had observed him.

The door opened before he had a chance to knock on it. A smallish man with a

huge handlebar mustache opened the door and glared at him. Without any kind of

greeting, the man asked, "What do you want?"

"To talk to you," answered Sid. He examined the man. He wore a brace of eight

throwing knives across his chest in a leather holster. Two knives were in

sheaths on a belt around his waist. The man was running a finger along the

handle of a knife in his chest holster.

"I don't want to talk to you," asserted the man as he started to close the door.

"Chirurgen, I think you do," replied Sid using the business name of the man as

he leaned his staff against the front of the house. He knew that if the man had

been able to take out a swordsman with his knife, that his staff would be of no

value to him in a fight.

The man paused and looked as Sid wondering why he had put aside his weapon. The

use of his business name suggested that Sid had a job for him to do. Although he

wasn't interested in working at the moment, he decided to listen to what Sid had

to say. He smiled at the thought that he could carve up the unarmed man if he

tried anything. Opening the door, he said, "Come in."

Sid entered the house and looked around at his surroundings. So far, he hadn't

seen the inside of a house in Chaos, but he could tell that this one was very

well built compared to the rest. Rather than bare wood, there was real plaster

on the walls. The wood floor was smooth and polished. The furnishings were made

of very high quality wood that had been varnished rather than bare or painted.

Stepping closer to the man, Sid commented, "Very nice."

"What did you want to talk about?" asked the man with a frown when he realized

that Sid had moved closer to him. His hand shifted to the knife at his waist.

"You're holding a woman here against her will. I've come to rescue her,"

answered Sid.

At the announcement, the man took a step backward to put greater distance

between him and Sid, but Sid stepped forward to keep the distance. He was just a

couple of feet too close for the man to throw a knife at him and too far for the

man to gut him. Chirurgen grunted, "Get out of here."

"Not without her," replied Sid.

Even as Sid spoke, Chirurgen pulled his knife with practiced ease. Sid resisted

the urge to take a step back believing that if he did so, he would find the

knife sticking out his chest a fraction of a second later. The man's hand

flicked out with the knife as though attempting to stab him. Sid knew the

distance between them was too great for the knife to reach him. Attempting to

grab the lightning fast hand would have gotten him cut.

The secret to a winning a fight is in controlling the timing and distance. Since

Sid had established control of the distance, it was now a matter of establishing

control of the timing. That was easier said than done. Sid feinted and watched

as the man reacted with speed and precision. The style reminded him of a

medieval knife fighting technique he had observed during a demonstration back on

Earth. It was a very fast and very deadly style of fighting in that the blade

was constantly moving and attacking.

Chirurgen glided forward with the knife slashing. He had changed his grip so

that the knife was held with blade downward from his hand, thereby protecting

his forearm. Backing away while trying to maintain his balance Sid barely

managed to block the knife from slicing him through his upper arm, but received

a small cut in his hand as the man changed the direction of the attack almost

instantaneously.

The fight was going as Sid expected. He didn't have a chance and he knew it.

Responding to the immediate threat to his upper body, Sid leapt back and found

that his butt was pushed against the back of a chair. In a desperate move, he

leaned back and windmilled his arms as though he was trying to keep his balance.

In fact, he was trying to hide that he was actually supported by the chair. He

knew that if he failed, his opponent would cut him to shreds before he could

recover.

His opponent moved in to take advantage. As Sid had expected, the knife slashed

towards Sid's upraised leg. Sid brought his foot down on the kneecap of the

other man accomplishing two things; getting his leg out of the way of the knife

and taking out his opponent's support. With a startled yell, the man found

himself falling to the floor. It was a cheap trick, but in a fight like this one

there were no rules.

Sid danced to the side and then forward placing a kick to the man's head. With a

sickening thump, his foot made contact leaving a large muddy spot across the

side of the man's head. Unsure if the man was unconscious, dead, or playing

possum, Sid kicked the knife away.

Stepping back, he looked at the fleshy part of his left hand amazed at the

amount of blood that was pouring from it. He couldn't believe how much it hurt.

A shiver went through his body as he tried to conquer the pain through will

power. It didn't work. Knowing that he would have to stop the bleeding, he

looked around for something to use as a bandage. There wasn't anything except

for the man's shirt. He knelt down and removed one of the knives from the man.

It didn't take long to cut off part of the shirt to make a bandage.

It was awkward trying to bandage his hand, but he managed it. Unable to tie it

off, he closed his hand around the bandage hoping that would hold it in place.

He bent down and started to remove the man's weapons. According to the rules of

combat, he had a right to take them and all possessions the man carried with

him. More important than getting ownership of the weapons was getting the man

unarmed.

A few minutes later, Sid was the new owner of twelve knives and a small coin

purse. Ten of the knives were bronze throwing knives of exquisite balance and

manufacture. The weapons, more than the house, spoke of a very successful

fighter. He stood up and swayed for a moment. The bandage was already soaked a

bright red.

Beads of sweat formed on his forehead from the pain produced by the cut. There

was something unnatural with how much it hurt. His whole hand tingled. It

reminded him of sticking his hand under hot water when it was freezing cold. He

kept jerking his hand back as if to pull it away from whatever was producing the

pain.

Looking around, Sid knew he was forgetting something. Sid wanted to hit his

forehead when he realized he had forgotten about the damsel. He called out, "Ava

Foreman of Cassandra! Where are you?"

A shout from a closed door caught his attention. He went over to it and saw it

was bolted shut on the outside. Sliding back the bolt, he opened the door.

Inside, a very attractive red head was standing inside the center of the room.

He said, "We've got to get out of here."

Ava looked at Sid, realizing that her hero had finally come to rescue her. Her

second thought was that he didn't look very heroic. His face was white, there

were beads of sweat on his forehead, his left hand was wrapped in a blood soaked

bandage, and he swayed as if he was about to faint. She stepped forward and saw

her captor on the floor. She asked, "Is he dead?"

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