A Day in the Life

  “Davos, this is already the 4th time this year.”

  The tall man stood behind me, arms crossed and stoic in the face of my chiding, old scars and burn marks notched across his muscular arms. I examined the beast that lay sprawled before me, dark pink skin, spotted and scaly. The dragon lay on its side, its soft white belly rotund and bloated. I ran my hand across its bumpy head, and its eye slowly opened to look at me. It let out a snort, then opened its elongated maw to begin panting hot, smoke-filled breath, accompanied by wagging its tail. The fat, nubby thing slapped against the floor in delight. The dragon was getting huge, It took most of the room. Far too wide.

  “No more sweets, Davos. How many times do I have to tell you that these things should only eat meat?”

  The large man huffed and looked down at the floor. “But Pinky loves treats,” His voice disappointed and sad.

  I sighed as I reached into my pouch to fetch a few ingredients. “I know, but look at him, you're stunting his growth.”

  Davos wiped his hands, then crouched down beside me to pat the bloated beast on the side. “Mavis will be so disappointed she doesn't get to feed you sweet rolls, huh buddy?”

  I wrapped a few berries in a long, purple leaf and held it out in front of Pinky’s nose. “I’ll have to give her a talking to as well, eh?”

  Pinky sniffed at the parcel before a large, soot-covered tongue emerged from his mouth and expertly snatched the little parcel into his mouth. Pinky gulped it down, and I gave his head a final rub before standing up. “That should get him sorted out and back to fueling the forge.”

  Davos stood with me and held out a small wooden box sheepishly. “Thank you, Farveir, sorry again.”

  I took it, turned, and left, shutting the door of the smithy quickly as Pinky let out a thunderous belch of flame.

  The thoroughfare bustled with activity, a beautiful early spring morning had led to an already crowded market district. Shopkeepers swept the cobblestone in front of their stalls, and an assortment of buyers made their way up and down the market. I made my way a few doors down to the whitewashed building on the corner, peaking my head in the door, I was greeted by sweet, spiced air, warm and thick with steam from the freshly baked pastries.

  “Mavis! No more Sweetrolls!” I called out into the shop before turning to leave

  A voice called out from the back glumly, “But Pinky loves his treats.”

  I was already out the door, brushing past a group of thin elves, their long white hair in braids down their back, I started making my way to High Street for the next appointment.

  This old woman was a Count, or maybe married to a Count, I wasn't quite sure. Her manor sat in the shadow of the keep's tall, limestone walls, it was very old. The wood was dark and stained with age, the intricate details a sign of fine craftsmanship. The garden and trees were overgrown, ivy snaking up the walls and twisting, gnarled trees closing in around the few windows. I’m sure it was nice once, but now most of the houses and apartments in the New Market are far nicer. The interior was dark, and the woman's mood was darker. Her Jib-Jab had stopped speaking to her, and now she had to call for help from this “Faar-Fear.” The way she spat my name at me, enunciated the foreign word, some sort of accusation flung out from thin lips. The Jib-Jab told me that woman was positively dull, and after he found that out, he simply stopped talking to her; silence was better than her drivel. Unfortunately, he said this while she was still standing in the room. I had to stop the lady from using a fire poker to dispatch the insulter, so now I walked back to the shop hauling the large feathered bat creature in a wheeled cage.

  “And finally, after Ciro won me in a game of cards, I joined the royal court! Yes, it was a lovely time, delicious berries and even better company, yes, capital, capital. But then I don't understand what happened! They lost me on the way to Agulhar, my cage fell off the ship! I found myself as that wretched woman's servant and now yours! Things are looking up for us, my friend, capital indeed.”

  People were starting to stop and gawk at the exotic creature, I leaned down and hissed at the Jib-Jab.

  “Be quiet! You are not my servant. I'm taking you back to my shop, and then we will figure out what to do with you.”

  The Jib-Jab slumped down in the cage and wrapped its huge, feathered wings around itself. “Antony understands, master, I shall be quiet, yes, yes.”

  I had only seen these creatures in tomes, native to the shattered empire this Jib-Jab was about half my height, large brown eyes and a piggy nose, a regal ring of white fur around its neck, and the rest of its body covered in long feathers, dark green, deep purple, and blacks. They shimmered as the large wings moved. This one, Antony, spoke with a strange accent, although I guess his talking at all was quite strange.

  Passing through the gate out of High Street, away from the towering keeps and old growth trees, the day had become very hot, the sun beat down from a cloudless sky as we made our way down the sloping streets toward the outer walls and back to my shop. The outer ring of the city was dirty, the buildings were haphazardly built. We arrived in front of my shop, the shortest building on the block, well, the most sunken into the ground, it sat between two tall buildings, both abandoned. The paint was fading, the text on the sign was getting harder and harder to make out; The Beastbinder’s Nook. As I stood outside, leaning against Antony’s cage, calculating paint costs and whitewashing services, and the repair bill for the crumbling steps and cracking stone, the sky suddenly darkened and a roll of thunder rattled the cage. Large raindrops began splatting the ground, few at first, and then suddenly, a torrent of thick rain began pelting me.

  “EEK! Inside my liege, inside!” Antony cried out, holding his wings to shelter his face.

  I quickly fished the worn key out of my pocket and unlocked the door, pushed the cage into the interior, and slammed the door behind me. That storm came out of nowhere, how strange. The rains had been harsher this year, vicious storms that lasted days, flooding streets here in the outer ring.

  I unlatched the rolling cage and the Jib-Jab flittered up onto the shop counter. The shop had seen better days, I must admit. The interior was always dim, lit by a few gas lamps, but now had grown dark from the sudden storm. A row of empty terrariums lined the left wall, obscuring the cracking plaster. The shelves behind the L-shaped counter sagged under the weight of glass jars full of my ingredients, powdered moonroot, leechberry extract, and veil slime. The pounding of rain and blowing wind made the old beams creak and groan. A sudden scrambling from above snapped me out of the trance as a small, furried beast came ripping down the zig-zagged staircase that led to the apartment upstairs, charging into my legs and looking up into my eyes before letting out a loud YAP YAP.

  Antony the Jib-Jab looked down on the beast from the counter and with hesitation asked, “And this is?”

  The creature had curly white fur, brown, black, and grey spots stained both the fur and its skin. Long ears, the ends dipped with dark brown, dragged along the ground as the stubby-legged creature moved, 3 feet long with 3 sets of legs, the front set of paws the largest. Large eyes and an absolutely heinous underbite, the elongated bottom jaw made the little creature disgustingly cute, its nubbed bottom teeth prominently on display.

  I reached down to scratch behind its long, silky ears. “This, is Frederick, an underbeast. He was smuggled into the city to be sold off at a less-than-legal auction, fortunately, the guards weren't too drunk that day and I managed to convince them not to just release this poor baby outside the city walls.”

  Frederick rolled over, spotted pink tongue lolling to the side, presenting his spotted pink belly for a rub. I obliged, and he started snorting and panting with joy.

  Antony stared down on us from above. “Yes, Yes….how…..cute? And just a baby, you say my how big will that thing get?”

  “Yes, just a baby,” I cooed as I patted Frederick’s belly, ”these things get, oh I dont know as large as a horse maybe? But low to ground, famous burrowers, and I didnt know that their temperament was so agreeable.”

  That was an understatement, the tomes described these creatures wrecking swathes of farmland, burrowing under buildings, and causing town walls to collapse. Soon Frederick would grow too big for this shop, for this city, but for now, I have actually been enjoying the company.

  I walked around the counter and settled onto a leather-capped stool. “So, what to do with you, Antony?” I pulled a couple of thick books from under the counter, placing them on the dark wood counter with a soft thud.

  Antony rubbed his little clawed hands together. “Why, what do you mean sir? I am here to serve!”

  I side-eyed him while beginning to flip through the first book searching for some answers. “No, no, I am not your master or owner, this is not a zoo. I traced a finger along a line of script, finding what I was looking for. “Couple ships heading out west in a month or so, we could send you home? Or I heard a circus has been travelling the plains, should arrive here soon? I would make sure that neither of those treat you like that woman did.”

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  The Jib-Jab started wobbling side to side, feathers rustling as he bristled and shook. He hissed out “no, no, no, no, no home, home destroyed, few left, no more.” His speech was more broken and simple now: “Leaving, leaving, always left, abandon, left.” He was muttering to himself now, the large, feathered bat wings wrapping around him.

  I felt a pang of guilt, and before I could think with my head instead of heart, the words had already left my mouth. “We can revisit this later, but until then, of course you can stay here, maybe help around the shop, I know it isn't much, but until something better comes along, you can call it home, if you would like.”

  Antony peered out from under a wing, wet eyes and his squashed little nose. He straightened, collected himself, and then started leaping into the air, flapping his wings to hover at the apex before floating back down and repeating the process. “Capital, my lord, Capital! I will serve you well, yes, yes, Capital indeed!” He stopped his jumping to give a practiced, deep bow.

  All I could do was sigh and say again “I am not your lord or master Antony, please.”

  “Of course, my Liege, of course I understand, yes, capital.”

  I shook my head and retrieved the small box Davos had given me, opening it to gaze upon the contents. long, dried leaves. I held one up to the light, gazing through the chestnut brown leaf to admire the lattice and fibers, the amber veins running through it.

  Antony sniffed at the open box. “What is this?”

  “Tabac, from the south.” I leaned into the wooden box and inhaled deeply, taking in the warm, smoky, sweet scent, a hint of baking spice mixed into the hay and cedar. I took a few out, picking out the most intact leaf and placing it to the side, reaching up to pick a few selections of dried herbs hanging on a line, I sprinkled them onto the bundle of filler and deftly rolled up the fanned out leaves and herbs. Placing the filler onto the lovely leaf, set aside, wrapping the fat log of brown leaves into a nice little roll, sealing the edge with just a touch of glassmaple sap. I held it up, admiring the final product. I lifted the top of the gas lamp to access the flame, using it to toast one end of the rolled tabac until it began to smoke. Then, taking the roll to my lips, inhaling deeply, the toasted end glowing red and filling my mouth with creamy smoke. I exhaled the thick and oily smoke, sending gray ribbons up to the ceiling, savoring the taste, herbaceous spice, hay, and molasses, roasted tree nuts coated in cacao, exquisite. Davos really outdid himself. My mouth filled with saliva to chase away the ashy dryness the smoke left behind, I spat onto the floorboards and took another draw. Antony was watching me closely, the clawed little hands on the ends of his wings mimicking the rolling motion I had done. I reached into the box and pulled out a few more leaves. “Do you want to roll?” Antony nodded and hobbled forward. I placed the leaves in order and showed him again the way to wrap and then roll, “Like this,” holding my hands up now and replicating the motion. Antony mirrored it and then nodded his head.

  We practiced rolling for a while, Antony’s 3-pronged claws made it difficult, and a few leaves were punctured, but he was fixated on the task, and eventually we managed to make 4 cigars, not perfect work, but not half bad either. The intelligence of this creature was truly astounding. I have found myself, time to time, reading too much into the head tilts of Frederick, or the quirks of other exotic beasts, but Antony the Jib-Jab was something special.

  I took out the worn, leather-wrapped journal I kept in my coat and reached under the counter to retrieve a charcoal pencil. Flipping through sketches to reach a blank page, the recent ones drawings of Frederick chasing his wispy tail, a Grifflet, no larger than a teacup, staring down its beak at me, a ferret caught in a rudimentary trap, fangs barred and hissing. I turned to observe the Jib-Jab and began sketching an outline, taking another deep draw of the dwindling cigar.

  The tingling of the bells attached to the door ripped me out of my sketchbook, and I sat up to greet the old man who lurched into the shop. He took off his cap and shook the wet from it, he was absolutely soaked from the storm. He clasped his hands together and approached the counter, dark eyes peering up at me, his face pudgy and ruddy, weathered from age, red spider veins branched out from his fat nose. “Are yuh Farveir?”

  I shooed Antony off the counter and gave Frederick a sharp whistle, calling him away from where he was sniffing and lapping up rainwater off the man's boots. “I am, how can I help you, sir?”

  “I’ve travelled in from my farm, out near Westsher, my prized hogs gone missing.” He nervously rubbed his hands together, “Tis a bit silly but this sow is a true prize-winning beast, I had her gettin’ proper fattened for the harvest festival but erm, she been stolen.”

  “I’m sure the guards would be happy to help no?”

  “That's just it, they ain't, called me a bloody ol fool, they think she got ate by something but she was stole! The fence was broke and I found a scatter of footprints in the mud and slop, facking rain.” He spat on the ground, “Warshed away the tracks before I could follow em far. You're a ranger, right?”

  I cringed at the word, not for a while. “Course I am, so you want me to track down the thieves?”

  The short man nodded, “I ain't got much but I'll give everything I can, coin, crops as well! My harvest of wool was very good last year. I got a bit left over, maybe enough for a nice coat and–”

  I held a hand to stop him. “I'll help, rain doesn't look to be stopping today. I suggest we head out in the morning.”

  The man nodded, “I’m staying over at the hearth, me cart will be hitched and ready tomorrow, I’ll be waiting, lad.”

  “Peace be,” the old man said softly as he made his way out into the storm.

  I waited a beat or two, letting the man hobble off down the street before walking over to the door, opening it to flick out the remaining nub of my cigar, and closing it again to lock it.

  “Seems I’ll have to be leaving you then.” I said matter-of-factly to the animals, “Come upstairs, I need to prep.”

  Frederick bolted up the steps before us, waiting at the top and looking down in excitement, holding a little knit knight in his mouth. I wrestled it from him and flung it across the small room onto my bed, and he scrambled after it, yapping as it flew through the air. The apartment above the shop was one room, fairly small but cozy, the walls were lined with overflowing bookshelves, a large, dirty window looked out over the street, the sill cluttered with overgrown plants, spindly grey vines and a thick, fleshy xerophyte covered in prickly spines, my desk sat in front of it, unfinished sketches and a half carved, fat wooden dragon occupied the workspace. A low, overstuffed armchair and small table sat in front of a squat, circular fireplace, my cookpot resting nearby. Thick wool rugs covered the worn wooden floor, and my bed sat in the corner, a skinny, thin mattress on top of an old wooden cot. Small creatures carved from wood and colored stones hung from the ceiling beams and lined the tops of the bookshelves. Frederick tore at his toy on the bed, trying to decapitate the knight. Antony hobbled around the room, sniffing at the chair and bookshelves, familiarizing himself with the space.

  “One second.” I hurried back downstairs and raided the pantry. Filling the cookpot with stock, root vegetables, herbs, and a few meager scraps of meat, lighting the fireplace, and setting the pot to cook over the roaring flame. The fireplace helped chase the dampness of the storm from the apartment. I sorted through a couple of dried berries and old fruit and turned to Antony. “Will this do? After the job, I’ll be able to buy some fresh, or whatever you like.”

  Antony looked over the selection and took a dried berry into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully, “I must say, for all that woman’s faults, her selection of stone fruits was delectable, yes, and the pantry always unlocked, hmm Capital that was yes, but this shall do nicely for now.” He gulped down the berry and picked up a few more to chew on.

  I grinned, “Excellent, I will leave out some jerky mixed with spent grain for Frederick and drag the wash bucket in, clean water, that should last you two a few days.”

  Antony tried imitating my grin, straining the corners of his small gummy mouth upwards. “And umm, his mess?”

  I shook my head. “Already went this month, efficient system in these buggers.”

  Antony looked at the underbeast who was still slobbering on the toy but with less verve than before, “Must be nice.”

  I let out a laugh, “Yes, indeed.”

  As the stew cooked, I brought a coat rack from downstairs and nailed a broken broom handle to it, making a perch for Antony to sit on. I pulled out my old trunk from under the bed, retrieving Father’s shortsword and whetstone. I began drawing the blade across the stone with smooth, measured sweeps. And there we all sat, the apartment filling with the rich smell of stewed meat, the rain pattering against the roof, and the quiet rasping sound of metal on stone. Every so often, I interrupted my ritual to run a finger across the edge, feeling for nicks and burrs. After the blade was to my liking, I scooped myself some of the stew into a bowl, I fed Frederick pieces of the stringy meat from my hand, and the Jib-Jab ate his fill of fruit.

  I stared into my reflection in the outhouse mirror, my light brown hair shaggy and longer than I would like, the hair on the sides of my temple almost blonde and beginning to thin. I contemplated a shave, running my calloused hands along my jaw, feeling the patchy beard beginning to form, but decided against it. I looked more and more like Father as the years passed, the gray eyes staring back at me in the mirror seemed more his than mine. I splashed my face with cold water and tried to shake those thoughts from my mind. I lay in bed restless, I was always restless, but more so before travelling, I stopped myself from grinding my teeth, unclenching my jaw, and trying to relax the muscles in my face. The Jib-Jab hung upside down on the hastily made perch sleeping, Frederick had wedged himself into the small of my back, curled up, his breaths deep and soothing. I tried to relax and sleep, everything will be fine, no need to worry. The waning storm eventually lulled me into a shallow sleep.

  The Humming Hearth was bustling even in the misty morning. A meager cart hitched to a skinny gray horse sat out front but the old farmer was nowhere insight, I approached the horse before making my way inside, the horse side-eyed me but didnt protest as I raised a crisp apple up to its mouth, rubbing it’s side gently, I made my way inside the inn, the interior greeted me with the hushed chatter of patrons eating breakfast, the smell of blood sausage and toasted breads mixing with the always present, sticky sweet smell of old beer. The magical fire blazed bright in the large stone fireplace, filling the room with warmth and a pleasant low hum. Hearthflies buzzed around and in the fire, fat fireflies that are attracted to magical fires. My pa always said they were a sure sign of good food and a peaceful rest. At night, you can see them swirling above the Humming Hearth’s crooked stone chimney. The farmer sat at a table near the door with an empty plate in front of him. He stood up, brushing biscuit crumbs off his shirt and made his way towards me. “Ready t’start out?”

  I nodded. “How far is the farm?” I asked as I held the door open for him and we walked outside to the cart.

  The farmer hoisted himself up onto the cart before responding, “Days ride with the road all muddy, should get there this evening, I got a spare bedroll so don't worry bout an inn, you can get searching tomorrow morn.”

  I found myself having to unclench my jaw, muscles in my face tight with worry, hopefully this doesnt take much more than a day or two, leaving the shop unattended with animals free to roam was worrying but… Shit did I need coin, and hopefully some crops. I slouched down on the seat trying to get comfortable and pulled my hood further down to shield my face from the light rain. “Onwards then.” I said crossing my arms.

  The Farmer flicked his wrists waking the horse to action and we began out to clomp down the wet cobblestone streets, out of the western gates, and out onto the plain.