Chapter 4



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Sid stepped through the portal into a small wood paneled room in Chaos. The hole in the wall that allowed him to retrieve his storage box was in the normal space. He put his finger in it and waited for his storage box to appear. Every time he did that, his mind flashed on an image of inserting his finger in a hole attached to an attractive young woman. This time it was no different.

There was a slight noise and the box was on the table. He opened it and examined the small collection of weapons inside. There was the older sword that he had taken from one of the hoodlums, the set of knives from the Surgeon, and his staff. It wasn't much, but this was his third adventure and he had started with nothing.

Recalling that the knives were poisoned, he carefully lifted them out of the box and set them to the side. He grabbed his staff and examined it carefully. It was in just as good of shape as the day he had placed it in the box. Satisfied with his choice of the staff, he returned the knives to the box before closing it. He watched as it disappeared. It was time to get his inheritance.

Stepping out of the bank, the odor of unwashed humanity assaulted his nose. It always surprised him how filthy the air was in a non- technological environment. He knew that in a day or two he wouldn't notice it while in town, but entering a new town after being in the country for a couple of days it was always the same shock to the nose. He wondered how environmentalists who sang the virtues of the purity of the past would react to the filth and odors of ancient cities. Undoubtedly they would be disappointed that the modern world was much cleaner than the ancient world.

He looked up and down the patch of dirt that passed for Main Street in this town. He spotted a likely candidate for an inn, but the sign in front was of a fish and not a rooster. The street was crowded and he stopped one of the men walking past by asking, "Could you tell me where the Rooster Inn is located?"

"Rooster Inn?" the man mused for a moment while examining Sid carefully. The kind of folks that stayed at the Rooster Inn were a mixed lot. Adventurers, traders, assassins and the kind of men who hired the others were known to visit the place. After an unpleasantly long pause, he said, "Next street over."

"Thanks," Sid said. His thanks were almost too late as the man had started on his way again.

Stepping into the dusty street, Sid made his way towards the next street over. While walking, he overheard snatches of conversation about slave traders, entire towns disappearing, and predictions of doom. Considering that the news was about events that were more than five weeks ride from the town, the people seemed quite excited and concerned.

It took Sid five minutes to locate the Rooster Inn. It was a small inn that appeared to be much better maintained than the buildings on either side. He knew that if his uncle had anything to do with the inn that it would be well maintained. He entered and found that the interior was in even better shape than he had expected.

Hard looking men were seated in groups of two and three at tables talking in the low hushed tones of men wanting to communicate, but not wanting the whole world to know what they were talking about. His entrance caused everyone to look him over, but none of the examinations lasted long enough to provoke insult. Sid was impressed.

He walked over to the counter and examined the man behind the counter. The man was seated on a high chair placed where he could watch the entire common room without having to stand. The need for the chair was obvious. His left leg ended below the knee and a wooden peg was fixed to the stump. Based on the other scars, it was easy to see that the leg had been lost in a fight. Sid nodded to the man and asked, "Are you the owner?"

"Yes," answered the man.

"My name is Sid Jones and I was told to come here."

The man's face went through a series of expressions; one emotion replacing another in rapid sequence. He had dreaded this day for years. He asked, "Are you related to Gerald?"

"He was my uncle."

"Was?"

"Yes. He passed away."

The man sized up Sid and said, "I'm sure your family is saddened by his passing."

"Saddened? They were overjoyed. The bastards came out of the woodwork hoping to get their share of his money. My family is a bunch of no good lazy bastards. The only exception was my uncle," Sid replied. The anger in his voice was unmistakable.

"The name's Chuck, but after I lost my leg your uncle always called me Stumpy." He twisted in his chair and called out, "Barson, get out here and watch the bar."

Sid noticed that the shout got the attention of a large number of the men in the common room. A younger man came out from the kitchen. It was easy to tell that he was Chuck's son. He had the same hair color, eyes, and mouth as his father. He wasn't nearly as strong looking, but carried himself with a confidence that spoke of some training. Chuck said, "He's my boy."

"Nice looking young man."

Chuck smiled and nodded his head towards the door at the end of the bar. He said, "Come on back. We've got to talk."

Sid followed the man behind the counter and into a private room. There was a small table and two chairs in the room. Sid knew it was rare for a man to have a private office in Chaos. Chuck pointed to a chair and said, "Have a seat."

"Thanks."

"I take it you are the nephew that he liked."

"I guess you could put it like that. I loved my uncle more than any other member of my family. I was the only one he would even talk with."

Chuck walked over to a shelf. His steps, awkward because of the wooden leg, made a click when the wood of his peg leg hit the wood of the floor. At the shelf, he reached into a pewter mug and pulled forth a medal on a golden chain. He tossed it to Sid and said, "Here is the key to your inheritance."

Sid caught the medal and looked at it. Much to his surprise, it was his image that had been imprinted on the medal. Choked up with emotion, he said, "I really miss him."

Chuck looked at him from across the small room for a half a minute as Sid came to grips with the image on the medal. In a soft voice, he said, "Your uncle really loved you. He used to tell me about how you trained and served in the military despite how the rest of your family felt about the matter. He said that you were the only one in the family who understood honor and duty. Coming from him, that's a great compliment."

"He taught me all that I know," Sid said. Shaking his head, he added, "All the good things I know. My family taught me a lot about the ugliness of human character."

Chuck walked the few steps to the empty chair and sat down. Taking a deep breath, he asked, "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to the citadel to meet some men and then going off to rescue some friends that are held in the south."

Chuck fiddled with his peg leg for a moment as he considered Sid's answer. After a minute, he said, "I've got a request to make of you."

"Anything," Sid said knowing that any man who his uncle trusted was a good man.

"Take my son with you on this adventure. He needs to get out there and see the world before taking over for me," Chuck said.

"I'd be pleased to take your son with me. However, I've got to warn you that I'm not very experienced. We'd be learning things together and that could increase the danger for your son," Sid said realizing the significant amount of trust the other man was putting into him.

Chuck chuckled and then said, "You're so much like your uncle. He'd always warn someone that things might not work out the way they wanted. There are always surprises in life, but your uncle always made sure that folks knew that."

"I just didn't want there to be any misunderstandings," Sid explained.

"Young men need to adventure together. It forms bonds that will last a lifetime. It gives them a chance to develop a common character and sense of values. It gives them memories that they will cherish when they get old and homebound."

"I never thought about it like that," Sid said.

Chuck was silent for a moment and then said, "One of the things about adventuring with another is that it gives you quiet times in which to ponder things. Sitting up at night on guard duty under the stars makes you think about your place in the universe. Tending a wounded companion gives you time to come to grips with your own mortality.

"Yes, adventuring with another of your own age is a very good thing. Neither one of you are inexperienced enough that you need a mentor to go along with you. Both of you need more experience taking care of yourselves and others. This will be good for both of you."

Sid had listened with a thoughtful expression. Traveling with Barson would be good. He'd have a chance to get to know the young man before growing his army. At that point, he decided that Chuck didn't know what adventure he was embarking upon. He said, "I'm going after the slavers and that's going to be very dangerous."

Chuck was silent for a moment. A smile slowly spread over his face as he thought about it. Nodding his head, he said, "That will be a grand adventure for the two of you. I assume you are going to be building an army."

"Yes."

"Excellent. You'll find that Barson will be a good help in logistics. He knows what men need to stay healthy on a campaign. You can't run an inn without knowing how much food, water, and other things that are essential for folks to live. He knows how to get good quantity and quality for the dollar. I wouldn't put him in charge, but I'd listen to his advice. You'll need someone with more experience than he has to be in charge of logistics."

"To be honest, I've been worried about that."

"Your uncle has some good people at his citadel. Take as many of them with you as are willing to go. They know their jobs."

"Thanks for the advice," Sid said feeling grateful to the older man. "I'll do my best to surround myself with experienced men."

Chuck studied Sid for a moment. He could tell that the young man was listening with the kind of attention that let him know the young man was carefully considering every word spoken. Gerald had always listened to advice, but made his own decisions. Gerald had always taken responsibility for his decisions. He was sure that Sid was of the same cut of cloth. He said, "I'm sure you will."

Standing up, Chuck said, "Let me send Barson in here for you two to get to know each other for a bit."

While Chuck was getting Barson, Sid put the chain around his neck. It was far safer there than in his money bag. Cut purses were everywhere in Chaos. He had just settled it out of sight when Barson entered the room. The young man looked over at Sid with a wary expression. He said, "My dad just said something very surprising."

"What did he say?"

"He said that you were willing to take me on your adventure," Barson said. For more years than he cared to admit, he'd been telling his father that he wanted to go out and see the world. His father had always told him no. Suddenly he tells him that some stranger is willing to take him along with him. It didn't make sense.

"Actually, he asked me to take you on this adventure and I agreed to do it."

The young man sat down and stared at Sid. The suggestion that his father would actually ask Sid to take him along was incredible. Frowning, he asked, "Why would he do that? He's been keeping me around here for so long that I had given up all hope of ever going on an adventure."

"I'd say it is because he and my uncle went on an adventure or two together and he wanted you to have a similar experience."

"Who's your uncle?"

"Gerald Jones."

"Ah, that does explain it," replied Barson. He knew how his father felt about Gerald. All of his stories involved adventures undertaken with Gerald. Now he was going to go adventuring with Gerald's nephew. Extending his hand, he said, "My name is Barson."

Sid accepted the hand and gave the young man a firm handshake. Looking the other man in the eye, he said, "My name is Sid Jones."

The exchange of names seemed to energize Barson as a rush of excitement spread through his body. Barely able to stay in his chair, he asked, "So when do we go?"

"Tomorrow, at the earliest. I've got to get my uncle's stuff from the bank, get a horse, and get outfitted for the trip to the citadel."

Nodding his head as he considered the information, Barson said, "I'll take care of outfitting us for the trip. I've got a pack horse, so don't worry about that. You'll need to select your own horse. I recommend that you go to the stable on the north end of town."

"I'll do that. I'll let you know what else I need when I've finished over at the bank."

"You'll be staying in the single guestroom until we go," Barson said. His mind was racing from topic to topic as he tried to consider all of the things that needed to be done before they could leave. He knew that he'd have to get food for the two of them. Then he'd have to get his camping gear together and go over what Sid had. Unable to contain his emotions any more he shouted, "I'm getting out of here!"

Sid laughed at the excitement of the young man. He figured the guy was two years younger than him, but there was enough difference in experience for it to seem more like five years. Sitting back in his chair, he said, "You sound excited."

"I've dreamed for years about seeing far-away lands. The farthest I've been from here is the Jones Citadel. I want to see a real tall mountain. You know, one of them that has snow on it even in the middle of summer. I want to smell the stench of a swamp and see one of those alligators. I'd like to see a lake. You know, one of those bodies of water that is so large that you can't see the land that's on the other side. I'd even like to see the sea and taste the salty water."

Seeing the look of concern on Sid's face, he said, "I know it's not going to be pleasant. My dad has told me about how bad life on an adventure can be. There will be a few good times, but most of it will be periods of boredom broken by moments of terror and bouts of misery. We'll spend time hungry, cold, tired, hurt, hot, and dirty. We could die out there and no one would know.

"You don't have to worry about me being able to defend myself. Being a barman can be a dangerous occupation. Lots of men get mean when they get drunk. It's the barman who puts them out. While dad says that a good sucker punch is better than five years of training, he's made sure that I had fifteen years of training anyway.

"The training he's given me is much more than most lads my age ever get. He's taught me the bow, the sword, the knife, the staff, and unarmed combat. Some of what he's taught me was taught to him by Gerald. Of course, we can't forget the barman's best friend, the sap."

Sid was surprised by the litany of weapons that Chuck had chosen to teach Barson. Most men in Chaos knew one weapon well and had passing acquaintance with one or two others. He said, "I'm impressed. Your dad has given you a great gift."

"He didn't want me losing a leg like he did." Barson was quiet for a moment and then asked, "What weapons did Gerald train you to use?"

"Unarmed combat, staff, sword, bow, knife, mace, and axe," Sid answered. The army had taught him a number of skills, but few that he could use in Chaos. That didn't matter since his uncle had been thorough in training him. What his uncle couldn't teach him, he found the best men possible to train him. His uncle had also taught him all about setting and locating traps. He missed those sessions with his uncle. He sighed and added, "He also taught me about the construction and use of siege weapons."

"I'm sure that he was thorough in his training."

"My uncle believed that preparation is the key to success. From what I've observed, your father believes the same."

Barson nodded his head and then said, "You better get over to the bank and take care of your business there."

As Sid walked out of the bar, he heard Chuck say to Barson, "He's going to have some stuff to learn from you. Don't let that go to your head. You pay attention and learn from him. He's got a lot that he can teach you if you keep an open mind."

As Sid walked across the street, he thought about the words of wisdom passed from father to son. Those words were worth their weight in gold for him as well. There had been a moment there where he had started to feel a twinge of superiority to the younger man. Only a fool would allow those kinds of feelings to interfere with learning a skill that might allow him to survive.

It took Sid a couple of minutes to return to the bank. Walking up to the counter, he said, "I need to speak to the manager of this branch."

The clerk looked in the general direction of Sid without taking in the details. His gaze rested on the simple staff he was carrying. The leather that wrapped the ends of the staff identified it as home made. Deciding that he'd rather not interrupt his manager, the clerk chose to ignore him and looked down at the counter.

Sid growled, "Get the manager now."

Flippant and without looking up at Sid, the clerk asked, "And what will you do if I don't?"

"You'll be shitting splinters for a year after I shove my staff up your ass," Sid said. His voice was cold enough to create ice in the Sahara Desert.

The clerk looked up at Sid and caught the look in his eye. A chill went down his spine when he saw the fire ready to flare up. Clearing his throat, he said, "Wait here a minute."

Sid watched him walk off. The manager came rushing to the counter after a minute had passed. Sid smiled at the way in which the man nearly tripped over himself getting out of his office. Removing the medal from around his neck, Sid said, "My Uncle Gerald passed away and left me this to claim my inheritance that is stored in this bank."

The bank manager took the medal and dropped it into the slot. Looking over at Sid, he said, "Put your finger in the hole."

Once Sid had done as requested, the manager asked, "What is the pass phrase?"

"Everyone in my family is a bunch of lazy bastards except for my nephew."

The manager nodded his head and said, "The magic says your uncle is dead and that you are his true heir. Your uncle has a balance of forty-six thousand, eight hundred and thirty eight conches, one shell, and three pinches. That amount has been transferred to your account. Would you like any of it?"

"A thousand conches," Sid replied.

The manager looked flustered for a moment and then asked, "Do you have something to carry that many coins in?"

"No, I don't," answered Sid as he stared in the well that had filled with a thousand conches.

The manager looked over at the teller and said, "Get a money bag — one of the large ones."

It took a minute for the clerk to return with a money bag. As the clerk filled the bag, the manager asked, "Do you need a body guard?"

"No," Sid answered with a smile. Even if he had wanted one, he wouldn't trust him with that kind of money. It was enough to last a lifetime.

The clerk looked over at the staff and shook his head wondering if there was more to the staff than met the eye. After dropping the last two conches in the bag, he set it on the counter and said, "Here it is."

Sid picked up the bag and noted that it weighed a significant amount. This was one of the problems with a cash only economy that he hadn't anticipated. Money was heavy. He said, "Let's take care of the box."

The manager said, "Go in one of the double rooms and stick your finger in the hole. Both of the containers will appear. Clear everything out of your uncle's container because when you close the lid everything within it will be destroyed."

Sid went into one of the double rooms. It was like a single room except there was a table on each side of the room rather than on one side. There was a hole over each table. He put his finger into one of the holes. Two containers appeared on the tables. Unable to tell them apart, he opened one and found it to be his container. Lifting the lid of the second container, he was shocked at how much stuff was packed into it.

His eyes widened as he looked at the top item. It was a money belt lying atop a padded shirt that was intended to be worn under chain mail. Picking up the money belt, he opened it and found that it contained a few coins along with a ring. He took off his shirt and fastened the money belt around his waist. For now, he'd leave the ring in the belt and wouldn't remove it until he reached the citadel.

He lifted the padded shirt out of the box and caught his first sight of the chain mail shirt. It was an exceptionally high quality shirt with very fine links that would resist even the hardest thrust of a sword. He ran his hand over the chain mail appreciating the way the links seemed to flow like a liquid. Considering the rarity of iron in Chaos, he knew that it was worth more than a thousand conches.

He was about to put on the padded shirt when he noticed that the inside was filled with little pockets just the right size for a conch. Grinning, he settled on the floor and started putting conches in each of the little pockets. It accepted two hundred and fifty of them. His heavy bag was now much lighter. He put on the padded shirt and found that it distributed the weight evenly and comfortably.

He put on the chain mail and then his leather shirt over it. The shirt now fit tight, but he knew that after wearing it for a couple of days that it would stretch and be comfortable. He reached into the box and withdrew one of the finest swords that he'd ever seen in his life. It was a hand and a half sword. The buckler beneath it had the sheath. He put on the buckler finding that he had to tighten it a little more than past wear indicated. When he found the gauntlets, he had to loosen the buckler to make room for them.

Inside the container were more swords, a bunch of knives (he took two of them), a bow, a quiver of arrows, a battle ax, a mace, a morning star, and a whip. Undecided about whether he would take it or not, he kept the bow and the quiver of arrows off to the side. When he found a crossbow, he put the bow and quiver of arrows into his container deciding that he'd prefer the crossbow despite the fact that it weighed more.

In addition to weapons, the box contained a saddlebag loaded with typical field gear including a fire starter kit, sewing kit, and some medicine. There was a small notebook in the saddlebag. He added some of the money from the money bag into the saddle bag. He figured the money bag contained about three hundred and fifty conch. He set the saddlebag next to the crossbow.

He pulled a saddle out of the container. It was a simple saddle complete with stirrups. He was relieved to see the stirrups since he wasn't sure if they were used on Chaos. He did notice there wasn't a saddle horn. Taking note of the bedroll tied to the back of the saddle, he set it on the floor next to the rest of the gear and began to wonder how he was going to carry everything with him when he left the bank.

There was a second saddle in the container. It was a pack saddle and was fully loaded with camp gear. The thing was incredibly heavy as it held pots, pans, plates, and cups. Knowing that Barson was taking care of the camp gear, he put the pack saddle in his container.

It took another hour to transfer items from his uncle's container into his. There was jewelry, money purses, and other little trinkets that his uncle would have picked up on his travels. He paused to examine each item, amazed at the quality of each. There were a few carvings of animals in exotic woods and he wondered if his uncle whiled away his time around the campfire carving them. His uncle had never done that on earth, but that didn't mean he never did it here. He was sure there was a story behind the carvings and wondered if he'd ever learn of it.

At the very bottom of the container were a couple of sheets of paper and a small book. He picked up the book and saw that it was a journal much like he had found in the vault at home. He slipped it into the saddlebag and turned to examine the papers. They were charcoal rubbings of what looked like a map. He debated putting them in the saddlebag, but decided since they were at the bottom of the container that they'd been there for a long while. He decided that it would be best to study them at a later time.

Although he knew it was irrational, he checked the empty container for a false bottom or side. Convinced that it was empty, he closed the lid. The entire thing disappeared with a sharp crack as the vacuum created by its absence was filled with air. He turned to close his container, but held off until he double checked the goods he was taking with him. A minute wasted now might prevent days of hardship later. Finally satisfied with what he was taking with him, he closed the lid.

Sid emerged from the double room a transformed character. Going in, he had looked tough. Leaving, he looked every bit as dangerous as he was. It wasn't as if he had put on a costume, but had dressed in a fashion that reflected the inner man. With his saddle carried over a shoulder and the crossbow carried in his other hand, he strode through the lobby of the bank and out the door like a force of nature.

Lazlo Zalzac

Chapter 5