Mike stepped out of the bank and took his first look upon Chaos. The majority of buildings surrounding the bank were made of stone. Further up and down the road were cheaper wooden structures. The wooden buildings were made of rough cut lumber. Most of the buildings weren't painted leaving them in various states of decay.
The wind shifted bringing with it the overwhelming stench of a distant tannery that nearly made him sick to his stomach. The heavy smoke of burning wood hung heavy in the air bringing tears to his eyes. A horse drawn wagon passed by filled with stiff hides. He hoped that the wind didn't normally blow in that direction. He couldn't imagine spending a week living downwind of a tannery.
He looked around and spotted the stables at the end of the street. The corral was larger than any that he'd ever seen in his life. It had to be holding twenty or more horses. The idea of cleaning up after that many horses was enough to make him tired. He realized that he was beginning to attract attention and muttered, "Well, I can't put it off any longer."
He made his way down the street to look for work. A number of men watched him as he walked past them. His lack of weapons let them know that he wasn't a threat. It also suggested that he didn't have much of anything worth taking. Even a poor man owned a club.
He reached the stables without a problem and went to the corral to check out the horses. He wasn't a connoisseur of horses and all of the animals looked the same to him. A man approached him and asked, "What do you want?"
"I'm looking for work," Mike answered turning to face the man who had asked the question.
The man studied Mike for a moment taking in his size and build. He was built like a warrior, but he didn't have a weapon. He frowned and said, "I imagine that you don't have any money."
"Right," Mike replied.
"Judging you by your build, I'd say that earn your living with a weapon," the man said.
"Yes," Mike answered.
"Considering that you aren't carrying a weapon, I guess it would be safe to assume that someone beat you in a fight and you lost everything you had," the man said.
"I never had much," Mike said shrugging his shoulders. He didn't have any wounds that would suggest that he had been in a fight recently.
"I pay a shell and two quad per week. I only pay a week's worth of wages for a week's worth of work. You'll work seven days a week. If you walk before the seventh day, you get nothing," the man said.
"Fair enough," Mike said. The terms had agreed with what Cat had told him he could expect.
Shaking his head, he added, "You can sleep in the barn with the horses."
"Sounds good," Mike said thinking that it sounded like a smelly place to sleep.
The man said, "I'll pay you a pinch this evening so that you'll be able to eat."
"Thanks," Mike said.
"First thing in the morning, you'll water and then feed the horses. After that, you'll want to collect some wood from the woods to trade it for food at the market. A good load of wood will get you a loaf of bread and some sausage. When you get back, you'll muck out the stalls," the man said. Mike wasn't the first down on his luck fighter that had come to work for him. Most of them didn't last more than a day. He'd pay them a pinch. If they didn't stay the week, that's all they would get from him.
"Yes, sir," Mike said.
"Muck out the stalls," the man said.
"Yes, sir," Mike said. He paused and asked, "What do I call you?"
"Boss," the man said.
"Well Boss, I'm Mike."
The man snorted and said, "You're 'Hey you' until you've been here long enough for me to bother learning your name."
"Yes, Boss," Mike said with a smile. He was used to that kind of attitude from folks who figured that you wouldn't last the week.
"Well, get to work," the man said pointing to the stables.
Mike worked through the day shoveling manure into a wheel barrow and then from the wheel barrow into barrels. Twice a day a wagon came to collect the barrels of manure leaving behind empty barrels. After a couple of questions, Mike had learned that the tannery used the manure as part of the tanning process. They made something called dung water and soaked the skins in it to make them supple. Mike didn't know much about tanning, but he had thought they used urine and not dung. He would learn later that they used both urine and dung, but at different points in the process.
He had just finished shoveling the manure from the stalls along the right side of the barn and sat down to take a break. He hadn't been sitting down for more than a minute before a man with one arm approached him. Mike looked up and took in the man's appearance. The sword strapped to his waist suggested that he was a survivor of the slave war. He asked, "How can I help you?"
"I'm Carl. I serve as the King's Representative here," the man said resting his hand on the pommel of his sword.
"Pleased to meet you," Mike said. He looked at his filthy hands thinking that he should shake hands, but then remembered that wasn't the custom on Chaos. He said, "I'm Mike. I am currently serving as the chief remover of horse manure at this stable."
Carl laughed at the pretentious introduction and said, "John said he had a new man working for him."
"If John is the boss of this here establishment, then that would be me," Mike said with a nod of his head.
"I hear that you usually earn a living with a weapon," Carl said. Judging by the guy's build and the way he carried himself, it was pretty much a foregone conclusion that he was comfortable with a weapon in his hand.
"Are you hiring?" Mike asked confident that the answer would be negative.
Surprised that the man had the nerve to even ask the question, Carl shook his head. No one would hire someone who had lost everything like that until he won something back. He said, "It doesn't look to me that you have the weapons necessary to sell your services."
Mike laughed and said, "I'm a terror with a shovel full of manure. You can ask the horses. They'll tell you the same thing."
Carl laughed and said, "I'm not hiring."
"I didn't think so," Mike said.
"I hope you won't cause any trouble," Carl said. Too many times these guys would go out and pound on some defenseless slob to get what they needed. It wasn't entirely negative. In the process of a good fighter making their way back to the top, they'd often take out a lot of lowlifes. He said, "If I hear of some farmer getting roughed up, you'll be the first one that I come after."
"You won't have to look too hard. I'll be here shoveling manure," Mike said.
Carl nodded his head and said, "Just stay out trouble."
"Will do," Mike said. He watched Carl walk off wondering how he had lost his arm. Odds were good that it was during the slave war. Of course, being a King's Representative had its dangers as well.
By the end of the workday, Mike was pretty tired. He had just finished watering the horses by carrying water to the corral one bucket at a time. It was dull boring manual labor, but it gave him time to think. He realized that after being on Chaos for most of a day that he had only met two people and he had made no progress towards getting a weapon.
Relaxing under a nearby shade tree, the Boss watched Mike work without making any comments. The fact was that he was enjoying a day off. Running a stable required working seven days a week. The horses had to drink water and eat every day. With no one working for him, it was up to him to do everything.
When Mike finished filling the watering trough, the Boss came over and handed him a pinch. In a gruff voice, he said, "Get something to eat. We start early in the morning."
"Yes, Boss," Mike said. Knowing that he didn't know of a good place to spend his money, he asked, "If you wanted to get as much as possible for this pinch, where would you go?"
"The Three Ducks. It is right down the street. You can't miss it," the man answered.
"Thanks, Boss," Mike said. He went to the well and brought up a bucket of water. He washed his face and hands. Once that was done, he carried the bucket over to the trough and poured it in. He went back to the well and picked up his pinch.
It didn't take him long to find the Three Ducks Inn. It had a wood sign with three ducks painted on it. Mike went in and looked around. The crowd was pretty rough looking. Everyone, with the exception of him, had a weapon. He went up to the bar and put his pinch on the counter. He said, "I'll take everything this can buy."
"That would be a pitcher of watered wine, a hunk of bread, and a bowl of stew," the barman said taking the pinch.
"Sounds good to me," Mike said.
The barman slid a pitcher of watered wine across the bar along with a pewter mug. Mike took them. He poured a little of the watered wine into the mug and took a sip. Smiling, he said, "That takes the edge off of my thirst."
Without even acknowledging the comment, the barman put down a bowl filled with a thick stew. There was a slice of bread laid across the top. He said, "Here you go."
"Thanks," Mike replied. He picked up the bowl of stew in one hand and the pitcher and the mug in the other. He carried them over to the nearest table and took a seat with his back to the wall. Once there, he looked around the room. Carl, the King's Representative, was in the place talking to a man with a horribly scarred face. He didn't envy Carl his job and then realized that Carl was basically a cop.
He looked down at his bowl of stew and discovered that he didn't have a spoon. Looking over at the table next to his, he watched one of the men use the bread to shovel some of the stew in his mouth. Shrugging his shoulders, Mike did the same. The stew was hot and the watered wine was wet. He had no complaints about the meal.
He looked up in time to spot the guy with the scarred face making his way over to the bar. He was right in front of Mike when one man called out to him, "Hey ugly!"
The guy with the scarred face turned to look at the man who had yelled at him. A man who had been buying a pitcher of watered wine moved behind the guy with the scarred face. Mike thought it was odd that the second man was approaching so close to what was about to be a fight. As the man with scars dealt with the man with who had called out to him, the second man pulled out a knife from his belt. The man stopped right in front of Mike and pulled his hand back in preparation for stabbing the guy with scars in the back.
Not appreciating the tactic being used, Mike reached out and grabbed the man's wrist that held the knife. With a good hard twist of the wrist, the knife hit the ground. The guy looked down at his wrist in surprise. Mike backhanded the guy with his free hand and sent him to the floor. He looked around the edge of the table and saw that the guy was knocked out. He didn't release the wrist until after he was sure that the man wasn't in shape to retaliate.
Seeing that the guy with the scars was having no problems with the first guy, Mike shrugged his shoulders and went back to eating. The guy with scars took out his opponent with a nasty blow using a pewter mug across the temples. Mike grimaced thinking that the guy would be seeing double for the next month or two.
Across the room, Carl had seen the situation develop. He started to make his way over to the fight, but the direct path was blocked by others standing up to watch the fight. Seeing that Mike had taken care of one man, he nodded his head.
The guy with the scars on his face turned around and looked at the guy on floor. He had caught the action behind him out of the corner of his eye and knew that he had narrowly escaped getting killed. Shaking his head, he knelt down and removed the weapons and the coin purse. He tossed them on the table and said, "These are yours."
"Thanks," Mike said eyeing the spoils of battle. There were two knives and a coin purse. One of the knives was a real weapon while the other was a utility knife. Both were appreciated.
"I should be the one thanking you," the guy with scars said as he slipped a knife and a coin purse into his belt. He tossed the worthless club into the fire.
"Glad to be of service," Mike said. He poured some wine into his mug and took a drink. He grabbed one of the knives and stuck it in his belt. It felt good to be armed. He reached out for the coin purse and opened it. There were two shells, a quad, and six pinches inside. It was more than what he would earn at the stables. He put the coins back and tucked the coin purse in his belt.
The man with scars returned with a pitcher of watered wine and two mugs. He took a seat next to Mike. In a gruff voice, he said, "I'm Badger."
"I'm Mike."
Carl came over to the table and took a seat. He accepted a mug of watered wine from Badger and took a sip. Smiling over at Mike, he said, "It looks to me like you don't need a shovel full of manure to be a terror."
"I didn't say that was my only skill," Mike said with a grin.
The man on the floor started to return to consciousness. Carl leaned over and, without getting out of his seat, kicked him in the head. Turning to the rest of the room, he shouted, "Come on, somebody. Get these guys out of here. Someone's liable to trip over them on the way to the bar."
For a split second, Mike envied Carl his job — no civil rights to respect, no paperwork to fill out, and no lawyers looking over his shoulder. All he had to do was knock out the bad guys and throw them in the street without money or a weapon. Justice was swift and brutal.
From atop the pile of hay at the back of the barn, Mike woke just a few minutes before dawn. It was that time of day between dark and light that gave everything a soft look. He looked around at the horses. It seemed to him that all they did was eat and produce manure. Thinking about the bodily functions of the horses reminded him of his own bodily needs.
Climbing down from the haystack, he went over to the piss pot outside the building. It felt weird taking a leak out in the open like that, but he wasn't the only man out there. Everyone in town collected their urine for the tannery. Over his mug of watered wine the previous night, he had learned that selling the urine to the tannery cut down the taxes. It was a common joke that men could drink and pay their taxes at the same time.
Once he had finished relieving his bladder, he knew it was time to start watering the horses and then feeding them. The sooner that was done, the sooner he could find something to eat. He headed over to the well. He dropped the bucket down the well and then pulled it up with the rope. Once he had the bucket up, he washed his hands and face. The horses wouldn't care if he used the water first. He scratched his face. The beard he was growing irritated his skin.
He poured the water into the carry bucket and headed over to the trough. He was pouring the bucket into the trough when the boss came over. Surprised to find Mike working, he asked, "What are you doing here?"
"I'm watering the horses," Mike answered. When the carry bucket was empty, he carried it back to the well.
Boss followed him and said, "I heard that you saw a little action over at the Three Ducks."
"That's right," Mike said. He threw the well bucket into the well, waited for it to sink enough to fill, and then started to pull it up again.
"So why are you working?" the Boss asked. He figured that with a little money in his pockets that Mike would have quit.
"Well, I told Carl, the King's Representative, that I would be over here shoveling manure if he needed to find me," Mike answered. He filled the carry bucket and headed back over to the trough. It seemed to him that there had to be a better way to do this.
The Boss went over to the well and dropped the well bucket down. He pulled it up in time for Mike to refill his bucket. The Boss said, "The name is John Rider."
"Are you a member of the Rider Clan?" Mike asked.
"Not really. Great-great-granddaddy was of the Rider Clan, but he settled down in these parts to trade horses. After two generations of being settled, you stop being a member of the Rider Clan," John answered.
"I didn't know that," Mike said. In the briefings given him by Cat, he had learned a little about Chaos in terms of who the important families were. Among the most famous families were the Rider Clan, the Armor Clan, and the Mercs.
The pair of men worked through the first hour of the morning watering the horses. Once that was done, Mike went and got the grain to feed the horses. The grain was stored in huge burlap bags. It was work carrying the bags to the feed troughs, but it didn't take long to get the food distributed to the horses. When they were finished taking care of the horses, Mike asked, "How come you've got so many horses here?"
"Most of them belong to a freight company. They're going to pull up here around the middle of the afternoon with six wagons and swap out their horses before heading on down to the next major town. I'll check out their horses and take care of them. Later this week another train of wagons will return. They'll swap out their horses and head on back," John said. It was a pretty good deal for him. He charged twenty four shells a week to take care of twenty- four horses. The freight company had twenty four horses that were always in good shape. They were able to move their goods faster than any of the other companies.
"It is a lot of work," Mike said.
"Well, it is hard hiring folks. With an operation this big, I should have two men working it. There are just too many opportunities now that the war is over. Most folks just want to be farmers," John said. The only people who would work now were fighters who had just lost everything.
"Sorry to hear that," Mike commented.
"It will change. A kid or two will grow up and not want to work as a farmer. He'll come wandering into town hoping to become an adventurer. If he's lucky, he'll get half his brains beaten out of him. Then he'll be smart enough to like this job," John said with a laugh.
"It is not a bad job," Mike said.
"Well, it is yours if you want it," John said.
Shaking his head, Mike said, "No. I'm heading out at the end of my week."
"See what I mean. It's not easy getting someone to do this job," John said.
Mike had two hours off between an hour before noon and an hour after noon. He went over to the market place and with a single pinch he was able to trade his way through breakfast and lunch goods for the rest of the week. He also managed to pick up a pot, a blanket, and some kind of ground bean that was remarkably like coffee. Mike wondered if it was chicory.
He returned to the stable to eat some of the cheese and meat that he had bought. He wrapped it in a little bread and had a perfectly decent sandwich. He ate it drinking a little of the coffee he had purchased wishing that he had found some sugar. It wasn't exactly coffee, but it was good enough.
He was enjoying his brunch when Badger wandered over. The man leaned against the railing of the fence. He stifled a yawn and asked, "Still working over here?"
"Yes," Mike said.
Shaking his head at the idea that someone who could handle himself well in a fight would choose to do such manual labor, Badger said, "I've got to know why you stopped that guy from killing me."
"I don't like to see people get stuck in the back with a knife," Mike answered with a shrug of his shoulders.
Badger laughed and said, "I have to admit that I prefer not to find a knife stuck in my back."
"So who was he?" Mike asked.
"He was a former slaver who holds a grudge. I took out some friends of his earlier this year. His kind have been keeping the King's Representatives pretty busy the past year or so," Badger answered.
"I can imagine," Mike said. It seemed to him that after every war there were a handful of people who didn't want to believe that the war was over. Losing too many friends and family members led to people losing their spirit or turning bitter. Most folks just wanted to leave the violence behind, but there always the handful of men who turned to violence in an attempt to erase the past.
He watched Mike take a bite out of his sandwich and said, "Most folks would have looked at him and then at me and decided that he probably had a legitimate reason to kill me."
"Why?" Mike asked.
"If you haven't noticed, I'm kind of ugly," Badger said running a finger along one of his scars.
"I noticed that you had a few scars. I've seen worse," Mike said knowing that one result of war was a lot of ugly looking people. Lost limbs, crippled bodies, and scars were the true badges of courage. If a face full of shrapnel didn't kill you, then it left you looking like some sort of patchwork quilt.
"Oh," Badger said thinking that he had more than a few scars. Mike's reaction to his appearance reminded him how King Sid treated him.
"Want some cheese and sausage?" Mike offered holding up his sandwich as an example of what he was offering.
"No thank you. I won't bother you anymore," Badger said turning to leave. He had gotten news that there was some unrest to the northeast and he wanted to check it out.
"Take it easy," Mike said. He took a bite out of his sandwich.
John wandered over and took a seat on the step into the barn. He yawned and looked around. There wouldn't be too much to do until the wagon train arrived. It would be busy for about an hour and then there would be nothing to do except for the normal chores. He had enjoyed the break yesterday, but running a stable was really a two man job. He would use this chance to fix some things around the place. There were a few boards that needed replacing on the side of the barn.
Mike had led the horses out of the stables and let them loose in the corral. The horses moved around a bit feeling free of the confines of their stalls. They weren't exactly the friskiest animals that he had ever seen. Mike climbed up on the fence and said, "I guess it is time for me to start shoveling shit."
"Today you can shovel it in the piles behind the barn," John said. He would hire someone in the spring to spread the manure across the field on which he grew hay.
Mike said, "I thought you sold it all to the tannery."
"No. The only time they want fresh manure is when they make the manure soup they use when soaking the hides. They've got to beat the hides for half a day to soften them up. It is a smelly business and I complained when they built it two miles of town. Yesterday the wind was towards us. Today it is away from us and we can breath," John said. Although horse manure was not the best to use in the tanning process, it was the easiest to acquire in this area. Selling a couple of barrels of manure to the tannery brought in a few quad a month.
"I thought the air smelled a lot better to day. Of course, it could be that I'm getting used to it," Mike said.
"You can get used to the smell of manure, but not a tannery," John said.
Mike leaned against the rail of the corral looking over at the horses. After a minute he said, "You know, I can't tell a good horse from a bad horse."
"Really?" John asked.
"Yes," Mike said. He currently had the best chance of learning about the animals with this job.
John pointed to the horses in the corral and said, "You wouldn't want to ride any of those horses. They've been pulling wagons for a couple of years. When it comes to a horse you'll ride, you will want look for a good build with balanced musculature and symmetric skeletal structure. My Daddy used to say that posture was everything. Get a horse that looks like it is proud to be horse."
For the rest of the week, Mike learned about horses. He learned how to tell their age and general physical condition, how to handle them, and how to harness them for use in pulling a wagon. That was on top of learning how to water, feed, and clean up after them. The only thing he didn't learn that week was how to ride one.