Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 161535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 161535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
I stride forward and put a bright smile on my face, approaching the man as he slowly walks out onto the rickety, weather-beaten wooden dock. He’s seen us and his steps are cautious, his hand moving to his belt where he keeps a knife. Over one shoulder, he’s got what looks like rope or looped netting, and his gaze flicks to the small boat moored at the edge of the dock, as if he wants to make an escape.
Okay, now I need to say something but make it sound like I belong here. I wave a hand over my head excitedly. “Hello, good sir! Can we trouble you for a moment?”
Hopefully that sounds sufficiently medieval.
“What do you want?” he calls, stopping in his tracks as we approach. The skeptical look remains on his face, and as we approach, I notice he’s not as old as I thought. His face is just lined and weathered, a deep tan on his skin from days on the boat. A stocking cap with a funny little point at the end is atop his head, and if I were in a laughing mood, I’d say he looks like a surly overgrown garden gnome.
But I’m tired and cranky and hungry and covered in mud and bug bites. I don’t care what he looks like. I keep smiling at him and slow my steps, Dingle trotting at my side. “Can we trouble you for fresh water and food? I promise we’ll be on our way quickly once we’ve eaten and cleaned up.”
He scowls at us, gaze darting over me and over my shoulder, where Kalos stands a few steps behind me. The fisherman thinks for a moment longer, then lifts his chin. “Where’d you come from?”
“The swamp.” I gesture at my muddy clothing and my skin, which is covered with a layer of hardening, gritty filth. “There was an army of the Disease God coming from Balsingra and they were marching over the farms to the north. We decided it was safer to run than to confront them. We’ve been in the swamps for a week now.”
The fisherman grunts. “I can sell you food and water, but it’ll cost you. It’s the Anticipation, you know.”
Oh, I’m well aware. “Have you seen any gods yet?”
At my side, Kalos snorts. I shift my weight and step on his foot.
The fisherman just eyes us. “No. You got coin?”
“I’ve got gold jewelry,” I blurt out, and wonder if that was stupid. Why not just say “please rob me”? Being in the swamp for so many days has pickled my brain.
But the fisherman just waves us forward. He drops his nets at the end of the dock and turns back toward the ramshackle house nearby. “Come on, then. You can show me what you have inside. Hope you like fish stew.”
My mouth waters. “Fish stew sounds amazing.”
We follow him inside. The cabin interior is just as bad as I expected it to be. It’s cramped, has a bed and fishing equipment, and a tiny hearth. It smells like old fish. My stomach turns, but when he heads for the hearth and pulls a kettle off a hook, I get hungry all over again. “Leftovers,” he says. “You can have it in exchange for gold.”
It takes everything I have not to snatch the cookpot out of his hands. “You’re too kind.”
He pulls out a stool, indicating I should sit on it. Eyeing Kalos and his equally drippy robes, he turns over a large wooden bucket and gestures that this ‘seat’ is for the god. To my surprise, Kalos doesn’t comment on the terribleness of this seat. He just hunches over and sits, frowning when the uneven lip of the bucket makes him tilt to one side. Dingle moves to Kalos’s side and playfully head-butts him, and the god puts a hand on the smelly goat’s muddy back and gives him a gentle nudge away.
The fisherman makes a “gimme” sign with his hand. “Gold?”
I open my pack - now much lighter than before since I’ve eaten all the supplies. There’s a bundle from Jemet that I haven’t looked inside, but I offer it to him to look through. “Food please?”
He hands me a wooden bowl and thumps the kettle down on the rickety table. There’s a dirty wooden spoon laying atop a rag on the far end of the table, and since I’m not being offered dining ware, I grab it and clean it with the rag, then use the spoon to shovel stew into my bowl. I’m probably going to get cooties from all the germs, but I don’t care. I pile the bowl high with brownish-gray sludge and look over at Kalos.
The god waves a hand at me. “You know I don’t do that.”
Right. I’m the only one starving. I shove a jiggly, congealed bite into my mouth. It tastes like fish soup all right, and it’s cold. It’s also delicious, because I’m ravenous. I down the whole bowl as fast as I can while the fisherman eyes the jewelry left for me and bites on a golden medallion.