Chapter 43. Dances with Chickens.

  A burst of fire caught Sid’s attention. Looking for what caused such excitement, a performer grabbed his interest. That man held a chicken—well not just held, the man was gripping the neck of the bird in one hand, and both legs with the other. Curious as to where the flames had just come from, Sid watched. This chicken was bright orange with a deep red chest, and warm yellow tail feathers. The performer, well he dressed like a performer. Eye appealing and loud. Sid continued watching while the man stretched the bird. Driving his clenched hand up the neck, forcing the bird open. The thing doodled like a rooster coughing ember and flame.

  Amazing! Sid had never choked a chicken before—not one that spit fire anyways. Honestly, he never tried, and this man was relentless. A genius with performance. Dancing from one group to another. Choking his bird in the faces of many. Spitting those hot flames dangerously close. What a master. Sid was hypnotized by such a wonderful act—oh my the performer is skipping this way.

  The man did a spontaneous dance. Hopping and kicking around. Sid twisted trying to follow. The performer smiled up at him curiously. Ignoring the pit of ick for an eyeball. Never minding the nakedness of such a man. The performer knew he had the bare man hooked. Now is the time. He spun. Releasing his grip over the bird’s neck, he half tossed the chicken up at Sid.

  The bird threw out its wings with a mad call. Crowing in that chubby pinched face. Little embers sparked with the sound. Before being pulled back. “An egg for you sir.”

  Opening his eye, Sid looked down. The man held the chicken at par with his chest.

  “Hold out your hand if you would like an egg.”

  Sid was hungry. Eggs would have been delicious—had he a way to cook or boil them. Still, he held out a hand.

  The performer lifted the bird and with a single motion, pumped an egg from the chicken. Another. And another. Laughing and dancing away. Leaving Sid standing with three very warm eggs. Only watching while the man continued to strain the bird all for others amusement. Pumping eggs into the reaching hands.

  Sid then noticed people eating the eggs—there was no need to cook them. Cracking one against the pommel, he peeled the shell free. It was true—these eggs were soft boiled. Biting into the egg, the yolk was gooey still. Warm. Delicious. He couldn’t remember the last time he had an egg—let alone one that was boiled to perfection like this. What kind of bird was that? Abram needed to try one of these—oh no where did Abram go?

  Sid looked for the wagon. Scanning the crowds. He seen over the heads easily enough. Bothering four different blue coats he thought were Abram. One of whom thought Sid was the new tugger—whatever the hell that meant, whatever it was, that man was sure upset Sid would be the one doing it. Each blue coat only walked away from Sid.

  There he was. That was Arieo. What a relief. They didn’t stray too far. For a moment Sid was slightly worried. Not for the donkey or Abram, but for Fenrir. The fear of what if. What if Fenrir wasn’t there. What if someone spots the pup. What if he never found the shadow again. Coming closer, he realized the man walking in blue was not Abram either. Just another about his day.

  “Arieo wait.” Sid tried.

  Arieo however was a stubborn one. He was not going to listen to anybody except his master. Let alone that fat jerk who took his ear. Like a child who screams and runs and taunts of insubordination. The wheel rolled with unruliness. Squeaking with rebellion.

  “Arieo.” Sid hurried for the wagon. He thought the donkey could hear him. “Arieo stop for a moment. Let me fetch my axe.”

  Sid quickly grabbed his axe from the bed, walking with a fast pace to do so. Meeting those pure white eyes underneath the mustache gave a command in the same beat of time. “Stay. I will find you.”

  Fenrir wanted to follow Sid though. The man had an energy about him that correlate with his own. Fenrir was certain he should be walking along side with this big man.

  The warmth of the sun kissed the tip of that shadowy snout. Like the trails of black whispering from mountainside fires, wispy shadow lifted. Evaporating in the wind. Like steam. Both Sid and Fenrir seen this anomaly. Both shared the same look of uncertainty. “Stay with the wagon Fenrir.”

  The command was unnecessary. Fenrir was already slipping back under the wagon. Trusting the pup would stay hidden within, Sid watched while Arieo walked in a new direction.

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  “Naked man.” A voice called. It was a strong calling voice. Well practiced. One that had been calling passerby to the tent for seasons. A call that pulled Sid away from watching the wagon.

  “Me?” That thick mustache questioned.

  “But of course.”

  He was one of the common traders. He wore simple boots, and trousers. Black leather vest and a deep red tunic. Sid liked that tunic, perhaps the man could fit him with one of the same—Fun fact about Sid he liked the color red.

  The trader looked up at Sid. “Are you the tugger?” he questioned funnily. With a face that matched.

  “Why does everyone keep asking me that.” The mustache answered with a question. “What is a tugger?”

  “Taphili didn’t send you?” The trader asked. Sid only shook his head.

  “Phew what a relief.” He chuckled. “No offense but I feel like you would have hurt me big guy. Names Kye.” The man held a hand to shake, only taking it back before Sid could get to it. “Say big guy. Have you got any trade?” Kye asked quickly. “I see you carry a sword and a lovely wood axe. I myself have no need for either item. However, I do need some lumber to expand. You wouldn’t happen to have the proper stars to drop a tree, and create such building material, could you?”

  This was an absurd question for Sid. He wasn’t even sure if he had stars. Let alone the ones for crafting lumber for building. Where he was from, one would just dig a shallow hole. Roll some logs along the hole and slapped some mud on it. Easy. Simple. Walls.

  “Uhh, so I got this axe and this sword. I need dark mead and trousers.” Horrible bartering skills. Absolutely no stars in Trading. Only empty outlines in the sets for Swapping. Pretty sure the ones he should have had in Negotiating never existed—seriously though what a twit, the man literally told Sid what he needed and he responds with ‘uhh me have axe. You have drink.’—idiot.

  Kye looked up at Sid. Face scrunched at such an answer. “I have few robes, and burlap sacks. Not amazing material, but I’m willing to give you my finest set for some lumber. Are you skilled with the axe can you do that craft lumber?”

  Sid looked out at the forest he was just in, then down at the sword and axe in his hands. He really did not want to venture back into the timbers. He did though want some clothing. And a drink. “So, no dark mead?”

  The merchant shook his head. Holding a robe for Sid’s judgement. Hoping it sway that big man. This big fellow needed an eyepatch. Unfortunately, Kye didn’t have one. “There is a brewery behind the castle. At the end of the stables. Fetch me some lumber, and not only will I give you my finest and largest robe, but I will also give you a few extra smaller ones. Plus, this gunny to carry them in.” He stuffed the items in the sack, selling Sid on the idea. “I’m sure Ruth will give you a pint or two for the smaller ones.” He looked at Sid giving a quick eye of measurement. “—I will be honest upfront nothing I have will fit you. But perhaps you can trade with Scarlett for something bigger. She loves accepting new threads and trades. She’s a real bargainer. It’s how she keeps residency in the castle.”

  All Sid heard was two pints. The dark drink will be served in pints—that’s good to know. Carelessly feeling the robes, only thinking of that drink. It was slightly scratchy. It reminded him of rams wool, but it obviously wasn’t. Like the ram it did share that awful greyish white color.

  “Sid!” A salt crushed voice pierced the conversation. “Oye Sid, whats ye trading over heres for, me thoughts ye wanted a dark drink and some britches.”

  “Abram where did you go?” Sid asked, turning to see Abram stepping for him.

  “Told yas alreadys needed to talk to the mason. Needed a new mortar and pestle.” He pulled a rinky-dinky thing from his coat pocket. “It be travel size.” He pulled the bowl off the top like it was a hat.

  There was that salt of irritation. Sid flavored a lot of his conversations with such. Abram though had become quite over flavored with the stuff lately. It was giving Sid indigestion.

  “What about ye Sid, what are ye trading fer.” He looked at the racks and tables. “Sid me don’t thinks these be fitting ye. Any of them.”

  “No. but if, …Sid was it?” Kye questioned that black pit, before quickly looking into the single neighboring eye. Sid nodded in response.

  “Well, if Sid here fetches me some lumber, I will trade him some of my finest robes.” Seeing the voyager in blue inspect his materials he quickly spoke up. “I had already let Sid know my material isn’t great, but he may be able to fetch better trade with the seamstress Scarlett—”

  “Scarlett still be here?” That salty voice cracked with interest.

  “Yes. She has a room on the third level of the castle. She loves new trades. And I’m more than certain she would accept these.” Kye held up the scratchy sets. “She would exchange you with something that fits, maybe even stitching you with something new.” The merchant explained.

  “What do you think Abram? Should we go drop a few trees and bring this man some lumber?”

  “Uhh no Sid cause me highly doubts ye gots the skills to dos any of that’s.”

  It was a blunt answer but correct. Not that either of them knew Sid’s star count or what he was skilled with, but Abram was right. Sid couldn’t chop the lumber. Not how this merchant was asking anyways.

  “Abram, I know how to chop a tree down.”

  “No ye don’ts Sid. Ye knows how to kills a tree, but ye don’ts knows how to cut the lumber from em. It takes practice and skill and aura... It takes stars Sid and me doubts ye gots em.”

  Sid could only blink that lonely eye. Even that worm of a retina or whatever was going on in that crusty pit, but even it slumped with despair. Abram turned to the merchant who was placing robes in an orderly fashion along his tables. “Scarlett, she still justs beyond the Hall-of-Heroics? There on the east end?”

  “Yup. Last I checked anyways.” The merchant answered friendly. “You folks been here before? Neither of you look familiar.”

  “C’mon Sid lets go.”

  Neither of them answered. Only leaving the man to fold his robes in confusion. Damn he really thought that heavy fellow would have gotten him some lumber—oh well perhaps he could sway another.