A snippet of story

[demiurgent]

Jack sipped tea as he watched the rain, and thought about the work he couldn’t very well do in a downpour.  If he’d had a plump wife to call his own, as Miss Diggit who did for Sir Roderick would have liked to be, she’d be fussing at him right about now, demanding he take off his wet things and gather more wood for the fire, but he didn’t so there was just him, and he didn’t see much reason to take off wet and put on dry to simply be made wet again.

            There was a knock at the door.  A firm one.  Jack was a hair startled -- the Keeper’s House didn’t receive many visitors in good weather, much less rain.  He gulped another sip of tea and set the mug on the oak table, then made his way to the door, throwing it open.

            “Well, hello Jack,” his visitor said with a slight grin, looking rather bedraggled despite his blue cloak.  “Might I share your fire for a few moments?”

            “Not at all, Sir Roderick,” Jack said, stepping back and motioning the Manor lord in.  “Not at all.  You’re out on a damp day, if I might say so.  Damp and no denying it.”

            “I wouldn’t dream of arguing with you,” Sir Roderick said, and this was indeed the Rod of the later story, and yes it is fair to say that at this time he was Jack’s friend, as well as his lord.  I know this might surprise you.  That’s the way of things -- people always leap later in a story when they hear it.  But Old Jack Hewer always spoke well of Sir Roderick Owles, and I think it best we do so when telling their tale.

            In those days, of course, the Hewer and the Rod didn’t look like the statues or the paintings.  No, Jack was a shorter man -- five and nine, perhaps, with blond hair and a thick blond beard, wearing leathers for the hunt.  And Sir Roderick was tall and fine of face, with a trimmed beard along his jaw and curls in his reddish black hair, wearing the thin long sword that was popular in that day at his side.

            “So what brings you to this corner of Owl’s Head, eh?  Out for a ride and the rain caught you, I warrant, and no doubt.  You’ll want some tea to warm yourself, and I think I’ve some wine here somewhere.”

            “Tea would be fine, and wine I can get back up at the estate I’m sure.  No, the rain didn’t drive me here, Jack.  I came looking for you.”

            “Mm?  The trouble with coyotes, no doubt?  Well, they’ve taken a few deer and old Younger Will’s been making noise about his sheep, not that coyotes are much for sheep when there’s a dog nearby, and that hound of his--”

            “No, Jack, not coyotes either.  I find myself... in the position of asking an odd favor.  May I sit?”

            Jack looked startled.  “A favor?  I’m not sure what I can do for you but I’m usually up for anything, and you should know that by now, Sir Roderick.”

            “I do, I do.  It’s been too long since you’ve been along with me, you know it, Jack?  Mm -- the Drakish War was four years ago.  It seems like four weeks, doesn’t it?”

            “You didn’t get a knock on the head, Sir.  The time’s not been bad, from my mind.”  Jack smiled.  He and many of the able bodied men of the Manor had gone with Sir Roderick to fight in Drake across the White Bay.  It had been moderately profitable, though they hadn’t kept much property.  They seemed to only rarely keep much of Drake or Pandor when they went in, and the Pandorans and Drakes didn’t keep much of Fairhaven when they invaded.  It all balanced out, somehow.  Perhaps that’s the thing to remember about the beginning of the story.  Everything was balanced, and even.

            “Well, there is that.  I learned to duck before you, I think.  Still, it’s been too long.”

            “And do I take this to mean there’s another war a-coming, and I should be finding a boy or wife to keep the grounds while we’re off?”  Jack half-smiled.  He knew the drill by now.  To be healthy was to be a soldier, when soldiering came.

            “Oh, no no.  Nothing of the sort.  That Drakish Prince has been courting the Queen for eight months, and Drake and Pandor are the ones currently fighting.  The Pandoran ambassador and that bloody Bishop have been rather conciliatory of late, as well.  So there isn’t a good fight in the offing if that’s what you mean.”

            “Ah.  Well then -- what sort of favor are we looking at then?”

            Sir Roderick sat back, and took out his pipe, filling it with tobacco.  “Have you some fire?” he asked, and Jack saw to his needs quietly, setting the kettle back on as he did so.  “It’s... almost embarrassing, really.”

            “Oh really?  Must have to do with a woman, then.  A woman who’s not Lady Jessica and you need some assistance.”  Jack half-smirked.

            Sir Roderick flushed slightly as he puffed.  “No, actually.  Well, yes and no.  It is a woman, but it’s also Lady Jessica.”

Comments

[(Anonymous)]

OK, now I'm intrigued.
Very nice. I love Jack already.

~Robin