Sir Osis
He was not going to risk the consequences of an angry father finding out about any of this from him. This was probably not the most noble of choices, but his choices lately had been less than noble anyway. All he had to do was find work somewhere, and this entire situation would be avoided. He knew a little about farming. He was surrounded by farmers, and that had to count for something. Sailing was also an option. Whatever his choice, there was no way he was staying at Feithid’s or anywhere near home.
Before he left the woman’s home that afternoon, he got directions to the next nearest settlement of size, a seaside town called Criogaid, which was just a day’s ride away. Then he set out along the road once more, somewhat more energized than before.
Aside from when he was nearly frightened to death by a large beetle, the next day and night passed Sir Osis by with little to remember until he reached Criogaid.
***
Criogaid was a good-sized settlement, but with an apparent atmosphere of drowsiness, aside from the area near the docks. While there were certainly farms and pasture in the area, it was saltwater that ran through the heart and veins of Criogaid. Sir Osis had been here once before some years ago and knew that an inn was certainly a wise investment here for those who did not wish to have their belongings stolen. Unfortunately, he had no money for a room. Fortunately, he had nothing to worry about being stolen, except his horse. A night not on a damp patch of mud and leaves was not unappealing either.
This left only one real option.
Sir Osis grabbed a drink from the well, rode down to the docks, and began to sing with all his might. “Women, women, love of women. Make bare purse with some men!” He had seen men doing this in the capital, and, truly, they were, in essence, minstrels. “What nobler occupation is there than bringing joy and entertainment to the world?” he asked himself before deciding that question was most powerful when left unanswered. “Some be brown, and some be white; some be tender as the tripe!” He sang his heart out for twenty minutes with no results save a few people coming to watch for a while before leaving. Apparently, the folks in Criogaid were not too keen on paying for something they could hear any night for free in a public house. Then a merchant came up to him and put a coin into his hand.
“I cannot thank—”
“You’re in our way.”
Sir Osis reminded himself of his new station before opening his mouth. “I do apologize. I shall just…”
The merchant shook his head and gestured behind his shoulder.
“Thank you.” Sir Osis sheepishly skulked away from the dock. By the time he was back in the town square, he had forgotten the slight he had suffered at the hands of the merchant and was already scheming of how to get more money. He figured that the coin he had was perhaps enough to sleep in a stable or even a cheap room (you know how prices differ from place to place) for a day, but he needed more if he planned to eat anything that had neither come out of nor was meant to go into a horse.
Then he saw something in the dirt below himself and smiled. Sir Osis stooped to pick up the coin, shoving aside some ragamuffin who had the same idea, and wiped the dust and manure off. Maybe he would be able to get some real food with this. He pocketed the coin and went to find the cheapest looking inn.
Uncle Peter’s House was a dingy inn with a rotting roof, a strange smell Sir Osis could not name, and floor rushes that had not been changed in four months, by his estimate. However, it was a popular place for sailors, it had a very large and attentive female staff, and it was cheap. The two coins bought Sir Osis a bed and supper, and he quickly fell asleep before he could even finish praying that it would not rain that night.
Nevertheless, it did not rain, and he woke up the next morning feeling more refreshed than he had that week. After getting Alphonse from the stable, he had a decision to make. What job should he have? He admitted that smithery was a skill far beyond him, but he could likely get work as a sailor or a farmhand quite easily.
Before he left the woman’s home that afternoon, he got directions to the next nearest settlement of size, a seaside town called Criogaid, which was just a day’s ride away. Then he set out along the road once more, somewhat more energized than before.
Aside from when he was nearly frightened to death by a large beetle, the next day and night passed Sir Osis by with little to remember until he reached Criogaid.
***
Criogaid was a good-sized settlement, but with an apparent atmosphere of drowsiness, aside from the area near the docks. While there were certainly farms and pasture in the area, it was saltwater that ran through the heart and veins of Criogaid. Sir Osis had been here once before some years ago and knew that an inn was certainly a wise investment here for those who did not wish to have their belongings stolen. Unfortunately, he had no money for a room. Fortunately, he had nothing to worry about being stolen, except his horse. A night not on a damp patch of mud and leaves was not unappealing either.
This left only one real option.
Sir Osis grabbed a drink from the well, rode down to the docks, and began to sing with all his might. “Women, women, love of women. Make bare purse with some men!” He had seen men doing this in the capital, and, truly, they were, in essence, minstrels. “What nobler occupation is there than bringing joy and entertainment to the world?” he asked himself before deciding that question was most powerful when left unanswered. “Some be brown, and some be white; some be tender as the tripe!” He sang his heart out for twenty minutes with no results save a few people coming to watch for a while before leaving. Apparently, the folks in Criogaid were not too keen on paying for something they could hear any night for free in a public house. Then a merchant came up to him and put a coin into his hand.
“I cannot thank—”
“You’re in our way.”
Sir Osis reminded himself of his new station before opening his mouth. “I do apologize. I shall just…”
The merchant shook his head and gestured behind his shoulder.
“Thank you.” Sir Osis sheepishly skulked away from the dock. By the time he was back in the town square, he had forgotten the slight he had suffered at the hands of the merchant and was already scheming of how to get more money. He figured that the coin he had was perhaps enough to sleep in a stable or even a cheap room (you know how prices differ from place to place) for a day, but he needed more if he planned to eat anything that had neither come out of nor was meant to go into a horse.
Then he saw something in the dirt below himself and smiled. Sir Osis stooped to pick up the coin, shoving aside some ragamuffin who had the same idea, and wiped the dust and manure off. Maybe he would be able to get some real food with this. He pocketed the coin and went to find the cheapest looking inn.
Uncle Peter’s House was a dingy inn with a rotting roof, a strange smell Sir Osis could not name, and floor rushes that had not been changed in four months, by his estimate. However, it was a popular place for sailors, it had a very large and attentive female staff, and it was cheap. The two coins bought Sir Osis a bed and supper, and he quickly fell asleep before he could even finish praying that it would not rain that night.
Nevertheless, it did not rain, and he woke up the next morning feeling more refreshed than he had that week. After getting Alphonse from the stable, he had a decision to make. What job should he have? He admitted that smithery was a skill far beyond him, but he could likely get work as a sailor or a farmhand quite easily.