A Perfect World - Chapter 6 (Patreon)

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Sixth stared down at the bowl of warm slop in his lap.

Using a piece of wood, he scooped up a portion before letting in drip down. His expression made his opinion of the dish abundantly clear.

‘Is this grain porridge? But what on earth are these… little black bits?’

He was ashamed of his ungratefulness, but that sense of shame wouldn’t make the food taste better.

Deciding to down it all at once, he held the bowl to his lips and tilted his head back.

He’d swallowed medicine with more enthusiasm than… whatever this was.

‘How can something be so thin, yet lumpy?’

His throat moved as he swallowed the stuff.

A faint sheen of sweat covered his face when he plonked down the empty bowl.

“Awful, isn’t it?”

The question was spoken in a thick accent.

Sixth looked at the fellow. He was a graceful man, wearing a silver hoop in one ear.

He wasn’t sure how to answer. He didn’t want his ingratitude to become obvious.

“It was f-fine.”

He found his body betraying him. The dishonesty of the statement was such that a stutter was produced.

The stranger raised a thin eyebrow.

“You don’t have to pretend. Everyone agrees it’s terrible.”

Sixth opened and closed his mouth like a fish, trying to think of something to say.

The man didn’t wait for him to respond. He took something from his clothes and stuffed it into Sixth’s hands.

Looking down, he saw that the man had given him a piece of dried fruit.

“Eat it. You’ll feel better.”

After nodding his thanks, he started munching on the slice.

A moment of silence stretched between the two of them.

Sixth was unsociable by nature and not in the mood for a chat. Rather, he wondered what’d happened to Griffin.

After the two of them were received, Griffin was rushed off somewhere unknown. He'd been shunted towards the cook by Wilk. After dropping him off, the mercenary had returned to his post.

It was there that this fellow sprung onto him, and he hadn’t been able to get rid of him since. He didn’t even know the guy’s name.

“My name’s Sixth, and yours?”

He decided to introduce himself.

The man smiled charmingly and put one hand on his chest.

“I am Lael, a musician from An Tríú Abhainn.”

He pronounced his name as ‘Laal’, the vowels rumbling in his chest.

Sixth furrowed his brows.

“I’ve not heard of it.”

Lael didn’t look surprised.

“It’s a faraway land, and the people are reclusive.”

He huffed.

“A lot of dullards, if you ask me.”

As he spoke, he leaned closer to Sixth until their shoulders were touching.

Sixth stiffened.

A suspicion formed in his heart. If it was correct, then he wanted to nip the problem in the bud even if it meant risking offense.

“It’s a sudden question, but… are you interested in me?”

The question caught Lael off guard and his head whirled towards Sixth.

In the faint light, cast by the fires scattered between the carriages, he could see the musician’s cheeks gain a red tint.

That, combined with his flustered look, gave Sixth all the confirmation he needed.

Inwardly, he couldn’t help but sigh.

‘Its still the same. If only I received half as much attention from women as I did from men…’

He waved his hand from side to side.

“I’m, flattered…? Unfortunately, I’m not interested in guys.”

He scooted a bit away from Lael so he could see his reaction.

The musician looked disappointed, but then a hint of confusion appeared on his face.

“You don’t pursue men? But… you’re shaved. And you wear scents.”

It was Sixth’s turn to look embarrassed. He wasn’t fond of body hair, so he trimmed as best he could.

As for the ‘scent’… well, he had to add something to his soap, didn’t he? Smearing animal fat mixed with ash on yourself hardly resulted in an appealing smell.

“That’s, well… in any case, it’s not like that.”

Lael looked like he wasn’t buying it.

“If you’re concerned about being exposed, don’t be. I assure you, all the people here are… strange, in their own way.”

He leaned closer, trying to get a better look at Sixth. His gaze trailed appreciatively up and down the other person’s body.

“You are well kept…”

His hand slipped around Sixth’s upper arm and he squeezed it softly.

“…and your build is more impressive than I thought.”

At this point, Sixth was starting to feel a bit panicky. He tried to spot his companion, but it was useless.

He had no idea how to get himself out of this situation.

‘Griffin, where in the world are you!’

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“Goodness…”

A girl carefully ran her fingers through Griffin’s gleaming locks.

The silver haired maiden reclined inside one of the carriages, her head dangling loosely over a basin of water.

She looked like she’d died and gone to heaven.

“I thought it was a wig, but it’s not…”

The other girl sighed appreciatively while rubbing something fragrant into Griffin’s hair. Her movements were gentle, as if worried she’d damage it.

Glancing contemplatively down at Griffin, she noting how beautiful she looked with her fluttering eyelids and peachy cheeks, flushed from the bath.

Ingrid had immediately ordered hot water for her. Evidently, she couldn’t stand seeing ‘Madeline’s’ grimy state.

The girl couldn’t help but agree.

It was like if a person had inherited an old piece of jewelry. The first thing they would do is give it a polishing to see it shine.

“Thank you, Missy. I would’ve washed it myself.”

Griffin voice was like a sighing dove.

‘She even sounds beautiful!’

Missy was fascinated with people like Madeline. It wasn’t unusual for girls her age. Her head had been stuffed full of romantic fantasies, images of handsome gentlemen and noble ladies.

Sometimes, though she wouldn’t admit it, she pictured herself in the role, being swept off her feat by a tall stranger. Unfortunately, she was as common as dirt.

Her travels had instilled a sense of realism. There was no way a person of proper breeding would be interested in her.

For years, she’d bottled those emotions inside her. Now, stars shone in her eyes as her childhood hopes were reignited.

‘If I serve her well, it’s possible she might want to take me with her!’

The idea of being employed as a castle maid made her lightheaded with giddiness. That way, she’d get to observe high-society intrigue from close up.

A stray thought brought a frown to her face.

“It must’ve been difficult, travelling alone with a man.”

Missy’d heard some of Madeline’s story from the girl in question. Apparently, she had a male companion.

Missy was suspicious. There’s no way some wild savage had any clue how to properly treat a girl.

She knew their behavior, having known a few ‘wild men’. They were only interested in three things: drinking, fighting and girls.

“…no, he was nice.”

Griffin’s voice wavered a little, causing a flash of rage within Missy’s chest.

‘Lady Madeline, you are too kind! There’s no need to defend men like those. From now on, I’ll make sure he doesn’t lay a single finger on you!’

After wiping the soapy water from her face, Griffin looked at Missy.

“I had… injured myself. He found me and tended to my wounds… I may not have survived had it not been for his help.”

Her tone was sincere, but Missy… well, she had other thoughts.

‘Undoubtedly, he used her injury as an excuse to put his filthy hands on her body! Her situation couldn’t have been so dire… if it was, he wouldn’t have been able to do anything. What could he possibly know about treating wounds?’

Her desire to keep the poor girl away from that rogue only intensified further. She’d suffered enough.

After drying ‘Madeline’s’ hair, she started brushing it with a wooden comb.

While she was busy, the caravan door opened. It was Ingrid, carrying a steaming bowl of soup in one hand. It had a pleasant color, with cut vegetables and meat bobbing on the surface.

“Someth’n ta eat, ‘lil gal. Fetched it meself – ya best ‘preciate ta hon’r.”

The reassuring smile on the caravan master’s face made it clear she was joking.

Griffin took the food gratefully.

“Thank you very much. I don’t know how I can repay you…”

She did her best to project a pitiful front.

Still smiling good-naturedly, Ingrid turned towards Missy.

“Get goin’, girl. I be havin’ a chat whit ta birdie meself.”

Missy shot a look towards Griffin out of the corner of her eye, already having put her hopes on this new arrival for a better future.

The madam wasn’t a cruel person, but she could be a little… insensitive, sometimes.

Griffin, noticing the other person’s concern, reached out one hand to give Missy’s knee a soft pat.

“Thank you again for helping me wash, Missy.”

Taking it for the dismissal it was, the maid stood up and reluctantly made her way out the door.

“You can call on me anytime. I don’t mind.”

After receiving calm smiles from the two remaining occupants of the caravan, Missy closed the door behind her.

Silence reigned inside.

Griffin looked at Ingrid with a hint of curiosity in her eyes, while the older woman stared at the closed door, lost in thought for the moment.

The atmosphere started getting a little… strange, and Griffin felt like saying something just to break the tension.

“A simple young’n, Missy is. We’re not mindin’, none ‘o us do. I’m wonder’n if ye be… a tad less simple…”

It was Ingrid who spoke first. A clever glint shone in her eye as she turned to look at ‘Madeline’.

“Ma’am…?”

Griffin didn’t know how to respond.

Ingrid gave the bowl of soup a push.

“Gob’s best fer eatin’.”

There was a commanding note to her words.

With a whispered ‘thank you’, Griffin took a piece of cutlery from the table and started spooning soup into her mouth.

‘It’s tasty.’

The dish was well salted, and some sort of spice had been added. It made her tongue tingle.

She looked down at the surface, on which a layer of oil shone.

When she was an orphan, the froth would always skimmed before doling out portions. Thusly, the gruel had been thin and watery.

Comparatively, these people were treating her well.

However, she could feel Ingrid staring holes into the back of her head, bent over her bowl for the purpose of eating.

‘Am I imagining it? I don’t think so…’

She didn’t know what this woman was thinking, and it was making her uncomfortable.

“Innit tae ye likin’?”

Griffin discovered that she’d stopped.

She hurriedly shook her head.

“No, it’s delicious. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten anything so flavorful.”

She didn’t notice her slip-up until after she’d said it.

Ingrid grinned widely, like a cat who got the cream. Her teeth were worn down and stained, and her eyes were round and dark in the dim light of the caravan.

“Hoh…? How kind ‘o ye ta sae so. I be thinkin’ a fancy lass ate better’n a bowl ‘o old mutton ‘nd veg.”

The gears whirred in Griffin’s mind as she tried to find a way out of the hole she’d dug for herself.

“I haven’t eaten anything this good during the past few months…”

Her excuse sounded weak to her own ears, but she couldn’t spend too much time trying to come up with an answer.

Ingrid had plopped both her elbows on the table, staring at Griffin with her chin on her hands.

“Lassie… Me fam’ly been performin’ ‘fore ta ‘ole man met me mum.”

Her idea to approach the caravan so quickly, in retrospect, was impulsive and stupid.

‘She’s suspicious of me…’

Her eyes darted around the room, looking for something that she could use to defend herself.

Ingrid watched this happening, thoughts sparking behind her eyes.

She spoke.

“Nae nae, birdie. I’ll le’ ye kno’ – I ‘mire some’n can pull ta wool o’er Wilk’s eyes. E’en if he be… somewha’ lax when it come’n ta kiddies.”

Evidently, she was gaining some satisfaction from this situation, judging by the smirk on her lips.

‘If they had nefarious intentions, there was no reason they’d wait this long to make them known. They even washed, clothed and fed me.’

Before doing anything rash, Griffin gave herself a second to think things over.

“If I can clarify things, I’ll do so.”

She managed to regained a measure of confidence. After all, she’d not said enough to incriminate herself – they’d made assumptions all on their own.

Ingrid snorted.

“Aye, yer a quick ‘en. Hae’er, I ‘ave no pa’ience fe yer cle’erness.”

She rocked backwards on her little stool until only one of the legs was touching the floor.

“An o’er – Work fer me, an’ I’ll forgi’e yer lyin’, an’ feed ye and yer lil’ frien’.”

“I didn’t lie-…”

Before Griffin could finish, Ingrid leaned forward, the legs of her stool grating against the wooden floor. One of her palms came down hard on the little bench, sending droplets of soup flying into the air.

“I wan’ nae hear it. Only yay, ‘er nay.”

The moment Ingrid had lurched into movement, Griffin had vanished from her seat, only to reappear in the corner of the caravan, holding a brass candlestick.

Ingrid’s eyes moved toward the spot she’d snatched it from, then towards the girl herself. Her half-crouched form resembled that of a startled housecat.

Grinning, Ingrid put her back against the carriage door. She’d sat down in front of it for a reason.

“Thar’s no’ere ta run, girlie. Sat. I’ll do nothin’ ta ye.”

When it became clear Griffin wouldn’t be budging from her spot, the older woman sighed.

“Ye must ‘ae seen yerself – ther’s a’ least two dozen fellas ‘round. I wan’ed ta grab ye? Ye’d be grabbed.”

However, her reassurances were of no use. Griffin remained frozen, like an ice sculpture.

Seeing this, Ingrid berated herself. She shouldn’t have teased the girl. Now, things had escalated to this extent.

She made a placating gesture towards ‘Madeline’.

“See, yer pretty as a penny, ‘nd a good actor. Boys’ll line up fer miles ta get a gander. Blow ‘em a kiss, and they’ll drown ye in gifts.”

Ingrid smiled conspiratorially, and rubbed her fingers together in a gesture every merchant would understand.

“Me? ’ll get a share, ‘course. I be feedin’ ye, a’er all.”

The mention of money got Griffin’s attention.

Her pupils trembled for a moment, Ingrid’s words drawing her out of her ‘fight-or-flight’ state.

“You want me to… perform?”

Ingrid nodded once.

“Ye’ll be a good ‘un.”

In response, Griffin lowered her candlestick. A drop of wax slid down its base and dripped onto her hand – it had been lit when she grabbed it.

She didn’t seem to notice.

“…will I get paid?”

Ingrid raised an eyebrow. She thought that it was impressive, that the ‘birdie’ was still bargaining right now. Her eyes scanned the girl from top to bottom.

‘Aye, she’s keeper, fer certain. Ta ones wit ta pretties’ heads, most dannae have much in ‘em.’

Smiling, Ingrid stretched out her hand.

“I be givin’ ye me word – ye or yer frien’ will be fed an’ clothed, an’ ye’ll get a cut ‘o ta proceedins’”

Griffin eyed the offered hand cautiously, leaning forward on her tip-toes.

“How much will I get?”

The wagon master gestured towards the knocked-over chair, amusement written all over her face.

“Sat, an’ we’ll talk it o’er.”

Griffin stared searchingly at Ingrid. When a dozen seconds had passed, she set down the candlestick. After righting the small stool, she took a seat.

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Night held the caravan firmly in its grasp.

The troupe had spent the day travelling, with many having to trace the route on foot. The wagons were used primarily for storage, and what space remained was reserved for the elderly. It came as no surprise that everyone was tired.

A dim ray shone from underneath the door of one carriage, illuminating two prone figures a short distance away. They were asleep, judging by the rise and fall of the linen blanket covering them.

If one was to squint into the darkness, more bodies would become visible, scattered around the clearing. The wagons had been drawn into a circle, forming a protective enclosure.

They would rise again when dawn came. 

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“Hey, wake up!”

Sixth felt someone jostling his shoulder. In response to their demand, he rolled over and groaned.

“Fuck, I won’t ask again…”

It was a deep voice, belonging to a man. It sounded somewhat familiar to Sixth.

When he still didn’t respond, the man grumbled something under his breath.

Sixth heard his footsteps retreat. A clattering, sloshing noise soon sounded from somewhere nearby.

“Oi, ya fockin’ cant!”

Someone stepped on Sixth’s hand. Hard.

The burst of pain jolted him awake. He sat up, spluttering and gasping while clutching his fingers to his chest.

Apparently, the offender didn’t think crushing his fingers was enough. A bucket of foul-smelling water was promptly poured over his head.

Unfortunately for Sixth, he’d chosen that exact moment to take a big breath.

The man watched as the new kid bent over, gagging and wiping futilely at his face.

Whatever had been in that water, it was truly putrid.

“Go scrub the fuckin’ pots, or it’ll be me shit ‘n piss next time!”

The man stomped off without another word, leaving Sixth to suffer by himself.

Gradually, the voice of the unknown man overlapped with that of the cook Sixth’d met last night. He’d figured out the identity of the perpetrator.

‘What in the…?!’

After wiping the stinking fluid from his eyes, he jumped up in a rage. His hand unconsciously to his waist, where he kept a flat knife.

“Now, now. Don’t blow things out of proportion.”

Sixth’s head snapped to the side, only to see Lael sitting casually on a wagon wheel. He had his legs crossed, and was drinking something from a waterskin.

The sight of him only stoked Sixth’s anger further.

The fellow’s appearance had jogged his memory, and the events of last night had returned to him.

He’d tried in vain to get the clingy bastard off him, but Lael had refused to desist. That is, unless Sixth agreed to share a drink with him.

‘What did this ass give me…?’

Lael had offered him a glass bottle – a rare thing to see in these times. The scent alone had been enough to destabilize his consciousness. If he hadn’t been under duress, he’d not have imbibed a single drop!

He remembered that first burning mouthful. After that, his thoughts were a blur.

‘Where did he get something like that?’

Needless to say, distilling alcohol that concentrated wasn’t easily done.

“Your befuddled expression tells me you don’t remember much.”

Lael put the back of his hand against his forehead and sighed deeply.

“What a shame. I will remember last night fondly.”

A soft smile spread across his face.

“You’re a wonderful kisser, by the way.”

Sixth’s hand, having unsheathed his knife, trembled slightly. His visage was like that of a maiden that had her virginity stolen.

He advanced on Lael, weapon in hand.

The musician’s eyes widened.

He leaped off the wagon wheel in retreat, waving his hands back and forth at Sixth. His waterskin had fallen to the ground, and a clear liquid seeped into the dirt.

“It’s a joke, nothing happened!”

Seeing that Sixth’d halted, he hurriedly continued.

“We just drank. After that, both of us went to sleep.”

When Sixth lowered his weapon, Lael chuckled nervously.

“You owe me. Poitin is hard to get, this far away from home.”

Lael was relieved to see the tension disappear from Sixth’s face. He’d anticipated this reaction, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Since you’re up, you should go help Frelt. He’s the cook.”

Lael gestured towards the nearby stream.

“If you don’t he’ll make good on his threat.”

Sixth had intended to offer his assistance – he’d be depending on these people, after all. However, the… manner in which they’d requested his help left a bad taste in his mouth. Literally.

“What’s his problem?”

Sixth’s tone was unwilling, but he headed in Frelt’s direction anyways. He consoled himself with the knowledge that this arrangement was only temporary.

Lael spoke toward his disappearing back.

“You got off easy. The last guy that overslept was tossed face-first into a pile of manure. He was picking undigested grass out of his teeth for days.”

After making a disgusted noise, Sixth disappeared behind one of the carriages.

When he’d vanished, Lael scrunched up his face in an expression of mirth.

‘Things are going to be more exciting from now on.”

A creaking noise sounded from behind him, causing him to turn his head.

Ingrid stepped out of the carriage, followed by her maid, Missy.

Lael greeted his boss.

“Ceannaire maith maidine.”

Hopping down, Ingrid addressed him.

“Mornin’, dandy.”

Lael opened his mouth to protest the form of address, but when a third person appeared behind them, he briefly lost his train of thought.

‘Madeline’ stepped onto the dirt, clothed in a thin cotton dress that went down to her ankles. She wore a pair of dark leather shoes with silver buckles, and her hair was braided.

The musician raised his eyebrows.

He’d gotten a glimpse of the girl last night, but it had been dark. A poor complexion would’ve been impossible to spot, given the bad lighting.

Looking at her now, he had to admit that he was impressed. Her silver hair paired perfectly with her marble skin. Being too pale could give one a sickly appearance, but she didn’t have that problem. On the contrary, she gleamed like a pearl.

“Tá an chuma air gur shnámh iasc mórthaibhseach isteach i d'eangach, ceannaire.”

Ingrid slapped Lael on the back of the head when she heard his statement.

“Clap yer gab or I’ll send ye shovelin’. Nae, are we makin’ time?”

Lael shrugged his shoulders.

“Níl a fhios agam. Ní hé mo phost é.”

Having been listening to their discussion from the side, Missy made her presence known.

“It’s rude to talk so we can’t understand.”

She had her arms crossed under her bust, and one of her feet was tapping against the ground. A frown formed on her pimply forehead.

Lael looked like he hadn’t realized what he was doing.

“Oh, how rude of me!”

He walked over to Griffin, and made a half-bow towards her.

“Where are my manners? My name is Lael. I’m the greatest musician this band of misfits ever had the privilege of employing.”

Griffin smiled politely at him.

“My name is Madeline. It’s nice to meet you.”

She lifted her skirts and gave Lael a curtsey.

Then she glanced from side to side like she was looking for someone. Then, evidently not finding them, she looked at Lael in askance.

“I’m sorry, but have you seen Sixth? He’s the boy that was with me yesterday.”

Griffin doubted that anything would’ve happened to her companion, but she’d be reassured if she could see his face. The two of them had been through thick and thin.

Lael nodded amicably.

“Yes, he’s should be scrubbing pots right now.”

He pointed in his new acquaintance’s direction.

After thanking him, Griffin went off on her own.

"I hope to hear you play, sometime!"

Lael smiled genially when he heard her request.

Turning to Missy, Ingrid gave the maid an order.

“Go wi’ ta birdie.”

Missy didn’t need to be told twice. She’d already decided to latch onto ‘Madeline’ like a limpet, never to let go.

After her disloyal maid had departed, Ingrid beckoned Lael with a single finger.

“An’ ye, come whi’ me.”

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