Chapter 6: Ripples
Fresh and sweet with skin red as a sunset and flesh like crisp frost, an utterly perfect specimen plucked by blessed hands. For Sir Edward Holmes, it was precisely what his dry mouth needed after hours of snoring. If only it could do something about the dryness of his eyes, seared by the light coming through the nearby window. It was midday, the sun's radiance shining down upon a polished shield for sale across the street and reflecting, with almost a malicious intent, straight into his eyes in the corner of the bar.
The Knight's Sheath was almost always busy at this time of year, but it had hit its daily lull. Those out in the streets were looking for food or too busy to get their rocks off. A few customers drank due to their loyalty to the girls, endless thirst, or need for peace. At the moment, Holmes wasn't interested in the first two. After the meeting in the castle, he had come to the Knight's Sheath to nap in a quiet corner. He was still technically on duty, at least until nightfall.
Almost every knight in the city was working night and day to keep everything peaceful. There were only so many times he could patrol the same streets before his feet refused to carry him even further, and if anyone spotted him here, he could claim he was helping stop bar fights. It was time to move once more or risk getting caught sleeping.
He got up and shuffled to the door. "Thanks, Lucius," he said to the bartender.
"Sure thing, sir."
Holmes stopped, rubbed his eyes, and looked back to the man behind the counter. "Who are you?"
"Daniel, sir. I'm sitting in while Lucius gets some rest. I'm the new guy."
Daniel was nervous, recognizing the silver insignia on his armor. It was bad enough to catch the soldiers' attention; a silver-ranked knight was several levels higher, both in authority and power.
"Oh, good. He's a friend of mine, lets me catch a bit of sleep when I've been out too long. Pour me a cup of tea, will you? With something sharp to help wake me up."
There was a nearby stove where embers were always smoldering, and Daniel added some pieces of wood to resurrect the flames and heat the kettle. While waiting for the tea, Holmes picked up a joint from a nearby jar and looked around, seeing how others were smoking them. He lit the end with a nearby candle, breathed deeply, and sighed in misery.
"I'm guessing things are rough?" Daniel asked.
"Thirteen years of guarding this city, and the week before Knight's Day is always the worst. They got me working almost nonstop, but with how rowdy this city is getting, I guess I can't blame them. I just wish the bronze knights didn't make it so hard."
"Those are the new ones, right? Newly graduated?"
"Not really 'new.' With ten years of active service, you automatically get promoted to silver unless you earn it sooner. Unfortunately, I was not one of those people interested in 'soon,' and now I'm paying the price by being stuck with underlings just like me."
Daniel laughed. "The best reward and worst torture are being surrounded by people like yourself."
"Where did you hear that?"
"It was written on the wall of a bathroom I once woke up in. I spent a good hour on the floor, reading that over and over again."
"Yeah, that sounds about right."
The water came to a boil, and Daniel poured a cup of tea. His earlier cravings had faded, so his hands were no longer trembling. Then, with liquor added to put some fire in his belly, Holmes's liquid lunch was served.
"These Red Revelries are the worst. All these punks stirring up shit just for the fun of it."
"Hey, it's worse if you're a civilian. I was living out on the streets up until a couple days ago, and there are few things scarier than hearing swords hitting each other in the middle of the night when you're sleeping in a rain barrel."
"Yeah, but at least you don't have to deal with them. Some little noble shit spat on me while I was arresting him, told me he could smell my gutter blood."
"Ugh, I hate them so much. You know how many times I've been called a plebian since I got to Colbrand? A lot. Not enough to know exactly what it means or how to spell it, but still, it hurts. Every minute in this city, someone yells, "My father will hear about this!" The fuckers are everywhere."
Holmes chuckled. "You haven't heard anything until you've been to the dungeons. I was there before dawn, dropping off some riff-raff, and it sounded like a hundred cats all getting their tails stepped on. I'm toying with the idea of suggesting every applicant spending a week in a dungeon, make it required to join the academy. That ought to scare off the little shits."
"Why yes, I have been in your dungeons. So lovely, so comfortable. You can really feel the love and hospitality growing on the walls with the algae. I spent six hours in stocks because some soldier tripped over me in the street."
The two men continued to exchange gripes, arguing over whose life was more miserable. The complaints included more and more jokes, and soon, they were actively trying to make each other laugh.
"So in the dream, I'm kissing this blonde babe who used to babysit me when I was a little kid, but I'm coming out of it. I know something feels wrong. I open my eyes, and I'm locking lips with a rat the size of a toddler!" Holmes released a loud snort, and Daniel had lost all ability to tell the story with a straight face. "And believe me, this was an affectionate rat. I think I actually got tongue and copped a feel. Rat teats, I was fucking fondling rat teats on the floor of a warehouse!" Both men were laughing so hard they could barely remain upright.
"'Fondling rat teats' might be the funniest three-word combination I've ever heard."
"Someday, I'll write a book about my life, and that will be the title."
"Ah, it feels good to laugh. Thanks for that. Returning to work now won't feel so awful. I'll see you around." He got up from his stool and paid for his drinks with an extra tip.
"You be careful out there," said Daniel.
Back out in the streets, Holmes tossed the stub of his gonlief cigarette onto the ground and started walking. His armor felt so heavy, but the rattling of the saber at his hip was comforting. His eyes, still dry from fatigue despite his nap, scanned the crowds. After so many years patrolling these streets, he had learned to size people up with a glance and memorized countless faces. He felt the flow of the traffic like he was measuring the tide. By now, it was second nature to him, though he continued to complain under his breath as he walked. He was thirty years old, but his personality had changed little since he was a child in this city.
"Sir Holmes!"
It was Frigga, and she looked even more tired than Holmes.
