Chương 13: Vol 1. The Road East

That night, Morton and Tahir rented a room at the only inn in the village. It was certainly not an establishment that was sumptuous… very much not that. Their room was boxy (barely big enough for the two of them), with beaten and battered bedding made from old blankets and straw laid atop solid stone slabs. Tahir did not sleep well. The air smelled of damp wool, spilled ale, and the distinct musk of travellers who had come before them and had never encountered the philosophical concept of cleanliness.

The straw barely cushioned the hard, uneven stone beneath him. Morton's snoring didn't make falling asleep any easier. By the morn, Tahir had needed to be dragged out from under the blankets.

"So… why must we stop at the blacksmith again?" Tahir asked.

"I wanna sell some stuff and hopefully get some money of my own. I don't wanna be reliant on ya'."

"That is logical," Tahir said. They walked into the blacksmith's shop. Racks of tools hung from the soot-blackened walls: tongs, hammers, chisels, horseshoes, nails, blades, farming implements, and various half-finished pieces of work. The air inside was hot and dry, closing in around them until it felt like swimming through a fire. Near the glowing forge, the air shimmered. Beside it sat a woman, broad-shouldered, wearing a soot-stained apron, her fur burned and singed around her wrists and muzzle.

Thick scars crossed her forearms and paws like rivers cutting through a forest of fur. She lifted a strip of orange-hot metal with a pair of tongs and brought her hammer down upon it, the strikes making Tahir's ears twitch; she shaped it into a horseshoe and set it down to cool. Then she noticed the two.

"Why, hello there!" she said sweetly. Getting up, she took her apron off and walked towards them.

"What can I do for you today?"

"Mornin' there, miss," Morton smiled.

"I got some stuff here I wanna sell you."

"Sell me something, uh?" she said slyly.

"It takes a lot to impress me. Show me what you got." Morton set the pieces of metal on the counter. The blacksmith's eyes widened. Her tail flicked in excitement. Quickly, she took out her spectacles and examined the little curious things: there were round hunks of metal, of what she could not say, ridged, hollow, covered in a bright red dye with unknown lettering printed neatly on it: Coca-Cola. They were magnificent. Such tiny, simple things yet so masterfully forged.

"What are these?" she asked Morton.

"That is money from my home, miss." The American dollar has become increasingly rare; no matter where you went in North America, you could always count on someone willing to take bottle caps.

"Oh, is this what all elves pay each other with?"

"I can only speak for my home, miss," Morton said with a slight tip of his hat.

"I see," the blacksmith whispered, eyeing the little curiosities again.

"So, how much ya' reckon I could get for em?" The blacksmith's tail flicked once, too quickly for politeness, before she said, "I will give you 100 silver." Morton extended his hand.

"You got yourself a deal there." As they walked out of the house, Tahir looked at Morton and said,"You do know that she scammed you, right?"

"What do ya' mean?" Morton asked.

"If that were really something of monetary value from your home realm, then the nobility would have compensated you far more simply for the privilege of having something so foreign." Morton laughed.

"Well, that's how she goes sometimes." Next, they made their way to the village stable. Tahir had never cared for stables. Sure, he liked animals well enough—horses were cute and fun to pet—but he did not care for the sheer amount of excrement that they produced. Even the entrance of this particular stable reminded him of that, with its potent stench of manure, wet straw, leather, and old hay. His ears flattened and his nose wrinkled. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen.

Report the violation. The stable yard was an uneven mud floor covered in hoofprints, with flies wandering aimlessly through the air. Several horses, all sturdy mixed-breed things, stood tied beneath a slanted wooden awning. Near the back lay dormant a few carts and carriages, tattered and scuffed. The stablemistress was a young woman, probably about 15, if Tahir had to guess; most likely the owner's daughter who, now that she was newly adult, had to partake in the family business.

She was wiry in her frame, russet-furred, wearing a brownish tunic with rolled sleeves. She approached the two, wiggled her ears, and smiled.

"Looking to buy?" she said, casually leaning against the awning."'Deed we are, miss," Morton said with a polite smirk.

"Just need a horse and somethin' to ride in. Nothin' fancy or whatnot. Just need somethin' nice and sturdy for a long trip."

"Sturdy, eh?" The stablemistress looked down at Tahir, who looked completely done with life. She pointed at him and said, "I bet this little cutie needs something nice and sturdy." Tahir growled and bared his fangs.

"Oh, lighten up, I'm just messing. Now, come with me." She led them to a sinewy, dull-coated gelding, tied beneath the awning. Sturdy fellow, he definitely was, a crossbreed, with thick legs and an ungroomed mane, growing wildly in different directions. His hide was slightly scarred; his hooves were chipped in a way that looked painful, but his eyes had serene calm in them. He flicked one ear at Tahir, then went back to chewing on his hay.

"This guy here is certainly reliable," the stablemistress said, rubbing the horse's neck. Tahir inspected the horse.

"He… looks quite tired," Tahir said.

"Yeah, this guy is experienced, a little on the older side, but he is exactly what you need!" the stablemistress replied.

"He looks like a sturdy steed for sure," Morton agreed.

"Miss, I've been ridin' horses for as long as I can remember, and I gotta ask: he afraid of anythin'?"

"Not that I can recall," she said.

"Good, now, how much are you wantin' for him?"

"About two hundred silver," she said confidently.

"Well, then, consider—""Hold on," Tahir interjected.

"Ma'am, I believe that price is far too high for a horse that age."

"Oh, you don't have to worry your pretty head about all those big numbers," the stablemistress said.

"Let the girls—""For one, we are both men, I will have you know."

"Wait, really—""And secondly, I am no fool; I may not be a horse breeder myself, but I know how much a horse should cost. Now, ma'am, you are going to sit down with me, and we shall negotiate. You got that?"

"I—uh—" The stablemistress sat down. For the next hour, they negotiated the price for the horse and the cart. Morton mostly stood by, arms crossed, looking more and more amused as he watched Tahir dismantle every argument the girl attempted to make; poor thing, she looked as if she were about to burst into tears. In the end, they got it down to only sixty silver for the horse and forty silver for the cart, which Tahir paid out with the smuggest smile anyone has ever done.

The stablemistress watched, a slump in her posture and a defeated look on her visage, as Morton and Tahir left the stable with their new horse and cart.

"Pleasure doing business with you!" Tahir said smugly sweet with a wave of his paw. The stablemistress sat in silence for a moment, her mind emptied of all thought.

"Vitita?" a voice called out. It was her little sister.

"You okay?" Vitita turned her head around slowly.

"I… I just got … out-haggled by a pretty boy." Her little sister said nothing for a moment, then began rolling on the ground in hysterical laughter.

"It's not funny!" Vitita snapped. #"Where did ya' learn negotiatin' skills like that?" Morton asked. He finished fastening the horse to the cart, gave the harness one last good tug for good luck, then climbed into the rickety old thing. Tahir climbed in. He smiled faintly.

"My mother taught me a few things." Morton chuckled.

"A parent's advice is some of the greatest wisdom."

"That can certainly be a true premise at times," Tahir said. Morton glanced at him, then decided not to say what he was thinking.

"You ready to get a move on?" he asked.

"Yes," Tahir said.

"You know what direction we need to head in?"

"I believe we simply need to keep going east until we reach the nearest port city," Tahir said, hoping he was right.

"Right, let's get goin' then!" Morton flicked the reins, and the old horse lurched forward. The cart creaked; the wheels bumped over the uneven road. Tahir rested one chin on his paw, and looked behind him: the village was slowly becoming more and more minuscule. Thus began the next part of their long journey to the capital.