Chương 154: Investigations

I waited until one of the local guards walked past before I stepped into my room, making sure the man saw me. Once I was inside, I shut the door and changed. I hadn't exactly planned on having to sneak around, so I didn't have any nondescript clothing. Still, I took off my armour and searched around the room. There was a bed—a proper bed with a feather mattress and pillows, not just a military cot—and a dresser. I checked the closet, and breathed a sigh of relief to find a set of plain cloaks hanging inside.

Of course, there were also a few doublets and tunics, but those were too fancy. A cloak would do just fine. Pulling the cloak over my shoulders and hiding my head, I turned to the room's windows. It wasn't a massive room, but there were two lattice windows facing west, which would give me a perfect view of the sunset. As if I'm going to be spending much time here, I thought. It kinda felt like a hotel room. A temporary home. I tested the windows, and sure enough, they opened. The lattice swung outward.

If I turned just right, I could fit myself through. I picked a plain brown cloak—it was clean, but at least there was no embroidery or anything to mark me as a thegn. Anyone who paid close attention would probably recognize me, but if I was careful, I could still slip away without anyone noticing. I pulled the cloak's hood over my head, then crawled out the window. It was a fifteen-foot drop to the ground below, and I landed in a crouch. What would've normally jarred an average man's knees barely felt like a hop.

Pressing my back against the cobblestone plinth behind me, I circled around the edge of the hall, then made a quick dash over to a patch of trees and bushes. Weaving between shrubs and trees, I navigated back toward the city. Once I was close enough, I made a dash for a side street, then slowed my pace to fit in with the midday crowd. Wagons travelled the city streets, and villagers went about their business.

A cooper pierced together a barrel, a blacksmith and his apprentice hammered horseshoes, a butcher strung up dead cattle to drain their blood—while displaying a butcher's licence via a crest above his door. But there were plenty of civilians who didn't seem to have anything to do. They swept their porches with brooms, or carried around empty buckets, as if they were trying to look busy. Whenever I passed, most people just gave me cold stares. I wasn't sure how to reply, so I just kept my head down and kept moving.

A group of young boys on a street corner offered their services to a passing pair of ranchers, and I stopped to listen in on the conversation. I leaned against a stack of barrels, keeping out of sight.

"We can be loyal hands!" one of the boys insisted.

"I've tended to cattle before, and Egbert knows how to ride!"

"Indeed I do, mister!" a different boy said.

"All we ask is some food to spare and a bed to sleep in."

"Sorry, lads," one of the ranchers said, stopping his horse and adjusting his straw hat.

"We could use another hand, but we can't afford to feed another mouth. Best of luck to you, though." I grimaced. Job searches were about as easy here as they were back on Earth, huh? But I needed to figure out what the actual problems were, though. Tunmod wasn't going to be honest with me even if I asked him, and besides, if I gave him an indication that I planned to change too much, he might conspire against me before I was ready.

I kept walking, watching, until finally, a voice called from behind me, "You there, son. I haven't seen you around here before." I turned around, expecting a guard—which was kinda foolish, considering how I hadn't seen a single guard patrolling the city yet—but came face-to-face with an aging man holding a shovel as if it was a weapon.

"Sorry," I said, turning, making sure my cloak still shielded my face.

"I'm just passing through. Do you know where I could find some rest for the day? Is there an inn or a tavern?" If anyone would know about the comings and goings of the town, and all its problems, it would be there. Plus, with a town in as rough shape as this, the innkeepers would be suffering the most. They'd be the most likely to open up to me.

"So you're not a bandit?" the old man asked.

"No, I am not."

"That's what a bandit would say, but none of them speak the same way as you."

"Oh. Well, I am serious. Not a bandit." I sighed. They had a bandit problem, too, but no guards patrolling the city?" Is there an inn? I can pay."

"Down this very road, son, and turn left. Old Seer Cuthward runs an establishment. You'll find it cozy enough, I'm sure, though the meals will be a touch bland." I dipped my head.

"Thank you." The man snorted.

"It's been a while since I've heard someone say that. But think nothing of it. No need to thank me. Just talkin' to people. No need to get weepy on me."

"Well, I'll say it anyway," I replied. What was wrong with this city? Couldn't even say 'thank you' without someone commenting about it? Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. Shaking my head, I set off, searching for the inn. It was exactly where the old man had said it would be—a two storey building with a shingled roof. Its eaves sagged and the plaster on its upper-floor walls was peeling off in the wind.

The paint on its sign was barely visible, and it took all my attention just to make out the words. The Cowhand Inn. I tried to push open the door, but it was locked. I knocked. Nothing. Silence. After a few seconds, though, footsteps thudded. A mug clattered, and finally, someone rushed to the door. A chain clinked, and the door swung inward. Standing before me was a tall and slender man with a long, graying beard and shoulder-length hair. A scar ran across his cheek, and one of his eyes was cloudy and gray.

The other stared right at me, like he was looking through my skin.

"What do you want?" he demanded. His apron swayed, bunching up his tunic. I swallowed.

"I was hoping for a place to stay." I resisted the urge to add 'sir' to the end.

"I've been travelling for quite a while, and if you have a room available…" The man's normal eye brightened, and his lips instantly curled up into a grin.

"Oh, yes! Eansant! We have a visitor! A proper visitor!" He lowered his voice again and said, "Apologies for that, but we haven't had a true visitor for ages. Most folks who pass through have someone else they board with—it's cheaper that way. We've been scraping by, helping take care of the ranchers' horses, but finally, a guest!"

"I'm glad I can help," I said.

"May I come in?"

"Oh, yes," he replied, stepping back from the door.

"How long will you be staying?" I took a step into the inn. Like most, its bottom floor was a tavern. It was empty, though. Dusty tables lined the walls, and only a few candles were lit. They hung from the columns supporting the second floor, which looked a little worse for wear themselves. Chipping wood, rusty nails. I kept a kind expression and said, "Well, to be perfectly honest, I'm not sure." I pulled down my hood.

"Ah, a soldier." The innkeeper pushed the door shut.

"Would you be on the run? A defector? I wouldn't blame you, son, hearing stories from the front." I shook my head.

"Not exactly. In fact, I am going to be this land's new thegn." Yeah, I was trying to keep a low profile, but that was to avoid the soldiers and Tunmod's men, not the average civilians.

"You? A thegn?" He stepped over to a table, then wiped it off with a cloth.

"Take a seat, if you will. Eansent will bring you a meal soon—I'm sure you're tired from the road." His face changed to an expression of pity, and he used the cadence of voice you would if you were talking to a dog—did he think I was crazy, maybe?

"You don't believe me," I said.

"But you'll see, soon enough. I'll make myself known tomorrow morning, and then later, at the festival. Tunmod has pushed it up."

"You know of Tunmod? And the festival?" I placed my hands on the table and folded my fingers.

"Yeah. I also hear that you were once a Seer, weren't you?"

"Yes, son."

"You're Cuthward, right?"

"Correct." My spine trembled, and goosebumps rose on my arms, like someone else was watching me from behind.

"What are seers, if you don't mind me asking?" Cuthward stepped away from the table and walked back to the inn's counter. It was quiet inside, and I could hear him just fine even as he walked away.

"Where other Path-walkers focus on the body and the leys, we target specifically the souls. We rarely fight, and instead, are often tasked with watching over the temples." He picked up a mug and blew the dust out of it.

"Our ability to look into a man's soul gives us some insight into his personal troubles. The problem is, our abilities are very weak for a long time, and it takes an Emerald-tier seer to truly use soul-based Arts." He set the mug down.

"The Warlord keeps all the powerful Seers close to him—helps him make Duplicates like you."

"Why's a Seer running an inn, then?"

"When Tunmod took over thirty years ago, he replaced me at the temple with a hand-picked seer. One who went along with his river spirit scheme." I laughed.

"What's funny?"

"Tunmod thought no one would see through the scheme. But it didn't take long at all for someone to bring that up."

"Well, if you're going to take me in for that crime, do it now." Cuthward crossed his arms.

"I'm too tired, too old, and I don't care anymore. There's no such thing as a river spirit, not in these lands, and not in this age of the world." He shut his eyes.

"But something tells me you won't arrest me."

"You used an Art to look into my soul, didn't you?"

"Observant," he said.

"It's not the first time I've had mental probes."

"Your mind and soul are not the same, son," Cuthward said.

"Don't mix the two. Subtle Men pierce your mind. It takes a seer to pierce the soul."

"Right." I unfolded my fingers and pressed my palms against the table.

"So you've been running the inn ever since?"

"Correct."

"Can you tell me a bit about this land? What do we have available? And what are some of the biggest problems—aside from Tunmod's taxes. I already know about those." Cuthward chuckled.

"Well, let's see. This Domain should be one of the richest in all of Gate. Prime ranchland for cattle and sheep, yes, but beneath it, we have massive iron and coal deposits. Beyond that…there are underground wells of freshwater. The minerals in the cave walls leech out into the water, and over the centuries, they slowly brew natural potions."

"So Lord Hinlaw keeps them for himself? He doesn't sell them, presumably?"

"I couldn't speak to what happens in the rest of the Domain," Cuthward said.

"But for whatever reason, they're not using our resources like they should be." I nodded.

"And the villagers? What can we do to help them?"

"Well, if you are truly the thegn of these lands…end that horrid festival, for one thing."

"Why's everyone sick? What can we do about that?"

"There's a cough going around, yes. It's not terrible, but it does take our old from us much too soon. Something in the water. You see, there are good and bad deposits. The bad ones are closer to the surface. We used to counter it by making wells in the right locations. We would pull healing potions straight from the ground, and though they were weak, they'd counter the effects."

"You don't have any wells anymore, I take it?"

"We do not. The old ones caved in, and we can't build new ones." I raised my eyebrows.

"Why not?"

"Let me show you. It'll be a while yet before we can have a meal ready for you. Yet if you are truly here to help, you'll need to know this."

"You can't look into my soul and say for sure if I'm here to help?"

"Your mind contains your current thoughts, your memories, your past. Your soul contains your nature. I see that you are a strong-willed man, yes. I see that you often row against the current. But beyond that, I don't know anything for certain."

"Well, then." I stood, then pulled up my hood.

"Let's see that well."