Tales of Travellers by Peter Edgell (best motivational books to read .TXT) 📕

List of Contents

Strange Encounter p.7


The Scar p.29


Strands p.39

Strange Encounter

I.

It was a desperate night for robbers, even worse for the two huddled in a doorway close to the tavern. On most nights the street would be filled with people trying to get in or being thrown or staggering out. The people going in had more money but those coming out were the easier pickings, the less dangerous. But it was one of those times when everything conspired against the two men.

It was raining. Not just summer rain but the steamy humid type that slides down the collar and leaves the neck damp, no matter how much you dry it. It just clings to the clothes and keeps you shivering. And it was keeping all the casual drinkers away.
- Not much tonight, Gunner, murmured Mick-the-Squint. Droplets of water shook free from the brim of the strange thing he called a hat.
His partner swallowed then spat, straight into the centre of a greasy puddle that was forming in the road before them. Ripples from raindrops submerged the phlegm. He sighed,
- And not enough jingle in the pocket for even one scummy drink between us.
No-one knew why he was called Gunner. He maintained firmly that he’d forgotten his real name. He hadn’t, of course. He simply hated being laughed at...

He was the muscle, fists and bear-hug, iron bar if desperate. Mick was the finger man. He could pick a pocket at twenty paces, so the saying went. He was the smooth voice, the stiletto if needed and, all-in-all, the brains.
They were both weighing up the choices. On the one hand, they could slope off back to their grimy lodgings where they would at least be dry, but also hungry. Worse, they would still be without a drink and usually it was only a good drink that could take the edge off their shadowy, hopeless existence. It had been three days with a single success. On the other hand they could simply wait and feel their blood get thinned out by the rainwater as they shivered and hoped for one, just one, mark.

And gods bless, here he came, rounding the corner with a rolling motion that gave away his heavy weight. His hood was up and he carried a quarterstaff but the men had dealt with this kind of thing before.
Mick turned his head slightly and squinting at Gunner, said,
- I guess this is the only shot we’ll get tonight.
Gunner grinned and there was something childlike in it. A school bully.
- Like you always say, needs must or the throat stays dry and the belly don’t bust!

Mick-the-Squint stepped out from the doorway and, with an altogether innocent air, started to cross the road as if heading for the tavern, The Uncooked Pig. Gunner waited, frozen. The fat man seemed to hesitate for a second and then continued, but his hands shifted slightly, moving a fraction towards a more defensive grip. He passed Gunner and followed Mick, keeping a steady distance behind him.
- Damn! said Mick. He stopped suddenly and started to pat his pockets. – Damn purse, he continued. He looked up as the stranger came closer.
- Always doing this, he said with a half-laugh, - leaving my money indoors. Still, he continued, - it’s better than letting robbers get it!
He turned back and started to walk away from the tavern, as if returning to the doorway he had been standing in. He stepped into the road to pass the fat man, who seemed to relax then.

Mick-the-Squint’s knife flashed as it headed for the man’s right hand, trying to disable him and render the quarterstaff useless. But the man was faster than him, almost unbelievably so. The knife spun away as the robber yelped with pain, his fingers burning from the crack of wood on his knuckles.
- You need to practice more, boy!
The man threw back his hood. His face was round, almost baby-like, with high red cheeks. He chuckled. The quarterstaff moved through the air again, catching Mick around one ankle.
- Practice, practice. Then you wouldn’t need a lesson like this.
But before he could bring his staff into play again, two arms slapped around him from behind. Gunner’s massive arms that held even the bulk of the fat man tight. He struggled and cursed but couldn’t get out of the grip. Mick limped over to where it had landed and picked up his knife with his left hand, his right obviously throbbing. He moved back to stand in front of the fat man who’s struggles were growing weaker.
- So, it’s a lesson you’re going to give me, is it? Well, fatso, here’s a couple for you. Always keep an eye out behind you. You never know what could be creeping up.
Gunner laughed, shaking the man as his friend frisked him and cut his money belt free.
- You need to lose a bit of weight, he said. Slowly, he ran the knife over the man’s wide stomach. So here’s another lesson. For free.

Mick stopped. His eye lost its squint as both of them widened in fear. He stared over Gunner’s shoulder.
Gunner broke the silence.
- Come on, Mick, stop playing about. We haven’t got all night. Hurry up and...
Mick watched with fascination as, almost in slow motion, the flat of a huge sword crashed against his partner’s back and shoulders. Gunner crumpled, sliding down the fat man’s back like a coat being shrugged off. The fat man didn’t bother to look round to find out why. He simply hefted his quarterstaff. It whipped through the air catching Mick on his other hand. The knife went spinning again. As the robber tried to turn, his ankle gave way. Then he received a blow on the other one. Cracks to the elbows and knees and finally one across his head left him curled up on the ground like a baby, desperately trying to protect himself. There was nothing in his world but pain, unbidden tears and a chuckle close to his ear,
- Now, boy, what was that other lesson?

The fat man stood up and turned to face his rescuer for the first time. The man was tall and muscular. He had to be to lift the huge sword with the ease he did. His hair was wild and greying and although his face was heavily lined, his eyes seemed to sparkle even in the shadowy street.
They studied each other for a long time. Eventually the fat man simply said,
- Thanks.
The swordsman nodded, once, then strode off towards the tavern.
The fat man chewed on his lower lip as he mulled over the strange encounter. He picked up his money belt then set off for the tavern himself.

Gunner started to groan as he came round while Mick just carried on whimpering. His hat slowly moved away, a soggy ship caught up in the dirty river that coursed along the gutter. The rain simply ignored them.


II.

One way to become famous is to make someone else seem infamous. It can also be one of the best ways to melt into the shadows.

Despite the weather the Uncooked Pig was crowded inside. The best jokes and the worst, the easy laughter, the exaggerations and scoffing, the slow slurring of speech all mixed with the occasional curse as drink was spilled or toes were trodden on. Beneath the clouds of scented pipe smoke, it was a man's world. There were no women, only barmaids.

The fat man paused in the doorway for a moment, his eyes adjusting to the light, scanning for possible problems. He seemed to be satisfied and moved to the bar. Although he didn't speak or shove anyone, a path seemed to open for him. He ordered ale and a meal, something lightweight, just to take the edge off his hunger. The only seat available was at a table off to one side of the room. The big man, his rescuer, was already sitting at one of the seats. He glanced up as the fat man sat, but said nothing. They had both ordered food and sat waiting quietly until spoons and soup came, followed by flat black bread dressed up in fresh butter and local cheese. Both men had eyes that never seemed to settle, were always watchful, almost hunted. From the corner of his eye the fat man noticed the faintest change of movement as the big man's hand tightened on his spoon. This was followed by the other hand calmly moving to the edge and then under the table. He was reaching for his sword. The fat man slowly turned to one side, bobbing his head as if looking for the barmaid to refill his mug. In truth, he was looking for the reason for the big man's discomfort. It was not difficult to find. Six men had just shoved their way into the tavern.

If ever there was a group of men that you did not want to meet on a dark night or, to be honest, even in bright daylight then here it was. Without exception they were filthy, unkempt and all this was exaggerated by the steady rain. They also bristled with weapons. The largest, with a scruffy black beard and red bandanna, was easily recognisable as the leader. His eyes seemed to light up with a sudden excitement.
- There he is! He pointed directly at the big man. - There's the bugger who thinks he can get between us and our pleasure!
The men moved into a half-moon formation and began to approach through the rush of bodies trying to get out of the way.
- Now come on boys, shouted the barkeep, - take it outside...
A knife whistled past his ear and he chose to heed the warning. He ducked. Then decided to stay behind the bar.
The bearded man spoke directly to the big man.
- Well, boyo, saved any other barmaids recently? You don't seem to understand that they're here for our pleasure!
He grabbed one who couldn't get out of his way. A plump and plain brunette who flirted with everyone. The bartender's wife.
- Ain't that right, darling?
Some of his teeth were missing and his gums were black in places. The barmaid couldn't answer. She just stared at him, petrified. He shook her then shoved her away roughly.
- Don't worry girl, we'll give you all the pleasure you need as soon as we've dealt with Mister Hero.
Never once had he taken his eyes off the big man who still sat, seemingly unconcerned, spoon in hand.
The fat man decided it was time to get out of the way himself. He could put up a good defensive show most of the time but knew he was no true fighter. With many loud apologies, he bumped and stumbled into and around the leader who cursed him roundly. Finally he reached the far side of the room, where the rest of the customers had crowded for safety.

The man to the leader’s right spoke to him,
- Let me have first bite of him, Rufus!
Without waiting for a reply and seeming to shrug off the leader’s hand, he pushed forward.
He cursed the big man, his face twisting with fury, highlighting the jagged scar that ran across his left cheek.
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