A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

Chapter 22: Blood and Bruises - Part 5

Chapter 22: Blood and Bruises - Part 5

"Boys!" She called out, fighting to keep the urgency out of her voice. "Boys! Come on in and get a drink. Come on! Quickly!"

Beam averted his gaze, embarrassed. That interaction stung his heart more than being simply ignored did. "Tsch…" He tutted to himself, taking a glance down at his clothing. "Do I really look that bad?"

And yes, indeed, he did look that bad. He looked like a corpse that had just gotten up off a battlefield and was about to spread death to the world. More than that though, it was his reputation that made his appearance all the more damning and Beam knew as much.

"I don't think there's any reason to be scared of me though?" Beam muttered to himself as he wandered further into the village, towards its centre "I haven't done anything that bad…" He recalled the times that he'd been in a fight. There were more times than he could count, really. But he'd never gone out of his way to pick on the weak. In fact, in every fight he'd been in, it'd been against someone much bigger and stronger than he was, and as a result, most of those fights were losses.

But from the villager's point of view, he was just a troublemaker. The dark look that he often wore as he went about his business was one thing, but his general unwillingness to communicate excessively with anyone was another. Not a single person in the entire village had ever been able to get friendly with him. That, coupled with the fact that he was an outsider, his appearance and his often violent tendencies – it was more than enough to make the large majority of the village show distaste for him, and in some places fear.

As Beam muttered to himself in thought as he wandered down the dirt road, scarred by wagon wheels, the looks he received were only growing worse. Two women in their thirties walked past with horrified expressions, as though they'd just stumbled upon a ghoul. 'Great', Beam thought to himself, 'not only do they think I'm a dirty vagabond, they also think I'm mad now too.'

But that didn't stop his muttering, for the women soon passed, and there were thoughts he had to sort through. "This whole improving my social standing thing – it's going to be such a pain in the ass. How do I even start with these people? I don't have money… And whilst I'm training I'm not going to be able to work to get any either, I guess. So how do I fix my clothes and my appearance? Is that even enough?"

As he muttered to himself, he passed one of the village's wells, and even more villagers as a result. They, just like the others before them, shot him similarly wary glances. One man – a father likely – went as far as to push his daughter behind his back and reach for his knife at his hip.

Beam frowned at that. 'Come on!' He thought to himself. 'They've seen me around before. I've never attacked a child. Why's everyone acting like I'm about to go on a killing spree just because I'm a little banged up?'

Soon he was able to see the signs of a couple of the village's stores come into view. There were three main stores – as in shops that were housed in buildings. The biggest of which was a blacksmith, with the entire ground floor of a two-story house dedicated to the business. The villagers were rather proud of that smithy, for it was rare that a man capable of making weapons and armour would choose to settle in a place so remote. But this one had been offered considerable incentive by the Lord's son – who'd been placed in charge of this particular village – so that he might stay and offer his services to the townspeople.

The other two stores shared the same building, a house of the same size as the smithy, with stone walls and a thatched roof. The bottom floor of that house was divided into two. On one side, there was a general merchant that sold everything from clothes and threads to firestarters and wooden buckets.

On the other side, there was a bakery, run by an old couple. The old man tended to the food, whilst the old woman tended to the store. There was always a wonderful smell streaming from that building, competing with the smaller food stalls that were similarly set up inside the village centre.

Beam glanced around, checking for someone. This was the part of the village where the landlord lived – a merchant by the name of Greeves. He owned one of the only two three-story buildings built in the entire village. His home was just at the other end of the village square – beyond where the numerous village stalls had been set up for the day in the very centre – overlooking all the goings on.

The only other three-story house was left empty. It was used by the local Lord's son whenever he came to visit – since he was in charge of ensuring the prosperity of the place – which turned out to be rather rarely, especially of late.

Beam breathed a sigh of relief after he'd made sure Greeves wasn't around, before he pushed open the ill-fitted wooden door of the bakery and stepped inside.

"Wel…come," the old woman began enthusiastically, before finishing with what could only be described as an incredible amount of disgust.

She had a high table filled with various freshly cooked goods, set in front of a door to another room, which Beam could only assume lead to the kitchen, where the old man was hard at work.

There were various pastries and pies strewn across there, all of them smelling delightful and tempting, but Beam did not have the money for such things. He only had a single copper quarter on him – one that Dominus had given him – which was just barely enough for a loaf of bread.

"What bread do you have for under a copper quarter please?" Beam asked as politely as he could. He wouldn't normally ask such a question. In fact, he'd never spoken to the old woman in his life. He'd only ever merely pointed to get what he wanted.

"Eh?" The old woman for her part was startled. Her pale blue eyes widened in shock and her grey hair – tightly pulled back in a bun and held in place under a cap on her head – visibly jumped in shock.

She, like the rest of the villagers, had seen the boy about. And she, like the rest of them, had shaken her head in disgust, especially when he came into her establishment, as dirty as he was, acting all impolite, refusing even to speak. So, when she finally did hear his voice and she heard just how well-spoken he was, her brain froze in shock. That was not the kind of voice she'd imagined him having. That was not the kind of way she imagined him being able to speak.