Castor's Tale Chapter 3 Part 1 - A Stirred Pot

Miles approached Jeric who was tossing leftovers out to the hogs out behind the Inn. He was a little hesitant to say anything. This wouldn’t be the first time Castor had done something crazy. Miles could go on for hours telling folks about Castor’s exploits around the village, if he cared to, but he didn’t. He didn’t like all the conflict Castor stirred up, especially in situations that didn’t really need to be burst into debate.

Well here goes. Miles cleared his throat and walked over to the fence. Jeric turned briefly and smiled.

“Hello Miles. Something wrong?”

Miles nodded, thrusting his hands into his pant pockets. “Yes. It’s Castor. . . she . . . she punched Kalan.” Miles hated saying it. But what could he do?

Jeric simply threw a bucket of slop to the hogs and watched as they groveled out of their mud to gulp down the newly acquired edibles. “It is not surprising to hear. What happened to instigate such a rash action?”

“I’m not sure of all of it. Kalan and she got into an argument again, and it led to Castor lashing out in anger.”

“And?”

Miles ran his hands through his hair. “Kalan retaliated. He punched her right in the face!”

Jeric turned slowly, his whitish blond hair whipping in the soft warm breeze. “He did? I know that Kalan is by no means an honorable person, but to strike back is surprising. Nonetheless, Castor should not have attacked him.”

“But did she not retaliate?”

“No, I calmed her down partially. But why does she do things like that? She comes at everything as if people all hate her?”

Jeric placed the empty slop buckets near the shed behind the pen and returned walked to the pump, filling up two new buckets. Once filled, he brought them back over to Miles. “Castor is like the water in this trough,” he said. He set down one of the buckets and dipped his index finger in the remaining bucket.

He held his hand over the trough and slowly the drop trickled off of his finger. It sailed down to the water in the trough and made a small ripple. “One small drop of anger that is not accompanied will soon calm down like this ripple does. But,” and he poured the entire rest of the bucket into the trough creating waves that lapped over the edges, “if you continue to insult her she will overflow. “

“And if she doesn’t be emptied like this trough will soon be?”

“She will be like a match in a forest. If stamped out quickly it will harm no one, but if left to burn it will destroy an entire forest.”

Miles’s eyes grew wide. “Do you think the match has been stamped out?”

“For a short time. But for a match to never be used to burn again it must be destroyed.”

“Destroyed!” Miles said anxiously.

Jeric smiled. “I do not speak in literal terms all the time. Do you think a match wishes to burn?”

What does this have to do with Castor? “I guess not. Why?”

If the match was snuffed out for a short while it still has the chance to be re-kindled. You must take away the flint and stone to stop the spark.”

“Kalan? But how would we get rid of him?”

“You misunderstand me,” Jeric said, dumping the second bucket of water into the trough. “A fire will consume all its enemies and become uncontrollable. It will destroy all that infuriates it.”

“Do you think that Castor wishes to harm Kalan?”

Jeric glanced at the freshly stirred trough. The water was still slapping and crashing wildly.

“Should I go talk to her?” Miles asked, unsure of what was to be done.

“I will speak with her tonight. The Inn is now filling up with lunch customers. I must clean up the mess you two have made. I will speak with her tonight. Until then keep her calm. Distract her.”

Jeri ruffled Miles’s hair. “Do not worry, she listens to you. As an iron statue melts before a roaring flame, she will listen to you. Like a knife slicing through cake.”

“Alright,” Miles said, with less confidence then he felt. Would Castor really do something to Kalan? What am I asking? Of course she will. She’s a pool of water. And the pot just got stirred!

~ ~ ~ ~

Castor slinked behind the blacksmith stable, the incessant pound of the hammer on anvil sounding like a thin needle reaching down into the inner parts of her frame. She looked through the cracks in the wall and could just make out Kalan who was putting several horseshoes into a saddlebag. His father stopped briefly from his hammering, and Castor could hear the hiss of steam from what was no doubt a red hot piece of metal meeting water.

She tried to see more of the stable interior by changing positions, but it afforded little more to see. She was about to leave when she heard Kalan speaking.

“She’s still feelin’ poorly it seems, and I be needin’ to take this d’livery to Mr. McTacosh .”

His father growled. “Well I s’pose you’ll have to run b’cause I need to be takin’ a a delivery myself and it’s clear in th’opposite direction. “

Their grammar is horrible!

Kalan was speaking again. “Alright. I’ll be headin’ out soon then. Just gonna get a bite to eat.”

Castor walked away quickly. She got around the side and was strolling in the dusty street soon, thinking of an idea to get back at Kalan. A good idea. She rubbed her jaw thoughtfully but it sent a lightning bolt of pain up her jaw. He’ll remember from now on not mess with me! With that she was off to the Inn. She spotted Miles coming out the front door and quickly ducked around back and then snuck through the kitchen to her room upstairs. No need to let him get in the way of my plans.

She grabbed a few items out of her room and made her way out the back again. She then took off into the nearby forest. This should be good!

The short man cracked his whip, and spurred the horses along. Dust roiled underneath their hooves and swirled past the wagon as it bounced along the well-worn path. The man looked around, enjoying his surroundings; plains stretching for miles in each direction with tree lines in the distance. On the right side of the wide path stood the only man-made structure in eyesight.

As the big wagon rolled up to building the driver pulled back on the reins, and slowly came to a stop. He looked over the building. It was rather small, with maybe only enough room to hold a loft for travelers. But that was fine. No reason to stay here a night.

He put the brake on and hopped off the wagon seat. There was a small veranda leading to the log-style looking building. A faded sign swung from rusted metal hinges, and it read Travelers Tavern. The man quickly stepped up to the door and swung it open.

A blast of smoke and tobacco, mixed with the repugnant smell of beer hit him like a battering ram. He coughed twice and then took a deep breath. He then entered, pulling off his black coat, and slinging it over his left shoulder. He ran a hand through his long brown hair.

]A quick survey of the interior showed five large round tables, crowded with beer mugs and littered with playing cards. There were too young lasses cleaning off the table with dirty rags. Both looked skimpily dressed, and the man wasn’t surprised, looking at the condition of the tavern.

Several burly men sat off to the right of the bar, which lay directly ahead of the short man. Each was puffing a pipe and playing a card game. The racks at the back of the bar were sparsely covered with bottles, and one big barrel of ale was turned over the edge of the bar for easy pouring. The short man stepped to the bar and said to the short, wiry bartender: “Give me a beer.”

“Yessir.”

The man pulled a large beer mug from underneath the bar, and filled it up to the brim. Foam threatened to spill over the edges as the tavern man handed it to the short man. He took it and sat at a table near the doorway. He took a large draft of the beer, wiping his lips with satisfaction.

“Nothing like some good beer to clear the trail dust out of your throat!” He took another drink and sat back in his chair, observing the card game. The one man whose hand he could barely see over his big shoulder, had quite a terrible hand. All but one card was below a five. The object of the game was to ascertain at least three ten’s, or two nobles. This player had none.

The short man took another swig of beer and smiled at the lass who walked by, cleaning the nearby table. “Hello,” he said, what’s our name?”

She smiled back shyly. “Oh, ‘ello. M’name is Susie.”

He stuck out his hand. “My name is Kinnard.”

She looked at his outstretched hand. Finally she put down her rag and wiped her hands on her apron. Then she took his hand.

“My, what beautiful hands you have,” the short man said.

Susie blushed and her hand fluttered to her chest as she shyly smiled. “Thank you sir. You is very kind.”

He released her hand and glanced over at the card player. He now had a noble. He must have gotten a good trade. A trade was done by discarding one of your cards in exchange for taking one blindly from the pile. It paid off that time.

One of the other players hollered: “Hey lass, where’s that beer I ordered!”

The other girl, much heavier than Susie, walked over. “I just give ya one! You already drunk it ya slob!”

The man stood up, sending his chair flying. “How dare ye speak to me like dat!”

He raised his hand back, but Kinnard quickly stood up. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

The man turned, hand still raised. “And just why would I not! You stay oot of my business!”

The plump girl turned to Kinnard. “Ya don’t need to take mah place! I can handle this buffoon any day o’ da week.” With that she sent a lightning jab at the man, sending him tumbling into the wall. A moose head pinned to the wall above, shuddered on the impact.

All but one of the other men at the table stood up. Kinnard watched as the last one, the one he’d been watching all along, scratched the back of his neck. But when he pulled his hand back down he held two nobles and a ten, along with a four and 2. That’s one way to win.

The large waitress was now was red-faced, and had her fists up like she was ready to take on the whole lot. But none of the men seemed to keen on taking on an angry woman. They slowly sat down, but the fifth man who had been barreled into the wall stood up, shaking his head.

“Ye’ll be regettin’ that’n!” He advanced on her, teeth barred.

Kinnard stepped past Susie, who had been watching frightfully, and caught the man’s fist as it come forward to hit the waitress. Then he twisted the arm back behind the man.

“I can break your arm if I wish. Now stop the fighting or I will.”

The waitress laughed loudly, like a chicken. “Oh did ya see that boys? This buffoon here dun got whupped by a wee little pretty boy.”

The man was sweating now. Five . . .four . . . three . . . two . . . one . . .

“Alright!” the man hollered. “Alright, matey, I’ll let the lass go!”

The short man turned to the waitress. “And if you wish to have customers enjoy your company, I’d suggest working on your manners.”

The woman guffawed. “Oh but I enjoy this. And anyone who speaks to me as if I was a cow, is gonna get a piece o’ mah fist!”

Kinnard pet go of the man and pushed him back into his chair. Everyone watched as he went back and sat down at his chair, next to Susie.

“Now, where were we?”