A Trek of A Storyteller

Ch.15: Pub Buckos

They reached a small town with brick buildings packed close together. The street lamps were unlit, it was midday. They traveled down the small road, passing cars honking at them and anyone on foot giving them nasty looks with one young man spitting at them. Only a few waved and Jack gave a cheerful wave back.

"Why are they doing that?" Skylos asked Jack fearfully as another man gave a rude gesture and yelled some choice oaths their way.

"'Cause they know I be a Storyteller," Jack murmured back, shame in his voice. The man began to approach the wagon and reach for something in his pocket. "Don't look at 'im," Jack said and Skylos quickly snapped his head down. "Good lad," Jack said quietly. The man was getting closer, Skylos heard from the swears on his lips.

"Jack, is he going to hurt you?" Skylos asked, keeping his voice low even as it quivered.

"Are ye scared? Don't be scared, look at me," Jack said. Skylos obeyed, looked over at Jack while his chest rose and fell rapidly. Jack's eyes were kind and even as Kidd picked up his pace, the man was advancing on their wagon.

The boy began to look back but Jack reached up a hand and placed it on the side of his face gently. "Nay, lad, dinnae look at 'im. Just keep yer eyes down 'r on me, savvy? 'E's a persistent one, that one," he insisted. Skylos nodded, a tear slipping down his cheek. Jack wiped it away with callused hands and a gentle, if sad, smile.

Skylos obeyed and dared not look up until he was sure the man's voice had faded. He turned his attention back to the road, unwilling to see the tense look upon Jack's face, even as his hands clutched the reins so tight his knuckles were white.

"Jack?" the boy finally, tentatively asked as they pulled up to a small building with a green overhang that read 'Turtle's Bar & Grill'. Jack slowed Kidd with a small 'woah' and began to unhitch the old mule. Kidd gave a bray and Jack patted him on the back.

"Aye," he responded, turning his full attention to the boy. Skylos hopped down from the small wagon with his satchel bouncing on his shoulder.

"What day is it?" the boy asked, his voice far away. Jack stroked his beard a second before replying.

"March te 24th I believe," he said thoughtfully. "Aye, 'tis," he added decidedly.

'Ten nights,' Skylos thought to himself, chewing his lip distractedly and letting his eyes wander on the ground.

"Ye comin' lad?" Jack's voice startled him and Skylos, taking a deep breath, nodded as they walked through the doors to a quiet, solemn pub. An old man sat wearily in the corner, unnoticeable unless you were the Storyteller and constantly scouting out for those men that would have his hide. Two others sat close by, all three hidden in shadow although they had firm mugs before them in their calloused, rough hands.

The first man that Skylos had spotted raised one of his hands in greeting to Jack, a small smile poking at his worn lips beneath a long white goatee. The boy scouted his wrist for a brand but found none.

"Hello Jack," the old man had a deep, gravelly voice. It held sunshine and rain and storm clouds and summer heat all wrapped up in one. He spoke evenly, calmly, though Skylos heard the smile on his lips. The boy decided he liked the old man. He wanted to hear more of his sunshine.

"Hello," Jack responded, a smile hidden beneath his beard. The other two men turned, each as worn as the other. One's face was scarred horribly, with most of his scars disappearing into a large greying beard, though it did not give him an intimidating air. The other had bright eyes, as though he were still young and he wore only stubble on his chin.

"Who've you brought?" the old man's voice warmed even more as he focused his eyes, one a sharp hazel, the other white and cloudy, on the boy who was sheltering himself behind Jack, only his head looking out. Jack rested his hand on the boy's back, shepherding him out and ruffling his hair. Skylos caught Jack's wrist and held fast. Jack smiled warmly.

"Jus' a boy. 'E wound up on me doorstep lookin' fer a job an' I know yer always complainin' 'bout not 'avin' an apprentice. I'd take 'im up meself, I would, but ye see, 'e's got a workin' spirit, this one. 'E's a bit small I'll give ye that but 'e musta trekked a long way ta end up at me own doorstep," Jack grinned proudly down at the boy, pulling him closer to himself with a hand around the boy's shoulders. "Ye'll be a'right, lad. Don' worry," Jack whispered. Skylos only nodded and held onto Jack's large leather belt.

"He looks petrified," the old man chuckled, although there was concern in his tone. Skylos could feel every emotion in the old man's voice. His eyes, though he did not know it, were reflecting innocent curiosity. One that reminded the old man to be gentle. And so he was. There was no way, nor any reason to explain the way the old man and boy communicated in these moments. Through eyes, energy, through the very soul of the earth it seemed. "How old is he?" he asked.

"I reckon 'e's about fifteen," Jack answered, patting the boy's shoulder.

"A bit small for fifteen, eh?" the scarred man barked a laugh, a raspy one at that. His voice was much different from the old man's. He had a rough voice with bland emotion. He did not talk deliberately.

"Shut yer trap, Amos," Jack snapped, though there was no true anger behind his words.

"All I'm sayin' is he has time to grow into himself and we need a lad who can hold the rigging," Amos replied. Jack snorted.

"You lot 'aven't got much rigging in te first place," Jack said. His grip tightened protectively on the boy's shoulder and Skylos' knuckles turned white with the grip he used on Jack's belt.

"Hush, Amos. I will take the boy on my own boat. He will do well," the old man said calmly. "If he does indeed have a working spirit, he will find his time valuable," he said. Skylos liked the cryptic way the old man spoke, it made his heart warm and his body relax. He knew he'd fit in with the old man. No matter what rigging he had to take up.