The Stewards of Reed, Volume 1: The Rise of Fallon (6 page)

Gentry’s eyes grew wide as he stared at the tube. “Thank you, Mother. I do not suppose this is the best start to such an important journey.” His face was solemn and he shook his head in disbelief that he could have forgotten to pack the most crucial item of all. Nevertheless, the grave expression was soon replaced with a wide grin as he reached for the tube and put it carefully inside his coat pocket. “Alas, every journey has its troubles; it comforts me to know that mine have come to pass so soon in my travels, and gives me hope that the remainder of my journey shall be without incident.”

Edith could not resist smiling at her son’s boyish grin and naive logic. “Let us hope so. Take care, Gentry.”

“Always, Mother,” he said. “Good-bye now.”

As he turned to go, his mother called after him. “Safe travels, son. We shall be waiting for you.”

*************

It was at best a two-day journey to Bartow, especially with the weight that Casper was bearing, but the weather was cooperative and Gentry made good progress. Since parting ways with his mother earlier that morning, Gentry had not seen another soul on the road the first day, and that was just fine by him. That night he and Casper camped out in a little clearing beside the road, just a few hundred feet from a small stream with plenty of fresh water to drink. He started a small fire to keep them warm through the night and hopefully keep the wild animals at bay. Then he pulled out the route map that he had prepared with his father the day before and studied it some more. At last his eyes grew heavy and sleep fell upon him.

He awakened to the sounds of birds chirping the next morning. He fed and watered Casper, ate some bread and started back on the road. A few hours later he encountered two men with a wagon load of goods, heading in the opposite direction. They were on their way to Henly but were planning to stop over in Reed for the night. Gentry recommended the Hartford Inn and wished them well. Before they pulled away, they cautioned him about the Main Bridge to Bartow. The River Nye was running swift and high with all the recent snowmelt, and one of the aging support piers was starting to crack. They had made it over the bridge just in time before guards closed it down for repairs.

The news did not sit well with Gentry. He pulled out his maps, but they only confirmed what he already knew. There were three possible routes to Bartow: (1) continue on towards the Main Bridge and hope to find some way across; (2) head south to the Sutter Bridge, through the Village of Graves and up over the South Bridge into town; or (3) head north to the Stockton Bridge and then back down the other side of the River Nye until he reached the walls of Bartow.

It did not make sense to head south to the Sutter Bridge as it would add more than a week’s worth of travel, and the roads that Gentry must take to get there were prone to flooding anyway. Unfortunately, heading north to the Stockton Bridge was not an appealing option either; although that route would only add a few days to Gentry’s trip, it would bring him dangerously close to known Komanite territory. So Gentry resigned himself to press forward towards the Main Bridge in hopes that he would find some way across the River Nye.

The sun was almost setting when the Main Bridge finally entered into Gentry’s field of view. Alas, the travelers had been right; he could see guards blocking the entrance. Gentry’s heart sunk, but he continued forward.

“Sorry sir, the bridge is closed for repairs,” called out a guard as he saw Gentry approaching.

“For how long shall it be closed?” Gentry asked.

“The workmen are saying it shall be out for at least a week if not more.”

Gentry sighed. He could not afford that kind of delay.

“We have been directing travelers to the Stockton Bridge. It might add two or three days to your journey, but at least you shall not pay a fee,” offered the guard.

“And if I am willing to pay a fee?” The hope was evident in Gentry’s voice.

The guard shrugged. “Then you may find a few profiteers with their makeshift boats at a little dock about a mile north of here. They have gone home for the evening, but they shall be back first thing tomorrow.”

“Thank you, sir,” he said, relieved that he had not traveled to the Main Bridge for naught. He headed north towards the dock, and before long the sound of the rushing waters of the River Nye lulled him to sleep.

*************

Gentry awoke before the morning light. The ground was cold and most uncomfortable from all the rocks along the banks of the River Nye, and he had not slept well. He nibbled on some stale bread, fed Casper some oats and carrots, and they both had their fill of water. When the sun finally started to make its way above the edge of the horizon, Gentry and Casper carefully made their way down to the river.

It was not much of a dock. It was old and rickety and only jutted out into swift waters about ten feet or so – just barely enough to tie up a small boat. As he waited he observed a few vessels leaving from the opposite shoreline. Most were heading south, probably to Graves or Henly, but one or two appeared to be heading his way. He had probably been standing there for nearly an hour before the first “boat” made it to the dock. It was actually more of a makeshift raft and it had clearly seen better days. The sail was a bit torn and yellowed with age and the wood seemed rotted-out in places. Nevertheless, the raft was large enough to accommodate Gentry and his horse.

“Hello, sir. Might you be looking for transport across the river?” The question came from a scruffy looking man with dark hair who had stepped out from behind the sail. Another man started to tie up the raft to the dock.

“Aye. I am headed to Bartow,” Gentry replied, eying the water craft.

“Well, me and Clive would be happy to oblige,” said the scruffy man as he gave a nod to his redheaded helper. “For a fee, of course.”

Clive smiled, revealing several brown and missing teeth.

“And what might that fee be?”

The scruffy man spit into the river. He eyed Gentry for a bit, stroking his chin, and finally said, “Twenty gold pieces.”

Gentry did not flinch. He was quite skilled at negotiating and did not want to let them know how desperate he was to make his way across the river. “I shall give you but five gold pieces,” he said firmly.

“Clive, this man takes us for fools!” the man cried.

“Aye, that he does, Dennison,” the redheaded helper replied, a scowl now upon his once smiling face.

“You have a horse – that extra weight is extra cost. This raft does not sail itself,” Dennison insisted, grabbing an oar for emphasis as he stared Gentry down.

Gentry did not respond. He did not move. He just stood firm and waited.

“Aye, all right. Fifteen gold pieces and you have a deal,” Dennison finally said, breaking the awkward silence.

“I am not certain that your rickety old raft can even handle the weight of me and my horse,” replied Gentry calmly. “At that price I am prepared to wait for a more sturdy boat to arrive.” Gentry was not really prepared to wait, and he hoped that Dennison would not call his bluff.

Dennison was clearly agitated and eyed Gentry closely. “Let me have a discussion with my business partner – perhaps we may come to a more agreeable price.”

With that, Dennison and Clive disappeared behind the sail and started speaking in hushed tones. After a few moments, Dennison and Clive came out from behind the sail. “Sir, we are prepared to offer you a price of ten gold pieces to take you and your horse across the river. We shall not give you another offer.”

Gentry nodded and stepped forward to shake Dennison’s hand. “Aye, you have a deal.”

“We shall require payment up front, of course,” Dennison said.

Gentry nodded and turned his back to the men as he counted out the gold pieces from his small burlap sack. Dennison eyed the gold pieces suspiciously at first as if he believed them to be fake, but a quick bite on the metal satisfied him.

It took some time to coax Casper onto the rickety dock and even more rickety raft – he was clearly uncomfortable with the unsteady motion beneath his feet. But Gentry held him tightly by the reins and spoke softly as he stroked the horse’s head, and eventually the makeshift raft was on its way to the opposite shoreline.

The wind was favorable and they made good time crossing the River Nye. Dennison stood on one edge of the raft with an oar while Clive stood on the other with an oar of his own, and each man carefully steered the raft towards one of the docks on the far side. Gentry held on to Casper tightly and kept an eye on the shore. It was not long before they were pulling up to a much more sturdy dock on the Bartow side of the river. Clive tied up the raft and Gentry started the arduous process of guiding Casper onto the dock.

Just as Casper finally managed to place all four hooves on the dock, Dennison called out to Gentry. “I believe you have forgotten something.”

Gentry turned around. Before he could register what was happening, Clive rushed at him and threw him down upon the dock. Casper took off in a panic as the two men began to wrestle. One thing about Gentry, which Clive would learn the hard way, is that he was surprisingly strong. It did not take long before Gentry was able to secure his footing, grab hold of Clive, and throw him into the river.

Gentry was wiping the blood from his mouth when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. He spun around just in time to see Dennison advancing upon him with a knife in hand. Before Dennison had a chance to lunge, Gentry ran straight for him.

What fool runs at a man holding a knife?
Caught off guard, Dennison was quickly tackled by Gentry. The impact sent both men onto the hard rocky ground just above the dock.

Clive had been a fairly easy opponent to defeat, but Dennison was proving to be more formidable. Gentry struggled to gain the upper hand, which was especially difficult with half of his attention directed at keeping the knife from stabbing into his body. Nevertheless, with much effort he was finally able to grab hold of a nearby rock and slam it into Dennison’s face. Dennison cried out in pain and dropped the knife, which Gentry quickly picked up and stowed in one of his pockets.

Blood was pouring out of Dennison’s nose and it was clearly broken. He was still writhing in pain on the ground when Gentry kicked him hard in the groin to ensure he stayed put. He could see Clive struggling to pull himself out of the river further downstream, but the redheaded man with bad teeth was clearly out of breath and Gentry knew he would not be causing any more trouble any time soon.

Gentry grabbed his satchel, which had been thrown to the side in the commotion, and started up the hill in search of Casper.

*************

Casper’s frantic strides had left deep impressions in the riverbank as the horse fled from the commotion. Fortunately for Gentry, this provided a muddy trail of hoof prints that made it easy to determine which direction the horse had gone. Gentry started down the trail after his horse. He was somewhat grateful that the horse was still carrying the bulk of their load as he was quite sore from his tussle with Dennison and Clive.

Gentry had walked about a half hour when he saw a little house in the clearing to the right. He made his way towards the house in hopes that someone there might have seen his horse recently. As he approached the house, he was elated (and relieved) to see Casper. An older gentleman appeared to be feeding him some carrots while stroking his head.

“Hello, sir,” called Gentry.

The older gentleman turned and eyed Gentry suspiciously, and then began to step away from him while holding onto Casper’s reins. Gentry was confused by this reaction until it occurred to him that his face was a bit bloodied and he probably looked quite disheveled.

“Pardon the appearance, sir. I…” Gentry paused, uncertain how to explain the situation. Ultimately he decided the truth was probably best. “I just fought off two men who tried to rob me, and my horse was spooked.” Gentry stopped his advances in hopes that the older gentleman might likewise stop his retreat.

His attention no longer focused on carrots, Casper recognized his friend and let out a series of neighs. “It is all right, Casper, I am fine,” Gentry explained, still careful not to move towards them.

The older gentleman looked at the horse and back to Gentry. “Well, he seems to know you anyway. He came galloping right to my door; he gave my wife quite a scare.”

“I am terribly sorry about that, sir.”

The older gentleman stared at Gentry for a while before he said anything more. “We may be outside the walls of Bartow, but you are not in the country anymore, son; you must watch yourself. There are all sorts of people in this town and you never know which are friend and which are foe.”

“Aye, sir.”

“I shall bring you a rag to wash your face.” With that the old man brought Casper to Gentry and walked inside. He came back out moments later with a rag, submerged it into the water barrel next to his door and handed it to Gentry.

“Thank you, sir.” The cold water stung a little bit but it felt good to be clean. Gentry handed the rag back to the old man.