Teleporter (a Hyllis family story #2) (6 page)

Norton called Watson over. He proved to be an amiable man in his fifties. Norton’s wife came with him, and Daum wondered whether he should get Eva. But his wife was still trying to get meals out to the rest of the caravaners. Even Daum was still having to break away from the conversation to pour beer for the customers.

Daum told Watson what he thought the tavern was worth, but acknowledged that he would have a hard time selling it for that value with the situation the way it was in town. Watson said he had some savings. He claimed that almost all of it was in a bank that they visited occasionally on their trips. Daum wondered whether that was true, after all, if he had some gold bullion hidden in a wagon he almost certainly wouldn’t say so.

The two men agreed that the next morning after the breakfast rush, they would tour the tavern and look over Watson’s wagon so that each would know what the other was offering.

Once Watson and his wife stepped away, Daum looked around the tavern to see if anything needed doing. To his surprise, he recognized Sergeant Garcia and his family sitting at one of the tables.

Daum served beer to two more patrons then ducked out from behind the bar and headed over to check in with Garcia. He grabbed an extra stool and sat down next to the Sergeant

Garcia looked at him and said, “It just ain’t right! I’m sure you know what they’re saying about you around town and I want you to know I’m telling everyone that talks to me that they’ve got it all wrong. But, it just seems like common sense can’t make any headway against the wagging tongues of all those small minded gossips.”

Since Garcia rarely said much except when he was teaching wall defense at the armory, Daum reflected that that was quite a speech for him. He was happy to know that Garcia was defending his family and wondered whether such a supporter could eventually sway the town’s opinion. However, knowing Garcia’s taciturn nature, he suspected that the man wouldn’t influence very many people. “Thanks for your support. Things have been getting so ugly though, that we’re thinking about leaving town.” He grinned at Garcia, “Know anyone that wants to buy a tavern?”

Garcia looked dismayed. “No!
You
can’t leave! You and Tarc practically saved this damn town by yourselves!
Don’t
let them run you off!”

Daum shook his head, “It’s pretty hard to want to stay somewhere where everyone seems to hate you.” He glanced around to make sure the bar was okay and then turned back to Garcia. “Say, Farley came around today and claimed he’s the acting sheriff. Is that true?”

“Apparently. He had a meeting with some of the other merchants and browbeat them into saying he is. I’ve been told that we don’t really have any written rules saying how we’re supposed to select our sheriff. Most sheriffs in the past have apparently just kind of pushed themselves into the position when it came open.” He sighed, “Just like Farley seems to be doing. That’s what they say Sheriff Walter did.”

“I don’t like the SOB. He came around today and gave me a real lowball bid for the tavern, saying I was going to need to leave town and he was trying to help. Bastard.”

“You’re not the only one. I talked to him about how we were going to need some funding to get the militia back on its feet after this attack. He told me that since the militia hadn’t been able to prevent
this
attack, what we need are more deputies and
less
militia!” Garcia glanced around as if to be sure no one from the town was listening. In a low but ugly voice he said, “I think Farley’s going to gradually gather power to himself, then become a dictator. Maybe not as bad as Krait would’ve been, but not a whole lot better.”

Daum grimaced, “You may be right. I feel kinda bad about pulling up stakes and leaving you guys here with
these
kinds of problems. But, I don’t want to stay in this town with the way people have been acting towards us. I feel like my family is at risk…”

Garcia grunted, “I’d be nervous if I were you too. My family and I’d go with you, but actually, there are a lot of towns that are run badly. Sheriff Walter wasn’t exactly a beacon of enlightenment, but he was better than a lot of them.”

“Yeah,” Daum sighed, “we might find that the grass is brown everywhere. On the other hand, we’re in the frying pan. Maybe we’ll be able to leap past the fire?”

Garcia reached out and put his hand on Daum’s shoulder, “I hope so my friend… I hope so.”

The next morning, Daussie woke Tarc up earlier than usual again. “I’m sorry Tarc. During the night, someone…” Daussie said in an extremely embarrassed tone, “They, they went to the bathroom on the porch in front of the tavern! Dad wants it cleaned up before any of the caravaners see it, but Mom needs me helping in the kitchen.”

And so Tarc has to clean it up,
Tarc thought to himself resentfully. He reflected that before this debacle he would have been barking at his sister. Now, though he still resented it, he could control himself from lashing out.
Someone
had to do it, and he did seem like the logical choice.

Sure enough, when he got downstairs there were several piles of shit on the porch, as well as wet stains that he assumed were urine. He went back to the stable and got the shovel they used for the horses’ manure. Once he’d scooped it up and taken it to the outhouse, he returned with a couple of buckets of water and a coarse broom.

Tarc washed the offending areas, then got some soap and another bucket of water and washed the entire porch. After that, it was back to hauling wood and water to the kitchen, the bar, and the big room. Then he started his chores in the stable.

As the breakfast rush began to slow and the caravaners headed out to the market, Daum called Tarc over. “Sorry about saddling you with cleaning up after those vandals.” He didn’t wait for Tarc to comment, which spared Tarc coming up with a platitude he didn’t really want to give. Instead Daum continued by saying, “I wanted to tell you that we might get a break here. The Watsons there,” Daum nodded at a couple over near the window, “are thinking about leaving the caravan. They might buy the tavern and sell us their big wagon.”

Daum looked at Tarc, “Last night I talked some of this over with them. This morning, we’re supposed to show them the tavern and they’re supposed to show us through their wagon. Eva and I can’t really take them on a tour of the tavern until things slow down a little more. Now that you’re caught up with your chores, do you think you could start showing them around the tavern? Hopefully, by the time you’ve shown them everything, the rest of the caravaners will be gone and all four of us can go look over the wagon together.”

Tarc’s eyes widened a little, he’d never done anything like this. “What would I show them?”

“Walk them around the outside. Point the neighboring businesses out to them while you’re on that tour. Then take them around and show them the stables, bathhouse, cellar, and the insides of every room. Answer all their questions as truthfully as you can.”

“Even our bedrooms?!”

Daum grinned at him, “Yep, even our bedrooms.” He winked. “Maybe you should go up and make sure Daussie made her bed when she got up, huh?" He glanced up towards the door, “Maybe you should also take a quick walk around outside and make sure there wasn’t any other vandalism besides what we found on the porch last night
,
.” He turned serious, “This is important, Tarc, having things look good could make a big difference in the price they’re willing to offer us, so make sure everything looks neat and clean before you take them on their tour.”

Tarc made a quick circuit around the tavern, glad to see that no one had taken a crap in any other embarrassing places. He quickly swept a few corners of the stable he’d ignored before, then checked the bathhouse to make sure the tubs were clean. He ran upstairs to make his bed and hurriedly straighten his room. When he checked Daussie’s room, it was immaculate with a carefully made bed. He wasn’t sure whether he felt impressed by her room or disgusted by her usual compulsiveness.

Back downstairs, Tarc approached the Watsons and offered to take them on a circuit of the tavern. They had looked pretty bored, so he wasn’t surprised when they jumped at the chance. Following Daum’s recommendation, he walked them around the outside first. He pointed out neighboring businesses as well as talking about how far it was to the butcher’s and the grocer’s for supplies. He walked them through the courtyard which they were already fairly familiar with since their wagon was parked in it. However he pointed out a few items he thought they might have missed. Then he took them through the stable which they examined closely. Mr. Watson even climbed up into the hayloft for a look around up there. He swung the doors to the stalls and shoveled aside the straw in the stalls to look under it.

Back in the tavern, Tarc took them downstairs to look through the cellar. Then upstairs to look through the bedrooms and the rooms for let. In the main room he showed them the big tank set into the rocks of the fireplace, opening the spigot and partly filling a bucket with hot water. Watson ooohd and ahhhd over that, “And that’s the hot water you use to heat tubs for the baths?”

Tarc nodded, “And to heat tubs for washing clothes too.” He suddenly realized that he was going to miss taking baths as often as his family usually did. Certainly, he was going to miss getting to wear clean clothes so often. He’d never given very much thought to how living in the tavern made his life a lot better than it could have been, but he was realizing it now.

Next was the brewing room for the beer and its still for making moonshine. Daum stepped back there to describe the equipment and its functions. Then Daum took them through his realm behind the bar. Daum pointed out a few things while they were back there, but Tarc noticed he didn’t show them the trick lever that dumped coins down into the strongbox in the cellar.

By the time they toured the kitchen, things had slowed down enough that Eva was able to explain the way she used the equipment in her domain.

***

Their tour of the Watson’s big wagon fascinated Tarc. Sixteen feet long by five feet wide, it had a sealed box that would float so it could be towed through rivers if necessary. A big canvas cover arched over it for protection against the rain. Big wooden wheels were strapped with iron rims to decrease breakage. It was pulled by a team of mules, but the Watsons also had a couple of horses that could be yoked up to assist on steep hills. The horses could also be ridden alongside or on side trips.

After both families had looked around their potential purchases, they went their separate ways to discuss the deal amongst themselves. Eva was very concerned that the rough ride in the wagon might break some of her precious glassware. “We could pack them in clothing or something if we were just making one trip. But if we’re planning to stop and get them out over and over again, I’m worried that they won’t get packed well enough.”

Daum said, “Personally, I
hope
that we get enough business for you to be getting them out frequently. A bigger concern for me is that I can’t make beer on the road and we really don’t have any trade goods. The only way we’re really going to earn our keep is by cooking for the caravan or if you get a reputation for healing.” He shrugged, “I can imagine you getting a reputation after we’ve made a circuit through the same towns several times, but I’m not sure how you’ll get your first customers for healing.”

Eva said, “The little stalls the caravaners set up in the market have signs telling what they are selling or what they can do. We could paint over the sign that Watson puts up for his stall.”

Daum frowned, “But will people trust their health to someone on the basis of a sign?”

“I think you’ll be surprised. A lot of people are pretty desperate for help with whatever health problem they have.”

Daussie said, “Some of the caravaners sell little treats too. Maybe we could cook up some sweets before we arrive in each town?”

“Maybe we could,” Eva said thoughtfully. She got a distant look in her eyes as she considered the possibilities.

Daum got up, “I’m going to go look at the still. I could ferment something in a barrel while the wagon’s moving and then distill some moonshine in the evenings after we stopped, but I’d need a smaller kettle.”

Eva said she was going to the kitchen to think about whether she could pack everything she needed into the wagon.

Daussie and Tarc looked at one another for a moment, then by unspoken agreement they headed up to their rooms.

***

Tarc was reading about vascular diseases when he heard someone pounding up the stairs. His mother called his name. Tarc’s initial reaction was a feeling of guilt. Probably he’d forgotten to do some important chore and she was upset about it. He’d already started to get up when Eva burst into his room, “Tarc! Farley and his men are threatening your dad! Have you got your knives?”

Tarc shot past his mother and down the stairs. Across the room, the bigger of the two large men had an angry looking Daum backed up against the bar with his sword. It looked like the sword was pricking the skin of Daum’s chest. Farley was a step or two behind him and the second guard was standing back just a little bit behind Farley.

The man with the sword on Daum had his back to Tarc and was wearing a boiled leather curiass. Tarc skidded to a stop just short of Farley’s outstretched palm. He assessed the situation.

If he threw a knife at the man holding the sword to Daum he wasn’t sure he could be effective. With the man’s eyes facing away, the strikes into the eyes that Tarc had used so successfully against Krait’s men might not work. He wasn’t sure the knife would penetrate the harder bone at the back of the skull. If he struck the man in the back of the neck, it might deflect off of the vertebrae. If he struck him in the chest, it probably wouldn’t penetrate the boiled leather, and even if it did, it wouldn’t kill the man instantly. Whatever he did, he feared the man might thrust the sword into Daum even while he himself was dying.

Farley glanced back at Tarc and said, “You’d best get outside boy.” He turned back towards Daum, “And you Mr. Hyllis, had best recognize that my little offer the other day was
not
negotiable. I’m here today to tell you that the town expects you and your family to be gone by the day after tomorrow. My offer from yesterday still stands, but tomorrow I’ll be offering even less. I hope you’ll understand that the fact that I’m offering you
any
money is only out of the kindness of my heart. As Sheriff, I
could
just wait until you’re gone and then claim the tavern as… as…” Farley staggered.

Tarc’s ghost kept back pressure on the flow in Farley’s left middle cerebral artery. The book he’d been reading said that a stroke from occlusion of the left middle cerebral left people unable to talk and paralyzed the right side of their body. Farley was indeed falling to his right, but most importantly he’d stopped talking. The second guard stepped to Farley’s side and grabbed his arm to hold him up.

Tarc restrained himself from telling the guard to let Farley lie down. When someone was passing out, the last thing you wanted to do was keep them upright, but, after all, Tarc
wanted
Farley unconscious.

The big man with his sword on Daum turned uncertainly to see what was happening behind him.

Tarc reached up behind his neck, sliding his hand inside his shirt to grasp the hilt of his first throwing knife.

Before Tarc threw, the guard pulled his sword away from Daum and stepped towards Farley. Daum took a deep breath and stepped out of the guard’s reach, catching Tarc’s eye and shaking his head. Tarc let the knife slide back into its sheath.

Tarc wasn’t sure what the headshake meant, but thought Daum was telling him not to kill the guard. He felt torn, a dead guard could no longer threaten them, but then he’d have to kill the other guard and Farley as well. If he did, Tarc wondered what they would do with the bodies.

Daum caught Tarc’s eye again, shook his head, then looked at Farley, then looked back and shook his head again.

Tarc thought,
he wants me to ease up on Farley.
Tarc felt a little surprised that Daum had so quickly figured out he was the one responsible for Farley’s problem. He let off some of the back pressure and turned to Eva who was wringing her hands a little ways behind him. “Mom, I think Mr. Farley is having a stroke. Is there anything we can do for him?”

The two guards had been looking Farley over, evidently seeking evidence of foul play. The big one who’d been threatening Daum asked suspiciously, “Did one of them do something to Mr. Farley?”

The smaller guard shook his head slowly, “No one even got
close
to Mr. Farley. You think I should sit him down?”

Eva stepped forward, “He should be
lying
down! This looks like a stroke and keeping him upright decreases the blood flow to his brain even further.” She took Farley’s other arm and tugged him to the side, “Let’s get him lying down on this table here.”

Uncertainly, the guard helped her maneuver him with his back to the table and then lay him down on it. Tarc dragged over another table to put under Farley’s feet, saying, “Should we be rubbing Mr. Farley’s carotid mom?”

Eva shot Tarc a glance, saw his microscopic nod, then put her hands to Farley’s neck and began rubbing gently. “Yes, a gentle carotid massage might help.”

Tarc released the back pressure he’d been holding on Farley’s artery, wondering whether he’d held it so long that Farley would have permanent effects or whether he would recover completely. He didn’t want to have crippled a man, but on the other hand, he didn’t want Farley to resume making their lives miserable.