Thaddeus Nowak's Blog: Thoughts and Observations, page 20

Wait…where am I?

Wow, I have been busy lately.  I really have been meaning to post more, but so far, I have just been managing to get my weekly Owin episodes out.  Here is a quick update on what I’ve been doing, as well as what I am going to be doing.

First, last week I spent hiking in Rocky Mountain National Park.  We put in just over 46 miles on trails over the course of four days.  The first day we broke a personal record, doing 18 miles round-trip (which included darn near 4k foot of elevation gain).

That trip was from Lawn Lake Trail head, up past Lawn Lake, and onto The Saddle.  On the way back, we took a mile side trip to Crystal Lake, which is thought to be the deepest lake in the park.  I must say, it was amazing up there.  It was also a bit of work doing this hike.  I live around 850 ft above sea level.  The Saddle is at 12,390 feet, so there is a bit less air at that height than what I am used to, but the views were amazing and the effort worth it.  Plus, the wild flowers were spectacular (and last week wasn’t even the height of the season, I think we missed it by a week or so).

For those interested in the hike, we stayed on Central Time and that first day in the park, we woke up at our normal time of about 0500 (which was 4am local time).  Drove the mile from where we were staying at The Wildwood Inn (I would recommend them) and entered the park on the highway 34 entrance.  Lawn Lake trail head is close to the Alluvial Fan and the park entrance.  Note, the Alluvial Fan and the Old Fall River Road are closed because of the damage sustained by the flooding in 2013 (though most things are open).

Because I had hurt myself a month or so before the hike, I went somewhat light on the pack, leaving a lot of my camera gear behind.  I basically had my phone and a camcorder (I’ll process the video later) so these are not my best shots (some are frames from video).

The trip up to Lawn Lake was fairly easy, just over 6 miles at a pretty steady climb (no dramatic rock faces to scale on the way).  The lake itself is not spectacular; it was once dammed to hold water for irrigation, but due to improper maintenance, the dam failed in 1982, flooding the area down stream and killing three people.  The photo here was taken from above Lawn Lake on the way to the Saddle and/or Crystal Lake.  Looking down at it, the lake does have character and charm, but at the lake side, most of the area is rocky from where the water used to be.

From The Saddle, you can see Hagues Peak and Fairchild Mountain.  We met a couple of guys just before we reached The Saddle who were going to summit Fairchild.  This is a picture of Hagues, Fairchild is a little less dramatic, but one day I will consider doing the summit of the peaks as well.  However, for this trip, we didn’t want the extra mileage or altitude.  (I was starting to feel the effects of being 12k feet above sea level) and did not want to go higher.  Side note, this is higher than the Alpine visitor center and anywhere you drive in the park along Trail Ridge Road.)

The climb from Lawn Lake to either Crystal Lake or the Saddle is a lot of work.  There are some rather steep sections, but being on the ridge of the Mummy Range provides some wonderful views of both sides.  However, at the top we got distracted by a small bachelor herd of big horn sheep.  Here are three of them charging each other on a small snow field.  A fourth just lounged around above them and watched.  We decided he was already set in his position in the herd and had nothing more to prove.

Again, the flowers on the way up to The Saddle just covered the slopes and offered blues, purples, yellows, whites, and reds for us to gaze over.  It was really beautiful.  I’ll have to look for some shots of those.  The picture here is of Sherri getting my attention for the sheep and gives you an idea of just how far you can see.

On the way back down from the lakes, we encountered a couple of mule deer that were far too busy eating the flowers to care about us.  We had to pass within a couple of feet of them to continue down the slope.  We also encountered plenty of squirrels (real ones, not distractions), pika, marmots, birds, and rabbits.  It was our best day for seeing wildlife (though on other hikes, we saw a snake and helped a red fox get himself some lunch).

The fox we saw on a shorter hike (about 8 miles round-trip) to Cascade Falls on the west side of the park.  It was an easy hike regarding how level and smooth the trail was.  However, it was more exposed and fairly hot (the wild-fire nearby didn’t contribute to that, but we did see a helicopter make several trips to gather water).

The fourth hike was to Thunder Pass, also on the west side.  The route through Lulu City was about 14.5 miles round-trip.  That trail, the thunderstorm, and crossing a wet log over a rain swollen river will get its own post.  However, the initial picture in this post is from Thunder Pass.  It was a very good hike and great to see Michigan Lake and the other side of the ridge.

Secrets to success

Now a couple of secrets for those not wanting to do day hikes that are 15 to 20 miles long.  First, there are plenty of backwoods campsites near and along the paths.  We could have camped at Lawn Lake and done those 18 miles over two or three days and had more time to enjoy the area.

Second.  Make sure you have enough food and water.  I normally carry too much, but last year on a rather dry hike (and the long way around) to Bridal Veil Falls, I ran out of water.  Fortunately, I also have a Katadyn water filter and refilled my pack from the falls.  Adding an in-line carbon filter to the water filter helps clear the taste and both together, keeps you from getting sick.

Third.  Prepare to get rained on.  In the mountains, it is expected that there will be afternoon showers.  We got poured on coming back from Thunder Pass and mildly drizzled on coming back from The Saddle.  Ponchos and rain pants plus clothing in layers make adjusting to the changing environment bearable and even enjoyable.

What’s next?

As I promised, here is a taste of what I have coming up.  Starting this coming Thursday (21 Aug 2014) I will be at the Wizard World Comic Con in Chicago!  I have table E51 in the Artist Alley.  If you are in the area, definitely come by and see me.  I’ve got bookmarks and maps for giveaways.  I’ll sign your books and if you would like to get the set, I’ll have them for sale as well.  Or just come by to chat.  I enjoy talking (probably too much).

The whole Donald E. Stephens Convention Center was rented and all of the vendor space sold out.  I believe the 4 day passes are even sold out at this point, but single day ones are available.  There will be a huge number of celebrities.  Some highlights include: Matt Smith and Karen Gillan as well as Stan Lee.  Lots of the Star Trek cast will be there, including William Shatner and Patrick Stewart.  Tons of other actors, creators, and fans.  It is a big event and I am really excited to be a small part of it.

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Owin #10 — Gwen’s Missing

Check out the start of the series.

Photo ©Depositphotos.com / Oleksandr Minyaylo

Owin did not have trouble turning the four small pieces of silver into coins. He of course received less than the silver was worth, but the high quality silver netted Gwen a dozen marks. Assuming I don’t take any commission for the effort. Her risky behavior caused him to consider taking sixty percent in the hopes it would discourage her. However, he understood her frustration and really did not want to dash her dreams for a better life.

“But, what kind of better life will ever exist for any of us?” he mumbled as he made his way down the darkening streets. He kept his apparent attention forward, not wanting to draw attention by looking concerned. However, that did not mean he lacked awareness of those around him.  Gwen’s comments about always looking over her shoulder bothered him. He knew the predators that existed, but had not considered the additional threats her and her mother would face. “I wish Elsin would let me take them away from here,” he said softly as he approached their flat.

He knocked on the door and stepped back as it immediately flung open. “What’s wrong?” he asked, trading shock for worry at seeing Elsin’s panicked face.

“Where’s Gwen?” she demanded. “Gwen’s not home and it is far too late.”

Damn it, he swore silently. Outwardly he kept his face as calm as possible; Elsin would lose even more composure if he showed his own concern. “Anyone see her? She go anywhere else?” he asked.  “She stopped by my rooms yesterday on the way home,” he added as he stepped through the doorway and closes the door behind himself.

“Why would she stop by your place?”

“She wanted to talk.” Owin placed on hand on Elsin’s shoulder and took her opposite hand with his other one. “Do you have any idea where to find her? I’ll go out and look for her.”

Elsin shook her head. “What have you got her into?”

“I haven’t got her into anything.” He glanced into their kitchen and then back to Elsin. “Let me get my blades and I’ll go to Lord Darro’s estate and work my way back here.”

“Owin, bring her home safe,” Elsin demanded as she wiped away tears with her blistered hands. “She’s all I have left of him. I can’t lose her as well.”

“I’ll bring her home.”

 

Terrible things raced through Owin’s mind as he jogged toward Lord Darro’s estate. Initially he tried walking, hoping if he did not give into panic, that Gwen would not be in danger. However, that had lasted less than a block.  As he moved through the streets, he argued warred with himself on whether he should approach someone in the estate or look for contacts he had who might have heard something. If someone grabbed her on the way, no one might hear about it until it was too late.  Taking the other side, but, even if I follow her path home, I might not see anything to indicate what happened.  He tried to focus on signs as he ran, but nothing stood out to him.  “Damn it,” he swore as the large, walled-in estate came into view at the end of the alley and he still had not finalized a decision.

Slowing to catch his breath, he wondered if he had made a mistake in bringing his weapons. They would not help him convince the guards to let him inside and if he needed to use them against the household of a city Lord, he would have a very bad night.  But do I even talk to them?

He nodded his head, I need to be certain she even left.  “Perhaps she was forced to work late.”  He glanced around, looking for somewhere to stash the weapons where they would not be stolen.  “Please let her be inside.”

Spying a gap between some stones in the foundation of a building next to him, and still several building from the end of the alley he was in, Owing checked for watchers and finding it clear, stuffed his sword and dagger into the hole. “Just don’t let anyone steal these on me.” After a moment of hesitation, he added the coin pouch with the silver; someone dressed like me doesn’t carry that kind of coin.

Clearing his mind and dusting the dirt from his cloths, he continued toward the end of the alley. The street that crossed the alley, and divided a number of merchants from a row of large tree covered estates, still had a fair amount of traffic. Waiting for a horse and carriage to pass, Owin then quickly moved to the other side and approached the gate in the tall wall that protected Lord Darro’s home.

“Good evening,” Owin said in greeting to the three men standing guard. “I am inquiring after a friend of mine. I wanted to see if Miss Gwen had left for the day. She’s a laundress.”

Owin felt his stomach clench as the man dressed in leather armor glanced to the two men with him. Damn it.

“Are you family?”

“I am,” Owin lied. “She has not arrived at home and I was hoping someone would be able to tell me if she’s left and about when that might have been.”

The brown-haired man he was talking to glanced at the taller guard beside him and then nodded his head. The first guard turned back to Owin. “Give me your weapons. Eugin will escort you to the house.”

Damn, damn, damn, Owin swore as he removed a small eating dagger from his belt. It was the only thing he was carrying they would immediately identify as a weapon.

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Owin #9 — What can you get for a spoon?

Check out the start of the series.

Photo ©Depositphotos.com / Oleksandr Minyaylo

“Owin, it’s been a while.” Randal’s big arms stretched the fabric of his sweat soaked shirt. Behind him a pair of thick apprentices worked like a machine, pounding their hammers against a piece of steel.

Owin nodded his head. “It has.”

“I’ve got someone offering a good deal on that stuff I used to get for you. Real reasonable.”

Owin shook his head. “I don’t work for the Duke anymore.”

“Won’t stop me from selling to a good customer.”

Owin stepped under the room of the smithy and into the shade, though the heat coming from the forge exceeded that of the noon sun. “I’ve got a bit of metal I’d like to melt down and cut up.”

Randal nodded his bearded head and led Owin toward the back of the shop and the second fire that had been allowed to die back. The others, who were watching and helping the apprentices, avoided looking in their direction. “Anything large?”

Owin shook his head. “Just a silver spoon.”

Randal chuckled. “I remember the days you and Gavin would come back with handfuls of rings and chains. All things I suspect you were supposed to turn over to the Duke.”

Owin really did not want to discuss his past. He trusted Randal, but only so far. The smith liked to talk a bit too much, though Owin had never seen the man betray a true confidence.

Randal continued, “All things from people locked securely in their homes or castle. Enemies of the state that never saw the light of the next morning.” Randal pulled on the bellows to stoke the fire. “You sure you don’t want some of those powders you and Gavin always found so useful?”

“Positive,” Owin responded after pushing aside memories of his past. I hardly had a choice in what I did, he reminded himself. No one tells the Duke no without consequences. “Just need to convert a bit of silver.”

Randal nodded his head as he tossed a handful of coal into the fire pit. “I’m sorry that things fell apart for you. I felt safer knowing you were protecting us.” Randal held out his hand and Owin handed over the spoon. Bending it in half, the smith put the spoon into a small crucible, which he shifted into the fire with a pair of tongs. “If you’re intending to stay out, I feel I should warn you, there are rumblings of a conflict building.”

Owin looked up at the big man. “Really? What have you heard?”

“Just that the ruling prince of Erhin has ordered ten thousand mercs. Mostly foot soldiers, but at least eight hundred archers. With our king dead and the council of Dukes fighting each other, Prince Gephard wants to expand his sliver of land a bit westward.”

Owin groaned internally. Duke Ravigar continued to work hard to keep the council from working together. It did not surprise Owin that a neighbor now felt they could take advantage of Andra’s weakened position. “I’ll have to make sure to keep out of sight. I don’t need to be drafted back into service.”

Randal chuckled. “You managed to get out of the Duke’s service once. That in itself was a feat.”

“I ran low on people I cared about that could be used against me. Then with Gavin dead, the Duke lost faith in my ability.” Owin closed his mouth. He did not like talking about it and was not sure why he had spoken.

Randal nodded his head and then turned back to the crucible. Using the tongs, he pulled it from the fire and poured the liquid silver into a form that would make a small ingot. After he let the silver solidify, he used the tongs to put the form into a bucket of dirty water. Once the hissing stopped, he fetched the form and ingot from the water with the tongs.

“There’s not a lot here,” Randal said as he knocked the silver free. The resulting bar was only a partial ingot. “But, I suspect you’ll be able to trade it from some coin.”

Owin nodded his head, he knew the amount of silver from the spoon would be minimal, the important thing was no one would know it had been a spoon.  Or whose spoon it had been.

Randal took the bar, which still held a fair amount of heat, and using a chisel and hammer, cut the bar into four pieces. “I won’t charge you. For old times’ sake.”

“Thanks, Randal. I’ll owe you one.”

 

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Why waste a bad movie? Aspiring writers take note.

It happens to all of us from time to time, we read a bad book or watch a movie that fails to live up to our expectations.  I used to grumble about the wasted time for a little while and then promptly forget about the book or movie.  (I have a couple notable exceptions where it was so bad I’ve turned the event into a badge of honor.  I’ll reference a day of moon related movies for those who have heard my story.)

However, as a writer, I am no longer so quick to put the bad experience from my mind.  Instead, I have been taking that grumbling time to think about what was wrong with the movie or book and look at the mechanics of why it failed.  I’m not referring to bad acting, but to actual story issues.  Perhaps the dialogue lacked substance or seemed forced.  Perhaps the holes in the plot were so large a small moon could have flown through it.  Sometimes it is the pacing that feels off; both in the intensity of activity from scene to scene or when my suspension of disbelief crumbles because what should have occurred over days or weeks in the story, happened in minutes.

In doing this, I will not only identify the issues I felt existed, but also think about what might have led to those problems.  Perhaps large parts of the original story were cut to keep the length down, but in doing so, do I see anyways they could have fixed the issues to keep the story engaging and enjoyable?  Were the characters flat because I could not identify with the character motivation?  Did the story have incredible levels of technical detail for certain parts, then make illogical jumps in other parts (or simply invalid statements about the technology)?  Did the technology/magic behave in a consistent manner?  I have been doing this post movie/book analysis for a while, even when it is a movie or book I really enjoyed.

For any aspiring writers, I suggest that you also take the time for this thought exercise to improve your writing.  We can improve our own craft from looking at others, both when they do it right as well as when they do it wrong.  And importantly, I feel less like I wasted several hours of my life if I can claim it was a learning experience.

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Owin #8 — Gwen has something to sell

Check out the start of the series.

Photo ©Depositphotos.com / Oleksandr Minyaylo

“Yes, Sir,” Gwen said as she curtsied before the Steward. “I was sent to fetch a pitcher of water for Lord Timmy.”

“Timmy is but a boy, he is not yet a lord.”

Gwen nodded her head quickly, keeping her eyes focused on the floor. “Please forgive my error.” She could almost feel the snarl on the older man’s face. Her heart beat so quickly she could hear it in her ears.

“Laundresses are not permitted inside the house. It is improper and whoever sent you to fetch the water should know better.”

“I am sorry, Sir. I merely wanted to be of assistance.” She looked up as the man grabbed her arm and pulled her closer to him. The look of contempt kept her from crying out in pain and fear. Though she let loose a started squawk when his left hand started running over her body.

“Don’t,” he warned as she struggled momentarily.

Holding up her chin, she looked away as his hands roamed over her breasts and even between her legs. He turned her around and felt her back and waist. She hoped he would stop there.

She stumbled slightly when he spun her to face him again.  With his face directly in front of hers, she barely resisted turning away from his foul breath. “Get back to the tubs and do not think to set foot inside this home again or you will regret it.”

Gwen curtsied again the moment he released her arm and quickly turned and headed toward the kitchens. She prayed she would be able to walk normally and that the silver spoon she had slipped into the bottom of her shoe would not make noised on the wooden floor.

As she passed through the kitchens and out the backdoor, she took a deep breath. Her arms still shook and the beats of her heart still rang in her ears. However, the old Steward had not followed her out of the house.

On the way to the wash tubs, she passed the Lord’s young son and the people who were watching him. “Please forgive me, but I was not allowed to fetch the water.”

One of the men watching Timmy smiled. “I rather figured you’d get in trouble. I’m surprised to see your face wasn’t reddened for your insolence. But, since you asked me, I figured I’d let you suffer.”

Gwen held her tongue. Anything that might leave her lips would be taken out of her hide. In fact, she considered herself quite lucky to have escaped with so little complaint. And I have a silver spoon to show for it, she thought with an inner smile. The opportunity to steal a spoon had simply presented itself. When she had been called to the back of the house to collect the bed linens, she noticed all the silverware on the table through the dining room window. On one of the trips carrying linens, she heard Timmy complain about thirst and made her offer. You think you played me, but I played you. Smiling, she bowed her head and then continued to the back of the gardens. She would endure another day with her hands in the water, but tonight, I’ll get Owin to sell the spoon and then I’ll have some real money.

By the time Gwen finished work and walked to Owin’s flat, her right foot throbbed. The bowl of the spoon was fortunately flat enough that the edges were not cutting into her heal, but the shaft had dug into the area just under her little toe and she had been constantly trying to shift the spoon with her toes most of the afternoon.

“Gwen?” Owin questioned as he opened the door. Sticking his head out, he looked down the hallway. “Is everything okay?”

She hobbled into Owin, pushing him out of her way as she slipped into his single room flat. “I got something to sell.”

“What’d you do to your foot?”

She spun around and dropped onto his bed, letting her right foot fly out in front of her. “It was brilliant. Take off my shoe.”

“I don’t have any money to buy anything from you. I mean, look around.”

She glanced around at his meager room; it had not changed for as long as she had known him. “I don’t want you to buy it, stupid. I want you to sell it for me.” Reaching down, she untied the laces and slipped off the shoe. The spoon clattered to the floor in the process.

“What’s this?” he demanded, picking up the spoon. “Gwen, what have you done?”

She looked up at him. The tone of is voice straightening her back. “Never pass up an opportunity,” she repeated, mimicking his voice as best she could.

“Never pass up a good opportunity. Stealing from where you work is not a good opportunity.”

“You never said good.”

“It’s what I meant.” He shook his head as he stared at the crest formed into the top of the spoon. “What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking perhaps I could make some money and you’d be proud of me.” She stood up and grabbed the spoon from his hand. “I can’t wash other people’s linen’s until I die. I can’t.”

“And getting caught stealing from Lord Darro is going to help you live longer? If you don’t lose a hand, you’d get black-listed from any reputable house in the city.”

She smiled at him. “Then I could live like you, on my own.”

“Gwen,” he sat her back down on his bed. “When they find that spoon missing, the first people they will suspect is those working there.”

She gripped the spoon tighter. “I was already checked and the steward didn’t find anything. And he was quite thorough in his groping.”

“They’ll just think you hid it…elsewhere.”

“He checked, believe me.” She felt a slight bit of pride at having endured his searching.

She watched as Owin clenched his fists and closed his eyes. “Then someone needs to shove a dagger into his chest.” He opened his eyes and sat down next to her. “Gwen, I am trying to keep you safe. They might not have caught you, but…how’d you get into the house.”

She grinned. She knew she had intrigued him. His eyes betrayed his curiosity. “When I was gathering linens, I saw the silverware unguarded on the table—I think they are planning a party.” She shrugged. “Well, the Lord’s little brat was thirsty, so I let his keepers think they’d get one over on me and offered to go fetch some water from the house. I got caught heading back to the kitchen for the water.”

“Your mother would die if she found out you did that. But before she did, she’d kill me.”

Gwen nodded her head. “I can’t live her life. Her hands a worn to the bone and bleed all the time. She cries herself to sleep every night. I want to be like you. I want to have a life and be free.”

He raised his arms and looked about the room. “You think I live like a king?”

“It’s only because you spend all your money taking care of me and my mother. You’d have plenty if you kept what you made.”

She let him take her hand in his. “Gwen, I don’t want to see you get caught. My life really isn’t that great, even if I wasn’t helping your mother. I’ve got real troubles and I’m having a hard time seeing a way out.”

“I know you had to borrow a lot of money to keep us from being evicted.” She could see him hesitate. “Owin, tell me what’s wrong. What is it?”

“Gwen, you really don’t want to know. It’s not safe if you do. I don’t want them to try and hurt you to find out.”

She laughed. “Like me not knowing is going to stop anything if they thought I did know.” She looked at him and wondered if he really understood her life. “I don’t dare walk alone after dark and neither does mother. Even in broad daylight, I’m always looking over my shoulder, wondering who’s behind me and why. You’re at least a guy; you don’t have to worry about it. But for me, any day I could find myself on the ground at someone’s mercy. If I fight back, I’d likely get my throat cut for my troubles. Perhaps even get it cut if I don’t. What more risk do I have knowing what scares you or in stealing a bit of silver?”

She watched as he leaned over and put his head in his hands. “It started because I got drunk one night and trusted the wrong guy.” He bit his lower lip, but did not look up. “I was stupid and too damn drunk. I mentioned knowing were something was and Mark, ‘The cruel’, ended up finding out. He wants it and if I don’t steal it, eventually he’ll get tired of waiting and kill me. And if I do get it for him, he’ll kill me after.”

Gwen could see the pain in his body. She put her arm around his shoulders. “Owin, what is it that’s so important?”

He waited so long she did not think he would tell her. “It’s the holy scepter of Sir Renold The Black. Mark thinks it will bring him power.”

Her eyebrows rose. “You know where that scepter is?”

“I know who has it. I’ve seen it in his house.”

“Who? The Duke?”

Owin shook his head. “Not even I was drunk enough to mention that information and I won’t tell you that now.”

Gwen nodded her head as she rested it on his shoulder. “What are you going to do?”

“I wish I knew. I can’t leave town, too many people know I watch after you and your mom. Plus, I need to watch after you and your mom. I’d never get her to leave. Then there is your grandmother; she can’t travel. But if I don’t find a way out, they will kill me.”

“I’m sorry for stealing the spoon. I just can’t live this life. And I don’t want to be some man’s property—fortunately, mother’s too poor to sell me off—and I don’t want to go from bed to bed.” She looked into his eyes when he turned to face her. “Stealing is the only thing I can think of to get out of here.”

“You know I was not a thief before your father died.”

She could see darkness in his eyes, but it did not frighten her. “But you are very good at it.”

 

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Owin #7 — A place to store the goods

Check out the start of the series.

Photo ©Depositphotos.com / Oleksandr Minyaylo

Owin woke late in the morning. Debris filled the room around him and the odor held a sickly sweetness. As far as he could tell, no one else had entered the room in the abandoned building during the night. Eventually, it was a given that the Duke would be required to tear down the decaying buildings in this part of the town, but until then, Owin was willing to use them from time to time.

He rarely stayed in Elsin’s flat. Her place had two bedrooms, one that Elsin shared with Gwen, and the other her mother used. Sleeping on the floor in their front room did not provide a restful night’s sleep nor any privacy. Most nights, he stayed in his own rented room located in a workhouse willing to let the extra space.  Most of the time the room was safe enough; however, after a job, he never went to either location until it was certain no one followed him.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he pushed himself into a sitting position. The bolt of cloth had provided a reasonable pillow, but nothing else about the night’s sleep had proven enjoyable.  Noticing the cloth’s interesting shade of green he frowned. There were enough people wearing the color in Rhyl, but he really did not want to don clothing that would remind him of pea soup.

“Damn the loss of my rope,” he said, still irritated about leaving it behind.  It also meant they would know someone had robbed them.  He always tried to avoid an obvious signs that would indicate something had happened or more importantly, how it happened.  But, nothing to be done now.

Putting that worry from his mind, he pulled his bag closer and opened the heavy sack. Careful to avoid spilling any of the pouches of spices, he took each one out until all that remained in the bag was the grappling hook and its rope. “At least I didn’t lose that.”  Looking at the dozen pouches he grinned.  “Though this might cover my costs.”  He opened one of the pouches that had no aroma and sampled some of the white crystals. The sweet granules on his tongue brought images of coins to his mind. “Definitely worth the cost of a rope.”

Sorting the spices, he took a rough estimate of what he could get for the goods and he knew even with selling everything cheap, he could get at least two crowns for what he had. That much money would cover most decent sized families for a couple of months.  At least their basics.

Feeling and hearing his stomach rumble, he gathered up the spices, putting them back into his bag. Using a worn fragment of a blanket from the floor, he concealed the bolt of cloth. The cloth would be the easiest to unload. He knew Gina would give him a reasonable price in the form of ointment. The other goods posed a little more trouble. There were a few bakers he knew that would not ask questions, but they would not take everything off his hands right away. Since he paid no obligation to any of the local gangs, any sales he made required a high degree of discretion, both for him and the buyer. That meant he would need to find a place to store the extra goods for a while.

With his gear secured, he slipped out the back of the building and headed across town to get rid of the bulky cloth.  On the way, he tried to work out possible arguments to convince Elsin to let him store the goods with her, but never quite came up with something he suspected she would accept.  I know I could get Gwen to hide it, but he hated to use her in the fashion.

He reached Gina’s around midday and once the customer in the shop left, he pulled out the cloth for her perusal.  “Owin, this is excellent quality material. However, I need to discuss your taste in colors.”

“It was very dark. I took it by feel. I can’t help it that what felt good looked like that.”

She smiled at him and leaned back in her chair. “I will take it, only because it is you. However, next time, find me something that has some red in it.”

Owin nodded his head.  In the back of his mind, he argued with himself about revealing the other things he saw in the warehouse.  I don’t have anyone to sell the information to anyway, he finally decided.  “Just a bit of a warning. I fear we might be looking at another war building. The Duke appears to have ordered a large number of swords. I saw crates of them in the warehouse last night.”

“Owin, you need to leave town. If that is true, they’ll conscript half the men again. You used to work for the Duke.  You know what it was like.”

Owin’s breath caught despite the time since Gavin had died. “I’m not sure he’d want me back. But I was thinking about you as well.”

Gina shrugged. “I’m old enough not to care too much anymore.”

“Yeah, but you could take a boat to Pandaris and settle down nicely there.” He looked at the aging woman and knew she would never leave Rhyl. She grew up in this city and buried two husbands here. “Just make sure you keep a little hidden back in case they come to extort extra taxes again.”

“What else do you have in that heavy sack of yours?”

Owin shook his head. “I don’t want to get you involved with that.”

“Really? You bring me stolen silk so you can buy cheap ointment the priests would not take kindly to me selling and now you want to keep me out of it?”

“I’m more afraid you’d beat me over the head and steal it from me.” Setting the bag on the table, he reached inside and pulled out a pouch filled with sweet-smelling dried leaves.

“Oh, very nice,” Gina said, getting easily to feet, belying her apparent age. “Bergamot. I should get my tea-pot now.”

“No,” Owin said, picking up the pouch. “That’s what I want to avoid. I need to sell this to see if I can get enough money together to take care of Elsin.”

“Calm yourself. I’m only fooling with you.”

Owin noted her eyes had not left the pouch. “I can give you some if it will help cover the cost of the ointment. But there are a number of different things in here and I really need to find buyers that can pay me coin for them.”

She looked up to his eyes. “I think I could be agreeable to that trade. And if you want to store your extra here until you sell it, I would watch it for a modest fee.”

Owin chuckled. He knew she would take a sizable share, but that would avoid him having to store any at Elsin’s home. He could give up some profit in exchange for leaving them out of this business. “Okay, I’ll trust you, but only because I can.”

 

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Shhh, We’re Batman Event

I have a table at Elite Comic’s We’re Batman event!  It is this coming Saturday, 26 Jul 2014, starting at 10am and going to 4pm.

Come out and help us celebrate Batman’s 75th anniversary.  There will be food, fun, numerous creators (including myself), and an attempt to set a cosplay world record for the most people in a Batman costume.

The highlights:

Huge sidewalk sale!
Limited Edition Batman gig poster!
Free copies of DC’s Detective #27 souvenir comic!
Free Cowls and Capes!
DJ keeping the groove movin’!
New Batman/Elite T-Shirt!
Face Painting!
Succotash food truck serving up carnival favorites!

I will be doing autographs and have copies of my novels available.  I also have some give-a-ways myself (bookmarks and copies of my maps).

There will be a tent in the parking lot at: 11842 Quivira Rd, Overland Park, Kansas 66210

If you are in the area, don’t miss the fun!

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Owin #6 — What’s in the Crates?

Check out the start of the series.

Photo ©Depositphotos.com / Oleksandr Minyaylo

Owin glanced once more toward the door leading into the small room. He assumed it contained guards, but fortunately, the door remained shut.

Carefully, he gathered the loose end of his rope that still hung through the open window. He pulled it close to a vertical post, hoping to hide it from casual notice. Not that I want any notice—notice of any kind is trouble.

Turning back to the crates, he checked the nearest stack, which only came to his waist. The first lid was nailed shut. Darn. The noise of prying it off would draw attention. He moved down the row of crates, worry that he might have to risk some noise built until he found a loose lid on the fifth set.

Removing the wooden top and setting it aside, he peered into the dark interior. After a moment, the black shapes formed into what appeared to be linear bars. Reaching inside, his fingers brushed against cold metal. Expanding his physical search, he slowly lifted a sword from the crate.

Owin held the blade high, catching the light of the Mother Moon though the window. The weapon would win no prizes for quality, but it appeared serviceable enough. He frowned.  Near the crossbar he noted the reflection of a circle and bar stamped into the blade. Duke Ravigar. Owin set the sword back into the crate that contained countless more weapons. Picking up the crate’s lid again, Owin noted the mark of Lord Basenar’s merchant company. He shook his head; while even these weapons would have value, with the markings, he would not be able to sell them in Rhyl.

Owin walked back along the stacks of crates. He counted at least twenty of the same size and construction. Damn it, we don’t need another war. Frustrated and angry at what the weapons foretold, he almost decided to leave. But, I need to eat.

He moved to another set of crates and checked to see if any of their lids had been removed. He found them all secured. Getting annoyed with his luck, he changed his tactics and headed toward the front of the warehouse. His steps cautious and measured to minimize the sounds of his boots on the hard clay floor. His time in the army had taught him how to move silently.

Keeping his eye on the small room and the backlit door, he moved to where the workers unpacked the crates before delivering the goods to those who ordered them. The darkness in this part of the warehouse obscured anything but shapes; however, he easily noted the outline of several bolts of cloth. Looks like some workers left their tasks incomplete when they quit for the day.

With a hesitant glance to the door, he rubbed his fingers over the different materials. Settling on a bolt of smooth cloth he suspected was silk, he carefully removed the bundle from the middle of the pile. Tucking that under one arm, he moved closer to the door and what appeared to be a smaller crate whose lid sat ajar. Lifting the lid, he immediately noticed the smell of rosemary. With a smile, he put his hands into the dark box and felt a series of leather pouches. Jackpot.  Smiling at the full crate, he picked up pouch after pouch, smelling each one before putting it into his bag. He found several of rosemary as well as others with more exotic aromas. He hoped the ones that had no tantalizing smell might be salt or other valuable spices.

The sound of voices and the creaking of wood froze him in place. Light spilled out of the door as it opened. Despite the powerful urge to duck behind the crates, Owin remained still. Experience taught him movement would draw attention in the still dimly light warehouse more than his form. Especially for someone night blind from the lamp, the thought more hope than belief.

One man exited the room with a lamp held in left hand. Damn. Damn. Damn. Bilfor…no Rarnir, he thought, working out the man’s name. Owin had not seen the man since Owin left the army and that suited him just fine. Rarnir knew how to fight and was half again as broad as most men. Damn.

When Rarnir turn away from where Owin squatted, Owin still forced himself to remain motionless. Only once Rarnir started toward the back of the warehouse, closing the door behind him, did Owin resume breathing.

Unsure of how long it would take the former soldier to make his rounds, Owin picked up the bolt of cloth and his bag. Staying low, he moved toward the front doors of the warehouse while he tried to blink away the spots in his eyes from having looked toward the lantern.

Although he had always intended to leave this way, he had hoped not to do so under so much pressure. Fortunately, the smaller door, that was set into the larger sliding doors, had gaps around the edges. The faint outline created by the moonlight offered Owin a point of reference.

Stepping as quietly as he could, Owin approached the outer door. It was certainly locked, but he did not know how they secured it. Feeling around in the dark, Owin came across what felt like a wooden bar held in place with metal brackets. He tried to lift the bar, but the large piece of wood would not budge.

Elrin rot you, he swore. Setting down his bag and the bolt of cloth, he tried again, this time putting his legs into the effort. He felt it move slightly, but something held it in place.

Seeing changes in the illumination behind him, Owin quickly slid his fingers over the wood, catching at least one splinter in the process. Ignoring the discomfort, he felt around the brackets. A pin! Pulling the narrow metal rods out of the brackets and the wooden bar, Owin kept them in his hands as he lifted again. This time the bar moved.

Sweat dripping into his eyes, he wiped his brow with his shoulder. Without the brace in place, the door creaked open on its own. Crouching low, Owin set down the bar, grabbed the cloth and his bag, and slipped out through the gap.

Outside of the dark building, the moonlit street seemed bright. Owin turned right and walked between the wagon and the building. He continued past the alley. His rope still hung in the window, but the act of drawing it up with Rarnir in the open warehouse would draw the soldier’s attention, as would the open door. Even though the loss of the rope would cost him, possibly more than he made on the endeavor, too much risk accompanied its retrieval. If there is one thing a successful thief knows, it’s when it’s time to go—but damn my luck.

 

The post Owin #6 — What’s in the Crates? appeared first on Thaddeus Nowak.

Owin #5 — The Warehouse

Check out the start of the series.

Photo ©Depositphotos.com / Oleksandr Minyaylo

Owin remained true to his word and avoided stealing for the next two days. That commitment came more from the fact that he felt too sore to engage in any risky activities than his desire to change his behavior. He hoped Elsin understood. She did not bring home enough money to take care of Gwen and her mother; therefore, it fell to him to supplement them.

Dressed in dark clothing, he moved casually down the narrow street. It was after dark and while the people he might pass would be aware of his presence, history had taught him that someone behaving as though they belonged was almost immediately forgotten, while someone out-of-place would be remembered.

When he reached the wide streets around the warehouses, he continued past the buildings owned by the Mulin family. That family paid large sums of money to the underworld in the city so their possessions would not be targeted. Owin did not care about that, he was not officially part of any network—which held its own problems—but it did mean watchers protected the buildings. If he was caught breaking that code of conduct, his death would be quite unpleasant.

Three buildings further down the dimly lit street, Owin ducked behind an empty wagon that appeared to have a broken axle and sat down to wait. The building behind him belonged to a wealthy family living high up the hills that overlooked Rhyl. He did not know anything specific about the family, but based on the size of their holdings, they had more than enough money to spare a few goods from their warehouse.

Owin waited until his legs grew uncomfortable from squatting and then slowly moved to the corner of the building. Peeking down the alley beside the warehouse, he confirmed no one was present before entering the narrow area between the buildings. He stopped about halfway down the alley.  Above him were a series of windows high up in the wall; all of them opened to let out the heat that had accumulated during the day.

Opening the bag he carried, he removed a grappling hook made from a twisted antler. Swinging the grapple in a circle, he launched it into the air. He grinned. The antler had gone in through the open window with the first toss. He would have smiled at his luck, but the grin already caused the wound in his mouth to hurt.

Carefully, he pulled the rope taut and was relieved when the antler caught on the windowsill. I’ll have to tell Gwen about this one, he thought. Her father had always been better at hitting a target than him, but snagging the open window twenty feet overhead in the dark would have even been hard for Gavin.

Taking another coiled rope from the bag, he quietly forced the attached piece of angled antler into a gap at the base of the wall. The coil he draped over his shoulder.

After taking one last glance for anyone who might notice him, he started the climb, playing out the second rope as he ascended. With knots in both ropes, the climb up to the window was easy enough.

Pausing with his hands on the windowsill, he listened for indications someone inside the warehouse might have noticed his activity. The delay gave Owin time to consider the risk of this theft. At least I hope it would be a quick death, he mused. The people running this business would not call for the city guards; he knew they would handle the problem themselves.

Pulling himself up, he slipped one leg over the window and straddled the sill. From his high vantage point, he surveyed the large building as warm air blew across his face. Below him, there were many crates and barrels stacked on the packed clay floor. The far, front corner had a small room sectioned off. The light of one or more lamps inside the room highlighted the edges of the closed-door leading into the room. The rest of the building was obscured in darkness, as the angle of the moons only provided limited light through the windows.

Slowly, he played out the second rope, lowering the end quietly to the floor. Pulling up the loose end of the rope attached to the grapple, he lowered the grapple to the floor inside the warehouse. He did not want to try to store it in the bag in his current position. When all he held was the loose end, he looped it through his belt twice to hold it in place.

Slipping further into the warehouse, he adjusted his long dagger to keep it from catching. His sword he had left with Gwen, hoping it would be more trouble than it was worth to bring it. If I need it, I’m already in way too much trouble.

Feeling the pain of the narrow sill pressing into his chest, Owin grabbed the rope secured to the outside and started his descent. Using his feet against the wall, he easily walked his way to the floor. Being a bit paranoid, he crouched low and waited, listening for the sounds of anyone who might have noticed his entrance. After a count of one hundred, he gathered up the rope for the grappling hook and coiled it neatly before placing it in his bag. The time he waited had allowed his eyes to further adjust to the dark building.

 

The post Owin #5 — The Warehouse appeared first on Thaddeus Nowak.

Owin #4 — The Same Argument

Check out the start of the series.

Photo ©Depositphotos.com / Oleksandr Minyaylo

Owin watched Elsin from where he was sitting. Despite the fresh application of ointment on her hands, he could see her pained movements as the cracks and blisters that covered her raw fingers slowly bled.  He knew better than to offer to help her cut the carrots; Elsin’s sense of worth was strongly tied to her ability to perform the tasks she considered her job.

Owin glanced at the pouch of salve and wished she would apply more.  While the lotion would not instantly heal her skin as a priest could when calling upon the power of the gods, the ointment did lessen the pain and the effects of the lye. I’d find you better work if I could.

“Owin,” she said, not looking up from her task, “you need to stop the thieving. It is a bad example for Gwen.”

Owin hated this argument; neither of them ever made any progress with the other. “I have to make money somehow.”

“I’ve told you before, there is other work you can do. You’re strong. You’re smart.” She looked up for a moment. “You still won’t tell me why you won’t go back to the garrison. Whatever the reason, Gavin would not want you ruining your life like this.”

Owin tried to avoid seeing Gavin bleeding out on the ground, but anytime Elsin mentioned her dead husband, the memories flooded back into his thoughts. Why couldn’t it have been me instead? The question had no point, but it always accompanied the memories. Outwardly, his face held as much emotion as frozen stone. “The only other work I could get is as a hired sword. And that involves hurting people to benefit those who have things they don’t deserve. When I steal something, at least it’s from those who don’t deserve having what they’ve stolen from others.”

“Owin,” Elsin said, putting the knife down and closing her eyes against the tears that had already started flowing. “If you’re caught, you’ll lose a hand or more likely your head. I couldn’t stand losing you as well.”

He rose to his feet and crossed over to her. Wrapping his arms around her thin frame, he cradled her head against his shoulder.

“Please, Owin. Please.”

He nodded his head and continued to hold her. “I’d take you away from this damn city if you’d let me.”

She sniffled back her tears. “We’d never afford to take Mother. And what would I become? The city at least has people who will hire me.”

“Elsin, you’re ruining your hands cleaning linens for those people. They are suckin–”

“Owin,” she said, stepping back and placing her hand on his lips. “Please, let’s not argue anymore. I really don’t want to. I just want you to stop this business with that Mark and stop the thieving.” She turned back to the carrots, wiping her eyes with her shoulders on the way.

He sighed. He could taste a mixture of blood and lanolin on his lips; something bitter, and not quite hidden by the taste of the other things, left his mouth tingling.

He looked toward Elsin, but unless he could find a way to acquire a lot of money, they would never afford to take her mother with them. And regardless of the fact that he wanted nothing more than to be away from this business, their expenses were too great for him to save enough money to think about moving even without her mother.  And besides, Elsin, you and Gwen are why I agreed to do what I said I would do for Mark. A hundred times he had tried to tell her, but it would not solve anything, just make things worse. “How is your mother?”

Elsin finished the last cut and gathered the carrots onto her apron. “She’s not taking the heat well.” With a careful pouring, she slid the carrots into the cooking beans. “It’s disgraceful if you must know, but she lays in her bed or sits in her chair without a shred of clothing.” Elsin looked away. “I’m embarrassed for her, though I think she is past caring. She covers herself with stained bits of damp cloth to try and stay cool.” She let out a breath and her shoulders slumped. “At least she is still able to move from the bed to the chamber pot. When her left foot turned septic and they cut it off at the knee…”  Elsin shuddered.  “I was afraid Gwen or I would be stuck caring for her all day.” She finally met his eyes again. “We can’t afford that and Gwen…Gwen was raised by you and her father and she’s not fit to care for Mother.”

Owin could not say much. Gavin had influenced his daughter before he died, but Gwen’s rebellious nature was more Owin’s fault than her father’s. With Elsin widowed, Gwen had no dowry to find a decent husband and she would never settle for a man who would take her without one. Which in Owin’s mind, was for the best, even if it meant they still provided for her when others her age had begun taking vows.

“When she comes back with the water, I have a little bit of salt. We can wash your mouth with that. Gavin didn’t teach me how to care for you two for nothing.”

Owin nodded his head. “I’ll try to do better tomorrow,” he said, his mouth hurting too much to smile. Elsin nodded her head as well; they both knew he was lying.

 

The post Owin #4 — The Same Argument appeared first on Thaddeus Nowak.