The River King

Chapter 12: The Dark Taper

If someone had told Finneas he'd be picking up the excrement from two rather putrid highland calves, he would've had second thoughts about running away from home. Finneas had a better time trenching through the sewers in Angleum; that at least smelled like fancy perfume compared to the manure the beasts produced on what seemed an hourly routine. Using a shovel, the group's older boys picked up the waste, throwing it into a large container. Even when the lid was shut, the smell continue to linger. The owner of the highland calves insisted the waste product his creatures produced would be used as fertiliser back in the Imperial City. According to the man, cow poo was quite rare and highly sort after. He said it'll sell for a high price. Finneas doubted that, but it wasn't like he was an expert in selling chaff.

It was only the beginnings of the Finneas's woes; later that evening they were tasked to give the brownish-purple beasts a good scrubbing. Finneas was somewhat annoyed his younger brother and friends only had the task of feeding the calves – the animals ate what appeared to be pellets of compressed corn. The younger kids' tasks were far easier, and Kistoph, as usual, made a point to complain.

"Why do we have to shovel all this stuff, while they..." Kistoph stared at Teller, who'd finished his task, and was now reading one of his books, "...get to lay about? That's total chaff, I think."

"Hey, don't swear," Petro, the owner of the highland calves said. The man was keeping an eye on the kids, to make sure they did their jobs properly. "A lady's present."

"She's not much of a lady," Kistoph said under his breath. He made sure only Finneas and Lochen could hear. "If you saw her on a field playing a game of ball, you'd think differently."

Finneas and his friends continued shovelling the animal waste into the container. Another half-hour passed when Petro called Finneas up.

"Curls," the man remarked – Finneas wasn't a big fan of people calling him that but decided not to complain. "Finn... was it," Petro continued, "I've another task for you. I need to deliver this, my friend."

The man handed Finneas a package. Holding the package tightly, Finneas proceeded to do as instructed. This was perhaps the third or fourth time the man had given him an errand to do. He wasn't sure why the man kept asking him to relay messages, deliver packages, or whatnot; but any chance to get away from lumbering cow poo was a relief. Kistoph gave him a strange look. His friend seemed peeved at Finneas being able to skip doing all the disgusting work. Finneas didn't blame his friend's attitude – he would've thought the same if fortune had turned. The least Finneas could do was not gloat about it. He quickly left the room.

Finneas walked leisurely. He wasn't in any hurry. He passed a few people, not paying much attention. No one bothered the child. Most of the ship's crew turned a blind eye to him, while the passengers mainly ignored him entirely – after all, Finneas was just another traveller passing through. The only exception was a man named Fagis – or at least that's what everyone seemed to call him. Not much was known about the man. The sailors said he was a regular on the ship, occasionally travelling back and forth between the Free Cities and the Imperial Capital. The man reeked of cheap ale – the stuff only grunts in the army would drink. The smell seemed to linger, even after the man had left. Finneas remembered sailors back in Angluem drinking the stuff. Finneas never thought much of the ale then, and even now still couldn't stomach the smell. He once drank it, secretly without the matron knowing, but the bitter taste would always cause him to spit the stuff out. His friend, however, preferred the stuff – something which worried Finneas somewhat.

It was impossible to tell how old Fagis was. The man's appearance remained unkempt. He didn't seem to care about how he looked. A scraggly beard, a tattered old long cloak that had seen better days; nothing out of the ordinary. What did catch Finneas's eye was the drunk's shining blue teeth. At some point or another, the man had probably lost a tooth in a fight or something. Whatever he was using to replace his missing teeth, only the Maker truly knew.