Dragon Phoenix City

11. Old man, Joaquin and the House of Cripples

On the north-west coast of the Dragon-Phoenix city, a vast estate could be observed from a bird's eye. It was early morning and the fog had dispersed under the sun's first rays. Birds flew from one tree to another, chirping along.

The estate itself was empty all the way from the entrance to the sea-facing courtyard, which was bustling with activity. A bunch of burly middle-aged men, some scarred and most of them disabled in one form or the other, began the day's work as per their responsibilities. The well-bodied ones had already left by boat for the deep waters to try to get their hands on some fish. The others were responsible for cleaning, cooking, gardening and other miscellaneous activities.

The gardening folks and those in charge of cleaning were loitering around, in no hurry to do any work; they had all day.

Any half-awake observer could tell that they were loitering around the kitchen area specifically. Not that they were trying to hide it.

"Aw man, Really can't get any work done without some grub in the morning!" Said a one-legged man leaning on a shovel.

"Damn right." Drawled another man; The two of them were standing conspicuously close to the kitchen.

On cue, a loud female voice could be heard from the kitchen; someone was getting an earful from her.

"......Let me... Shove... Nincompoops...!"

The two men scampered away, as fast as they could without running. The one-legged man looked comical trying to keep up with the second man.

Inside the kitchen, a tall and pretty, young girl, barely an adult, pranced around like a lioness among her pride, tasting the various pots to check the taste.

"Easy girl, the hungry ghosts outside ain't going to heaven if they don't get some grub immediately." A portly middle-aged man with a prosthetic hand fitted with a metal tablespoon laughed.

The girl scowled, looking dissatisfied with the taste of the soup. "Where's the pepper?"

"The spices haven't been delivered yet." The man stirring the soup said.

"He'll add it once it's here." The portly man, the sous-chef mollified her, "I still don't get what's the hurry."

"It's just, Joaquin woke up early today." The girl sighed.

The portly man's eyebrows rose, "How's he feeling?"

"Good, he said."

"Hmm." The man said, and made his outside the kitchen.

He scanned the courtyard pointed out the two men from earlier, "Oi! Milo, Barty!"

The two men exchanged glances and went up to him, slowly. This time around the one-legged man, Milo, walked usually while Barty tried to keep up with him.

"Get me some pepper! Now!" The portly man yelled.

"What? Ain't it supposed be delivered?" Barty asked. "C'mon man!" Milo gestured exaggeratedly to his prosthetic leg, trying to weasel out of it.

Barty took an about turn, looking impishly at Milo, "Who gives a flying fuck about the leg? Weren't you walking just fine a while ago?" He mock-saluted the portly man, "Don't worry sergeant, we're on it."

The portly man whacked him hard across his head with his metal tablespoon, and Barty winced holding his head, "What the hell, Hob!"

"You wanna fuck around even now? The pepper's going in the young master's soup." Hob said, "Milo's gonna wait at the entrance with the string, pull it when the delivery carriage arrives. Go!"