Jack Simple

Chapter 2

Jack had ascertained some time ago that Jassin must have at one time lived with a woman. He was never told this by his old trademaster, but had gathered as much from a number of clues he had noticed over the years.

There was a knotty old oak tree that stood a few hundred paces from the cottage which bore two deeply incised hearts upon its trunk, each linked with the other. The proximity of the symbol to the cottage, and the skill with with it had been scored, led him to suspect that it had been Jassin's hand that had left it.

Then there was Jassin's voluminous feather mattress, which was large enough for two and fine enough to accommodate the smooth skin of a female. Jack had never felt comfortable with the idea of sleeping in a bed that had been so long inhabited by his old master, and had remained with his own straw mattress in the loft even after Jassin was gone.

There was also the looking glass. He had found it in the trunk at the foot of Jassin's bed, along with a book of poetry. Both of these items stood at odds with the man that Jack had known Jassin to be, and could easily have been the property of a woman companion. Maybe one that had looked like Eidna.

She was a rather becoming woman, Jack decided as his cottage came in view. She was definitely not the subdued female that the Church Fathers seemed to laud, but it had been quite some time since Jack had been at all concerned about what they had to say. His experiences in the orphanage had cured him of that. That was what Jack liked best about her, he thought. Her hair, also. The rose of her cheek. The sway of her hip.

Just as his thoughts were becoming more lusty, he heard a familiar bark. Lightfoot appeared from behind the cottage, happily trotting to greet him. Jack knelt down and patted his silky coat. The dog bounced about happily, cheerfully wallowing in the attention. Jack remembered when Lightfoot was a pup within a roadside crate with several other pups of various breeds. It had been not so long after Jassin had passed, and though Jack held no special affection for his master he had felt at that time a bit of a void. After surrendering a few silver bits to the farmer who sat on a log beside the crate, Lightfoot was riding home within Jack's tunic. The pup had grown swiftly, and had proven time and again to be an invaluable companion.

It was getting dark now, and Jack had many preparations to undertake. He intended to depart as soon as the remainder of his fee was delivered. Lightfoot followed him up the stone steps of the cottage. "Forgetting something?" Jack asked the dog. Lightfoot whined, perhaps lamenting his lapse. The canine sped off, chased by the specter of it's training. A few moments later he returned, the large brass key having been retrieved from its hiding place and locked securely in his jaws.

"There's a good doggo," Jack proclaimed, scratching Lightfoot behind the ear. He wiped the drool from off the key and entered the door, his companion hot on his heels.

It had been some time since Jack had planned on entering the forest for so long a duration. Most of the timber stands that Jassin had left him were easily accessible within a few hours of walking, so Jack would seldom need to camp out for more than a night. To find the Woodruff would require a much longer journey, and thus more supplies. He would need to gather food, fill up his water skins, air out his tarpaulin, mend a parting in the seam of his buffcoat, and oil the Dragonhead.

Despite this not inconsequential list, Jack found himself walking to Jassin's trunk instead. The looking glass was just where he had left it, encased by a buckskin wrapping underneath some of Jassin's clothes. It had been quite a time since Jack had seen his reflection in anything but water. His skin had become more weatherworn than he recalled, a result of working under the sun. His beard had grown wild and wiry, and his dark brown hair curled behind his ears and partway down his neck. Most of the dandies in town wore their hair slicked back and had pointed mustaches with small, arrowhead-shaped beards. He dwelt far from that standard. Then again, why should he care what the dandies did? Why had he felt the need to look in the mirror at all? The woman... had she affected him so? Such a beautiful name...He grunted at himself in disgust and returned the mirror to it's seclusion.