Sword - A Book of The Damned

Chapter 4

Well, that was unnecessary. Not what I needed. He shakes his head. All I want is a meal, oh how I've missed food. And a nice bed.

He listens to the rowdy tune that starts on the piano down in the saloon bar and the feet that begin to tap against the floorboards. The sound rising to a calamitous din in the enclosed space. He reaches the top step and moves along a hallway, his every step creaking one floorboard after another. He looks at the key he was given, scratching at the faded number at the end with a dirty fingernail.

"Eight. That's what the woman said. What was her name? Ah, Lettie. Might need to remember that." He looks up at the nearest door, a number carved into the solid oak panes. "Three," he says and moves on down the corridor. He passes each door watching and listening for anything out of place. He reaches his door rubbing a finger over the carved eight, tracing it around twice before dropping his hand. Inserting the key, he turns it twice then twists a circular handle pushing the heavy door inwards.

He peers inside the room, half in shadow, the rest illuminated from an oil lamp sat in the far corner. He enters closing the door behind him, he locks it subconsciously without thinking and moves over to a double bed at one end of the room. He touches the soft quilt laid on top pushing it down with weary fingers. "God that feels good." He pushes down with both hands now, his body telling him to climb on and sleep for a week. "No, I can't be doing that, now." He turns away, the velvety softness that awaits him forgotten momentarily. "Damn training," he curses.

"Check your stuff, prepare it, eat, prepare again, then sleep." He says the mantra aloud cursing it all the while, unable to ever get away from the conditioning he was taught so long ago now.

He rechecks the door then makes his way to the bed. He takes off his bergen, placing it on the floor beside him. He lifts his canteen up and over his head, folds the strap and places it on the bed then he removes his battered waistcoat. He folds it and places it on the bed next to the pillow with care alongside the canteen. He unclips the heavy buckled belt at his waist, loops it around itself, and the small sheath of his dagger then places that next to the folded waistcoat.

Stretching up to the ceiling, audible cracks pop in the small room, "Ah, that's better," he says as he rotates his neck producing more little popping sounds with each turn. He lifts his snood over his head, shakes it out, folds it then places that on top of the waistcoat. He moves over to his bergen now, the olive green material faded to a light brown with the years but still whole without a patch in sight. He pats the top and unstraps a wrapped package from its side. He places it on the bed and unwraps it to reveal a long curved katana in a black scabbard, the tsuka is wrapped in sharkskin then braided all around with black silk. It is long enough to fit two hands with a little to spare with a burnished steel guard to protect the user from the blade.

He touches the tsuka, brushing his finger along the braid, over the rounded guard and down the smooth scabbard, "Hello old friend. You will be closer to me now. I think I can stay here a while, maybe. We will see." He moves the sword in line with the other items then moves back to his bergen. He unclips the straps and lifts the top. He loosens the drawstring deftly and widens the opening peering inside but stops at a knock on the door.

He whirls around, his hand going to his waist instinctively before he relaxes and stands tall. He takes a last look at all of his belongings laid out across the bed then walks over to the door. He unlocks the door and opens it only wide enough for someone to get their head through. His eyes go wide at what he sees. At the other side of the door stands a beautiful woman with dark brown hair that flows down to her lower back. She has bright blue almond-shaped eyes that seem too large for her smaller delicate face.

"Hello," she purrs in a country drawl much stronger than Lettie's. "Lettie sent me up to... Help ya out, if ya know what a mean?"

He looks at her up and down, her frilly shirts lifted too high and her blouse barely covering her ample breasts that threaten to pop out any second. He licks his lips at the thought. He blinks once keeping his face blank. She looks my age, doesn't she? Maybe I could... "No." He fixes her with a steely glint in his eyes. "Tell Lettie, if I need a whore I will ask for one." His voice is sharp and spiteful, making her take a step backwards with a look of disgust. "All I ask is for some food... please," he says a bit softer.

With pursed lips she gives him a quick nod then scurries off down the hallway. He slams the door shut and locks it. "Shit!" He shakes his head and walks the few steps to the bed. He kneels beside his bergen looking inside he pulls out two bundles of clothes, another canteen, a dagger the length of his forearm, a bundle of rope and a small package wrapped in plastic. He sets the bundles down and the dagger next to his belt then carefully places the smaller package on the pillow.

"Right, waistcoat and snood, belt and dagger, two canteens, katana and spare dagger, rope, clothes, and this," he touches the small package on the pillow, "All here." He stands back to look at everything laid out, everything he owns in this world sits in front of his eyes. "Prepare," he whispers, moving forward again. He places the two bundles of clothes back into his bergen then follows with the bundle of rope, both canteens and the spare dagger. He takes his belt and unrolls it, then picks up the old katana and fixes them together so that the sword will sit on his left hip. He half-rolls up the belt, wrapping it around the katana's scabbard. He then places it down, leaning it against a small table next to the bed. "Back where you belong, eh? Hopefully, you won't be needed." He moves his waistcoat and snood, placing them on to the small table then picks up the small package he had left on the pillow.

He unfolds the plastic and opens the ziplock bag, he reaches inside and pulls out a photo. The edges are ruffled slightly and it's missing one corner. He gently rubs a finger over it, his mind taking him back. To a time before he was involved with all of the chaos. "Simpler times. Hard, but a lot simpler." He sniffs loudly and wipes at his nose with the back of his hand. "I wish you were both still here." He kisses the photo, holding it to his lips as a tear runs down his cheek. "I love you, Maria. What a world this has become, you would not believe how harsh it is now." He pushes the photo to his head squeezing his eyes tight as the words catch in his throat. "Look after our boy, Maria. Look after each other and I will see you soon I'm sure."

He kisses it a last time then replaces it into the ziplock bag, wraps it in plastic again then tucks it away in a hidden pouch inside his bergen. He ties the drawstring then buckles the straps, securing his pack. The nomad stands and stretches, sending out little popping sounds again. He turns to the door.

"Where is that food?"

Thanks for reading.