YoTS January ~ 35!

CHAPTER 35

“What in the twelve districts happened to you?” Red was so concerned that he actually got out of his lounge chair as Grant limped into one of the guest suites that had been taken over by Sir Friday Twenty-ninth and his party. Grant only managed a grunt in reply as he started peeling off his blood soaked leather armor.

“Here, sit down and get that looked at!” Fergus pulled out a chair and fetched a towel stitched with the bust of Lord January. Grant winced as he sat, and Fergus hurried to tie the towel about the wound to stymie the blood loss.

“You a medic now, too?” Skinny commented as he took a bite out of a ham shank.

Fergus glared over at Skinny but continued treating the wound. After applying a poultice, he shrugged. “Best I can do for ya, but it should at least stop the blood loss. You should stay off the leg for a few days, Grant.”

The young Wielder shook his head and showed a weak smile. “I don’t have a few days. I won. The day after tomorrow, I’ll be taking part in the semi-final of the exhibition tournament.”

“I knew you could do it.” Derek roared, coming over and to slap him on the back. “What does this mean for you? For Sir Friday? I assume he’s sponsoring you? Actually… don’t take this the wrong way, I just can’t understand what your motive for participating is. If you don’t mind me asking? It’s a long way to travel, and a lot of hardship, for the chance of winning a set of Mid Spring armor.”

Grant opened his mouth. He was going to tell them about fighting for honor, for the glory of House Friday… but he couldn’t lie to his friends. He started over after taking a deep breath. “I’m on a quest… by the end of the year, I have to heal the world.”

The assembled company sat and waited for him to continue, clearly unsatisfied with his answer. “If I don’t defeat all twelve Lords of the Month by the end of the year, I will revert to the cultivation level I was when accepting the quest, minus an additional one level.”

“So?” Red pushed him gently to continue. “That’s not so bad, is it?”

“I’ll go negative.” Grant whispered.

His friend looked at him with great concern; Red was the one to finally say it. “But if you’re negative, you’re dead!”

<Grant.> Sarge cautioned him darkly. <Be careful what information you share.>

The young man didn’t want to hold the truth from his friends. He felt that he owed them the truth after they were bundled into a cart and basically forced to come on the trip. He steeled his heart, Grant needed to know if this friendship only went one way. “There is one more thing. I wasn’t always known as Grant Monday.”

The party looked at him with confusion, and Grant forced the words out. “Before I picked up this sword… my name was Grant Leap.”

A lump of ham was jettisoned from Skinny’s mouth and sailed across the room. Red and Fergus grinned at the joke; calendar freaks were always the butt of jokes and sources of derision. They looked over to Derek, who wasn’t smiling. “I don’t think he’s teasing.”

Skinny had turned white and fumbled around for something. He grasped the handle of his bread knife, his knuckles white. “A Leap! Help me hold it down. I’ll put it out of its misery!”

“Skinny! Come on, I was clearly joking! My delivery is a bit off, that’s all.” Cold sweat was dripping down Grant’s back. It was clear that he had found his answer: these men would turn on him in an instant. “I was going to use that line against my next opponent. Put them off and confuse them! Get a quick victory while they stood there trying to figure out what was going on. I’m here to bring honor to my family name, and get more resources devoted to our estates. C’mon, Skinny, put that down. Are you going to butter me to death?”

Grant laughed, diffusing the tension that had suddenly escalated in the room. Skinny slowly lowered his knife and shook his head, returning to his food. “Don’t do that to me, Grant. Lost a perfectly good piece of ham!”

Silence fell over the group. The silence was only broken when the bulk of Sir Friday Twenty-ninth entered the suite. “Why all the sour faces?”

“I told a joke that wasn’t stomached very well.” Grant answered calmly, not looking over at his ‘friends’.

“Well, enough jokes!” Sir Friday waddled in front of Grant and clapped both his hands onto Grant’s shoulders. “There is no time to rest. We have a problem!”

“Problem? What problem?” Grant pulled out his golden token. “Take a look. I won. I’m in.”

“That is the problem. I just discovered that the tournament was rigged. Roderick, the Vassal of Lord January, was supposed to be the fourth contender of the exhibition. The Nobles and Lord January are not happy. Not only was he defeated by you, the Vassal seems to have had some kind of accident. No one has seen him since your fight, and Lord January is furious.”

Grant remained silent. He wasn;t about to expose what he knew. Sir Friday waited a long moment before continuing. “Well… you have caused quite the kerfuffle amongst the top brass in Lord January’s court. Their men will be on the lookout for you, wanting to question you on recent events. Look… token recipients are a secret. I need you to stay hidden until the exhibition tournament the day after tomorrow. Can you do that?”

“I have no choice, do I? Back to running and hiding.” Grant took a deep breath and met his benefactors eyes. “I’ll need somewhere to train.”

“Good lad.” Sir Friday patted his shoulder and handed him a potion. “This should fix you right up, drink it down. I can’t help you with a training space, my suites will be pulled apart while they look for you. You’ll have to find somewhere on your own. Tell no one.”

“I… I have somewhere in mind.” Grant looked at the ground and nodded thoughtfully.

“Good. Remember… tell no one. Not me, not a horse, nor a cow that’s on the way to slaughter. Hide away, and stay there until trumpets announce the commencement of the exhibition tournament. I must leave. I will be taken for questioning over the incident. Lord January’s men know that you are with me, and we’ve messed up their plans. Unlike you, there is nowhere I can hide!” Grant nodded and watched the bulky figure of Sir Friday hurry from the suite.

Grant grabbed his backpack, careful not to put weight on his leg. The blood had stopped but jolts of pain shot up his leg with every step. He popped open the bottle and guzzled it down, hoping it would work quickly.

Fergus came up to him as he was about to leave, and spoke softly. “Don’t worry, Grant. Your secret is safe with us.”

Grant hesitated. “What? Oh… that. Fergus, I was only joking.”

“Despite what was said around the campfire, I don’t have anything against Leaps.” He whispered the word ‘leap’. “It was just talk. Red, despite his size, is a big softy. Same for Derek there. Skinny… he forgot it happened by now.”

“I appreciate it, Fergus. I really do.” Grant clasped the hand of his… friend? He couldn’t tell for certain, but all trust had fled. “I better go.”

“Be careful. House Tuesday will be on high alert.” Fergus watched Grant leave, a shadow crossing his face.

“Get a good seat at the tournament. There may be an unexpected competitor.” Grant gave a half-smile to the party. They waved; all but Skinny, who was busy devouring another ham shank. The door closed with a thunk, and Grant was on his own once again.

Sounds of the bustling market rushed in; assaulting Grant’s ears as he exited the sanctuary of Sir Friday’s suites. He was on high alert. Too high, since he jumped as a dog barked. The previously exciting hustle and bustle of the market was now menacing. In his mind, House Tuesday goons lurked around every corner, ready to pounce.

Grant wandered around aimlessly in the afternoon sun, trying his best to blend in with the locals. It was hard to blend in, considering how thin he was compared to everyone else, and the dried blood crusting his armor. The only thing saving him from getting reported was that armor was a familiar sight during tournaments, and blood was common today. The market and surrounding areas were packed with competitors, both Vassals and Wielders taking part in the initial stages of the competition.

He passed a stall where the owner was busy bartering over the price of a scarf, pausing as he realized he needed to hide his face. “Excuse me-”

The merchant cut him off with a gentle wave, “Be with you in a minute, sir.”

Grant waited patiently, his heart jumping when he saw a bright yellow shirt coming his way. Turning around, another House Tuesday peacekeeper was heading towards him. He was surrounded on all sides. There was no escape, he needed to hide immediately.

“How can I help you?” The rotund salesman turned to Grant with a greasy smile.

“A scarf. I need one. Now. How much for that one?” He pointed at a black scarf with an embroidered motif of Lord January.

The salesman sauntered over to the scarf. “This one, boy?”

“Yes.” Grant snapped as he noticed the peacekeepers closing in, looking around and scanning the names of the people they saw..

“This is two…” the salesman saw the desperation on Grant’s face, and amended his words. “That is… ten Minutes.”

“Ten! I’ll take it!” He threw over two five Minute coins, and scowled at the smiling shopkeeper. He was frustrated at overpaying, but now wasn’t the time to haggle. Grant ducked and wrapped the scarf around his head, hiding his identity just as the peacekeepers met up with each other and clasped hands.

“Heya, Joe.”

“Bob. Want to grab some dinner? My watch is coming to an end.”

“Don’t mind if I do. Abyss, that’s why I was coming to see you!” Joe chuckled as they started to walk. Grant squinted out a gap in the scarf at the peacekeepers chatting beside him. They weren’t after him? They seemed more concerned about the state of their stomachs. “Come on. The feast is crazy. Lord January is going all out to impress his guests this year!”

“Let’s go, Joe. I’m starved. By the way, new orders. Be on the lookout for someone called ‘Grant Friday’. He needs to be taken in for questioning.”

Grant coughed involuntarily. As the peacekeepers looked at him, he wanted to disappear; sure his cover was blown. The man called Joe aimed a kick at Grant, “Get away, you filthy beggar. You should be in the workhouse where they can keep an eye on you.”

“Come on, Joe. Let’s go before I lose my appetite!” Bob spat at Grant as they turned to walk off.

Grant could hear them laughing as they headed towards the dining hall. The salesman looked at him with a smirk. “Were you worried about them? They’re after a Grant Friday, you must have heard that they were after ‘Grant’ and got worried?”

He looked at his status sheet and noticed that his name had reverted to Grant Monday. He let out an involuntary sigh, and the salesman waved him away with a laugh at his expense. Grant went in the opposite direction to the peacekeepers.There was somewhere he could go; the workhouse. Count Tuesday had mentioned it previously, and these peacekeepers had just reminded him. Disguised and making a good job of looking like a beggar, he approached a stone building on the left side of the castle’s keep. The sign above the double doors read ‘Kane’s Poor House’.

He gulped, then entered; hoping that he’d be allowed a quiet place to hide until the semifinals of the tournament began.