YoTS: Lord January ~ 20!

CHAPTER 20

Skinny patted his stomach, belched, and drifted off to sleep in the chair at the end of breakfast. The meal had been as grand as it had been advertised, and everyone had laden Fergus’s wife with the compliments she deserved. Just as Grant had planned to stand and help clear the mess, someone banged on the door; waking Skinny up with a snort.

“We have reason to believe you’re harboring a fugitive. Open up!” The group of overly-large men at the table looked at each other grimly, realizing who was at the door.

Red turned to Grant and mouthed the word, ‘Hide’.

Grant looked around the open concept home, seeing not a single place where he could hide even half of his body. “Where?”

All he got in return was a shrug, and Grant nearly pulled his hair out in frustration. The knocking was persistent, “In the name of House Friday, we have a warrant to search any house in Mid January!”

“Over here.” Anna - Fergus’s wife - whispered to Grant, who latched onto her words and ran to do as she bid.

Fergus went to answer the door before it was kicked in, grabbing a small cake to pretend that he had been stalling only due to eating. “How can I help you, m’lords?”

Two men in the garb of House Friday shoved Red out of the way, making just enough room for them to get past him and into the house proper. They glared around at the small crowd before presenting a sketch that looked vaguely like Grant, “Have you seen this man? His name is Grant Monday.”

“Can’t say that I have.” Red’s eyes darted around as he looked for where Grant was hiding. Though they didn’t know where Grant had gone, exactly, they had been in this house before. The fact of the matter was it wouldn’t be long till the man was found.

“We will be checking the premises. Stay out of the way if you know what is good for you.” The men scattered throughout the house before anyone could say anything to stop them.

This spurred an irate Anna to step forward and snap, “How dare you barge into my house? You know that breakfast is a sacred time of day!”

“Norman, I’ve checked upstairs,” one of the other bounty hunters shouted down after a few minutes. “No sign of Grant Monday. Just a gaggle of kids, and one that was peeing on the walls! Hah!”

“Timmy!” Fergus shouted as he scrambled to get up from the table. “I showed you, boy. Do. It. In. The. Toilet!”

“Sorry to bother you. We’ll be on our way. We have to check everywhere. You can’t be too careful. Especially when there's a convict on the loose! If you see him, do not - under any circumstances - approach that beast in man’s clothing! Contact House Friday immediately, and we will deal with the reprobate!”

The men left, and could be heard banging on doors along the street, though they were clearly confused by not finding Grant in this house. They had it on good authority that he should have been here. Anna directed Fergus to lift one of their lounge chairs, where a series of dirty plates and empty dishes had been stacked. Grant’s face came into view, red from the heat, lack of air, and concern. Sweat was pouring from his body, but he started to calm down as he looked around and only saw familiar people. “Is it safe to come out?”

Fergus looked at Anna sharply. “Do I want to know why you have a smugglers’ couch in my house?”

“Doesn’t sound like you want to know.” Anna smiled demurely and rubbed Fergus’s belly. “Just think about what you want to, and enjoy the benefits.”

“We need to go.” Skinny stood up and sidled toward the door, intentionally not looking at the mess left in the area. Anna noticed him not noticing, and had to school her expression as he made his escape.

“Maybe we should stay at Fergus’ for a while?” Grant looked at the others in confusion. “What’s the rush? They’re out there right now, we’ll need to get past them!”

“No.” Red stopped him before he could say more, “I agree with Skinny on this one, “They would be back to do a second or third sweep of the area. I've a place where you can hide out until the heat dies down.”

“They’re right, boy,” Fergus announced, giving his wife a peck on the cheek and grabbing his cloak, “You’ll hide in plain sight. I know the place Red is talking about, the workers in the Crafting Quarter despise the Noble Houses, especially Friday. You’ll be safe there. Safer, at least.”

The robust Red, stout Skinny, flabby Fergus, and greasy Grant made their way through the alleyways all the way to the Crafting Quarter. Hammers clanged off anvils, and black smoke billowed out of chimney stacks from furnaces that never seemed to quiet for even a moment.

Grant couldn’t help but ogle the selection of wares on display. Razor sharp, gleaming knives were stacked high; ready to grace the kitchen and prepare feasts for Nobles throughout Mid January.

“Those knives,” Fergus pointed them out when he noticed Grant's interest, “will be used not only by chefs in Mid January, but across the twelve districts. January is well-known for its love of food, and the ability to produce the grandest of banquets requires the highest quality knives and utensils. Thursday’s merchants will travel far and wide to reap the maximum profit.”

“Can we stop talking about food for now? I’m hungry!” Skinny grumbled as he thought about all the food those knives would get to touch that he never would.

“You’re always hungry! You’ll have to wait,” Red placated him without looking over. “Breakfast ended less than an hour ago, we still have at least thirty minutes until mid-morning snacks.”

“I’m starving. I. Need. To. Eat! When I go for an hour without food, my energy… fades. I’m… feeling dizzy.” Skinny melodramatically wiped his brow and stumbled.

<Probably massive fluctuations in blood sugar. Three-quarters of the people of this city are going to be losing their feet in the next few years, I bet.> Sarge’s caustic voice made its way into Grants head, and Grant perked up immediately. He hadn’t heard from the sword since the battle at the Mill.

“Here.” Grant fumbled around in his pack and brought out half a pie. He had been saving it, and despite roughly two weeks in his pack, it still appeared fresh.

<You’ve gotta be kidding me. That’s rancid by now. You’ren’t actually going to let him put that mess in his…> Grant trailed off as Skinny grabbed the pie and started to scarf it down. For the first time ever, Sarge's voice was shaky. <The people of this district need outside intervention.>

“Oh, thank you, Grant! I owe you one.” Skinny was cheered up, his momentary dizziness forgotten. The pie hadn’t lasted for even a full thirty seconds. “Aww… so good.”

<If you ever do anything like that, every single training session is going to be Krakens and Vivians.>

“We’re here,” Red was standing in front of a massive metal door. He rolled the door to the side, releasing a wave of heat that blasted Grant’s hair back. They all had to shield their eyes from the heat and sheer glare. “You will not find a more impressive refinery in all of January! Look there: molten metal being poured into molds to mass manufacture knives and other equipment. Steel ingots stacked up, ready to be sent to blacksmiths and armorers! Those will be further refined and turned into high-quality Early-to-Mid-Spring weapons and armor!”

Red continued talking, but Grant was distracted by a notification that appeared in front of his face.

Warning: At risk of getting locked out. The training plan must be followed, or else the ability will be locked for 24 hours.

“Sarge, you just woke up!” Grant's complained as quietly as he possibly could. “Come on, give me a break… I’ve been kind of busy!”

<No.> Sarge went quiet after that, refusing to back down.

“Red. I need somewhere to train.” Grant shouted over the din of mechanical presses and the banging of metal. His words immediately caused eyes to roll, and disparaging comments to be muttered.

“You want to train in this? You're going to die! The heat alone will make you melt like the butter on my flaky biscuits! You’re serious? I… follow me.” Red waved them over towards a soot covered man who was wearing a black apron and thick gloves. “Derek. Hey, Derek!”

“Red, my old friend! What brings you to these parts?” The two performed a strange handshake that Grant had never seen before. For some unknown reason, the smith completely relaxed after the handshake was complete.

“Just passing through. It is okay if my friend here,” Red nodded towards Grant, “stays a while? He’s in a spot of trouble with the Nobles. House Friday is on his tail.”

“Friday?” Derek spat and uttered an unrepeatable curse. “Red, any friend of yours is a friend of mine.”

“Red, I need to train,” Grant was watching a timer that had appeared in his vision. He didn’t want to lose Sarge again so soon after his sword woke up.

“What? You need to… train? Oh!” Derek snapped his fingers in realization, “There’s a well-stocked dining hall just down the road there. You can go there to practice for any eating competition, though you might have to fight for a spot. With all of the upcoming events, anyone thinking of impressing the aristocracy is training their jaw muscles. I’m surprised that a friend of Red would want to do that…”

“That’s not the type of training he has in mind,” Fergus stepped in as Derek gave Red the evil eye. “The lad wants somewhere to swing his rusty sword around. He’s actually doing weapon cultivation, if you can believe anyone would be so foolish!”

Derek scratched his head in confusion; just like the others, he was unable to comprehend why Grant would want to waste his time. A delighted Skinny immediately left the group in the direction of the food hall, “Perfect! I’ll be off training my intake!”

“See?” Derek waved his hands at the oddly-focused Skinny, “That’s normal behavior, though I hope he is not actually trying to join the eating competitions. Boy, how do you ever intend to gain a glorious gut like that guy? Training with a sword won’t give you status! It takes a lot of effort to put on so much weight. Working here all day, I struggle to keep up. Luckily, the work I do allows me to get the highest quality foods! Otherwise, I would start to look like, well, you.”

Grant looked at his body, he had perhaps only thirty-five percent body fat. It was shameful, he knew it was, but he also knew that comparing himself to people at eighty percent should no longer be his goal. His goal was living, and to do that… he needed to do his training. “I know you’re only trying to help, but the fact of the matter is that I don’t intend to put on weight. I don’t have the kind of money needed to compare sizes, I’ve decided that the only way forward is bettering myself through training and cultivation.”

“Haha. Is this guy for real?” Derek laughed a deep belly laugh, looking at the others who watched the show stoically. He slowly lost his good humor as the others nodded seriously.

Fergus shrugged and waved at the much younger man. “Grant’s a bit special, is all. I’m sure he’ll grow out of it… I think he’s going through a phase.”

“Derek. Is there somewhere I can train in peace? Alone? Please?” By now, Grant was irritated. No matter where he went, people were mocking him and trying to control his actions. No one got to tell him what to do anymore! That is… Sarge could, but that was different! No human could tell him what to do!

“Feel free to waste your time, if that’s what you want to do,” Derek couldn't hide his smirk as he waved at a door down the hall. “Go over there. No one will bother you, and they certainly won’t join you!”

“We’ll be in the dining hall attached to this building if you need us, Grant.” Fergus caught a glance from Derek, and amended the statement, “Just look around in the normal eatery, not the Noble-sponsored one.”

“I’ll join you when my shift ends, Red.” Derek and Red clasped arms before parting ways. “It’s good to see you again.”

They had more to say to each other, but Grant didn’t bother to stick around to listen. The countdown was almost complete, and he wasn't about to go another day without hearing the only voice he could trust.