Jost Baumann: On the Road to Canguine

[vogelsong]

On the Royal Way, not far from Carleon

“I don’t know whether to curse or bless my luck,” the older gentleman winced, watching as another man knelt beside him, patiently applying a poultice to the bleeding wound on his knee. He sat with his leg propped on a fallen log at the edge of a well-traveled road—clearly not furniture he was accustomed to, judging by his fine clothing and pinched expression. “Could’ve been hours before another helpful soul passed by.”

The younger man—perhaps twenty, broad-shouldered and sun-darkened—paused to wipe his brow with a large forearm. “Fortune smiles on us both zen,” said Jost, his Eisen accent thick but pleasant, “since I can alvays use ze practice vith treating vounds.” He stood, assessing his work. “How does it feel?”
The gentleman tested his weight and scoffed. “Still feels like I’ll need a stiff whiskey when I reach Carleon—but I’ve had worse. You training to be an apothecary, then?”

“Not exactly,” Jost replied, offering a sheepish smile. “Perfumer by trade. But one of ze side benefits is knowing a thing or two about herbs.” He rummaged through the bulging leather satchel at his waist, packed tight with dried plants and cuttings. “Ah! Zere it is.” He produced a small pouch filled with tiny, brittle leaves. “Steep zese in your tea tonight. Should keep zat gash from going foul.”

A wary look crossed the older man’s face. “And how much do these ‘miracle’ herbs run me?”

“For zese?” Jost hesitated, adjusting his vest. “A copper, if you can spare it. If not… vell, my bag vill be a hair lighter. Still a long road to Canguine.”

“Canguine?” The man’s eyes narrowed. “What in O’Bannon’s name are you doing headed there?”

“Alvays vanted to set up shop,” Jost said with a shrug. “And it seems as good a place as any. Carleon’s full of perfumers already, but I’ve made contact vith a Master McLaughlin—says he’s got stall space for me.”

The traveler gave him a hard look. “Disabuse yourself of any notion that Canguine’s a ‘good’ place. Folk avoid it for good reasons. A man like you deserves better than to end up face-down in those streets.”

“I appreciate your concern,” Jost said, patting the heavy crossbow strapped to his back. “But I think Hilda vill discourage anyone vith poor intentions.”

“She’s a fine piece of work, no doubt,” the man said, nodding at the weapon. “But she won’t stop something being slipped into your drink, or a club to the back of the head. Take this.” He pressed a silver coin into Jost’s palm. “And a word of advice: when you get to Canguine, find yourself a crew. Folks who’ll watch your back—and who you’ll watch in return.”

He mounted his waiting horse and rode off at a brisk pace, hoping to make up for lost time. Jost adjusted his satchel, his eyes lingering on the coin in his hand. “A crew...” he murmured, turning back toward the road. “It’s vorth considering, I suppose.”