Hokum

A Goat Named Jed

4

Relative as age can be in a medieval era, the guard was not a young man, perhaps in his 40’s and having at least a good ten years on Jack. His hair was short, on the redder side of auburn with no real style to it, his eyes were slitted and green, providing a naturally accusing stare, and his features basically matched his body type; broad, thick and strong. Somehow defiant of these brutish features was the man’s recent and surprisingly clean-shaven and rather soft skin, unblemished and void of any visible scarring, which Jack thought was a curious quality for a man in his profession. Either he was very good at his job, or just didn’t get much action. In fact, at least appearance-wise, it would have seemed more fitting for the blacksmith and this guard to have traded places.

In any case, the guard was likely not the smartest guy around, taking way too long to deliberate on what Jack had said. His initial reply was a long cold stare of his accusing eyes, followed up by a deep irritated groan, and then tempered with a loud grind of his teeth. His hands did not show any signs of leaving the grip of his sword.

‘You know, work?’ Jack clarified, giving a quick, uneasy glance at the blacksmith who continued to stare on without expression. ‘Money? Coin? Occupation? Making a living for one’s self. You are aware of this concept, right?’

‘I know of no work in Greenfalls,’ said the guard finally, forcing yet a deeper tone, ‘Ask at the Greenfalls Inn – and watch your behaviour while you’re here! I’ll be keeping a watch over you, stranger.’

Jack smiled his reply, slightly amused by the guard’s choice of words. ‘Well, thank you for watching over me, sir. Having a guardian may come in handy.’

The guard appeared very confused by this. His hands remained braced to his sword and eyes followed Jack as he walked away.

A Goat Named Jed

3

Meanwhile, the Blacksmith, his place of work now just several meters away, stopped what he was doing to stare on at Jack’s interaction with the guard. As normally expected of a blacksmith, he was a hefty sort, though not the fat kind of hefty. He was dressed in tanned trousers and a brown leather apron that didn’t seem to have done a good job at protecting his tattered yellow-ochre shirt over the years. Matching his tattered shirt was his cold stone face - much of it lost behind a dark beard - though the parts that did show were well scarred. One eye was missing. Nose crooked like it had been broken many times since he was born some 40 years prior.

The guard said, ‘Why are you here, stranger?’ losing not even a portion of the severity in his tone. He was just a tad shorter than Jack, Jack being a few inches north of 6 feet, but the guard more than made up for this with a massive barrel chest, plated with iron armour that seemed to have been forged to conform specifically to the shape of his torso and shoulders. The rest of his duds, a term, Jack later discovered, used to describe a guards uniform, was strikingly similar in design to that of an ancient roman soldier, with a deep red under-tunic, iron Baltea skirting the crotch, and leather sandal-like footwear. The guard however wore no helmet and held no shield. Both hands were gripped at the ready to the hilt of the very large swords sheathed and hanging from his metal hip belt.

Jack wasn’t really feeling threatened at all. He could take care of a lone guard with a sword if need be and had in his life been confronted by much scarier personalities, such as the tiny winged beast he had encountered in the woods only 15 minutes earlier. So he smiled for the guard, slightly, consciously making an effort not to come across as patronising.

‘No need for that,’ he said, glancing to the guard's sword, ‘I’m just a traveller passing through, maybe up for some work if there is any coin to be made here.’

A Goat Named Jed

2

Other villagers came into view as Jack moved from the bridge. Two children appeared from behind the grass roofed living quarters next to the stable, maybe eight years of age, a boy and a girl playing some unfamiliar game involving a stick with a ball attached to its end. They stopped playing when they saw Jack, both of them standing still as if mesmerised, the boys mesmerisation was mixed with distrust, the girls with mocking amusement. By the shift of her eyes to glance past Jack, she must have known what was coming –

‘You there! Stand!’

Jack stopped abruptly, stood for a moment as commanded, and then turned to see the speaker was a town guard. The guard had stepped out from behind a tree that loomed by the gate of the mill.

‘I am standing,’ said Jack, and heard the young girl snicker behind him. He then heard both children scamper off, likely to find a new, safer place to play.

A Goat Named Jed

1

The walk to town wasn’t long, no more than ten minutes, and Jack passed no other travellers along the way. The medieval-like village, as would be an apt description, was actually quite spectacular, if not modest. A quaint, pretty riverside community with a backdrop of forested mountains that rose to jagged rock peaks that towered like stone knives cutting though small islands of fast moving clouds. It may have been windy all those miles high, but there was barely a breeze to be felt at Jack’s level where he stood for a while on the stone bridge at the entrance to the village.

The morning air was fresh, crisp and clear, and the few trees that lined the riverbank did very little in obstructing the pristine view of this pretty hamlet. For the moment he hadn’t been noticed, so he took advantage of that to observe all he could of the buildings and activity before entering.

The main road through town was hard dirt with sparsely laid shades of blueish grey cobbles. Nearest the river, just off to the right of the bridge, was a stone and timber stable that housed a few animals, one of which appeared to be the horse Theolan had been riding, and two other animals of similar size but comparatively different species. Opposite the stables was the gated entry to a timber mill with two great waterwheels. The mill span a portion of the left riverbank and up behind what looked like a Blacksmith establishment. Beyond the blacksmith and stable was a mix of both homes and other businesses, most of the buildings constructed of timber logs, mortar and wood-tile roofing, though with a few exceptions, such as the grey stone walls and steep slate-tile roof of the most prominent structure in the village - likely a tavern of sorts with possible rooms for rent - and positioned between the main road and the water where, farther upstream from the mill, the river meandered toward the rise of the lush foothills.

A few residents were out and about, including the blacksmith, his current hammering of metal was one of the few sounds Jack could hear over the sound of the river rushing beneath him. He also noticed a stable hand - a young lady maybe in her teens - delivering water to Theolan’s horse. There was also another woman, who from a distance appeared older than the stable hand. She was making her way up the road from the tavern towards the blacksmith and passed by three men who had grouped to converse by a horse and carriage, one of whom turned to greet the woman. She stopped to reciprocate with a small curtsy before continuing on her way. Overall, there seemed to be much ado about nothing in this community at present, no one seemed to be out sorts or in any type of panic over to the earlier gunfire, which was very good, and so Jack took it in his stride to walk right into town like nothing at all was a matter.

A Goat Named Jed

Part 2

A Village

A Goat Named Jed

6

Jack used a leafy branch to brush away the faeces that the nasty little beast had left on his duffel bag, checked the contents of the bag to ensure everything that was normally inside was still there, used some disinfectant and a bandage from the bag to treat the wound on his left hand, placed his Glock in the bag, zipped up the bag but left an opening large enough for easy access to the Glock if he absolutely needed it in a hurry, and then started his journey into town.

His shoulder was still throbbing and he needed to take care of the injury as soon as he could, but carrying his duffle didn’t irritate the wound because even though he was right handed and it was his right shoulder that had been damaged, he normally carried his duffel over his left. This, as one might guess, allowed easy-to-reach access to anything in his duffel, not just the gun that, under some circumstances, would be carried around in his belt as it had been when he arrived in this world. He was, however, not willing to indefinitely carry the gun around in his bag on this world either, at the moment it just didn’t seem practical or secure in many ways, so he had planned on trying to organise a new system when he arrived in town, that is, if there was anyone in the community able to accommodate his needs.

A Goat Named Jed

5

One can never be too careful when dealing with unfamiliar forms of life. What might at first appear to be a cute little bundle of sleeping joy can - in response to as little as a wave of a hand and a few short words - quickly turn that bundle of joy into a formidable savage beast that screams like a demon unleashed from hell.

Jack launched himself backward shielding his face with one arm against the sudden frenzy of gnashing teeth, beating wings and slashing claws. Before he knew it he was down, face to the ground, hand grasping protectively to the back of his head while the other hand groped desperately for his gun. Never in his life had he felt in such mortal danger over a creature so small and feathery. He felt the skin of his shielding hand being shredded by its claws, small yet powerful talon-like feet sinking into the flesh of his shoulder, and a bitter freeze of air pouring over his neck and head as he drew the gun from his belt, propped his elbow on the ground to aim the weapon at the sky, and then squeezed the trigger. The thunderous crack of gunfire cascaded through the forest and across the land, leaving in its wake a silence that made Jack instantly groan with regret.

‘Well that sucks a great deal,’ he said, lifting his head to take a cautious look around. Concluding a moment of wait, he pushed up and sat back on his heels to better survey the area and ensure the little beast had truly fled. His hand was bleeding from cat-like claw marks, his shoulder was throbbing, his favourite leather jacket was torn, and the skin of his neck was beginning to thaw from whatever had started to turn it into a hide of ice. But the little terror of a beast was gone and, more importantly, it had not returned to sleep on his duffel bag.

Unfortunately, aside from the personal damage and a stinky little deposit the creature had left on his bag, every soul within a good distance would have heard the gun fire.

A Goat Named Jed

4

Jack smiled, slightly amused by Theolan’s attempt at offending him. He stood thoughtfully rubbing the short stubble of his face with thumb and finger until the rider had disappeared around a bend down the road.

Judging by the beads of dew still lingering on the tips of grass and leaves and the low angle of the sunlight breaking through the canopy of the trees, it was still early morning, while drifting aromas of food accompanied by periodic faint voices and other sounds of activity told Jack he wasn’t too far from a township of some variety, most likely in the direction Theolan had headed. Both these things were promising. Early morning meant he wasn’t pressed with time to get his shit together, and having a town nearby was convenient for quickly establishing a way to blend in.

The most immediate concern was finding his duffel bag, if it was even around to be found at all. As much as trees and other clustered landscapes provided a decent place to lay low when arriving in a new place, it really could result in more frustration than need be when locating his belongings.

Still, searching the immediate road and forest for the bag did have its benefits. If he wasn’t previously certain about whether he was actually on Earth – and given that the majority of immediate plants and trees did show a striking resemblance to the flora found on Earth – it was stumbling upon a bizarre rat-size creature in a small clearing several meters from the road that confirmed his suspicions. He was not on Earth, at any time in history.

As luck would have it, the rather cute creature which resembled a lizard in head and body shape with a bluish scaled underbelly, but soft white feathers lining its face and back and wings, was nestles somewhat snugly in the fold of his duffel bag.

‘Get off!’

A Goat Named Jed

3

Jack, but not really Jack, hailed from somewhere in the 20th century – though he wasn’t prepared to inform the rider of that - while Theolan, the rider, was apparently dressed for the Middle Ages. The attire of people in this, the medieval era - and more so the men than the women - normally struck Jack as ridiculous and somewhat amusing, but more in regards to the wealthier folk, and more due the always unexpected eye-popping colours than their old fashioned designs. Theolan was no exception. He wore, as wealthier men often did, a full-length tunic which, due to the man being saddled on a horse, was currently gathered about his waist to expose his lemon yellow knee-length breeches secured by silver ornamental buckles to white skin-tight leggings, which appeared more like smooth and pale skin that led to the distracting shine of his polished black shoes. The tunic, in deliberate contrast, was an extremely deep shade of purple, made from what was probably a hemp-like fabric, and closed about the torso with lightly stained wooden peg buttons. Showing beneath the open V neck of the tunic was a lime-green collarless shirt. There was also an insignia of his initials, MST, embroidered with silver stitching on the left breast pocket of the tunic.

Feeling the urge to irritate the pompous prick some more, Jack ignored the question - and besides, he didn’t have a convenient lie at the ready. It was time to get off the ground, though, so he shot to his feet abruptly enough to startle the rider who reached for his sword, then paused, hand suspended just an inch from the hilt while he watched Jack straighten his jacket and give himself a light dusting off. Jack was careful, however, not to turn and bend on such an angle that would cause his jacket to lift and expose the gun tucked in his belt. It wasn’t that Theolan would have recognised the Glock as an actual weapon, but Jack in no way wanted to encourage the curiosity of the dinosaur any more than he already had. In fact, he really just wanted the guy to ride on, because he required some time alone to think, search for his duffel bag, and prepare for his stay in this world.

‘You haven’t seen a black duffel bag around here, have ya?’ Asked Jack, eyes searching the dirt road and nearby undergrowth. It was unusual for his bag not to make the journey with him, but it was fairly common for the bag to end the journey in a different location, yet not too far away. It was nevertheless imperative that he find it before anyone else did, that is, if they hadn’t already.

‘A what, did you say?’ Theolan said, looking quizzically around. He appeared to be rather disturbed that he may have missed an import item lying about.

‘It’s fine.’ Jack was glad that the rider hadn’t seen it. He clapped his hands together, pouched his lips in a blasé manner. ‘But if you don’t mind pissing off now, Theo, I’d like to tend to my business. Thanks for all your concern, though.’

Theolan was genuinely shocked by this, mouth gaping in astonished horror for an annoyingly calculated amount of time, and finally thought of what he believed to be an adequate affront before departing.

‘I merely feel it my duty to assist the impoverished whenever I can,’ he said, and rode off slowly as he concluded the insult, ‘be them at times a lost cause, it seems.’

A Goat Named Jed

2

‘What?’ The man on the ground uttered his delayed reply to the rider, having heard very little of what he had said. But then he realised that maybe his reply was too soft to be heard, and duly spoke up a little; ‘I didn’t really hear what you said there, buddy, wanna run that by me one more time?’

The rider couldn’t have been a day over thirty, and despite his thin build, sloping shoulders, crane-like neck and disproportionately large head, his stiffly posture gave no illusions to his bloated ego. Yet the capricious stare of his beady blue eyes - combined with his sharp beak-like nose and thin upper lip - gave the immediate impression that he was unstable and couldn’t be trusted. The only features that managed to subtract from this shifty aura, though not doing a crack-up job of it, was the air of distinctive dignity portrayed by the salt-and-pepper goatee that matched diligently to the loose ponytail of his long, wavy black hair, which was, despite his apparent age, also silvering about the temples and nape.

‘I said,’ he replied in the former suspicious tone, though now with additional impatience, ‘that it is not safe to be sleeping on the side of this particular road. You should know this, unless you are not from around these parts.’

‘Ah right, yes. Heard ya that time,’ said the man, who remained splayed on the ground with his back against the tree while keeping one curious eyebrow raised to the rider. He was feeling a little unsettled about various aspects of his current situation. One such related aspect was the object still digging into his lower back. Initially, while lying on the ground, he had figured it was just a rock, but - since it was still digging into him while sitting back against the tree - he realised that no, it was not a rock, rather his handgun lodged in the leather belt of his jeans. Being in possession of a firearm wouldn’t have always been problematic for the man, but in this particular situation such a weapon would need to be stowed away unless absolutely needed. Fortunately, the gun was currently out of sight, but that could not be said about his attire. Blue denim jeans, black Gerson boots, white snug-fit T-shirt, brown leather jacket and an imitation Rolex watch strapped to his wrist; an ensemble just as far detached from the outmoded clothes of the rider as the handgun was to the sword housed in a sheath on the riders back.

Now, having not received his idea of a substantial response, the rider was about to crack with anxiety as he continued to scrutinise the man below him. Yet somehow, despite himself, he managed to set aside the strain brought on by the man’s less than cooperative behaviour and decided to proceed with another question waiting in line to be asked.

‘Perhaps you could share your name, then?’

‘Sure.’ The man answered with an uneasy smile, and then he lied. ‘My name’s Jack. How about you?’

The rider took a moment to sneer sceptically at the man before he reciprocated. ‘My name is Theolan.’ He paused for effect, raising his chin as if he had spoken a word that should be revered by anyone fortunate enough to hear it. ‘Sir Mallicone Starlip Theolan.’ He expounded, then turned his hooded eyes of contempt down at the man. ‘Jack, you say? That is quite an unusual name. Not sure if I have had the displeasure of hearing it before, though I am sure I would have remembered. From where do you hail, Jack?’