Arnold stood in front of The Lost Shepherd’s entrance. The double oak door stood slightly ajar. Thick scents of yeasty ale and pipe smoke wafted out.
The Lost Shepherd stood on the corner of the village’s main street, right where the muddy ground met the lane leading toward the church. There was no fence nor hedgerow to separate it from the rest of the village. Only a hardened patch of earth lay in front of it, a yard flattened by boots and tracks.
He looked up, saw a simple wooden board hung crookedly. It bore a faded painting of a shepherd leaning on his staff. The colors had long washed into patchy stains from years of rain.
The building was a relic of rustic architecture, with a steeply pitched slate roof and small, multi-paned windows. Some panes were warped with round bullseyes of bottle-glass, distorting the world outside into a swirling blur.
Beside him, a worn bench sagged in the cold air, used by those who preferred drinking under the sun or people waiting for a passing cart.
Upon entering the pub, Arnold could see it was different from the sight outside.
“Ayy! Toast!”
“TOAST!” A booming shout was heard, as a big clicking sound reverberated in his eardrum.
“WHAT ARE YA DOING, PUP!”
It was lively but not in a pleasant way. Chaotic felt more fitting. He was not sure how to describe it, as if he stepped into a pocket of noise and heat that did not belong to the sleepy village outdoors.
Inside the pub, spilled ale, pungent pipe tobacco, and the acrid tang of woodsmoke billowing from a massive fireplace assault his nose.
‘This smell…’
Arnold narrowed his eyes. The smell was both familiar, yet not familiar to him.
The room was bathed in a dim glow, the light from the fire and wall-mounted oil lamps dancing over the patrons.
Underfoot, the rough stone floor was blanketed in sawdust. Footprints, spilled beer, and scattered ash created messy trails through it.
The patrons were a rowdy mix of working men. Farm laborers with hay tangled in their sleeves, shepherds with grime still stuck to their boots, carpenters with wood shavings stuck in their beards.
“AHAHAHA!”
Their voices created a constant rumble. Tankards slammed onto tables.
Men laughed loudly, slapped shoulders, argued over domino pieces, and shouted greetings across the room.
“DON’T DANCE IN THE BAR!”
“Aye, yer bones are too old for such antics!”
“Hush!”
Some even danced on the crude tables and benches. They even messed with a few old horseshoes and dull hunting knives mounted on the wall for decoration.
A group was attempting a drunken jig in one corner while another argued over the rules of a dice game.
He looked further in. The centerpiece was the long wooden bar counter. It stretched long, its edges rounded smooth by countless elbows and spilled drinks.
Behind it rose a formidable bar back that showcased an array of brass spirit taps, colored glass bottles, and rows of dull pewter tankards.
“Lass, what’s ye here for?”
However, the moment he entered, the pub fell into a dead silence.
Dozens of eyes fixed on him. Curious eyes. Skeptical eyes. Some were even malicious.
As expected, his bandaged appearance was hardly standard.
This was the usual reaction. That Mary girl was clearly the odd one out for approaching him so easily.
“This ain’t no place for children, ye hear?”
As Arnold approached the bar, the publican raised his annoyed voice.
The publican was stout and broad, his apron stained with ale and kitchen drippings.
Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.
His beard was trimmed short but uneven, his hair tied back messily. His eyes were sharp and tired, the look of those who knew everyone's secrets simply because people talked too freely after a drink.
Arnold stared back at him. The Publican squinted his eyes, as a sigh of recognition dawning in them.
“Hmm? Ah, ye be the lad who’s just joined the schoolhouse. My daughter spoke of ye.”
As soon as the Publican said it, the atmosphere in the pub shifted instantly. The tension broke.
“So just a merchant kid! Nearly frightened the Mona out of me!”
“Ahaha! A rich brat! Fancy treating us to a round?”
Arnold raised his eyebrows. They were less respectful than usual. In fact, they were playful, rowdy, and even confrontational. It was strange to be spoken to like this.
Was this normal? Based on their reaction, it seemed nobles of this world usually wouldn't deign to study in a public village school. That might be why they mocked him.
Annoyed, Arnold tossed two coppies onto the counter.
The Publican’s eyes widened, but he soon smirked, pocketing the coins.
“Ye know the way of the world, lad.”
“Here for Mr. Davis,” Arnold said in a low voice.
“...”
“...”
Silence fell again. A few men paused with tankards halfway to their mouths. But soon after, the patrons returned to their drinks and games, the interest fading.
“Ha… just a patron. Shame.” Someone sighed behind him.
The Publican nodded toward a door at the back.
“Room two-three, the Snug for Mr. Davis. Through that door and turn left; a maid shall guide ye.”
“Alright.”
Arnold sauntered toward the door. While doing so, he checked his surroundings with his Field Vision.
The patrons now looked at him differently. The disdain and skepticism had morphed into curiosity, and the malice had largely evaporated.
Some returned to their ale. Others kept glancing, whispering among themselves. Even the harsh ones did not bother with him any longer.
Arnold chuckled under his breath.
‘As expected, having connections is great.’
—--
“Isa, what are you doing?”
While walking with the barmaid through the dim pub corridor, Izzy noticed some movement inside the attic.
She refocused on their main body immediately. If something happened in the mansion, she needed to know.
As always, she made sure to check quietly, so she could slip away without Isa noticing, in case something like last time happened.
However, this time, what Izzy saw was completely unrelated.
*Thud thud thud, trot trot trot* The wooden floorboards of the attic creaked under the rhythmic footsteps.
The girl was hopping, skipping, and spinning around frantically, turning in circles like an overexcited child let loose after being cooped up for days.
“Ah, Izzy!”
Noticing her mature mind had returned, Isa, in control of the female vessel, turned her head mid-spin and flashed her mature mind a brilliant smile, cheeks flushed from exertion.
‘Mm, this is an improvement, but…’ Izzy felt a sudden headache coming on.
“Why all of a sudden…?”
Isa was dancing.
She kept spinning, arms outstretched, her white dress fluttering around her ankles.
Izzy wasn’t even sure what dance this was supposed to be. Was it something from her previous life? It looked messy, chaotic, yet energetic.
‘This girl is so unpredictable…’
“I’m bored, Izzy!”
Isa exhaled heavily, her chest rising and falling. Sweat trickled down her forehead and dampened the strands of black hair clinging to her cheeks. She hopped once more, an exuberant smile on her face.
“...”
It was boredom.
“Why not go back to building things again?”
“No, I’m bored! Give Arnold back to me!”
Of course, thinking about it, the female vessel was much weaker than their other two. She ran out of stamina more quickly, and Isa wanted to experience the feeling of freedom more.
“You can use Jack.”
“I don’t like him!”
That was completely understandable. Izzy nodded. Even she didn’t want to use him.
“Izzy, dance with me!”
‘It isn’t the time for this.’
*Trot trot trot*
Isa continued hopping lightly from foot to foot. Her small figure spun once more.
Izzy watched silently for a few seconds. A warm feeling creeped in her chest, a bittersweet memory surface from her mind.
“[ ], let’s play!”
Izzy shook her head and pushed it down.
She still had important matters to handle, so she couldn’t indulge Isa now. Izzy sighed internally.
“Don’t dance here. It’s noisy.”
“Oke :<”
Isa puffed her cheeks. Using the female vessel, she sprinted out of the attic stairs. Her little feet pattered rapidly as she ran down and disappeared from view.
Guilt welled up in Izzy’s chest.
“Later.”
Let’s play with her later.
