Harou sat at a table in one of the city’s many taverns.  His crutch was propped against the table, within arm’s reach, and angled to be out of the way of passers-by.  His ale sat untouched on the table, and his pork pie was only half eaten.  His attention wasn’t on his meal, but instead on the leather-bound journal in front of him.  In addition to the paper bound into the journal’s spine, there was an abundance of loose sheets that had been tucked into the interior pockets of the leather binding, and even some between pages in the journal.

Most of the loose pages were clippings from newspapers, flyers, or handwritten notes from people Harou had spoken to.  Many of the latter had addresses or pigeon numbers written on them so Harou could contact them.

In one hand, Harou gripped what was currently his most prized possession: a very expensive ivory fountain pen.  It was a relatively new invention, which was why it was so expensive.  Harou had spent quite a good chunk of his final pay to obtain it.  He just didn’t see how he’d be able to keep up with a quill and ink pot while traveling.  It would be terrible if the ink pot broke and soiled his clothes.  He didn’t have a lot.  He had two uniforms and one casual outfit.  If any of them were stained with ink, he’d have to dispose of them, as he had no way of getting the stain out.  The uniforms would be impossible to replace.

The fountain pen came in its own suede-lined wooden case.  It was unlikely to be broken while stored, and if it spilled, it would only soil the case.  The suede was dyed black already, so the ink spilling onto it wouldn’t do lasting harm.

Flower Moon, Day 5

I think I would go crazy if I wasn’t keeping this journal.  I would have no sense of time.  I can’t believe I’ve been in this city for three weeks already.  Sometimes it feels like I’ve been here for years, sometimes it feels like I just arrived yesterday.

My leg hurts.  I think I’ve written that sentence in every journal entry.  It’s just too true not to mention.  It’s the only surety I have right now.  I go to sleep, with difficulty, knowing my leg will hurt when I wake up.  I wake up to my leg hurting, as I expected.  It hurts all day as I work and search.  Every day is the same, but just slightly different enough to feel uncanny.

My soldier’s pay is running out.  I’m still trying to do odd jobs to earn coin, but the people willing to hire a cripple with a crutch are few and far between.

I still have no leads on the goblin market.  What are the chances it’s even still in town?  The nature of them is that they appear to come and go.  They exist on their own plane, and appear in cities and towns seemingly at random.  The only thing I’ve learned is that the humans in the city are largely unaware of the goblin market.  They pass through the space and see only what is there when the goblin market is not.  They don’t question why it’s empty when the humans normally set up stalls in the market area themselves.  The magic of it is truly impressive, but that makes it very difficult to find.

I think the only thing I can do now is visit the area where the goblin market has appeared in the past and hope it appears.  I don’t know when that would be.  I can only hope it will be soon.  I think I will have to find stable work in the meantime.  I’d rather not sleep outdoors.

Harou paused in his writing to eat a little more of his pork pie and take a big drink of his ale.  He didn’t really pay attention to how the food and drink tasted.  It was cheap fare, since he was trying to limit his spending as much as possible.  He was really starting to worry about his financial situation.

“Hey soldier,” someone said.  Harou jumped a little and looked up.  A blonde elven barmaid stood at the other end of the table, leaning over it, showing off her cleavage.  Harou’s expression turned wry.  Oh, if this is going where I think it is, she’s going to be very disappointed, he thought.

“Uhhh, can I help you?” he asked.

“Actually, I think I can help you,” she replied, smiling.

“Oh, uh, I don’t… need that kind of help,” he said, blushing slightly.  Harou knew what he looked like.  He was tall, over six feet, heavily muscled.  His face was masculine, with a strong jawline, but his nose and eyes gave his face a gentle look.  His brown hair was heavily streaked with red, and a small patch of white in the middle of his bangs.  His hair matched his wolf form, which was red and brown, with a white chest.  His wolf was also large and heavily muscled.  He had the build of a man who obtained his muscles through hard labor and years of combat training.  He was all functional muscle and a build that supported them.  He was good looking, but intimidating.  He supposed the crutch helped mitigate the intimidation a bit.

“Don’t get me wrong, you’re good lookin’, but that’s not what I was getting at,” the barmaid said, her smile unchanged though her brows turned down wryly.  “You’ve been coming in here for several days and ordering the cheapest food and drink we have.  You’re walking with a crutch.  I’m bettin’ you’re having a hard time findin’ work, yeah?”

“Oh!  Oh.  Sorry, I just–”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re handsome, and in different circumstances, you’d be right about my intentions.  But not when I know you’re broke,” she cut him off and smirked.  Harou gave her a deadpan look and said nothing in response.  Her smirk widened.

“Anyway,” she said, “there’s this house up on the hill from here,” she pointed northwest up the road, “that has a really rich family with a spoiled little boy, and they want someone to train him to hold a sword.  He’s such a brat that none of his instructors have lasted more than a week.  If you’re hard up for coin, you’ll be more inclined to put up with his bullshit.”

“Yeah, probably,” Harou sighed.  “I’ll look into it, thanks.”

“What’s that saying? ‘Those who cannot do, teach’, right?”

“Um, yeah, something like that,” Harou gave the elf a sour look.  She chuckled at his expression and sashayed away to take another customer’s order.  Harou sighed again, and shut his journal.  He put his pen into its box and tied it to the journal with the book’s leather ties.  He tucked it away in his bag and grabbed his crutch.  He pulled himself to his feet and grabbed the mug of ale, gulping down what remained with an ahh before lightly slamming it into the table.

The injured soldier hobbled out of the inn on his crutch.

Should I go to that house now?  Was she telling me the truth?  It could be a trick.  I don’t know why it would be a trick, but I don’t know who to trust here, either.

Harou shrugged and headed for the house.  It’s not like he had much to lose checking it out.  He needed work, and that seemed like something he could actually do.

The trek up the hill was not fun for the wounded lycan.  He had to stop at the gate of the house to catch his breath.  His left leg burned, the venom causing intense pain from the amount of motion required to get up the hill.  The crutch didn’t help that much on such a steep road.

When Harou had recovered enough, he straightened up and looked for a way to alert the household that he was there.  After a moment of looking, he found a bell.  He grabbed its rope and gave it a rattle, making the bell ring, albeit unevenly.  He supposed the rope was more meant to be pulled than shaken, and felt a bit sheepish.

A butler emerged from the house and came to the gate.

“Can I help you, sir?” he asked, looking Harou up and down with obvious disapproval, lingering noticeably on his crutch, his expression softening slightly when he noticed the medal on Harou’s chest.

“I heard you were looking for a sword instructor?” Harou asked.

“Well… yes, but you…” the butler trailed off and repeated looking Harou up and down.  The lycan scratched the back of his head and sighed.  He gave the butler a one-shoulder shrug.

“The way I hear it, you can’t really afford to be picky.”

The butler bristled slightly.

“Neither can I,” Harou said, emphasizing his words as he spoke, and gestured at his leg.  “I don’t need both legs to instruct a kid on how to use a sword.  And with how hard it is for a man like me to find work, I’m not inclined to let a rich brat run me off.”

“Do not call the Young Master that,” the butler scolded.  “Even if it’s true,” he muttered.  “Very well, come inside and show what you can do.  I’m authorized to hire you if you satisfy my expectations.  Do you need lodging?  There is a guardhouse you could stay in.”