Hidden By Fog: Walker: Chapter Three

This chapter is a short one. More than anything else it is used as a segway. So, apologies for the short upload.

Walker: Chapter Three

Having made a list in his mind of what he had to acquire to be ready for his journey to Plymouth, he heads to the market. The first on this list happened to be a form of protection, a sword. Heading straight to a local blacksmith, that stays open late, he enters the building to browse their wares. Inside this small warehouse of a building there were blades lining every inch of every wall. None of them really capture the attention of Dr. Allen. Until he spotted the small, wide, dark-wood, dais sitting in the center of the room. The dais has a brilliantly carved Victorian design about its sides and edges and has a glass cover, protecting whatever rested upon it.

The dais has to be the most aesthetically pleasing part of the building, Allen isn’t quite sure how he missed it entering through the door. Walking up to the platform and looking down to see what resides within its glass cage. The first thing Allen notices about the case is that it has a golden label on it that reads; “Kopfjäger.” Peering inside the case, there is a brilliant blade that rests on a vibrant velvet pillow. The sword is basket-hilted and is encrusted with silver. The pommel harbors a brilliant sapphire set in the center of it in the shape of a teardrop, along with leather wrappings around the grip. Its blade stretches to about three feet long with a bevel in the center that travels all the way to the top of the blade. There’s an engraving in the bevel of the blade, but Allen is unable to read it. The name, though, he does recognize as German. “Kopf” meaning head and “Jäger” meaning hunter. This blade’s name is “Head-Hunter.”

After examining the blade for quite some time, the shop-keep approaches Allen.

“Hello, Sir, is there something I can help you with,” he asks.

“Yes,” Allen replies, “What can you tell me of this blade here, the Head-Hunter?”

“Oh, you can read the name? I am surprised, Sir. But anyway, it was crafted in Germany by a master smith whom of which no one really knows.”

“What do you mean no one knows?”

“Well after this piece landed here in my shop, I started to dig around for the creator. And turns out no one is quite sure who made it. All my leads turn up empty, so all I know is that it came from Germany.”

“Well that is a little unsettling, however, what is the price on such a fine weapon?”

“Well, actually sir, it is more for show. No one around here could really afford to buy he,r you see.”

“I do see, but still, how much?”

“One pound and sixteen shillings, sir.” He replied somewhat reluctant to tell.

“And for a sheath?”

“That’s included sir.”

“All right I’ll take it.”

As the conversation comes to an end, the small yet stocky gentleman pulls the glass off the dais and gently lifts the blade out. He walks over to the counter off to one side of the room and sets the blade down. Pulling a sheath from the wall behind him and testing it to see if it works for the blade, he eyes Allen expectantly. At that glance, payment was made. Allen notices that the shop-keep’s eyes keep leaping back and forth between him and the blade.

“What is it?” Allen asks somewhat intrigued.

“Oh, nothing sir, it’s just that…” he begins, “Have you ever wielded a blade before?”

“Aye, I have, once upon a time,” Allen replies.

“Really, when was that sir, if I may ask?”

“I’d rather not say actually,” Allen replies, trying to hide his slight irritation to the question.

And with that, Allen leaves the shop and heads on his way to get the second item on his mental list; rations. As he walks, he was grateful that the news of Mary’s death hasn’t spread too quickly. Otherwise someone might be questioning why he has bought a sword the same day. at this point he realizes that it is too late in the evening to purchase proper rations for the road so he returns home.

The next morning, Allen finds the proper stall in the market that is selling premade rations for travel. While he probably bought enough for the trek he is going to make, he can’t help but also notice that not a single paper boy is shouting about the strange death that occurred just the day before. Maybe it just takes time for the printers to set up for a story so recent.

Traveling through town, Allen is looking for a caravan that was headed on its way to Plymouth. Although there isn’t any that are going straight there and back, he does find one that will pass through the town on its way to Falmouth. He quickly reserves a spot on the caravan.

While Dr. Allen tries his hardest to sleep, the night does not pass easily. His nerves and anxiety are practically absolute in their fierce denial to calm. But forcing down two or three glasses of brandy, his nerves begin to steel themselves against the future and he slowly but surely falls into a light slumber.

The following day, as he wakes, Allen finds himself in a cold sweat once again. He still doesn’t know what is causing these dreams, especially since he can’t remember them. Preparing himself for the journey ahead he grabs his traveling coat, pack, and his boots. Glancing at himself as he passed the mirror in his room, he starts going through his mental checklist of everything he is going to need.

Jinx, check. Pack, check. Coat, check,’ he thought to himself, ‘Kopfjäger, check. Doctor’s bag, check. Feed for Jinx, check.

That was almost everything. He had nearly forgotten his hat. Picking up his cavalier hat, from his old military days with one side pinned up to the side of the crown and a feather that was a brilliant shade of white, he placed it upon his head covering his short brackish blonde hair. Strapping the sword to his hip and leashing up Jinx, he was finally ready to start his journey to Plymouth.

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