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Fair Exchange ~ by Martin Lock

 
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Custer
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PostPosted: Tue Aug 25, 2015 2:08 pm    Post subject: Fair Exchange ~ by Martin Lock Reply with quote

It was mid-morning. Time to sweep out the public room of the 'Lazy Dragon' and let last night's smells of stale beer, woodsmoke and sausage fat curl out into the crisp spring air. The girl paused by the half-open door, leaning slightly on her broom, and sighed. Normally, for the inn's junior serving maid, it was a quiet time of day, a fresh start - but today one table still held a trio of gamblers, after at least fourteen hours.

"I'll almost be ashamed to win yet another hand, my friends," one of the two men, Mantle, said. "But these are strong cards I hold." He had shaggy blond hair, and a forgotten half-empty glass on the table beside his pile of coins.

The woman, Sirana, looked at him carefully with her one good eye. "Are you declaring?" A patch covered her right eye; she moved her cards closer, keeping her spare hand close to her remaining coins. Her black hair was tinged with grey, and she seemed more tired than her companions.

"Look, why don't we stop, while we all have the money to pay our bills here?" Mantle absent-mindedly straightened his coins, and looked across at the third player.

"I'm very much tempted," Forner said. He was bald, and the oldest of the three. "A man my age needs his sleep, eventually - what do you say, Sirana?"

Sirana shook her head slowly. "Either my luck changes, or I lose my last coins. Those are the only ways to end an all-night game like this, Ser Forner." She smiled. "Besides, if Ser Mantle gains all my coins, I'm sure he's enough of a champion to at least pay my tally with our landlord."

"Certainly, Milady Sirana," he agreed. "And this hand should, I venture, bring us to that stage."

"Don't be too sure, Ser. 'The hand isn't finished until the cards are shown,' as a mercenary captain we all used to know would say - often at the most inappropriate times, I admit."

"Time to show, then," Mantle said, smiling confidently. He fanned his cards out, face up, on the table. "As all the priestesses were shown in the last two rounds, I don't see how you can match this little group."

"Nor me, I'm afraid," Forner sighed, pushing his cards across the well-polished wooden surface.

"Me neither." Sirana shook her head gently. "If your luck is always so bright, Ser, I know not why you don't live in a castle." She spread her cards out, and stared at them for a moment, before looking across at Mantle, who was gathering his newly-acquired coins together.

Mantle turned towards the serving maid, who was still watching. "Girl, fetch the landlord, if the fellow is awake, would you? I've three accounts to settle, and then I must get to my bed."

"Yessir," she replied, with a nod and a slight smile. "Owen's down in the cellar, it won't take a moment." Leaving her broom propped against the wall, she hurried away.

"You're very kind, Ser," Forner said, putting all the cards back together and giving them a shuffle. "The next time we have such a game, I hope I will have the chance to repay your generosity in a similar way."

Mantle took a sip of old, flat beer, and grimaced, then looked up and grinned. "I will be at your disposal to continue your education - if you'll forgive me a small measure of bumptiousness. I will gladly include today's breakfast and lunch here in the reckoning with Ser Owen."

"In fact, I was planning to stay here again tonight, and continue my journey tomorrow morning, poorer but wiser," Sirana told him. "So if you can pay the tally on that basis, I'd be grateful."

Mantle watched as Sirana got up from her chair and stretched; her hair might not be the solid black that it used to be, but her body was still in excellent shape. "With pleasure," he told her. "The money was so lately yours, I have no objections to parting with such a minor part of it."

The landlord bustled in, along with the serving girl. "Ser Mantle," he said, wiping his hands on his apron. "I gather you wish to settle all three reckonings...?"

+ + +

The accounts had all been paid. Mantle and Forner had set off together, aiming to get to a nearby town before sunset, but Sirana, after she had waved them off, was still in the tavern's main room, though she had moved from the card table across to a more comfortable chair against one wall. The room was quiet, except for the drone of a half-drunk fly, the swishing of the young girl's broom, and the distant yells from a few youngsters out in the village. It was peaceful, and normal, and strangely reassuring.

Sirana had closed her eye for a moment, but opened it, and looked across at the serving maid. "Do you do this sweeping every day, youngster?"

The girl stopped, straightened up, and looked at Sirana with a half-smile. "Every alternate day, ma'am. Tomorrow I get to wash and scrub it."

"Lucky girl," Sirana commented. "It all looks extremely well swept now... can you get me a drink... cha or something?" She paused. "And have a cup with me, since Ser Mantle's paying."

The girl gave a little curtsey, still smiling, and headed off to the kitchen. Sirana watched, and stretched lazily. "Dammit, I'm tired," she announced to the empty room. "I used to have rather more vigorous nights, and bounce back as if I'd slept on a king's bed - but years pass, do they not."

It wasn't long before the girl returned, with two pewter mugs and a plate on a board. "here's the cha," she told Sirana. "And since the card-man's paying, let us share some fresh bread rolls, warrior." She set the board down on the table. "Owen made sure to include a few such anticipated, or unanticipated, extras in your tally."

Sirana grinned. "You sound much more animated, now that you've lost that broom, young lady."

"I'll say," she agreed. "But then, I had seven hours sleep last night." She put one mug in front of Sirana, and pushed the plate of rolls towards her.

"Are you Owen's daughter?" Sirana put a hand on her mug, to feel its warmth.

"No, I just work here. I've a bed in the attic."

"And this is the life you're set on?" Sirana sounded genuinely interested.

"Set in, rather. It's long hours, low pay, and I don't like the way some people look at me when they think I can't see them." She sighed, picked up a roll, and dunked its end delicately into her cha.

"So why d'you stay, little one?" Sirana followed her example, and dunked a bread roll into her cha, then nibbled it thoughtfully.

"It's a contract," the girl told her. "Not my idea, but being a runaway would make life a bit complicated. In a few years I'll head for the Golden Cities." She smiled at the thought, of seeing new places, new people, of being out and about in the world.

"You'll be disappointed," Sirana told her, and sipped her cha. "The soil there is sandy, yellow... that's the only reason the area's called 'golden' I'm afraid." Another sip. "But don't let me trample on your ambitions - I had my own, once."

Sirana drank some more of the cha, and ate a couple of rolls that had a filling in them; the meat was cold, slightly under-cooked, left over from last night. Her stomach accepted them easily, and begged for more.

"I've been a mercenary for 25 years," she told the girl. "A bodyguard, a raider, a prisoner of war for a year, second in command of a volunteer company..." She shook her head slowly. "I sound melodramatic, don't I, young one? Hell, my life's melodramatic. Friends have died next to me, or too far away - but I survive."

"It sounds a very rich, interesting life." The girl said, and sipped some cha.

"It was, and few mercenaries have to worry about growing old."

"But surely the money you've been paid..."

Sirana gave a little amused snort. "Oh, much gold has passed through my hands... but it's won too easily, so it seems only natural to gamble it away. As you've witnessed this fine morning."

"After all those years, you have nothing to show for it? That just doesn't seem the least bit fair."

"Oh, it's been a fine career in its way," Sirana said, closing her one good eye. "Excitement, danger, good comrades, fine victories and lavish rewards... a mad, frantic race with mortality." She opened her eye, and looked straight at her companion. "But I'm deathly tired of it now."

The serving maid stood up, with one hand on the table. "You've been risking your life for years in battle, and gambling in taverns like this." Her voice was firmer now. "But now, if you're game, we can change all that here and now." She paused, and looked straight at Sirana. "With just one pack of cards - we can gamble for your life!"

Sirana shivered. This was too much like tales she had heard which tended to end with an innocent party being dragged screaming deep into pools of lava, by less innocent creatures who seemed quite unharmed by such fiery depths. But this wasn't a dark night encounter in the wastelands, this was a sunny tavern room - and the girl was, quite obviously, just a girl.

"You mean, child, that you'd kill me, over the way the cards fell? What are you gambling with - am I to kill you? This is nonsense!"

"This is fate, the serving maid told her. "I must give you no answers, just ask... are you ready?"

Sirana hugged herself against a sudden, unexpected chill. "Look, I don't understand," she began. "I don't trust..." She fell silent for a moment. "This isn't..." And then her voice grew firmer. "What the hell," she said. "I'm ready."

+ + +

The girl took a pack of cards out of a pocket in her apron, and quickly shuffled them, before choosing six of the cards, and putting them face down on the table. She knew which cards they were, but Sirana could only see the six identical backs. "Six cards," she said. "Three Cups, and three Swords. You pick one to decide your suit... and then you pick another." The girl smiled. "If it's the same suit, you win."

Not exactly equal odds, then, with five cards remaining, only two of them from the suit she needed. But then, when had life ever been about equal odds? Sirana watched her own hand as it went to the card at the left of the line-up, and turned it over. "Three of Swords," she said. "So, I must pick another Sword as my next card."

Sirana's hand hovered over the five remaining cards, while the girl, watching, said nothing. "An important moment, then," Sirana said, to break the silence. "I choose..." her hand closed on the middle card, and flipped it over almost casually.

The serving maid picked up the card Sirana had chosen. It was the eight of Cups; she didn't smile, but her eyes widened for a moment, and she looked at Sirana, who sat back in her chair, and then met her gaze, before asking "Do you kill me now?"

The girl knelt down next to her, and put one hand gently on her arm. "What a strange question," she began. "And yet, I sense you would not be too sad if I told you yes." She stroked Sirana's arm gently, as if it was numb and she wanted to restore feeling to it. "Your life is mine now - and it is precious to me. You will teach it to me over the next few weeks... the skills of a warrior, a mercenary fighter, an adventurer."

Sirana struggled to understand. "I stay here, and teach you? But I have no money to pay for my board, and it will surely take many weeks to teach you the skills and tricks, the knowledge you will need."

"Oh, you'll earn your keep, don't worry, with work here in the tavern," the girl told her, allowing herself a little smile. "I'm taking your life for myself, but don't worry too much - because I'm leaving you mine."

+ + +

The days passed. The serving maid learned quickly, duelling with Sirana using sticks, being shown how to wield a bow, and a lot more, including map-reading and the basics of strategy. In the quieter moments, Sirana would tell her of her past adventures, the triumphs and the mistakes, the headlong charges into an enemy stronghold and the desperate escapes from peril. How to be seen as a warrior and not a prize, who to trust, and how to be worthy of the trust of others. It seemed as if Sirana was describing a whole world, and to a young, determined girl, it was glorious.

In the evenings, the roles of teacher and apprentice were reversed, as Sirana put on the apron and billowing skirt of a serving maid, and helped to deliver the food and drink in the tavern. She was shown how to carry a tray properly and safely, how to deal with the more humorous customers, how to remember who was ordering which items, and much more. The tavern's owner Owen helped too, and seemed remarkably tolerant of Sirana's few minor mistakes. It was a busy time, and to her surprise Sirana found that it was all, well, almost enjoyable - a small world of very little importance except to the people who inhabited it.

Finally, Sirana had to admit that she had done all the teaching she could do, told all her tales, and that her pupil was now a proficient swordfighter... that she was ready to set out into her new life. "You really tricked me, didn't you, you little wretch" she told the girl, who was now cloaked, booted, armed with Sirana's weapons, and at the tavern's door. "I guess it's what, somehow, I must have been searching for, even if I didn't know it - so fare you well, young warrior."

"And thank you for arranging your more than adequate replacement," Owen put in, one hand casually on Sirana's shoulder. "Sirana's faced some proper menaces in her time, so I don't think our market day evenings will seem at all scary to her."

"Good times to you," the girl said. "To both of you, together - I see I'm leaving the tavern in safe hands."

Sirana and Owen both gave a little chuckle, and watched as the girl walked off, to join the road to the city, before moving back inside. After all, there was still sweeping to be done, barrels to be tapped, and food to be prepared.

And so the young mercenary strode away into the morning, to begin living the life she had always wanted. She felt good; she was young, healthy, well-trained - and Owen had given her a substantial bonus, which ought to keep her fed and well-lodged until she found some appropriate work. Seeing how Owen and Sirana had begun to look at each other, this generosity from the usually frugal tavern-keeper was not a great surprise.

But still, maybe, if she had had the funds, she should have paid him, she told herself. After all, the whole thing had been his idea...
...........................................................

As a comics character, Redfox, created and drawn by an artist who called himself just Fox, was quite popular. She didn't have an actual origin tale, just striding into her first adventure as barbarian warriors tend to do, so I did a script for the above tale - and Fox liked it enough to draw it, so I guess he approved. It is included in the trade paperback compilation The Book of Redfox - available at your local comics store, um, a while ago, if they actually ordered any.

I didn't actually name our young heroine in the "Fair Exchange" script, so I've kept to that in this adaptation, using the original talk and captions as much as possible. I didn't do much in the way of changing the story, just what one would do to another draft; the landlord Owen had been mentioned in the "the way some people look at me when they think I can't see them" bit, which seemed unfair, given his cunning plan. The major addition, which was easier in a text tale, was Sirana's "an innocent party being dragged screaming deep into pools of lava" thought.

A major difference between a comics script and a text story, or course, is the need to keep the reader clued up on which character is speaking, as there aren't balloons with handy little tails pointing at people's mouths. Here, it wasn't helped by our young heroine not having a name. I used the plain "said" as often as reasonable, or added little bits of business to a paragraph. A character can pause for a moment and smile, which is a lot better than trying to come up with an alternative word for "said." That's known as "said-bookism," which I'm glad to see does get some useful search results (he intoned). Apart from the couple of paragraphs of time-passes-with-training, I always thought the story here was like a little playlet, with the single setting and limited cast of characters.
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Bud Brewster
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PostPosted: Mon Aug 31, 2015 12:05 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

I hope my comments won't sound too critical. If I didn't like the concept (and the writing), I wouldn't be brimming with "helpful" suggestions. ("Gee, thanks Bud. More brimming, fewer suggestions, please." Embarassed )

So, let me say first of all that I love the idea of a warrior who wants big changes in her life, meeting up with a young serving girl with the same wish. As soon as the girl suggested the game of chance I wondered if some sort of switcheroo was in the works (plus the title "Fair Exchange" gave me a big honkin' hint.) Wink

I feel like perhaps the story doesn't quite sell the idea that the tough warrior woman would agree to a game of chance when she didn't even know what the stacks were, or that she would honor the debt by making such a big change in her life when she lost.

Maybe you could establish her deep need for a change with some dialog and inner thoughts during the card came with her friends. Sort of a "I'm getting too old for this" discussion to set up the remarkable deal she makes with the serving girl later. And do the same thing (somehow) with the girl. You know . . . somehow. (I'll leave the detail to you . . .)

In other words, establish the deep need for the change in both characters before the serving girl ever suggests the game of chance.

And about that game of chance: consider the serving girl's line after she won — "Your life is mine now - and it is precious to me." It sounds like something she would say if she'd just saved Sirana's life — and that might be a better way to explain why Sirana agreed to switch places when the serving girl asked her to.

For example, what if one of the card players didn't like loosing, and he attacked Sirana. The serving girl shows a glimmer of her warrior potential and throws a beer bottle across the room to knock a knife out of his hand in time to save Sirana.

Makes a cool mental image, doesn't it? Cool

During the fine description of the Sirana's training as a server, I couldn't help thinking that a tough one-eyed warrior woman wouldn't just suddenly become a busy waitress who catered to the customers without her true personality being part of the mix. I'd love to hear a little about how she commands the respect of the patrons and takes no crap from anybody, occasionally handling drunks by tossing them out the door -- to the cheers of the patrons!

Another cool mental image. James Cameron, eat your heart out.

And the serving girl-turned-warrior might need a little enhancement. Such a drastic change is appealing, but it's hard to believe she could go from sweeping dusty floors to charging across battlefields after a crash course in medieval combat techniques. I know this is clich??d, but what if her reason for wanting to become a fierce fighting female was motivated by a driving need to "find her father's murderer" — or something like that.

In other words, more than just a bold career change — a Quest of Justice (cue the brassy music).

Like I said to start with, if I didn't like the concept (and did I mention the writing?) I wouldn't be having so much fun playing around with "what if it was this way instead."

By the way, is this the artist you mentioned? If so . . . sweet! Very Happy

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Is there no man on Earth who has the wisdom and innocence of a child?
~ The Space Children (1958)


Last edited by Bud Brewster on Tue Feb 20, 2024 7:51 pm; edited 3 times in total
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Custer
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Joined: 22 Aug 2015
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PostPosted: Sun Sep 06, 2015 2:42 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote



Brian Bolland kindly drew that cover for us - some of the top UK artists contributed covers for Harrier Comics, including Dave Gibbons and John Bolton.

Thanks for your comments... it makes it tempting to make a rather longer version of the tale, as opposed to just adapting the comics version... Smile
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