John watched as Miranda served the patrons at the bar, and he had to admire how she managed to settle even the most eager of men, with nothing but a smile. She was born to do this, there was no doubt about it. John sipped his ale and stared into the fire from the fireplace and frowned. Unlike Miranda, John hated this fucking town. It was hard to dream big, when the most sophisticated being around, was the goddamn monkey the old fortune teller had running rampage, shitting all over her damn store.
All he wanted was to wear silk, and eat silly food he couldn’t even pronounce. Sleep in sheets that didn’t itch, and listen to music that didn’t have a chorus which included a fat sailor.
But here he was, tending to whatever needed done, like tending to the horses from the patrons who decided to stay for the night. Emptying their goddamn chamber pots, and washing the sheets if there had been accidents. And taking the general care for hygiene which Grunt exhibited, it was no wonder people would shit themselves, or their beds, or both themselves and their beds if one were so lucky.
Grunt was a giant, both in height and girth, he was as simple as they come. A huge brute with hands like shovels. But culinary sense like a donkey, and John was quite sure that, was it not for his assistant Liara, he would have poisoned the whole damn lot, and the inn would be not only out of business, but they’d all be wanted by the crown for murder.
Lost in thought he had not noticed Samara before she smacked him over the back of his head. “Get moving, room five and nine, needs to be overturned.”
“Yes, ma’am.” John ducked out of the chair before she could hit him again.
“Get going, boy. Don’t come back until it’s done.” Samara said in a stern voice, snatching the tankard out of John’s hand.
“Yes, ma’am.” John said again, and hurried up the stairs. He had to get out of here, he had to find some way to leave this hopelessly primitive place, where genital warts counted for culture. He shuffled through his keys and opened the door to room five. “Motherfucker.” he growled as he made his way to open the window, taking a deep gulp of the air outside before he turned and looked at the absolutely abysmal mess left. John sighed, and started to gather the shit stained sheets, he walked out on the hall, careful not to be seen by a patron, and down the back stairs reserved for staff. He threw the dirty sheets on the wagon, and picked up a bucket, soda and a mop, hoping that would be enough to clean the floor, he would have to collect the hay and replace that too.
The sun was low on the sky as John finally made his way towards the harbor with his wagon full of dirty sheets. Avoiding all the ladies who did their washing in the day, it wasn’t unusual for John to wash late, sometimes only by the light of his lantern. he had managed to get it all over himself as well so he had to wash his own clothes while he was down there, carrying a pair of clean pants in a bundle tied to the handle, keeping it away from both him and the cargo of the wagon. No point in getting this all over his clean pants, he looked over at the ships by the harbor, and stopped dead staring out at the horizon. That ship, he hadn’t seen that before, it was a huge vessel, and he could see lights, and finally he looked up and saw the skull and crossbones. Holy fuck, pirates? Why in the world would they risk this harbor?
John sighed and looked away from the ship, and walked the last distance to the water’s edge, where some steps were built to allow the ladies to easilier wash their loads. John took the salt and soda, and the washboard and left it by the last step, and then went to get the first load. He placed his lantern down and started scrubbing, mumbling to himself.
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