Tales & Treasure Chapter 2

Vidmar - A Stroke of Luck

Start from the beginning - Tales & Treasure Table of Contents

“Why did I take this job?” Vidmar said, wading waist-high in sewage on the outskirts of Basswood.

The smooth, slimy floor of the man-made pond slid underneath his bare feet as he shuffled along, searching for a ring he knew he would never find. The clothespin pinching his nose shut hardly helped contain the acrid stench of urine and fecal matter, but it was better than nothing. Yesterday, he didn’t bring anything to cover his nose and nearly passed out before he even stepped into the thick, green-brown water. Today, he arrived prepared and continued his course, systematically shuffling back and forth to cover every inch of the small pond. He rounded the corner on his third pass when he kicked something hard. 

“Please,” Vidmar said, bending down.

He carefully lowered himself deeper into the water, stretching his neck like a turtle coming up for air as he searched the floor with his hand. The thick slime made it nearly impossible to grab the object. Finally, after several unsuccessful attempts and a great deal of cursing, Vidmar brought his prize to the surface. A smooth, ultra-common, not-at-all-rare rock. He screamed. Birds scattered out of a nearby pine tree, and he threw the stone at them, but as he threw, he lost his footing on the pond floor and fell backward into the waste.

He scrambled to get out, gasping for air as he resurfaced. After he regained his breath, he yelled again. Waste dripped from his nose into his open mouth. He spat before slamming his fist into the water, splashing slimy liquid high into the air. He dropped to his knees. His right knee landed on something sharp. Pain reverberated through his thigh into his hip, but he didn’t dare move. “Please, please, please.” He said as he bent down to search again.

This time, he emerged holding a silver ring with a large topaz stone. “Fucking Darkness. I found it.”

Vidmar laughed as he slid his feet timidly along the pond floor, careful not to fall into the waste and lose his prize. He waded to the shore where his clothes sat and placed the ring next to his leather jacket. His pack lay open on its side, with a few of his limited possessions spilling out near the edge of the pond. A small stone with intricate gold markings teetered on the edge. That was too close. Vidmar could feel his heart in his throat. He put the stone in the bag, pushed it further away from the pond, took several steps sideways, and pulled himself out of the water. He did not want any of the waste getting onto his only set of clothes, so he laid on the shore, naked and exhausted.

---

Ember’s home was a short walk from the pond, just far enough that the smell only reached her home when the wind was blowing southwest, which, fortunately for Ember, rarely happened in Basswood.

She sat on a rocking chair on her porch, knitting what looked like socks or a small hat. “Oh my,” she said as she saw Vidmar approach. “Oh my, you look horrible, oh, and you smell even worse.” She had a glum expression on her face. Yesterday, she hugged him despite the mess, hoping that he had her ring. Vidmar had thought about her look of disappointment all night. It was the only reason he was back today. I would have made it much farther in this world if it wasn’t for my damned conscience.

Vidmar rolled his eyes. The waste still dripped from his hair onto his shoulders, leaving faint streaks as the liquid cascaded down the length of his torso. He was naked but covered himself by carrying his clothes in front of him, the clothespin still attached to his nose. “It’s like I went diving in a pond for of shit for some old women’s ring,” Vidmar said, wiping sewage off his shoulder.

“Did you find it?” Ember said eagerly.

“I’m back at your house, midday, covered in shit because I didn’t find it,” Vidmar said, tossing the ring towards Ember.

She jumped up in nervous excitement, dropping her carefully knitted garment. The ring bounced off her palms and ricocheted towards her feet. “Are you trying to lose it again? This ring is more valuable than your life,” she said as she picked the ring up off the ground.

“Pa used to say, ‘If it hits you in the hands, you should catch it,’” Vidmar said with a smile. “But there you go, one family heirloom returned safe and sound, although it might never smell the same again.” Vidmar unplugged his nose and gagged. “Same goes for me. If you draw me a bath, I’ll take five Kan off the price.” Vidmar hated these bounty-board jobs, but he needed the money. He was completely broke and wouldn’t make it back to Haran without money. Haran. Vidmar shivered at the thought of returning empty-handed. Not again.

“Cold?” Ember asked, smiling. Her tongue poked out of the hole in her teeth. “There is no chance I’m letting you in my home. Take off three, and I’ll give you a few buckets of warm water. You can rinse off back there,” Ember said.  

“Two and a bar of soap with the buckets,” Vidmar said, re-plugging his nose with the clothespin. He winced as the wood pinched his sore skin.        

“Deal,” Ember said, looking at her recovered ring. “I’ll be honest. I would have let you rinse off for free after bringing my ring home, but a deal’s a deal.”

“Damnit,” Vidmar laughed.

After seven buckets of warm water and nearly a whole bar of soap, Vidmar’s skin was raw and pink, but he no longer smelt like a cow’s ass. He dressed and collected his payment from Ember, forty-eight Kan; his usual rate of forty Kan for finding lost objects, a negotiated ten extra for swimming through a pond of shit, and minus two to smell slightly better than a farmhand after a hard day’s work.

With his purse as full as it had been in months and a storm rolling in, Vidmar walked into town towards the Rau Tavern, one of his most frequent stops when he passed through Basswood, but an impulse sent him to Trivial Distractions first. A gust of wind slammed the thick wooden door closed behind Vidmar; glass jars rattled on the desk, nearly falling onto the floor.

“Gil, Heppni, it’s been too long,” he said.

“Would you believe it, Hep, the treasure hunter is back? We heard you were in town yesterday - thought you forgot about us,” the shopkeeper said, pulling the birdcage onto his desk.

“How could I forget about you?” Vidmar said, leaning close to Heppni’s cage. He scratched underneath Heppni’s beak and began searching the shelves of herbs, jars, and miscellaneous trinkets. The wren gently cooed as if urging Vidmar to come back and continue.

“Most people do.”

Vidmar smiled. “You two are the most interesting things in a hundred miles – a talking bird and Gil, the merchant or shopkeeper. I’m not exactly sure I know what you are.”

“Just Gil. Are you looking for anything in particular?” Gil said, joining the search.

“Got any new books?” Vidmar asked.

“Actually,” Gil said excitedly. “I just happened to save one for you. I don’t get a lot of folks in here asking about books, except for this strange, gangly-looking bard who came in a few hours ago - took my only copy of The Lost Forest, but he paid double. Let’s see. Where did I put it?” Gil rifled through drawers in his desk, flinging loose papers into the air as he searched. “Where is it?” He continued his frantic search like he was digging up a buried treasure. “Ah, here it is.” He blew some dust off the worn cover and handed it to Vidmar.

“The Secrets of the Kaharn Desert,” Vidmar read aloud as he examined the book. “Very interesting. I’ve never seen this book before - quite the find, Gil. How did you come by it?”

“A woman traded it to me for a new shirt, three balls of yarn, a knife, and a single Kan,” Gil said, sticking his chest out high, obviously proud of the deal he made. “Can you believe it?”

“What did this woman look like?” Vidmar asked.

“I couldn’t see her face. She wore a long black cloak and kept the hood over her face. She was in and out faster than Heppni can say good morning.”

“Good marning,” the wren repeated.  

Gil smiled and scratched the back of the bird’s head through the cage before dropping in a handful of seeds. The bird fluttered off its post and happily gobbled up its reward. 

It can’t be her. Vidmar raised his eyebrows. “Let me know if this cloaked woman ever comes by again,” Vidmar said, watching Heppni peck at the seeds. Then, he turned his attention back to the book in his hand. “How much?”

“For anyone else, I’d charge twenty, but for you, I could part with it for fifteen,” the shopkeeper said.

“Thirteen and a ball of the same yarn that woman bought,” Vidmar said.

“You’re lucky. I’ve only got one spool left, but I can’t part with the book for less than fifteen. Although, I am willing to throw the yarn in, free of charge,” Gil said, placing the yarn on top of his desk.

“Deal,” Vidmar said, carefully setting the yarn and book into his ragged traveling sack. “It’s always good to see you, Gil. I don’t know when I will be back in town.”

Gil cut him off. “We know. Take care, Vidmar, and stay out of trouble.”

Vidmar nodded and walked out of the shop.

Rain poured on the muddy street—ankle-deep puddles formed in wagon tracks and old footprints. Vidmar weaved across the road jumping over the expanding puddles. A bright flash of light illuminated the dark path. The thunderous boom that followed nearly startled Vidmar into the water behind him, but he was done swimming for the day, maybe for the rest of his life. All he wanted was a warm fire and a strong drink, and the Rau Tavern had plenty of the latter. He shook the excess water off like a dog after a bath and entered the tavern.

The smell of roast chicken and ale floated between dark wood beams and small circular tables. A hazy fog of pipeweed wafted over the mantel and around the bar, hanging like a cloud above the patrons, who crowded around a thin man with unmistakably road-worn clothing. A bard or a peddler? In Basswood? Vidmar thought. The man was clean-shaven, his long brown hair tucked behind his ears. Numerous lines around his hazel eyes hinted that he was older than he appeared; dark bags revealed his exhaustion.

Whatever he was, he captivated the audience so much that no one besides Rane, the bartender, noticed Vidmar. A table with a collection of empty mugs and two missing stools stood close enough to the fire to keep warm but far enough from the group to remain unnoticed. Vidmar motioned Rane with two fingers, a practiced gesture of tavern frequenters that could mean anything from “hello” to “ale” to “goodbye.” In this instance, it meant both “hello” and “ale.” Rane translated it perfectly. He brought a large mug over, sliding it onto the table. The bartender let go too early and the ale nearly toppled over if not for Vidmar’s reaction.  

“Sorry,” Rane whispered as he absently wiped the table with a rag tucked into his apron. He gathered the empty mugs and retreated behind the bar, never taking his eyes off the mystery man. Vidmar sipped his ale and listened as the man began telling a story.

“Montalvo was like any other man, indistinguishable from commoners and the wealthy alike. Place him in a crowd of beggars, and he’d fit in, give him elegant clothing, and he could attend the finest ball in Barna,” the apparent bard said.

Vidmar raised his eyebrows at the mention of Montalvo. Not many people know that name anymore. Who is this bard? He could be useful. What other stories do you know? He thought, fidgeting with the gold-marked stone in his pocket. Vidmar drank his ale, observed the eager crowd, listened to the story, and waited for his chance.