Vengeance Upturned

Vengeance Upturned - Chapter 4

Two days later, Henrietta went to the open marketplace where she was to meet with Martha, the merchant that hired her. As she approached the woman, who was about twenty season cycles older than herself, with greying copper hair framing a round, slightly crinkled face, the older lady’s grey eyes lightened with relief. In their short interaction when they had discussed their arrangement, Henrietta had learned that Martha held no prejudices and expected the same from everyone she surrounded herself with.

“There you are, lass,” Martha said.

“Aye, I did say I would travel with you,” Henrietta responded, followed by a quirk of an eyebrow.

“So you did, but you wouldn’t be the first to… change your mind about traveling in these times.”

Henrietta nodded in understanding. The danger of traveling further south compared to the relative safety of the north, brought a secret smile to her face. The anticipation, the unknown, the threats, and the peril she cherished and welcomed with open arms, for it made her feel again beside that dull ache in her heart.

 A young man came out of a store and handed Martha a packed burlap bag.

“Thank you,” Martha said as she hoisted the bag over her shoulder.

Henrietta followed the older lady and beheld the morning bustle of a town in recovery. Wary glances were shared among the people as well as encouraging smiles, but no children ran along, laughing and playing.

“You’ll be riding up front with me, on the wagon,” Martha spoke as they neared her two wagons filled with trading goods.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Some rules for you to abide: I expect you to keep your head in the job through the whole journey. When we get there, if you want to have some fun with one of my boys, go ahead, but not during the trip. And you’ll get paid the amount we discussed. Twenty percent now and the rest upon arrival in Atrep. Also, I’ll make sure you’re well fed on the way, no charges there. We’ll be making one night stop. There’s an old barn where we usually rest, and you’ll be taking night-watch shifts with the others, two hours each.” Martha turned to face Henrietta when they reached the wagons.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You don’t talk much. I like you already, now… Let me introduce you to my little crew. That’s Mason,” Martha said as she pointed to a man, not much younger than Martha herself, with blonde short-cropped hair, and his narrowed cold glare scrutinized Henrietta. His leather armor was well worn and abused, and tucked at his belt, on the right hip, was a sheathed short sword, and a long dagger on the other.

“This here is Etta, she’ll help keep us safe on our way. And you girlie, don’t mind Mason. He’s a seasoned warrior, been with me for a few years now, but don’t let him scare ya. He’s actually a softie,” Martha winked, and chuckled when Mason grunted at her while walking away to help load up the last wagon.

“Etta, this no-good waste of air is Noah,” the older woman introduced and shook her head, a soft smile dancing on her lips. Noah had tussled black hair, sparkling green eyes, and all his front teeth accounted for, white and shiny.

“Oh, you know you love me Martha,” the man, around Henrietta’s age, winked at the older woman, and then turned to appraise Henrietta. His gaze slid up her body until he reached her face. Quick in schooling his obvious shock at her appearance, he assessed her body again and then smirked flirtatiously. “Aren’t you a pretty little thing, with a big sword and all, you like playing with swords, eh?”

“No, thank you,” Henrietta said.

Noah frowned. “No thank you what?”

“I don’t want to play with your sword,” she threw back making Martha laugh out loud. “I mean, you have a mighty big sword there,” Henrietta looked at the weapon sheathed in a scabbard strapped on his back. She really hated men like him, thinking women naïve and taking advantage of them. Her gaze slid to the front of his pants. “But I wonder if you know how to wield it properly.” Martha laughed some more at Noah’s stunned face and then Henrietta took one step further across the proverbial line, “Hmmm… let me guess, a bastard sword, how fitting.” Henrietta smirked back.