Baker
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Chapter One
A slight breeze whistled through the peaceful garden, blowing cool air on its inhabitants. Regal and proud, a slight man with a thin gold hoop resting on the crown of his head overlooked this beautiful haven. Luscious greens and exotic flowers had been nursed here in the kings’ personal garden for centuries, making the small plot of land far more important to the royal family than the duchies and counties that had also grown alongside their ancestors. Situated within the modest walls of Arundel Castle, the garden commonly attracted many of the royal family members and honored guests, and tonight was no exception.
The servants had scattered tables among the carefully-tended flora, and the flickering glow of the candles merrily lit the enclosure: a wonderful retreat indeed from the bustling marketplace that even at this hour flowed outside the castle and into the darkened streets of the town of Arundel.
Turning back to his family and dinner mates, the king wondered if the gods could possibly bless him more than they had…
The man known only as Baker strode into the tavern, tossing his dusty and worn leather coat over the chair nearest to the bar. The grizzled bartender and owner of the dive, recognizing his striking features and impressive, broad-shouldered stature, slid over his largest tankard of ale. Taking the vessel in his scarred and calloused hand, the newcomer took a swig and gave the barkeep an approving nod before settling into his drink. Nursing his cool beverage, he sat and rested his leaden arms and legs after another grueling day at work, carrying out light conversations with the many townspeople who came and went.
As the light of the afternoon faded to dusk, all but a few of the most avid bar goers left the tavern. The cleaning maid found a pair of men seated at a table, gulping down the dregs of their drinks. Suspiciously, they were hunched low over the solitary low burning candle that occupied the center of their table and muttered back-and-forth; they had acted this way for quite some time now, and the woman was by now itching to be rid of them. As soon as the maid came within earshot of the pair, the larger, burlier man jerked his head toward her, cutting off the speech of his hooded companion.
All this Baker warily watched: every moment, every movement, every sound. He continued to feign sips of the drink and converse with the bartender as he quietly and cautiously observed the happenings on the other side of the cozy room.
The two men at the table turned toward the serving maid and, as the hooded man swiveled his head, a slight glint could be seen from under his cloak as the soft illumination of the candle caught something on his head. She had hardly begun to consider what could be the cause of this before he snatched the rough material with supernatural speed; he drew it closer around his scalp and looked blankly at the woman as if nothing had occurred. The nature of the look caused her to sweep the incident from her mind, and she continued about her duties as usual.
This detail was not so easily forgotten by the observer at the bar, however, and he made a mental note of the curiosity.
After refusing the offer of refills and food from the maid, the shady pair turned back to their conversation. They continued to glance over every so often at the bar and its only remaining occupant: the very man who was carefully keeping track of their movements. The bartender – to whom confrontations were no mystery – saw through the strangers’ façade of two casual businessmen and also Baker’s distracted small talk. Instead, he recognized opponents dancing around and feeling each other out. To the bartender, they seemed to be making sure that Baker had not left his seat without their noticing: something he found suspicious but attributed to his imaginative mind and brushed off. He was used to odd behavior as the proprietor of a somewhat shady establishment, and nothing significant had ever happened in the past.
Meanwhile, Baker prepared for the worst. He swigged the remainder of his drink, casually tossing down several copper coins to cover the bill and a modest tip. Afterwards, he clumsily slung his jacket over his shoulders and headed out the door. Into the pitch-black streets of the town he went, staggering and swaying to exaggerate his intoxication.
Once outside and into the cold, dark town there and out of sight of the tavern’s final few occupants, he dropped his act and waited just outside the only exit of the tavern. Baker peered through the frosted windows of the building, tensing as the pair of strangers seated at the table drew short, curved daggers from their cloaks. Bowling over tables, chairs, and the employees of the bar with much commotion, they sprinted to the door.
The newly armed companions emerged through the thick wooden doorway and were immediately leapt upon and assailed by heavy blows. After a hard kick was landed directly on his wrist, the larger man allowed his blade to drop, and it clattered on the cobblestones until it came to a rest at the pointed tips of Baker’s hardy leather boots. A further swift kick felled the man; he fell to his knees, clutching his wrist that now hung at an unnatural angle.
Baker quickly snatched up the fallen dagger, wheeling to face his remaining opponent. He speedily struck forward and made a sloppy slash at the hooded man. The stranger easily parried and refrained from attacking himself. He instead settled back into a mobile, defensive stance and waited for Baker to strike again.
Untrained in formal combat, Baker attempted all of the few strikes he knew of, but to no avail. The hooded man easily blocked everything and smugly sneered at Baker. Desperate and exhausted by the constant motion, Baker made a wild, desperate charge forward, in an effort to cut downward onto his foe’s head or neck. This tactic rather backfired, however: the hooded man simply stepped aside lightly, giving Baker a slight nudge past him. He shifted his weapon so he was holding the wicked blade in his opposite hand with the handle presented as a club and shortly ended the fight by giving Baker several sharp raps to the back of the head with the pommel of the dagger. Lights flashed in front of Baker’s eyes, and he sank to the ground.
< Message edited by Bballman23 -- 9/21/2008 10:24:56 >
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