3x Cloning System: The Fleshmancer's Undead Army is full of Heroes-Chapter 37: The Trench

"We’re looking to buy some horses," Clayton said, "Four of them."

Then, he fished a couple of gold coins from one of the many leather bags within his armor, and placed them on the wooden counter.

"Our horses got sick a week ago, and we had to put them down," He added.

The Inn Keeper looked at the two gold coins for a moment, and studied the king’s head imprinted on the pieces.

"Is this a tip?" He then asked, "You must know that beers cost a silver piece each?"

Clayton was shocked, but he hid it well behind his everlasting poker face. He did not expect the Inn Keeper to be so direct with his questions, and now Clayton even felt a bit dirty, as this conversation quickly shifted into a ’are you trying to corrupt me’ topic.

"It’s a tip," He had to admit, "You’ve been very accommodating so far."

The Inn Keeper’s face didn’t change. His eyes slowly moved on from Clayton, back to the coins.

He looked at the coins for a moment, hands placed over the wooden bar, before he covered the gold pieces with his big, meaty hand, and pulled them away, sliding them in the pocket of his brown, faded vest.

"Why is the young man bald?" He asked, looking at Rufus.

"He’s not that young," Lara said, and then she pushed her lucious, black hair behind her ear. "He’s just childish. The Gods perhaps don’t like him either, so he started losing his hair five years ago."

At last, the Inn Keeper cracked a smile. Subtle, but present.

"The Gods work in mysterious ways," He said.

Clayton let out a light sigh of relief, unnoticeable. He feared that the Inn Keeper read past his lies, and figured out that despite the armor they were wearing, they were not in fact productive members of society.

’Lara can make us all invisible if she pleases, but she can’t be bothered to give us a set of hair?’ He thought, ’Our bald heads nearly blew our facade... of course, she did make this fool believe that she herself had hair.’ 𝒻𝑟𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝑛𝘰𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝘤𝘰𝘮

The Inn Keeper grabbed his attention, wrecking his train of thoughts, as he added, "Drink your beers, and either settle in one of my rooms, or walk on the other side of the village, to the fields. There are plenty of farmers over there who’d love to sell you some young steeds, but don’t go around throwing gold coins at them. They’ll quit farming and head to the city within the day."

"Oh, yes I suppose I’m being too generous," He admitted.

To his surprise, the Inn Keeper then said, "I suggest you walk your horses out of the village, before you fetch the fourth man you didn’t want me to see."

"I have to assume that you don’t want the villagers to see him either," He added.

Clayton was frozen in place. He couldn’t control his facial expressions for once, and his thin lips sunk into a light frown.

’I said four horses, didn’t I?’ He thought, ’This man seems to love to count...’

After fifteen whole seconds of blank staring, with the tension in the air building, the seeds of a fight close to being sown in the ground, Clayton tried his best to remain calm, and at last, answered.

"You’re right," He said, and then took a sip, "Thank you for reminding me. Your beer is strong, I’m having difficulty collecting my thoughts."

"Perhaps you shouldn’t drink and ride, then?" The Inn Keeper let out a light chuckle, defusing the tense situation in an instant. "You’re welcome to spend the night here, travelers, and you won’t have to pay another coin."

"That’s generous of you, but we have to get moving," He said, "We wasted a lot of time this week, it’s tough to travel without horses."

"I suppose," The Inn Keeper nodded, and changed the mood of the conversation for good, "If you’re hungry, I have some boar jerky. Five months old, showered it in salt, but it’s a delicacy that not many of my guests can afford."

"Yes!" Rufus exclaimed, "I’m sick of eating the shit-bricks you called steaks, sir Clayton. I do... *burp* not mean to offend your majesty, but your steaks are shit."

"Majesty?" The Inn Keeper repeated.

"He’s just drunk," Lara said, her voice lazy, "Give him two beers, and he’ll call a cow Her Majesty."

The Inn Keeper chuckled, "I haven’t met many men who’d lose their grip after two beers, I can’t say that I did, but your friend appears weak to me. Perhaps he should eat more meat, more grains, and work in the fields sometimes?"

"Oh, believe me," Clayton’s lips shifted into a smile, "I can’t do much to fix his horrid attitude, but he’s quite good with a shovel."

Lara spat out her drink in response. Other than Clayton, she was the only one in this Inn who understood that joke.

"My goodness, Clayton!" She smacked him on the arm, but was quick to develop a blush afterwards. "That’s rude."

"Why is it rude?" The Inn Keeper asked.

"He used to dig... what he calls, shit canals." Clayton answered through a white lie.

"Oh," The Inn Keeper pulled his head back, "There is no shame in an honest day’s work."

The conversations after that point devolved. They became less comprehensive.

After they chucked down the second round of beers, the Inn Keeper sharing the round with them, conversations either broke out in song, or drowsiness.

Lara dozed off, and took a nap in her chair. Her mouth wide open as if she was a fly-trap.

Clayton started sipping the third glass of beer.

The Inn Keeper’s mustache danced as he joined Rufus in song, a universal strain of words sung by the working man; The Trench.

"And the wenches were clenching as the brothers were trenching,

A ditch to please the King!"

"But the King got distracted,

his soldier compacted like the first stone of his Castle’s great wall!"

"He couldn’t get it up,

His flesh hidden in chub, deeper than the trench!"

"The King gave us a coin, and we went back home, and so is the life of the working man!"