The Young Master Caused Trouble Again

Halfpenny set the wooden basin full of clear water on the small square table in the room and softly said to Roger, "Young Master Roger, Madam Kate agreed to lend you a horse, but she wants to charge you one shilling a day in rent."

"One shilling?" Roger was startled.

"It is a little expensive. Shall I go speak to Madam Kate again?" Young Master Roger had asked her to handle something, yet she had failed to do it well, and Halfpenny's face reddened slightly.

Taking advantage of someone's plight to name an outrageous price—Roger had done plenty of that himself in the past, so it was not hard to understand. "Forget it. One shilling it is."

Roger plunged his head into the clear water and held his breath, then raised it and wiped away the droplets, refusing the greasy face cloth Halfpenny offered him.

The cold water cleared Roger's head considerably. He picked up the sleeveless black leather armor that had been scrubbed clean from the armchair and put it on. The armor had likely been boiled in beeswax. Though it bore plenty of scars from blades and swords, its surface remained fairly smooth. It had not been made for him, but the skirt fell just to his upper thighs, so it fit reasonably well.

He could not expect much protection from the thing, but it was still better than nothing but a linen robe.

After putting on the armor, Roger had Halfpenny help him buckle on the belt bearing the battle axe, dagger, and hunting knife. He paid no attention to the little chest-squeezing, eye-winking antics she made while fastening it.

He took the Viking battle axe from the leather loop on his belt, gripped it, and swung it twice from side to side.

Its crescent-shaped blade was about six inches long. The axe head was flatter and thinner than an ordinary axe, suited for chopping and killing, and bore several blurred patterns.

The entire battle axe was about twenty-five inches long, less than seventy centimeters, yet it was light, balanced, quick in a swing, and fit his hand perfectly. Roger slid it back into his belt and immediately felt several degrees bolder.

When he finished preparing and came down to the hall on the first floor, Baldhead and Ponytail were already seated at the long table beneath the stairs. The two had probably gotten little sleep the previous night.

The food on the table was all leftovers from yesterday's kitchen: three bowls of stewed meat and mashed peas, several chunks of black bread, and half a jar of ale. Even such a breakfast had Baldhead and Ponytail wolfing it down.

Baldhead, with his mouth stuffed full of bread, had changed into a grayish-brown coarse cloth tunic. Roger had caught sight of a servant wearing the green woolen shirt Baldhead had thrown aside yesterday, so Baldhead had evidently stripped that servant of his clothes again.

Roger had no intention of bothering with such trifles and simply walked to the head of the wooden table and sat down.

"Young Master Roger, you're up? Hurry and eat while it's hot." Baldhead eagerly poured ale into the cup before Roger.

Roger glanced at the two of them as he picked up the cup. Both had bloodshot eyes.

Roger set down the cup. "I've solved the horse problem. Madam Kate has a cart horse. It can be ridden with a saddle on it. Once you finish eating, go find the groom and get out before dawn breaks."

Baldhead immediately felt that Young Master Roger was truly capable. With his mouth full of bread, he flattered him, "Young Master, you really are amazing. Even Madam Kate is willing to help you."

Roger did not explain to them that renting the cart horse cost the astronomical price of one shilling a day.

"The poison, though, will be difficult. Think about it too. How can we find poison deadly enough within half a day?" Roger had racked his brains through the night, searching his memories with all the strength of creation, yet he truly had no idea where to find deadly poison. And that happened to be the most crucial thing in the dangerous plan.

The two hooligans scratched their heads raw but still could not think of anywhere to get poison capable of killing someone. It should be available in Ayrshire or Argyll on the mainland, but where was there time now?

"Forget it. There's still some time. I'll think of something." Roger lowered his head and began working on the black bread on his wooden plate.

After hurriedly swallowing two bites, Baldhead rose to say goodbye. He also wanted to get out before the sky fully brightened. If pirates really were watching outside the town, the darkness would give him more cover.

"Wait." Roger put down the half loaf in his hand and reached to untie the dagger in its black sheath from his belt.

"Take it for protection. If you truly run into danger, save your own life first." The black-sheathed dagger taken from the pirate leader's corpse had a thin, narrow blade and was far shorter than the hunting knife—a complete showpiece. Roger was more accustomed to blades and axes, and there was no use keeping this ornament. It would be better to give it to Baldhead to bolster his courage.

Baldhead did not see it that way. From childhood to adulthood, aside from his half-blind grandmother, no one had ever truly cared whether he lived or died. His throat choked up. "Young Master Roger, even if I have to give up my life, I'll get this done for you."

As he spoke, Baldhead tied the dagger to the rope around his waist and turned to leave.

A rope was not a belt; it could not hold the dagger's sheath cord in place. It dangled behind Baldhead's backside in a ludicrous fashion. Even so, he did not forget to wrap up and carry the black shirt and trousers he had acquired yesterday, clearly intending to change back into them once he left the town.

Yet as Ponytail watched Baldhead's resolute departing back, an odd trace of envy rose in his heart.

Seeing Ponytail's envious gaze, Roger said, "That thing isn't even as good as the pointed knife in your boot."

Then he added, "Once we get through this ordeal, I'll get you a proper set of weapons."

Roger looked at Ponytail's cloak and boots. "You can't wear that cloak and those boots when you infiltrate the pirate nest. You'll have to leave the pointed knife behind too."

"Young Master Roger, I thought about it all night. What if those pirates don't trust me and lock me up right away? What if those vicious bandits refuse to drink the wine I poisoned?"

Roger knew that this half-brave, half-timid Ponytail still lacked confidence. "Are you truly afraid of those pirates?"

Ponytail was somewhat embarrassed. "Y-yes, a little. Those fellows kill people all the time."

"That's exactly right. You really are afraid of them, so you went to seek refuge with them. That makes it real."

"Am I not now in a desperate situation, finding every step difficult?" Roger asked again.

"Y-yes."

"Then because you were unwilling to die alongside me, you chose to abandon me. Is that not true?"

"No, no, Young Master Roger. Though I, Earl, am only a rogue and a street thug, I am still a loyal man..."

"Brother Earl, I know you're loyal, but those pirates don't. So they won't find anything strange about you joining them now."

"Once you get there, tell them that Baron John had long been plotting this, and that White-faced John is sending people everywhere to recruit islanders. They will naturally verify what you say."

"Then, as planned, stir up discord between the third leader and the second leader."

"A lie mixed with truth cannot be doubted."

Ponytail steadied himself and thought it over for a while. It really was so. Besides, he had old ties with many of the pirates. At worst, he would take another vicious beating when he entered. To him, that was not even worth calling a problem.

"As for the poisoning, you can do it like this..." While dealing with his breakfast, Roger taught Ponytail several underworld tricks for poisoning and drugging people that he had seen or heard of.

Before they knew it, the church rang its first bell.

The morning sun slowly rose, and the sky gradually brightened. Yet Brodick remained silent. The townsfolk, who had spent yesterday trembling with fear, still dared not open their doors.

On the empty streets of the market town, Bitter Melon Face, his expression heavy with worry, rode a blue mule while leading a mixed-breed horse toward the Red Mill in the center of town.

Arriving before the Red Mill, he gripped two reins in his left hand and urgently pounded the wooden door with his right, making the red lamp beneath the lintel shake without stop.

A servant opened the gate.

"Quick, call Young Master Roger out. I'm his family steward." Bitter Melon Face's voice was full of urgency.

Yesterday afternoon, before the sun had set, the young groom Igo had hurried back to the manor with a donkey carrying Young Master Louis.

From the young groom, who had been frightened nearly speechless, the steward learned that Young Master Roger had caused a catastrophe big enough to topple the heavens in Brodick. He had sent word telling the steward to seal up the manor and take refuge, and had also ordered him to immediately gather the strong tenant farmers and serfs, issue them clubs and farm tools, and have them guard the manor residence.

When Madam Mary heard the terrible news, she fainted on the spot. To prevent pirate retaliation, Bitter Melon Face hurried to gather the strong tenant farmers and serfs into the manor residence to defend it. By the time Madam Mary awoke and began crying to heaven and earth, it was already deep into the night.

Madam Mary then learned that Roger had not even gone to Baron John's castle for refuge, and she cried through another night. Before dawn today, she had forcibly ordered the old steward to come to Brodick and bring Roger back to the manor. At least the manor had a sturdy tower fortress and loyal servants and tenant farmers.

"...Young Master Roger, just come back with me. These legs of mine won't survive this. Please, for the sake of my serving the Colin family for half my life, at least spare this worthless life of mine!" The old steward's voice carried a sob. His only son had died in battle two years ago, and his daughter-in-law had abandoned her three-year-old son and run away. He and his old wife were raising the little grandson, yet he still had to worry every day over this devil of a young master. He had become the most bitter bitter melon in the world.

Roger suddenly felt some pity for the old fellow, already half in the grave. In barely over a month, he had tormented the old man until he no longer looked human.

Roger thought that if he could truly survive this ordeal, he would definitely arrange a few acres of land for the old fellow, along with two tenant farmers, so he could enjoy a few comfortable days being waited upon.

Driving away those stray thoughts and steadying himself, Roger raised his head. "I can't go back." There was not the slightest room for negotiation in his tone.

"If I hide back at the manor now, I'll be pushing everyone in Milkhouse Manor—even everyone on Allen Island—into hell." Though he had already pushed Allen Island into hell.

"I'm going to get rid of those sea raiders who plague every corner and give the people of Allen Island an answer." Roger's voice was not loud, yet to Bitter Melon Face's ears, it sounded like thunder.

After standing stunned for a long while, Bitter Melon Face shouted, "Young Master Roger, you've truly set your heart on killing me."

With bloodshot eyes bulging red, Bitter Melon Face flung away the reins in his hand. "Since death awaits either way, I might as well stay here and die with you. At least when the master returns, he may remember my loyalty and leave a way for my blind old wife and grandson to live."

With that, Bitter Melon Face dropped onto the ground before the Red Mill's gate and buried his head in his hands, weeping loudly. "My son died on the battlefield, and we couldn't even recover his body. What a bitter life this is..."

Roger stood frozen at the mill gate, momentarily at a loss over what to do.