Free Lunch

"Master Roger, can we eat now?"

In the open space before the Red Mill's gates in Brodick, a large deep iron cauldron bubbled and hissed atop a tripod.

Bitter Melon Face added firewood to the bonfire beneath the tripod with a bitter expression, while the girl Halfpenny stirred the cauldron back and forth with a long ladle. The bone-and-offal soup had simmered until its rich fragrance spread everywhere.

Beside the cauldron, several large piles of long, hard loaves were stacked on a counter made from broken door planks. Three tall stacks of wooden bowls stood neatly nearby. One-Eye and his helper, each holding a kitchen knife, had already cut more than a dozen long loaves into roughly even chunks.

Near the cauldron and counter, over a dozen local loafers, idlers, and snot-nosed children had been waiting with wooden bowls and earthen basins for quite some time. Their eyes had not left the cauldron for an instant.

Although news that Master Roger was offering a free lunch before the Red Mill had spread through the town, most townsfolk who knew of yesterday's upheaval still did not dare leave their homes. They did not dare greedily partake of the free lunch Master Roger had laid out.

Roger had strained his young back today.

The sun had climbed above the rooftops, and the church bells had long since rung, yet not even a ghost of the half of Allen Island's residents Baldhead had sworn would come was in sight.

Roger had truly underestimated the extreme negative impact his terrible reputation had left across the island.

News of how he had beaten and killed pirates in town yesterday had likely spread already. Who would dare come to Brodick to die over a free meal at a time like this?

"Master Roger, it's already past noon. How about letting the fellows who arrived first start eating?" From several paces away, the stallkeeper One-Eye asked with a fawning smile, both delighted and afraid.

The tragedy at the Red Mill yesterday had spread throughout the town. At the time, he had just packed up his stall and returned to the rundown district at the edge of town. At first, the rumors said that Master Roger had fought with a customer in the Red Mill over a prostitute and accidentally killed the man.

Later, people said that Gary, the village head of Luo Ke Lanzha, had brought people into town to seek revenge and fought with him, whereupon Roger killed one man on the spot.

It was not until evening that the exact news came out: before everyone's eyes, Master Roger had killed the notorious giant bandit of the island's north, Sea Wolf, with a single blow.

That truly frightened everyone out of their wits. If it had merely been an ordinary dispute that ended in murder, at worst he could pay the other party a great pile of silver coins to settle it. Given the Campbell Lineage's influence on the island, no one would dare pursue the matter too deeply.

But that villain had actually provoked pirates and killed their chief leader in public. That was a disaster that could wipe out the entire island.

That night, the fruit peddler next door to One-Eye hurriedly took his wife and children into the castle to seek refuge.

One-Eye had originally wanted to take his wife and daughter into the castle as well, but he worried that the pirates would ruin the iron cauldron, cooking utensils, and remaining ingredients at home.

So after sending his wife and daughter into the castle, One-Eye shut all his doors and windows tight and spent the night guarding the place with a short club in his arms.

The danger still lingered today, and One-Eye had not planned to set up his food stall. Yet just after dawn, a girl from the Red Mill came to his door with Bitter Melon Face.

When he learned that they wanted to hire him to cook cauldron meals for Master Roger, he had rejected it from the bottom of his heart.

Unfortunately, they kept raising the price, eventually offering six pence in wages for half a day, with ingredients paid separately.

In ordinary times, that wage alone was roughly his net earnings for two or three days. One-Eye could only agree reluctantly, though he demanded two pence upfront as a deposit.

"Master Roger?" One-Eye squinted his one eye and squeezed out an ugly smile.

Roger was lazily reclining beneath a lamp by the Red Mill's gatehouse. The chair beneath him, made for customers with particular tastes, looked remarkably like a later-generation reclining lounge chair. Roger could not help marveling at the astonishing wisdom of the ancients after food and drink had filled their bellies.

The bottle in his hand was already empty, yet only a few townsfolk hoping for a free meal stood in the open space before him. Roger could not help feeling a wave of disappointment.

Just as he was about to smash the empty bottle in his hand, several bare-bottomed children came running from the end of the street, shouting, "They're coming! They're coming! We can eat now! We can eat now!"

The disappointment in Roger's heart was immediately yanked up. The dispirited crowd before the Red Mill suddenly grew excited. They had worked for an entire morning, and it had not all been for nothing after all.

Everyone turned toward the southern street and waited with their hearts in their throats for quite some time. Yet all they saw were several farmers carrying pitchforks and clubs, cautiously making their way over. Even as they walked, they kept looking around vigilantly, as though they had barged into enemy territory.

The hearts that had just been lifted were smashed heavily back down.

What the fuck is this? Roger cursed inwardly. If he had known, he should have slipped away under cover of darkness yesterday, seized a small boat, and rowed to the mainland. Who could have found him then?

As Roger thought this, one farmer at the front had already approached the Red Mill. Seeing that the man was carrying a weapon, several townsfolk stepped aside.

The farmer was in his thirties, his dark skin gleaming and his forehead full of wrinkles. The long pole in his hands had clearly been removed from an iron hoe at home.

He nervously tested the waters with Bitter Melon Face. "M-M-Milord... I heard... there's food here at noon... f-for free."

Perhaps he was too nervous, or perhaps he did not quite believe it himself, but the farmer stammered through every word.

Bitter Melon Face turned his bitter old face and glanced at Roger on the lounge chair. Roger reclined sideways, staring at the sky, and impatiently waved a hand to signal that he should handle it himself.

"My Master Roger has taken pity on you. Any islander who arrives by noon can have one free meal." After saying that, Bitter Melon Face took a wooden bowl from the counter and handed it to Halfpenny, who ladled in a scoop of thick soup.

"Give him a piece of bread," Bitter Melon Face said to One-Eye on the right without even lifting his head.

The charcoal-black farmer accepted the wooden bowl and bread. Staring at the meat soup with a thick layer of oil floating atop it, his eyes blinked continuously. "Th-this is really for me to eat?"

"Take it and get lost." Bitter Melon Face was on the verge of collapse.

"Milord, does everyone who comes to town get a free lunch? And those who dare join the group fight get extra reward money?" Now that the farmer had truly received food, he no longer stammered.

Bitter Melon Face gave an impatient grunt, then suddenly sensed something wrong and pressed, "What group fight?"

The charcoal-black farmer had already slipped out of the crowd. While drinking the meat soup, he shouted something at the other farmers waiting behind him for an answer.

Those farmers immediately turned around and ran back down the street they had come from.

Everyone before the Red Mill was baffled again.

At that moment, Roger seemed to understand something. He slowly rose and turned his gaze toward the southern street entrance.

A moment later, a noisy clamor came from the south.

From the sky, one could see more than a hundred men and women crowding the road outside Brodick, arriving from every corner of Allen Island.

Most carried wooden bowls and ladles in their arms. Besides their eating utensils, a few also carried iron shovels, long sickles, pitchforks, and flails. One old fellow, who staggered with every step, had even brought out the axe he used to chop firewood at home.

The surging tide of people rushed toward the temporary food stall before the Red Mill.

To the south of town, groups of islanders were still hurrying along the road leading to Brodick.

Seeing the sun already hanging high overhead, they feared that the free lunch would soon be snatched clean, and their steps unconsciously quickened again...

The open space before the Red Mill's gates had been overrun by hundreds of islanders. Men and women, young and old, the frail and sick, widows, widowers, and lonely souls—before the Red Mill had become a refugee camp.

Those who had yet to receive their free meat soup and bread kept squeezing toward the stall, while those who had already gotten theirs tried to force their way out of the crowd. Unrestrained naughty children chased and played around the edge of the open space. It was complete chaos.

One-Eye and his helper were already sweating profusely. Halfpenny had called over her sisters from the mill to help distribute food. Having not seen such liveliness in a long time, the prostitutes were delighted to join in the fun.

The Red Mill's gates were tightly shut. Only two figures remained in the empty hall.

"...Who told you, you bastard, to go changing the plan however you pleased? A group fight with the northern barbarians? Why didn't you tell them they were going north to pick up gold?" Roger could not help kicking Baldhead, who was crouched in the corner, several more times.

As Baldhead took the kicks, he shrank farther into the corner, yet he did not forget to raise his head and offer a fawning smile. "Wasn't I worried we wouldn't have enough hands? Look, isn't this pretty good? Half of Allen Island is here now."

Roger was so angry he nearly laughed. Just as he was about to kick him a few more times, the mill's door creaked open, and the noise outside immediately flooded in.

Bitter Melon Face hurriedly turned around and shut the door, blocking out the racket. Wearing his bitter expression, he walked over to Roger.

"Master Roger, there are at least three hundred islanders outside, with more stragglers still arriving. I've arranged for several farmers I know to go door to door through town buying ingredients. We might be able to muddle through."

Roger had already lowered his foot. With a grave expression, he asked Bitter Melon Face, "How many able-bodied men are there?"

Bitter Melon Face shook his head. "It's too chaotic outside. There's no way to count them clearly."

"I took a rough look. Excluding the elderly, weak, women, and children, there are fewer than sixty strong men capable of barely defending the castle and town. The lords took the able-bodied men away to war. The men left on the island are either half-old men or half-grown boys."

Roger sighed softly. "Pick the tallest among dwarfs. There's no other way now. Go gather those dozen or so strong men and tell them their young master is choosing warriors to hand out reward money."

"Also, tell everyone there'll be another free dinner of wheat porridge when the sun sets behind the hill. Those who want to eat can stay and wait."

"Master Roger?" Bitter Melon Face could not help wanting to object. Today's free lunch had already cost quite a bit of money.

Roger raised a hand to stop him. "This is a time to trade money for lives. We cannot be stingy. Go to the castle and borrow several sacks of flour from White John. Tell him I'm borrowing it personally. He won't refuse."

Bitter Melon Face hesitated as though he wanted to speak, then left the Red Mill with an even more bitter, dejected face.

At some point, Baldhead had gotten to his feet and shuffled over to Roger's side. "Master Roger, don't worry. I've also gathered more than a dozen warriors brave enough to fight. They're all experts at brawling."

Roger raised his palm. Looking at Baldhead's wretched, fawning smile, he gently lowered it again. "Fine. Go gather your rice buckets—uh, warrior brothers—and wait for me to choose among them."

Baldhead looked as though he had been granted amnesty. He slipped around Roger and scurried out of the Red Mill, bowing and nodding all the while, carrying with him a whiff of cow dung.

Roger sighed softly. "I hope Ponytail's side proves more capable..." Then he too walked out of the Red Mill.