Book 4: Chapter 30: The Importance of a Good Hat

Book 4: Chapter 30: The Importance of a Good Hat

“Come on! Why can’t I go with you?” demanded Miguel. “You always said that having someone to watch your back is important.”

“This ain’t that kinda city, kid,” Colt said, running his hand through his short hair. He’d had the barber back in Ironshore cut it down to little more than a fringe, which was his preferred style. Easier to handle, that way. “You heard your uncle. It’s ‘bout as safe a spot as there is. ‘sides – you need to venture out on your own a bit. Havin’ me or your uncle hoverin’ over your shoulder won’t do you a bit of good. A boy needs his independence as much as he needs guidance.”

Miguel looked like he was going to argue, but then the boy thought better of it. That was as expected. When Colt had first taken the young man under his wing, he’d been a bit unruly and very undisciplined. But he’d latched onto the structure Colt provided, his grip tightening even more after their exile.

That wasn’t to say that Miguel never acted like the teenage boy he was. He certainly did, and often. But he’d learned that when Colt gave instructions, he expected them to be followed, and without complaint.

“Fine. Whatever,” Miguel said. “Maybe Isaak can show me around.”

“Maybe,” Colt allowed. “But that ain’t much different than havin’ me or your uncle ‘round.”

Miguel glared at him.

Colt didn’t waver, though. “And don’t leave the city.”

“But –”

“No buts, kid. It’s dangerous out there. I heard stories about some kinda maneater from a while back. Nobody ever killed it, either. It ain’t hit nobody in a while, but that don’t mean it ain’t still out there. And somebody like you? Without levels? You make a juicy target for a monster like that.”

“We should go back to the swamp,” Miguel said. His cheeks reddened. “To check on the kids. You know, to make sure they’re okay.”

“The kids, huh.”

“Yeah. I thought we should’ve stayed until they had everything they needed. But Uncle Elijah said that he didn’t want to influence their decision,” the young man persisted. “By now, they had to’ve made a choice, though.”

“That’s the only reason you wanna go? To check on the kids.”

“Uh...no. I think the swamp is...uh...cool. With all the mud and...leeches...”

“Right. Leeches. That’s what all the kids’re into these days, eh?”

“I’m not a kid,” Miguel insisted. “I’ll get my archetype any day now.”

“Well, ‘til you do, you’re a kid,” he said. Then, he shook his head and said, “Now go on. Git. Don’t wanna see you ‘til sunset at least. Go get into some trouble. Have a rock fight. Explore. Just be a kid. You ain’t had much opportunity for that kinda thing since...well, since forever.”

“Fine,” Miguel huffed. “Can I at least take a sword, though?”

“Spear.”

“But I don’t like the spear!”

“That’s all you get ‘til you prove you can handle the sword,” Colt said. In truth, Miguel had progressed exceedingly well with his swordsmanship, but Colt had high standards that the young man had yet to meet.

After that, Miguel only argued for a little longer before taking up the spear they’d brought with them, then leaving the hotel’s common room behind. For his part, Colt glanced at the innkeeper, Agatha, and shrugged, saying, “Kids, right?”

“Don’t have to tell me. My boys were a lot worse. At least he listens.”

“Most of the time,” Colt said with a chuckle as he leaned against the bar. Then, he reached up, intending to tip his hat to the elderly woman, but brought himself up short when he remembered that he still hadn’t replaced the one he’d lost back in Easton. “Say, you don’t know of a decent haberdasher ‘round here, do you?”

Colt gave the man his warmest smile. Then, he retrieved a few silver coins from his pouch, saying, “Will this be persuasion enough?”

Markakis cleared his throat, then said, “Yes. I believe it will. Tell me, Mr...”

“Colt.”

“Mr. Colt, tell me –”

“It’s just Colt. Ain’t no Mister attached.”

“Right. Colt. Tell me what you require.”

* * *

Miguel sat on the stoop, idly petting Artemis. The cat had found him the moment he’d left the inn, and she had followed him all the way to Isaak’s house. Of course, the other young man wasn’t around, which had thrown a bit of a wet blanket on Miguel’s plans to enlist Isaak’s help in finding something interesting to do. So, without any other ideas, Miguel had sat on the stoop in an effort to figure things out.

“He lost me on purpose,” he said to the purring cat. The thing was the size of a Siberian husky, which made it the biggest cat Miguel had ever seen. However, the beast acted just like every other cat he’d ever met. “I know he did.”

The cat purred in solidarity.

Or probably because she enjoyed the attention.

“He wouldn’t have been able to if I had an archetype,” he went on. “I saw the stuff Uncle Elijah could do, too. If I had those kinds of abilities, nobody would stop me from doing what I wanted.”

But what did he want?

That was a question that had plagued him ever since he had met his uncle. Sure – Elijah had visited years ago, but those memories were hazy. By contrast, everything that had happened since Seattle was extremely vivid. Elijah was one of the most powerful people in the world. Everyone said that he was at the top of the power rankings that Miguel had never seen.

And he’d gone to Easton and killed Roman.

Nobody had said it outright, but Miguel could read between the lines. Elijah had set out to get revenge, and when he’d returned, the results were obvious.

That had robbed Miguel of purpose. For the entirety of their voyage across the wilderness, he’d imagined himself making Roman pay for what he’d done. He had dreamed of doing so in a thousand different ways, too. But now? That door was closed to him.

So, where did that leave him?

What purpose did he have?

Colt always said that a man needed a purpose, and now, Miguel had none.

He sighed, leaning back on the stoop, propping himself up with one elbow as he looked at the spear he held in his other hand. It wasn’t even a Crude-Grade weapon, which meant that it was next to useless against anything with any degree of power. However, it did have a durability enchantment on it, so at least it wouldn’t snap at the first sign of strain.

“Mom used a spear,” he said to the cat. “I mean, it’s a good weapon. That’s what Colt says. Better reach than a sword. Easier to use, too. It’s what most armies used before guns and stuff. But it just doesn’t feel right.”

Or not completely right, he had to amend. He enjoyed training with all sorts of weapons, but none of them had really grabbed ahold of him. Miguel was at least self-aware enough to recognize that much of the reason he wanted to use a sword was because Colt used one. Otherwise, he felt no real connection to the weapon. The same was true of spears and axes, daggers and bows.

But he needed to learn to focus. Otherwise, he would never become a master with any particular weapon.

Just as he was starting to get lost in thought, he heard a scream from nearby. Instinctively, he shot to his feet and looked around for the source. He saw nothing, but another shout gave him some direction. So, without further thought, he grabbed his spear and sprinted toward the sound.