Bob The Innkeeper 20 Chapter 20 New Boots And Attempted Assassination

Stepping out into the street, Bob intended to find his father as soon as possible, in order to inform him of all of his findings concerning the permits, but the water seeping into his left boot distracted him. Pausing at the corner of the magic store, he lifted his foot and saw with dismay that his boot had cracked along the sole. Glancing down the now busy street, he spied the boot maker's store and decided he probably needed to check on the boots he had ordered for the kids, and get himself a new pair as well.

Making his way through the early morning throng, a man b.u.mped into him roughly then gave him a confused look before rus.h.i.+ng off. Bob looked after him, feeling that nothing was stolen, or added to his person. With a shrug he continued on to the boot maker, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him.

"Good morning, Bob!" greeted the owner, Blaine.

"Good morning, Blaine," he responded.

"I'm a.s.suming you're here for the order you put in for boots? Your kids are all over this city, so I know you're needing them with the weather getting colder."

Bob chuckled, and nodded. "Their feet are going to keep growing, so I hope your boots last until spring."

"No worries, my wares are far better than my brother's."

He turned and started pulling pairs of boots out of bins under the shelves he had running the length of the back wall.

"You have a brother who sells shoes?"

"Oh, yes. He only caters to the n.o.bles though. Did you know that Lord Richmond's daughter needs a new pair every week? Apparently, she refuses to wear anything but silk slippers. My brother can put up with that c.r.a.p, but not me. If I have someone come through my doors with a ridiculous order like that, I want to have the enjoyment of kicking their crazy b.u.t.ts back out my door."

Bob raised an eyebrow. He had no idea Clark suffered such expenses for his daughter. "Does she have sensitive feet? An injury or some such that requires such shoes?"

"Oh, no! She's just a spoiled rotten n.o.ble kid, just like all the others born to money. They wouldn't now how to survive a day outside on the streets if forced into it. My brother enjoys the money, though, and knows just how to cater to their crazy requests."

"Well, I a.s.sure you, my requests aren't as crazy," said Bob, looking over the multiple pairs of boots. "Do you mind if I have the kids come by and try them on, to make sure they fit? That would save me from having to carry them all back by myself."

"Of course! I trust you, Bob. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have been able to pay my taxes this month. I fear the rumors of a tax increase may be true for next month. You don't happen to have more kids needing more boots, do you?"

"What do you mean there's going to be a tax increase?" asked Bob. His father paid his taxes for him, but if they went up, everyone would be affected.

"Well, it seems stupid to me, as everyone's still trying to recover from that horrid plague, but the City Lord, and Lord Richmond have been talking about needing to raise taxes to pay for the coming festival, as the King is supposed to be coming by."

"I've heard that the king is coming, but I haven't heard anything about a festival."

"Well, the way I heard it, is that the festival was a recent thing, planned by Lord Richmond, to celebrate the prince's birthday. I'm not sure how the people are going to handle that, but I suppose as long as there's plenty of free ale, no one will complain until later."

Bob thought about what all he would have to do, to prepare for such an event, and almost forgot about his boot needing mended.

"Blaine, could you do something about my boot? It's my only pair. I probably need a new pair, but I know that it takes time. Could you mend it so that it lasts until a new pair is ready?"

He looked over the boot carefully, while Bob stood with one foot bare to the cold.

"I'll mend it for free if you buy two pair. Otherwise, the cost will be 2 silver to mend it."

Bob thought about that. It wouldn't hurt to get two pair, since a new pair of boots went for 3 silver, and these were starting to get a bit tight. "Alright, when do you think you could have the two pair ready?"

"Give me a week, and I should have them both ready. I can have this mended in fifteen minutes."

Bob shook his head at the time difference, then watched as Blaine proved why he was worth the money. Removing the broken sole, he quickly measured out a new one on a piece of thick st.u.r.dy leather, before taking his shears and cutting it out and reattaching the new sole to the boot. Before leaving, Bob let Blaine trace his feet onto a piece of leather and then he paid and left.

Two blocks later, Bob spied a firewood merchant. Thinking about how the pile of wood at his store was dwindling, he decided to head over and talk to him.

"Good morning, do you deliver wood over near Poorman's Graveyard?" asked Bob, getting the attention of the old man.

"Why there?" asked the man, his words particularly slurred as he had very few teeth left.

"I run a store over there, and I'm needing to arrange regular deliveries of firewood."

The man's dark eyes lit up and he smiled wide, allowing Bob to count the three remaining teeth in his head. "You own the soup shop? Why didn't you say so? I love that place! Of course, I can deliver wood. How often, and how much are you needing?"

Bob thought about that for a moment. If there was a particularly bad storm, he would need firewood for several days. Plus, he was fixing to need wood for the kitchens and the dining hall.

"I think I would like a week's worth at a time, and I will have four fires going? Maybe more. Could you stop by tomorrow and we can work out the details?"

"For that much wood, I sure can. Thank you, sir!" said the man, hefting another load of wood from his wagon and heading into the store they were standing before.

As Bob turned back towards his father's nearest store, he spied him entering the business, and hurried to catch up to him. Just before he reached the door, the man who had b.u.mped into him earlier, stepped up and barely hiding his actions, stabbed Bob in the stomach. Before he could grunt, the man was gone, running as fast as he could down the street. Holding his belly, he stumbled into his father's store and slammed the door shut behind him.

"Bob?" cried his father, whirling around with a startled expression.

Bob pulled his hand away, expecting to see blood everywhere, then realized it was clean. Standing up with a deep breath, he let out a loud laugh, then looked at his confused father.

"I just had a man try to stab me in the stomach."

"What?!" cried his father, rus.h.i.+ng over to him and lifting his s.h.i.+rt. There was nothing to see, except clean unmarred skin.

"He wasn't successful, but it definitely startled me!" he a.s.sured his father, who stepped back rubbing a hand over his face.

"Percival, call the guards. We can't let this go. Someone just tried to kill a man."

The store supervisor rushed to the door and gave a shout, quickly summoning several guards to the business.

"Could you describe the gent who attacked you?" asked one of the guards.

"He had dark hair, not quite black, but close. His eyes were green, deep green, and he had ruddy red cheeks, though I kinda think he had something rubbed onto them, to make them look more red then they would normally be. His clothes were actually well made, almost like a n.o.ble servant's, not just some street person, or adventurer. He was wearing black, calfskin gloves, that aren't cheap and was about 5 foot 7 inches, maybe 8 inches." Bob wracked his brain to try and think if there was anything else he could remember.

"Anything else?" asked the same guard, looking puzzled and glancing at the other guards before getting ready to leave.
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"Actually, yes," said Bob, suddenly remembering something. "He had a particular pouch on his belt. It had Lord Richmond's sigil on it!"

The guards looked at each other and then headed out the door at a trot. Hector had a strange look on his face as the store soon grew empty and quiet.

"Father," said Bob, once they were alone with Percival. "I learned something else this morning. Lord Richmond used the City Lord's seal, to send out an official letter to the clerk's office demanding that they refuse to administer any new permits to us specifically, and to refuse any renewals at the start of the new year."