Serialized Pulp Novel: The Rogue and the Merchants (Part 11)

So, here is serial 11 of my pulp novel, The Rogue and the Merchants. By the way: I will never type up another novel manuscript on a typewriter. Never again. Never. This is quite boring, transcribing this. I'm glad I've found a reason to type it all up, though, because otherwise, it would have lingered in my basement, in my filing cabinet, yellowing.

As usual, here is a link to the full transcription, thus far, if you want to know more about the project, the source of the manuscript, or the story of the novel's genesis. Also, all of the illustrations I've been composing are there as well: Pulp Novel Project: The Rogue and the Merchants

***

They graybeard climbed a kind of stone stump and announced in a loud voice something in their strange language, and then the village plaza began to empty of folk. The women who were weaving left their work unfinished, grabbed their children, and disappeared--looks of resent hanging about their faces--into their houses.

The men began to follow them, leaving the Rogue and the old graybeard in the empty plaza alone. The ones who were armed left their weapons at their portals when they went inside. And then, they were alone.

It was eerie for the Rogue, standing there in the flickering light of those strange, smoking torches, not speaking to the old man who had on his face the vague suggestion of a grin.

A moment later, out of the darkness, a beautiful, dark-haired female came up to the old man and the Rogue. She was young, barely a woman, and--in spite of the apparent custom of her tribe--she had long black hair. Her eyes, however, were painted black like the other women.

In spite of her longer hair, there were other differences about her. On her head she wore a circlet of iron, which appeared to be fashioned in the likeness of a crown of ivy. There were settings for gems, but the gems had obviously been removed. If the gems had been present, the Rogue thought, it would have been a beautiful piece of jewelry indeed. As it was, it was somewhat dull. And yet, the Rogue admitted to himself, this young one needed no jewelry to beautify her.

The old man barked an order at the girl, who nodded and answered him; but she did not hide what was obviously the resentment she felt in regards to the old man's orders. It shown clearly on the sharp features of her face in spite of her efforts to hide it. "I leave you with my granddaughter. I am as a father to her, for she has no parents else. She will properly tend to your wound. I've told her to see that you're made as comfortable as we can make you." He rubbed his brow and stroked his beard. "And so I leave you, ranger, rogue--whatever you are. I'm weary. This night has been exerting. I must sleep. Tomorrow, after you've rested and ate, we will go and fetch your comrades." The Rogue touched his head and bowed.