4 Duck, Flounder, and Swan

The smile didn't last long, as Vardimann slid off the trunk and onto the ground. His stomach growled.

"Oh yeah. When was the last time I ate?" A few slivers of ham the noon before hardly constituted a meal. No wonder he was feeling faint. Vardimann dragged his bag over, rummage inside for the meat and took a large bite. Chewing, he sat up to look at the scenery again. He wasn't in any hurry to move.

In the faint grey-gold light of dawn little people scurried around the boats. Nets and oars tangled, children ran underfoot. Vardimann chuckled at the mess. He couldn't hear them but he could very well imagine the curses of the men, the women scolding, and the children sniggering at that one couple sealed together at the lips.

Eventually, the boats got themselves organised and set out. Fishermen from different villages called out to each other, waving and gesturing. One young lad got so enthusiastic he fell off the boat. The other's laughter was loud enough to be heard.

Such a variety of personalities. Vardimann turned to look back the way he had come. His lips wore a bitter smile.

He swallowed the last bite of meat and stood. Being uneaten for two days, it had a slightly acrid aftertaste.

Vardimann spent most of the morning strolling around the lake. Green-headed Mallard ducks quacked loudly at the shore, and fishes splashed the water as they fled from the nets.

The nearest village was small but lively. Vardimann couldn't see a market, so he tapped the shoulder of a young potter. "Excuse me, can you tell me where I can buy some food?"

The young man looked up. "The boats won't be back for a few hours." His foot lazily kicked the wheel. "If you want something before then, you can get some fruit from the farm down the road. Mrs Carly loves fattening her wallet, but..." His eyes flicked over Vardimann's body and smirked. "She's been real lonely 'cause her husband died young. Comfort her with those broad shoulders of yours and I reckon you could eat for free."

Vardimann nodded. "Thanks for the info." The potter stared as he casually strolled down the road.

"No way, right?"

A little while later Vardimann came back, munching an apple. He sat on the ground and watched the potter's hands shape the clay. After he finished the apple, he bit into a green pear. The wrinkled widow had offered ripe brown pears, but he found their skin too coarse for his liking.

The stare was making the potter uncomfortable. "Oi. Why are you here?"

"I'm waiting for the boats to come back."

"Well, do that somewhere else. Or talk, at least. Talk, don't stare at my crotch."

Vardimann blinked and looked up. "I'm not looking at your crotch. Oh right, the wheel is also between your legs."

A furious blush crept up the young man's cheeks. "With that innocent expression on your face, you truly are a natural provoker."

Vardimann seemed to realise something. "Whoops." He made an awkward smile. "I wasn't doing it deliberately. I was just really interested in the way you shape the clay. I've made clay pots before, but never with a wheel. Can you teach me?"

The potter saw the earnest expression on the other's face. For all this man looked five years his senior, he seemed to have the heart of a child.

He sighed. "Fine. But you're paying for the clay."

Vardimann happily threw away his pear and opened his heavy money pouch. "How much?"

It didn't take Vardimann long to master the wheel. It really was faster than doing it by hand, and the quality was also higher. Dropping another chunk of clay onto the wheel, he spun it around.

"Don't you think that's a bit small?" The potter was lounging in his stall. At this point, he was basically getting free labour.

"Nah, it's fine." Vardimann pinched his fingers. The tiny opening shrank until it disappeared entirely. The result was a small hollow ball, about the size of a bird's egg. Vardimann nodded, satisfied, and proceeded to make some more.

The potter frowned. "What are you doing? I can't sell those."

"Oh, they aren't for you. You can keep the rest."

Confused, he could only watch as another dozen or so were made. Vardimann placed them on a tray and left it out in the sun. "I'll be back once I've got some fish. Watch them for me, will ya?"

The potter stared blankly at his back. "Huh?"

Vardimann sat on the wharf, dangling his legs into the water. The boats weren't back yet. He shaded his eyes to look at the boats. They were almost full. Behind them, there was a village. It wasn't as busy as it had been that morning, but he could still see unsupervised children running after cats, women doing the washing, and a covered wagon just setting out.

Vardimann blinked. The ponies looked familiar. Was that the doctor's wagon?

He stopped a woman passing by with a basket of reeds. She knew the doctor. "He comes by here every year. He gives us herbs for the idiots that fall in the lake and catch a cold. We get a lot of them at this time of the year."

Vardimann chuckled. "Will he be passing through here today?"

"Probably not. He'll come by tomorrow after spending the night in with the ducks." She indicated a village to our left. "That village is called Mallard, after the ducks here. We just call them ducks."

"And I suppose you're swans."

"Yep."

The smile faded. "Wait, seriously?"

The woman smirked. "At least we got the good name, as opposed to duck or flounder." She pointed at the village across the lake.

Vardimann suddenly crouched down. "Duck!" He mimed splashing around in the water. "Flounder!" He stood straight walked a few graceful steps. "Swan."

The woman nearly dropped the basket laughing. "You're such a goofball!"

Vardimann was just about to ask what a goofball was when she nodded at the lake. "The boats are coming back." She hoisted the basket on her hip. "Sorry, I need to put these away. If you're going to buy fish, can you wait until they've all unloaded? Thanks."

Vardimann stepped back and watched the men unload the boats. One young man was dripping wet and shivering. A woman came up and wrapped a pre-prepared towel around him. "You fell in again! When are you going to grow up?"

The young man protested. "It was Fredrick who pushed me in! So I pushed him back and now he's all wet too." He sneezed and grinned. "I'll grow up once he does, how's that?"

A man passing by drawled "never gonna happen."

The woman shook his head and ruffled the wet hair. Vardimann grinned at the scene.

Vardimann bought four fish, one fresh from the water and three smoked to eat later. He also went back to the potter to get his clay products. Only he knew what was intended for them. He walked into the trees at the edge of the lake, thinking to go swimming once night fell. Unfortunately, he discovered that some of the village people liked to do this activity called "night fishing".

Vardimann picked his teeth with a fishbone. "Didn't they get enough during the day?" He tossed the bone into the water. "I guess they're stocking up for winter." He had to admit it was a beautiful sight, three boats floating on the pitch-black water, yellow lanterns hanging over each bow. But he wanted to bathe tonight as it was probably the last time he could find water deep enough to swim in for a while.

"Hang on. The moon's not that bright, they probably can't see me, right?" Vardimann made up his mind. He stripped, hanging his clothes on a branch, and waded into the water. It lapped against his skin, pleasantly cool. He stayed under the water, careful not to create any splashes or ripples that would get the boat's attention.

Out on the boats, three old men talked amicably. They were the elders of the three villages that bordered the lake. It had become a tradition for them to meet for some midnight fishing every fortnight and share news and gossip.

One old man, the elder of Mallard, blinked and rubbed his eyes. "Did you see that?"

"See what?"

"There, on the bank." He pointed. The others looked, but saw nothing.

"I could have sworn..."

"What did you see?"

"It looked like some kind of faint blue fire."

The elder from Flounder chuckled. "Sounds like you saw a marsh spirit. Don't follow it or you'll drown!"

The Mallard elder splashed water in his direction with his oar. "Idiot. This isn't a marsh."

Once Vardimann felt that he was clean, he climbed out among the reeds. A thought struck him, and he chuckled. If they saw him naked in the dark like this, they'd probably think he was a tortured ghost.

Vardimann lay on his cloak in front of the fire. The glowing red and black log reminded him of a certain person, and he wondered how much his medicine could do. If he dared call himself a doctor, he must know more than just stitching up wounds and keeping them clean. Mind you, the average person out here didn't seem to know even that. Maybe he was simply a bit more health-savvy than the rest. Better to not get his hopes up.

The flickering red light slowly lured him to sleep.