A Simple Ordinary Town

In the town of Crossroads everything was simple and plain, the people lived their lives, the farmers tended the fields nearby, and the children played. In the town of Crossroads, the Jones family bakery made the best bread and treats, the fisherman’s widow and her children never failed to bring in a good haul for the market, and the Clawstone blacksmith made the best of the best for whoever asked. 

I live in that town, always have, I grew up playing in the roads and learning at Miss Ann’s schoolhouse. I grew up watching the simple lives around me. Most of all, I watched the Rollan family. Mayor Rollan was an elderly lady with enough hair to cover three dogs, enough wrinkles to hide a house, and enough years in office that the residents joked that when she died so would the town since she was the only one keeping things running. For as long as she's been in charge there has never been a problem she couldn't solve, and I watched her wherever she went, since when she went somewhere it normally meant that something was about to change. That especially became true after I moved out on my own and she started having her three daughters follow her around to help her with her mayoral chores. The three were named for their mothers’ favorite plants, the ones she planted in her garden, Belladonna, Lily, and Iris. Like their mother wherever they went change shortly followed. The four of them together had touched nearly every part of the town, as was to be expected from people with their talents.

The town itself sits slightly off the coast, directly on the border of two kingdoms that formed after the Empire fell and magic was banned. Now we are a not insignificantly sized oceanside town that sees sporadic traffic, sometimes a lost merchant caravan will come through looking for directions and stock up on supplies while they are here. Other times a group on a pilgrimage will wander through on their way to one of the countries we are sandwiched between. Ever since the new maps got drawn up the traffic through our area really dropped, being so far from either capital. Other than the occasional lost souls we don’t normally get visitors, the odd tax man or census taker sure. The mayor and kin handle them though, and they never bother us twice, the only exception was a stranger who came back after he left, and I happened to have a front row seat to the whole thing.

The first time he came through we assumed he was a deserter from the army, with how sturdy he was and how sure he stood he had to have some kind of military background. He had stayed the night at what was possibly the cheapest inn the town had. The next morning he bought four pints from Lottie, the alewife, almost as soon as she opened her doors and left. Nothing too strange, aside from his manor and the odd metal bobble he had hanging off his wrist as he drank, but then he returned. And we simple townsfolk took notice.

I watched as he walked past the crumbling old wall, a remnant of the old empire defenses that still separated the town from the road, and onto the main street leading to the town square. He looked different than he had the last time, a hooded jacket replacing his tattered old cloak, a sword sheathed at his side where before he was unarmed, though he still had the metal disk tied around his wrist. I will admit that curiosity got the better of me as I followed behind him as closely as I dared. How could I not have been curious? For every visitor we ever had, no one ever found again once they passed over the hills or crossed through the forest nearby.

At first, he did little. I watched him go to the inn closest to the town square, successfully booking himself a room since I would later follow him back after a small venture for dinner. The next morning saw me return and his oddness begin to peak through. At the break of dawn, he went to the Jones family bakery. 

“Nothing odd there,” I thought to myself “they have all the best bread and pastries in town so of course he would want breakfast there.” But then after he tasted the bread, he asked the bakers wife about their recipes.

“Family secret,” was her response, a personal favorite, said with a wink and a cackling laugh. “Although, those new ovens that the mayor had built for us definitely help with the mornings offerings.” When he asked what she meant she pointed out the newest additions along the back wall behind the counter, the bricks redder than their predecessors and sparkling with silver flecks in the light of the fires. Seeing them his face turned sour, like a herdsman watching a storm roll in, but he was polite and thanked her for his meal before wandering into the morning market. After looking at the face of the metal thing tied to his wrist, he moved towards the old fisherman’s family.

“They find the best in town,” I thought to myself “nothing odd about that.” But then after seeing their offerings for the day, he asked the widow about the types of fish and where they found them.

“Trade secret,” her oldest son cut in, placing himself subtly between the man and his mother. “We fish the ocean and don’t have any landmarks to give you, the mayor got us a new boat after dad died so we could go out safer.” When he asked about the boat the widow told him that after her husband had died the mayor took their old boat and brought a new one three times as big three days later. Again, once he was pointed to the mayors’ improvements, his brows furred. I wondered idly if he didn’t like that the mayor was doing everything herself instead of her daughters, being as old as she was. He thanked the family for their time and, after looking at the odd piece on his wrist again, left in the direction of the Clawstone blacksmith.

“Perhaps he hopes they can fix whatever it is,” I thought to myself “he looks awfully sour whenever he sees it.”

Walking up to the shop yard he didn’t speak to anyone immediately, and instead looked at some of the younger men working at their stations. It wasn’t until the head smith came out that he asked about the techniques they used.

“Shop Secret,” was the firm response, the grumpy old man not one to be polite to strangers. “All I’ll say is you won’t get anything useful from watching us today, we still haven’t figured out the right temperature for the new forge the mayor installed for us.” When he asked one of the younger men about it, they sheepishly admitted that there had been an accident that destroyed most of their old equipment, and that the mayor had offered to have it replaced. The young men pointed to the far side of the yard, where a massive kiln with an almost unbearable heat was melting pots of metals. This time the mans’ face turned to stone, after looking at his trinket one final time he seemed to make a decision before heading in the direction of the town hall. 

Ultimately I decided not to follow him anymore and instead stayed back, watching the stranger as he disappeared inside after the doors were opened for him. I figured that after the blacksmith had been a bust, he decided to speak with the mayor. After all, when you have a problem you can’t fix on your own, all you have to do is pay the price and she will see it done. Behind me I heard the grumpy old forge master stoke one of the fires, his flame breath nearly lighting an assistants’ shirt ablaze from a stray spark. He hadn’t been wrong when he said they were having trouble, there was very little that could properly contain a dragons’ fire, as the accident proved quite handily. In the distance I could see a few of the fisher kids leave for the docks, they mother probably wanted them to head back out before the sun got too high, merfolk skin is sensitive when they are young. The new boat they had been given had a built-on cover, making it easy for the widow to keep her guppies from drying out while she pulled up her nets. As I started back towards home, I passed the bakery and picked up a pastry, laughing when I saw the bakers’ daughter riding around on her mothers’ broom in the back. She had been ordering her newly animated army of gingerbread soldiers to attack her brother while he waved his wand about wildly trying to fend them off.

Passing the town hall as I wandered leisurely back, I wondered what the stranger had been so concerned about. We were just a normal town, at the edge of the fairies’ forest and the timeless sea. We were never beholden to the laws of the larger human kingdoms, so maybe he was looking to move in? Whatever the case I never saw him again, and when I asked Belladonna about it later, she said that he had barely given his name before he up and disappeared.

Sometimes I still wonder if he ever got his little trinket fixed.