2 Months Previously

Tom locked the door on his shack with a two pronged key and headed to the market. The path was a mix of cobblestone, larger flagstones, mud, and waste. The foul stench of human progress was one of the many reasons to only pretend to live in town. The small but well maintained shack left to him by his uncle he barely knew helped maintain that illusion.

A particular illusion that was required if he would be allowed to continue to sell the charcoal he made in the market, without paying the exorbant fee for a traders liscense.

"Tom your not eating enough and you need to take a bath every once in a while" shouted an old lady with a grill full of fish over a clay box full of hot charcoal.

The fish dripped oil onto the flames causing little puffs of fire to attempt to escape upward. Tom stepped over to the old womans table and dropped a dozen coppers into a cup. With dexterity unbefitting of her old age the woman put the coins into her purse and the cup back on the table fast as the eye could see.

"I'll take all the fish you have right now and eat em too if you'll put in a good word for me at the bath house" Tom said.

Scooping up a fish and reaching for the sauce in a clay bowl beside the grill the old woman slapped his hands away. Tom juggled the fish inbetween his hand it being too hot to hold, while the woman heaped the rest of the fish on a wooden plate and poured the sauce atop the pile.

" Like they let people like me much less someone as dirty as you into the baths" the woman said and continued to cackle.

"Come on granny Emily I'm your best customer."

The fish having cooled enough to not burn his mouth too bad Tom ate the fish in his hand dipping it in the sauce atop the other fish.

"Wash your hands before you eat any more, and you can't be my best customer just because you buy all my fish twice a week. Be more like Dally he comes for my fish almost every day."

Tom took a small cup of almost clean water and poured it on his hands cleaning them as best he could. As he was about to reply the he looked up as the noise of the crowds on the street increased as everyone was clearing the center of the part cobblestone part filth road.

Quickly two dozen horses road by decked in livery with soldiers in bright armor, men and women in clean and fitted clothing. And not to be outdone a pale white horse with a similar pale white garbed priest riding not even slowing to glance around at the people on the road.

Sitting down and eating the fish on small wodden bench that granny emily had he ate half the fish before putting the other half in a small paper bag that the old woman handed to him.

"I'll be back in a week or two it's gonna be a longer trip gonna try and get ahead for the rainy season." Tom said to granny emily as he strode off.

"Don't forget to bathe" she called back as she always did. One of the few people worth noticing in their cesspool of a city.

Continuing his path toward the market, small tables and stalls began to more heavily populate the side of the road. The quality of housing material slowly improving slightly the closer to the market he got. While having spent a fair amount of time working to build new houses it always made him laugh when he saw the houses that had slowly been built by adding one stone or bamboo wall at a time. An amalgam of human effort that could only be found on this end of town.

Passing through the crowds and keeping one hand on his coin pouch Tom made his way past the market goers and to another street headeding down hill. This lead him to the docks the smell of salt carying as the tide was in, the salt water inundated the estuary the town was built on.

While the buildings became more and more made of stone, tall masts of great ships poked above the sometimes two story buildings. The docks made money, the docks were the only nice part of lowside.

Tom grumbled reminded that all small craft had the same berthing fee even though his was just an oversized skiff with an outrigger. Luckily it was only a silver and Tom had the best charcoal business in town.

At least he was convinced he was the best charcoal supplier in town. No servant or well off townsperson would be seen buying from him. Not that he had sold in the regular market as more than a novelty in years, his product quality being fine enough he was a supplier for local hightown merchants.

Walking down the docks, dodging sailors and laborers hauling crates he made his way to where his skiff was tied to the wooden posts. Leaping in he untied the boat and pushed off beginning to oar his way out to where he could head towards the far side of the port to the ship yards.

Quickly tying his boat up again to walked to the edge of the yard where aprentices were heaping up sawdust they had gathered from the rest of the yard. Without word or comment Tom shoveled full a wheelbarrow and made trips to his boat till most the sawdust was gone then he put a tarp over his cargo and pushed off once more toward the the edge of the harbor. His destination the bottomless bayou.

The waves and the current made him sweat as he worked his way towards the finger root trees with their long droopy branches.

The sun would set soon and even though Tom feared the brakish water and overgrown swampland less than most folk he still wouldn't want to be out after dark. Partially due to bugs and creepy crawlies, but also due to the things that went bump in the night or sometimes bumped into you in the night. Bumped into you and then ate you . . . agressively.

Rowing his skiff through the channels between island and trees and brush Tom worked his way toward home. His real home, not the shack that gave him his citizenship and permission to sell goods in town.

After more than two hours of rowing the sun was setting and the sky was all kinds of bright and beautiful colors. The sweat pratically dripping off of him.

Working his skiff through some hanging finger root branches tom came up on his hidden dock and boat house. Built from bamboo and clay he pulled his boat up as far as he could and tied it off. Cargo would have to wait till tommorrow.

Once the boat was secured and the gear in the boat stashed away in the small building Tom set off with a quick walk alond a path the took him to the center of one of the larger islands in this section of the bayou.

Through another wall of plants Tom pushed to a small bamboo gate he opened and saw home.

He went over to the small shed with a lean to and started a fire. As tired as he was, he wasn't going to forget to light the smokers. Once a small fire was going Tom went around his clearing lighting small lamps with covers that smelled sweet but sour at the same time. These lanterns would keep the bugs at bay and the oil was fairly easily sourced from the sap of a tree in the swamp.

Once all three dozen lamps were lit Tom collapsed into a chair he had on the small porch of his bamboo house. Digging into the paper bag of remaing fish from Granny Emily's stand he enjoyed the twighlight, cool air, and fresh breeze coming through the trees.

If life continued maybe he could take the time off to make some friends or try and court one of the girls from the town. Lost in thought the sun fully set and darkness took hold. Tom lit a lamp for light this time and hurried to get a bucket from the spring and wash off near where it filtered out into the swamp.

All clean Tom headed inside to sleep when he saw a pile of furs. A pile of furs that had not been on his porch before he had gone to wash. Next to the furs on the ground was a drawing of what apeared to be a fang inside of a circle.

Tom began to sweat. While his mysterious vistor was nothing new, having someone ghost in and out of your secured land without a trace taking piles of charcoal and the occasional tool or book, and leaving large piles of quality furs wasn't something even Tom considered normal behavior.

If he wasn't turning a decent profit off of the unprompted trading going on he would want to call it criminal.

"You don't have to hide" he shouted " we could make a better arrangement that this, I could get you the things you want" but as usual no response came from his very tangible ghost.

Whoever was living out here had a long standing arrangement of taking things that they needed or wanted from Tom and leaving him "their" idea of equiavalent goods in form of meat and fur. While he was definitley coming out ahead in this arrangement it still could help but make his hair stand on end.

What kind of person lived all alone in a swamp