William put the pouch in his pocket. He stood up, re-opened the bars and doors of his workshop, and hurried inside. He rushed to the corner. Besides the long table with metal plates on it, there was a small cupboard embedded in the ground. It was hidden, and the corner was dark. William pulled open the sliding door and tucked the money bag into the cupboard.
Of course, it's not ideal storage, but it's pretty safe so far. Bortez once told William, he had carelessly put the money he had just received in the open place. As soon as he handed over the goods to the customer, it turned out that the money had disappeared, and the customer, who turned out to be a thief, took it again. William was sure, this Mornitz, despite his brusque manner, was not a thief. But it's better to be careful. Who knows, maybe he's worse than a thief. Robber, for instance.
William came out and handed the sword to Mornitz.
The man checked the sword he ordered. Surface smoothness, length, weight, balance, sharp edges, to the engraving on the handle. Soon he nodded. He looked satisfied. "Good. Your master is clever." Unexpectedly, the man then smiled.
It was William's first time seeing him smile!
"You will be in Ortleg long, sir?" he asked.
Mornitz shrugged as he looked at William. "I still have to find … some people. Those who can fight."
"Oh. Mercenary?"
"Something like that."
"What for?" William asked enthusiastically. "I mean, what will they be paid for?"
"Chasing criminals."
"Looks interesting."
"Do you know where I can find them?" asked Mornitz.
"I know a soldier. His name is Rogas. He happened to be in Ortleg. I also know some people, who are good at playing the sword. And I can do a little bit too, if … um, how many people do you need?"
Mornitz looked at William, probing. "I just need one, the best. It's better if you already know the person. Can you help?" He reached into his pocket, took out two sazets, and gave them to William.
The youth gaped.
"Y—yes," William stammered, as soon as he realized that the money was for him. He quickly grabbed the money and put it in his pocket. "Of course, sir! I will help you!"
"Meet me in two days at Horsling's Tavern, after sunset. Do you know the place?"
"North of the city."
"Bring him … what was his name? Rogas? You two, come. I'll give you three more if you come and he's willing to come with me."
"Oh, we are coming, sir! Don't worry."
Mornitz nodded. "I'll wait."
He wrapped his sword in thick cloth, then walked away.
In front of his workshop, William stood watching the figure of Mornitz disappear in the distance. He didn't expect to get extra money today! Turned out Mornitz wasn't a thief, much less a robber. On the contrary, he was a generous person.
The man's offer was also interesting. William thought it would be good if he could join as a soldier accompanying Rogas. The payoff seems great. But, was it possible? Bortez will not return for the next three days. It was impossible for William to just leave without the permission of the man who he considered his uncle.
More importantly, he couldn't have left if his mother didn't agree. Let alone asking for permission, he was even afraid to ask his mother about who his father was. William knew getting an answer to that was his foremost desire, and he didn't want to be distracted by other questions.
William made up his mind. Right now he had to know who his father was first. He had to talk to his mother before doing anything else.
He thought that the best time to talk would be after dinner when the two of them used to sit together by the fire and talk. Before going to bed his mother always fills the time by knitting blankets or clothes. Knitting had always been his mother's passion, and William would sometimes accompany her when he was tired of practicing the sword.
His mother was forty years old. She had slightly slanted eyes, a slender build with tanned skin, darker than most people in Ortleg. She was still beautiful even though some of her long black hair had turned white. But even though from the outside she looked healthy, she had quite a serious disease in her lungs. People say it's because she worked too hard when she was young and never cared about her health. She always did all the work alone no matter day or night, never wanted to be helped by others.
His mother was a strong woman who never complained. That's why many men fell in love with her and wanted to marry her again. But she always refused. She always chose to live alone with William.
When William remembered all that and saw how his mother coughed when the cold bites, he always wanted to cry. It seemed impossible that he dared to hurt his mother's heart even for a second. So could he possibly have the guts to ask about his father tonight, and bothered her again? As he recalled, the last time he had asked about the same thing was three years ago. At that time his mother did not want to answer.
But he still had to ask. It's about time.
So that night William said carefully, "Mother, may I ask you something? I hope that won't upset you."
Stopping her knitting, his mother looked deeply at William as if studying his heart, then said, "Have I ever been mad at you?"
William chuckled. "No."
"So you can ask anything."
"I want to know who my father is," William said quickly.
Then he waited. His breath caught.
He was ready if his mother turned out to refuse to answer, even angry.
Unexpectedly she smiled. "Why do you ask?"
William breathed a sigh of relief. "I just wanted to know what he was like."
"If you want to know what he looks like, look in the mirror. You will see your father there. Your face is very similar to his. Only your hair color is different. Your hair is brownish-black, while his hair is gold."
"Is he still alive? Or is he dead?"
This time her mother closed her eyes.
After a while, she opened her eyes and replied, "He's dead."
William nodded. He was ready with that answer.
"Is he a good person?" he asked again.
"He's the kindest man I've ever known."
"If he's a good guy, why are you afraid to tell me?"
His mother was silent.
"How did he die? And why?"
His mother remained silent and continued to stare at him, then said, "Why do you want to know?"
"Every child wants to know who the father is," William repeated the words he said to Bortez.
"Yes, but once you know, then what?"
"Mother, if you are not willing to tell me now, I will accept it. But you know this, every year I would keep asking what happened. Did my father make a mistake? Did he die because he was killed by someone? Because, if that's the case, shouldn't I as his son avenge his death?"