Potent body odour emanating from the thousands of unwashed men densely assembled in that tight space. The unholy stink of rotting flesh of comrades long-fallen given even greater pungency by the pools of rainwater flooding the surrounding area. The eye-burning, toxic stench of ammonia from a nearby, upended latrine. Artur was certain that these few odours were among the many those that would remain with him for the rest of his life.
Artur blinked, his vision blurry, the only thing he could distinguish that it was daytime. His nose was overwhelmed. An earth smell – was that freshly cut grass? And… bread? He was sure certain he could smell freshly made bread, not long out of a baker's oven. Smoke – but not the smoke of a building in flames, a pile of rotting soldiers burned for a lack of safety to bury them, or of a bunker, its door locked from the outside, set alight by the dragon's breath of a flamethrower. It was the smoke of flaming wood, like that of a campfire, or of a wood-burning stove.
The not-so-distance cracking of the enemy's machine guns, like thousands of dry branches in the height of summer being stepped on and snapped, in an unrhythmic, chaotic beat, as though the conductor had drank one too many. The drum-like, low-pitched, hollow echo, of the omnipresent artillery falling beyond the wooded walls of the trench and onto what was once godly green earth. Less than half a second of silence interrupted one Earth-crunching roar, before another took its place.
He could hear the light-hearted chitter-chatter of those that had never feared the cruel, life-altering, divine wrath that the consequences of a falling artillery shell might inflict. The clop-clop of the rhythmic collision of hooves striking stone bounced in the air as the sound of clattering wood seemed to trail it – the sound of wooden wheels? The metallic clanging of metal on metal, a rush of air following, and the sound of a heated object being doused in water. And was that… laughter? He hadn't heard the sound of laughter in years.
Artur looked down at his watch. 17:13:38. Not two minutes to go. He looked back up, and couldn't help but notice the sky, which would have been pitch black if not for the beauty of the gallery of stars overhead, decorating that otherworldly abyss in a pattern reminiscent of a shotgun's spread. That gorgeous night sky was perhaps the single thing he had seen in the past three years that did not appal him to look at. The darkness at such an early hour, alleviated only somewhat by burning rubble past the trench wall, a few oil lamps decorating the trench interior, and the waning crescent moon, reflected the winter months that he found himself in. It had snowed yesterday; somehow, he was sceptical that the bloodless miracle that occurred almost three years ago would recur – it had not repeated itself the year following, nor the year that had just passed. Those around him had the officers – well, those ranked higher than Artur – to thank for that.
Artur blinked again and again, his vision remaining blurred though significantly less so, as he found himself in an environment that… somehow seemed both alien to him, and familiar. Buildings upon buildings, structures and expensive materials in the design of urban architecture of the low countries, that somehow, beyond all impossible odds, were untouched by the ungodly devastation he had become oh-so familiar with. There were hundreds, perhaps thousands – no, tens of thousands – of people around him, some lazing and loitering around, some at work at their craft, but all going about their business in a leisurely, care-free nature, passing by without haste. Children were running around in play, shouting loudly and laughing, while parents watched on with smiles on their faces.
Men and women stood queueing before innumerable wooden market stalls that littered the warmly-coloured, stone-laden, immaculate streets surrounding him, a wide array of signs showing symbols representing the goods they sold. Young lovers strolled uncaringly, hand in hand, arm-in-arm, or with an arm around each other and living only for the joy of the moment, at a pace that reflected the abundance of life they had yet to experience, as though the precious time they shared with each other would never one day come to an end.
He blinked, and blinked, and blinked some more. Something was off – in fact, far, far more than off – and this was clear even through Artur's blurred vision. This was obviously someplace foreign to him – perhaps he had taken a hit to the head, and was hallucinating. He couldn't remember such a thing happening, though. He rubbed his eyes, yet the… illusion did not dissipate. He took a step forward, and then another – his legs clearly worked, though he felt higher off the ground. Artur spotted a tall, circular, multi-levelled stone fountain nearby, and walked towards it. He felt dizzy and lightheaded, as though one single wrong step would send him tumbling. He was nauseas, and had he anything in his stomach to shed, he was certain that it would be decorating his boots. That didn't stop him from bending over and splashing cold water from the fountain onto his face.
It seemed, however, that no matter how much water he applied to his… unfamiliarly bearded face, that he remained confused and disorientated. Standing back upright, he took a further look around – and noticed something perplexing, about some of those around him. He raised his callused hands to his eyes, and rubbed them again. As he took in the details of those around him, he noticed how colourful that the population's hair was. A large majority, at least – bright blondes and browns, pale blues and deep purples… incredible, he was fascinated. That wasn't what stood out to him the most, however. He couldn't help but crack an unbelieving smile at what he thought he was seeing. Did some of those people have… animal features? He was losing it.
The bagpipers of his homeland had begun to play far off to his right, the loud, beautiful, bellowing melody that constantly, steadily rose higher and higher. Artur could feel the emotion rise in his chest as the pipers played the song of the Highland Cathedral, a melancholic yet hopeful song that reminded him of better times, laid forth worse times, and yet somehow gave him hope that things could be better, despite the hell around him. He supposed that was the power of music. The kilted drummers of his Company joined in, further adding to the haunting beauty that resounded through the air, no doubt causing the hairs on every man with a heart to stand up. Artur didn't know if it was the memories of home, the copious amounts of contraband whisky he'd drank, or the melody itself, but he had no doubt he'd, shamefully and surreptitiously, be shedding a tear if not surrounded by his comrades, some of whom were looking at him.
He rubbed his eyes again, but regardless of how many times he attempted to correct his eyes, to make it clear to them that, whatever they thought they were seeing, it was clearly wrong, nothing changed the sight he was seeing. Out of the hundreds, perhaps thousands, of those he witnessed around him in this dense urban environment, Artur might have guessed that half of the people around him were adorned with animalistic features – like someone had crossed people with beasts. Dog-people, cat-people… lizard-people? He couldn't believe what he was seeing – it was like something out of a fantasy book. The people with animal features appeared to interact normally with the beast-folk, seemingly entirely unfazed, as though they were used to the peculiarity. As though this was an entirely normal thing to see in your day-to-day life.
Time ticked on. The minute hand of his watch had made a full revolution, and was very close to making another. 17:14:48. The hammering and thundering of artillery that crashed against the opposite trench had stopped, and in its wake came whistling from his right. Artur just wanted to be back home, surrounded by his family. He wanted to think back to the Christmases he'd spent in front of a warm fire, sitting on the couch, both his older and younger sister using his lap as a pillow, his dog at his feet… There was more though, that he was forgetting… That his head inflicted pain against him as he tried to recall. Let me tell you that I love you, that I think about you all the time. Caledonia, you're calling me, and now I'm going home.
The whistling that shrieked from to his right grew louder and louder, the number of whistles growing more numerous, and the sound, somehow not obscured by the melancholic bagpipes, that every soldier dreaded, grew closer and closer. Not a man around him missed the distant sight of comrades from the nearby company climbing the trench walls, and as Artur's watch struck 17:15, he knew it was his Company's turn. With a great reluctance to send his countryman to their deaths, but with the knowledge that not he, nor any other man, had the power to do anything else, Artur's hand found its way into the hip pocket of his uniform jacket, before withdrawing his blemished, near-rusted steel whistle. He raised it to his dry, blistered lips, his hand brushing against his clean-shaven face, and with a deep breath, he blew that damnable device that would see children orphaned, wives widowed, and entire potential generations cut down before they might have ever been.
A shrill, high-pitched, blood-curdling whistle was let out and echoed far and wide, being missed by no man in Artur's Company. "Come on, lads! We'll show those bloody-damn bastards why we're called the laddies fae hell!" Artur shouted, his deep, low-pitched voice, well-recognised by every man that heard it, thundering out and being a far less unpleasant sound than that of his whistle, though with no more a pleasant or lethal message than his whistle conveyed. Reminding his men that they were feared by those they were about to meet in battle, however… Even as they were about to go into that terrifying known, where death, maiming, and misery were a near certainty, and though he was nearly drowned out by the wail of bagpipes and the now-shuffling feet of hundreds of men, his words managed to give a meagre amount of hope to his men. The bloody fools.
It didn't feel right, though. He shut his eyes, and tried to remember the last lucid thing he could, before he had gained awareness, or consciousness, or however he thought you might describe it, in this place. A strong, vice-like pain gripped the front of his head as his memory flowed, as his mind did the best it could to make sense of the fractured reality that he was experiencing. Artur couldn't prevent his hand from flying to rest on his forehead as he recalled himself venturing up, over, and into no man's land. It felt like only minutes ago that the offensive had begun.
"Up and over, lads! Up and over!" He shouted, before drawing his Webley revolver from its leather holster belted to his waist, and breaking it open. Six rounds in the cylinder. It wouldn't make a lick of difference whether he had six rounds in the cylinder, three, or one, but he hoped that, if his men saw him being one of the first to go over, their Officer leading from the front… that perhaps that would make a difference. He closed the action and pulled back the hammer, before raising his revolver high in the air, walking forward to the trench wall, and beginning to ascend the rain-rotted wooden ladder up and over.
Enlisted men of Artur's Company almost immediately followed behind him, for surely no Officer would be stupid enough to walk straight into the industrialised meat grinder. Surely this couldn't be another one of Douglas 'The Butcher' Haig's murderous, catastrophic orders that seemingly aimed in the pursuit of drowning the enemy soldiers in the blood of the General's own men. Galvanised by their Officer, the men followed behind, and in the enemy's eyes there emerged a tsunami of young lads rising out from the earth. They were in their twenties, their late teens, and there were those that had undoubtedly lied about their age in order to die in a hell-on-Earth arrangement. They were children.
To Artur, it seemed almost immediate that the ever-constant crack of not-so-distant machinegun fire intensified from that akin to light showers, to that of heavy rain from grey clouds in the height of autumn rain. He swore that he could feel the whirring of bullets flying past him, the displaced air from the projectile's path something that would threaten to send a shiver down a weaker man's spine. It was impossible, Artur knew, however he could have sworn that he could hear, even over the sounds of the battlefield, the initial pitter patter, and then high-volume splashing onto the rain-laden, mud-saturated terrain, of blood that now flowed from the shredded flesh of what was once his comrades. Just as the machinegun fire locally intensified, so too did the falling artillery, whose shrapnel turned a single man into thousands of disfigured, unrecognisable, unidentifiable chunks and shreds of meat.
The whistling of subsonic shells falling nearby grew louder and louder as the enemy's artillery refocused onto the advancing infantry, and the shockwaves sent through both the earth, and his body, grew stronger and stronger. Artur, a few metres ahead of the nearest man behind him, realised that he must only have advanced twenty metres before having to stop in the middle of no man's land. A thick, densely-packed hurdle of razor-sharp barbed wire lay in front of him, and as had been proven time and time again, the falling artillery seemed only to make the problem worse, in complete opposition to the prediction by his superiors and military strategists that the earth-shattering shrapnel would tear the wire apart and prevent advancing men being impeded, without cover, while they were the target of an entire economy's industrialised killing power. A power wielded by an enemy whose only objective was to inflict as much trauma and devastation on you and your comrades as possible.
The soldier looked around again, attempting to distract himself from the searing pain, and from the flood of memories that assaulted him like a river flooding its banks in a monsoon. He noticed something peculiar. In fact, he would have found the idea of this observation being a revelation funny, if he wasn't so bewildered and disorientated, as it was a far less strange one than seeing that there were animal people around him. Nevertheless, it had occurred to him that he couldn't identify a single person among the mass of individuals around him who was armed. In fact, he hadn't spotted a single soldier, even unarmed, within the amassed population surrounding him. Leave away from the front was a luxury that Artur had never had opportunity to indulge in – the casualty rate of his Company was cataclysmically high, and no Officer was willing to temporarily take over command to give him respite. It didn't help that the last four Officers, before he had taken over, had been killed.
Artur knelt in front of the barbed wire, attempting to take cover from the death that was ever-present near him, and turned his head back to view the situation of those under his command. His Company was one of the few fortunate to have a Platoon of Royal Engineers attached, as none of his men would be able to advance, with the exclusion of those who managed to find a gap in the barrier, until the Engineers arrived to clear the barrier. He hoped to see Sappers to his rear advancing, but what instead stood out to him was something Artur should have expected. The cratered no man's land to his rear had been reduced to a veritable wasteland to a somehow even greater extent, and the numbers of men that had left the trench with him had been devastated.
Those he called his men, and even those he might have called friends in better circumstances, lay scattered, and shattered among the rubble that decorated the wounded Earth as the falling artillery and zipping gunfire tore chunks out of those still on their feet, and mulched and chewed up the corpses of those granted reprieve from this nightmare on Earth. The sight was one that could make a man sick, had a man enough food in his belly to produce something. How many? How many of his men's lives had been thrown away, more expendable and seemingly cheaper to replace than the bullets that flew from end of their barrels?
He didn't know why, but Artur broke out into a cold sweat as the sequence of memory flooded his mind and seemed to hijack his sensory organs, as though he was reliving the memory, his body believing it was still on the battlefield. His heart beat faster, though not to the extent that he could feel it beating in his chest. His breathing quickened, and those few around him that noticed the oddly-dressed man couldn't have missed the colour that drained from his already pale face. Why was this the last thing he could remember, one of his many forays into no-man's-land? This wasn't the time. He could remember later, regardless of how badly he desired to figure out the circumstances that led up to his arrival here. Right now, he needed information. He needed to find out where he was, where his company was… perhaps he had ingested some kind of hallucinogen or psychedelic to make him imagine the queer animal people.
He needed information. His go-to in an investigation for general information would be the nearest pub – strike up a conversation with a bar worker, or a friendly patron. Especially an older gentleman, who Artur learned would happily talk about the good old days for an eternity if you let them. Not that Artur actually minded that – it was amazing, the lives that some people had led, and it always interested Artur to hear old stories from wars of time gone. Stories that often existed only in the heads of those who lived through them, and that were passed down through word of mouth.
Surrounding the circular plaza, which the fountain stood in the centre of, were a number of buildings that maintained that architecture of the low countries. Artur noticed that, far beyond the closest buildings, there was an impressive mountain, situated on top of which were a greater number of buildings. Just how far did this place expand out? He would have stopped to recognise the beauty of the place for longer, if he didn't have the more pressing issue to address of being lost and ignorant.
Extending out from the circular plaza, were four streets, all situated at around ninety degrees relative from each other. Artur noticed that along one of these streets, there was a long strip of merchant stalls standing ahead of the buildings, with signs etched with various shapes, symbols, and words. Massive queues spiralled out from in front of these stalls, although, to call some of the disorganised arrangements of people standing in rough lines 'queues' was to be kind. He began to walk along the pavement, dodging shoppers carrying crates, barrels, and hampers filled with goods, ducking and weaving around the chaotic pinball-like movements of the pedestrians around him, and keeping an eye out for a stall that was not too busy – both to cut short the time this would take, and also to hopefully disrupt a merchant's business as little as possible on what was obviously a very busy shopping day.
To Artur's complete lack of surprise, none of the signs he spotted, whether market stall placards, directional road signs, or boards out in front of shops advertising their presence, were in English. What did surprise him, however, was that there absolutely no sign of the Latin alphabet – there was nothing written in French, Dutch, Flemish, or even German. If he had to bet, he'd put his money on the language being that of a faraway East-Asian country.
It just didn't make sense to him. Of course, none of this did – but he couldn't understand how Western-European-like architecture was ubiquitous here, on such a large scale, when the language was so very obviously not of the same origin. It immediately reminded of Artur of those dodgy fake Chinese cities that imitated other country's architecture, that he'd heard about.
The Officer spotted a merchant stall about halfway down the road, and in contrast to those around it, very few people were lined up waiting to patronise the vendor. Artur had no idea what the stall was selling – he couldn't understand the text on the sign, and because of the positioning of the swarm of individuals going about their day, he couldn't spot any stock lying behind it. He approached the structure, and took notice of the merchant.
The merchant, maybe in his late forties or early fifties, who was standing behind the merchant stall was that of above average height, perhaps standing at 5'10. He was a muscular man, and he was not afraid to hide his lack of body fat, openly displaying his torso with an unfastened waistcoat that served only to cover his back, flanks, and perhaps a quarter of the front of his torso. He wore a black hat, which reminded Artur of a beanie, and a grain of wheat poked out of the gent's mouth, seemingly trying to imitate a certain man with no name, or as though he was an ex-smoker. The thought of that tempted Artur to dip a hand into the right breast pocket of his service jacket to withdraw a pack of fags, but he decided against it. He couldn't spot anyone else around him smoking in public, and he didn't want to potentially violate social norms in this place – at least, not when he was aiming on getting information.
The man possessed a scarred, masculine face – one that indicated to Artur that the market vendor must have had a belligerent past, be that as a soldier or mercenary, or perhaps as some kind of bandit or cutthroat. The way the man stood, however, indicated to Artur that the gent was not of a military background – his body language and facial expression was far too… relaxed, confident, Artur felt. It was a very, very rare man indeed that made it through the living hell that was combat, often making you wish for nothing more than a bullet through the back of the head, to not survive without the weight of the nightmare hanging over you in some respect.
That further suggested to Artur that the man hadn't seen field combat, that he had seen it so briefly that it had had very little impact on the man's psyche, or that perhaps the only 'training' the man had received was that of a tumultuous, hostile childhood. Or, Artur supposed, that the gent was one of those one-in-a-million soldiers who suffered through the horrors of war, but with the fortitude to come through it with a large degree of their pre-war self still intact. If this market vendor had been a soldier in the past, however, he had certainly not been an Officer – Artur had never met an Officer who carried themselves like that. Regardless, the possibility of the man being in some kind of traumatic accident was low on Artur's index of suspicion of reasons that the vendor possessed his scar-laden visage.
Artur waited in the queue for this man's market stall, only third in the queue, and it was not long before he found himself face-to-face with the near-bare-topped salesman. Artur only hoped that he would speak English – he spoke a very basic level of a few other languages, however he did not trust his abilities in those other tongues to be able to communicate, understand, or to discern details about the potentially complex nature of his situation. Resting his right hand on the grip of his revolver sitting in its holster, as was his habit, Artur reached the front of the queue. The merchant looked at Artur with an… odd expression on his face. His eyes narrowed slightly, the corners of his mouth had turned downwards, and Artur couldn't help but notice that the merchant's head moved back slightly, as though unconsciously trying to put distance between the two of them. It struck Artur; he had never had anyone look at him like this before. Was the man… disgusted? Wary, distrustful, offended even? He supposed it didn't matter, so long as he could get information out of the guy.
"What do you want?" The man asked, his voice deep. It sounded restrained, as though the gentleman was choosing his words carefully. Rude, yes, though Artur suspected not an intentional rudeness. The merchant crossed his arms in front of him, an unconsciously defensive movement. Artur couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the fact that the man was speaking English, and immediately at that – if the man's mother tongue was not English, then why didn't he speak that language initially, until finding out Artur spoke English? He supposed that the man might have suspected him to be a foreigner – Artur had looked around, and he was definitely distinctively dressed – but he couldn't tell.
"Good…" Artur stopped, before looking up at the sky. The sun was not far off being directly above, at its peak – he guessed it must be around 13:00. "…afternoon." He said, politely, with a small, closed-mouthed smile. As always, the soldier had to restrain his native accent, or nobody outside of his country, whether a native English speaker or not, would be able to understand him. He was about to answer the vendor's question, but Artur wasn't given the opportunity before the salesman opened his mouth first.
The merchant nodded back, relaxing slightly. "I'm sellin' appas." The merchant said.
"Right." Artur said, taken a little bit aback. He found getting information out of people at its easiest when he'd built a bit of a rapport with them, but it seemed like the merchant wasn't in the mood for that. The Officer looked around, his eyes darting behind the merchant, spotting the barrels full of apples, before he wondered if he'd heard the man right. "Did you just say 'appas'?" He asked.
"'Course I did, you got potatoes in your ears?" The man said, his voice raising, though not to a shout, before furrowing his eyebrows.
It didn't take long for Artur to begin to understand a possible reason why this loud, rude man, happened to be much less busy than the other merchant stalls around. Where he was from, treating others courteously as the default was the norm, and he didn't see why that should change, regardless of whichever country he found himself in. He took a deep breath to help maintain his composure. "Of course not," Artur said, "I'm new around here, and wanted to ask some questions, if I could trouble you so."
The merchant's face tightened, frustration building at the illiterate, obtuse oddity standing before him. "Do I look like some kind'a fruity, loose-lipped wench to you? Read the sign." The fruit vendor said, uncrossing his arms, before raising a hand up to a wooden plank, with text written on it in a language that Artur didn't suddenly learn to read because of the merchant's helpful pointing. "I sell appas, not information." The merchant continued.
Artur sighed, gently and quietly enough for the apple man to not hear him. "Alright, how many 'appas' will it take to ask you some questions?"
The tightness in the merchant's face faded to a degree. "Three." The merchant said, "no, wait… five!" He raised his voice automatically as he corrected himself, though he was unable to suppress the instinct to stick his hand out as he said the lower number, as though to grab the words out of the air before they could reach Artur's ears.
"Braw." Artur said, his deep voice dry. "Then, how much for five appas?"
The appa merchant raised an eyebrow in disbelief, his face scrunching up again. Was this foreigner trying to get a rise out of him? "Five copper! Read the damn sign!" The merchant shouted, before swinging his closed fist into the sign, radiating out a large bang, loud enough to attract the attention of a few onlookers. They did not look long, before scurrying away.
Copper? What the hell? Artur hadn't heard of any country that still used pure base metals as a form of currency. An additional thousand questions flooded Artur's mind. Why was this prickly guy asking him for copper? Was the merchant messing with him, or was he actually expecting Artur to head down to the local quarry with a pickaxe? Where… Where the hell was he?
…When the hell was he?
The disorientation was overwhelming. Artur felt like he was in a lucid dream, or as though he was having fever-induced hallucinations. He reached up with the hand not resting on his revolver, and scratched the back of his head.
"I don't have any copper, but I have currency from where I come from that I… haven't gotten around to exchanging yet. Would you accept that?" Artur asked.
The merchant leaned forward, as though trying to tower over the soldier, despite the fact being clear to them both that the salesman was the shorter man. "What the hell are you talking about, 'exchanging' it?" The merchant said, raising his voice even further, his brow furrowing. "Money's money, ain't it?!" He was sick of whatever game this oddity was playing at.
This was not going as the Officer had planned. "There's no need to shout," Artur said, before raising his hands up infront of him in a gesture of friendliness and de-escalation, attempting to hold back the scowl that desperately, with a mind of its own, trying to force itself to appear on his face. "I'm not trying to cause trouble for you. Let me check what I've got on me."
The man leaned back slightly at that, though his visage that reflected his displeasure, irritation, and anger, did not change. Artur lowered his hands from his peace-seeking gesture, and made his way down his pockets, however, just like in the trenches, he was not carrying anything that wasn't immediately useful in a combat zone. He had spare rounds, survival tools, and cigarettes a-plenty, however he didn't have a single piece of currency on him.
As Artur was raking around in his pockets, his mind unconsciously looked for the answer to just what he was doing before he became aware of his current situation, but nothing came. It was almost as though there was a barrier between his will and the answer, preventing him from reaching it, and the more he poked and prodded at the barrier in an attempt to penetrate it, the greater the crushing pain in his head became. He quickly raised a hand from out of a pocket to his forehead as the pain intensified, and he couldn't help but grimace.
The merchant continued to observe the man in front of him, suddenly pained, with an impatient and unamused frown on his face. A moment passed, and as Artur became more focused on the pain than the reason for his circumstance, it began to dissipate. He opened his eyes, and a residual blurriness remained from the headache, however he quickly managed to blink it off. The vision out of Artur's right eye remained blurry, being able to see very little with his left eye closed, but having perfectly normal sight when he closed his right eye.
Artur's inner thoughts to his circumstances could essentially be summed up to 'What the fuck is wrong with me?'
Eventually, after about ten seconds, the vision in his right eye gradually returned to normal, and though his headache remained, the severity had greatly diminished. Artur looked back at the short-tempered man, and to say his hostility to Artur was obvious would be like calling a shotgun next to your head 'loud'.
"Well?" The merchant asked, looking as though steam might hiss out of his ears any minute.
Where before on Artur's face there had been a plastered-on smile, there now only remained an unindicative, neutral expression on his face, finding himself running out of patience with the grouchy merchant that had clearly never been sucker-punched before. "Looks like I left the wallet at home." Artur said, his tone flat, dead.
The fruit seller's eyebrows furrowed for a moment, and afterwards said the word 'wallet', quietly to himself, testing the word out. Artur assumed that the vendor's confusion and/or curiosity over the word was short-lived, as he began to swear that he could hear the merchant's molars grinding together at the back of his teeth. "If you don't have money, then I don't have any use for you! I got a family to feed! Go bother somebody else, ya no good bum!" The merchant shouted while pointing away from the stall, and catching the attention of onlookers going about their business.
Artur glanced behind him, looking at the length of the queue, or rather, the complete lack of it. "Fine, fine," Artur said, preparing to turn, but stopping himself, "but can I give you a friendly piece of advice?" Artur asked, his tone flat, devoid of sarcasm, and sincere.
The merchant gripped the wood of his market stall, threatening to snap his own tendons with the force. "If it'll get you to get the hell out of my face, then be my guest!" The man said, having dropped his voice from a shout, though still raising his voice. The vein on the vendor's sun-touched forehead made Artur wonder if he was going to become the first man to cause death by burst aneurysm through sheer verbal conflict.
"For your family's sake, drop the antagonistic attitude. This might come as a shock to you, but it's a really shite way of attracting customers." Artur said, before turning away from the merchant and walking further down the street. He was almost certain he could hear a growl, and the high-pitched whistle of a stove-top kettle.
"Mind your own Od-damn business! You don't see me trying to tell you how to look even more of an ugly fucker!" The salesman screamed, the rage sounding like it came from every crevice of his body. Artur could hear the venom with each word – if words could spread poison, he reckoned he'd need the antidote.
Artur turned his head back, and gave the 'appa' man a smile and a thumbs-up, before turning his head back and continuing to walk along the pavement. He was amused to an extent – he had been called a lot of things, and putting up with verbal abuse was probably the easiest thing he'd ever had to deal with in the army. He'd much rather endure the challenge of resisting a smile at someone's feelings-hurty words than a 20 mile ruck with 80kg on his back. Being called ugly was a new one, though. He'd been called some doozies, and Artur certainly wouldn't consider himself attractive – in fact, he thought he had looked pretty plain before getting sent into the trenches, not having seen himself in the mirror since before the war, but he didn't bother to ponder on it. It was just another flaw to add to his ever-growing list of them, he supposed.
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Artur kept his eye out for anything that might present the opportunity for him to get information. He couldn't spot any less busy merchant stalls, despite having walked around a kilometre down the street he'd been following, and in fairness to the arsehole of a merchant, he could see his point about bothering people in the middle of trying to make a living. He probably would have apologised, if it wasn't for him being so tempted to swing for Mr. Appa Man.
As he walked along the pavement, he felt a peculiar tingling in his ears, and a phenomenon he had never experienced before seemed to hijack his senses. The sounds all around him became subdued – the footsteps of those passing him by, the chatter of those sitting on benches along the street, the sound of artisans with tools in hand toiling away at their crafts – and a high-pitched ringing came to the forefront of his auditory awareness. It reminded him of the tinnitus that inevitably set in after the first gunshot, artillery shelling, or grenade explosion before your ears became less sensitive to the belligerent orchestra of the trenches. He tried to speak aloud, however even his own speech was extremely muffled when compared to the head-splitting ringing. Soon, however, that ringing slowly began to die down, and in its place… How queer.
In its place, Artur was almost certain that he could hear crying in the distance. If he had to guess, he would attribute the sound to a child, however when he considered all that he had seen today, he was loathe to take what his senses told him at face value. The ringing continued to die down, replaced by the crying of the child that seemed to grow louder, yet regardless of the shifting sounds, the cityscape immediately adjacent to him remained deafened and dulled. Unconsciously, he began to walk a bit faster, although this awful phenomenon did nothing to indicate to him which direction the sound he perceived was coming from. Soon enough, however, the effects on his hearing seemed to diminish. Or so he thought.
A rhythmic swooping – no, more like a flapping, could be heard. He looked up, as if trying to spot what the sound suddenly above him was, however the only thing above him appeared to be birds flying around above the city. That couldn't be it… but he was distracted before he could process that, as his attention was drawn to what sounded like the echo of water dripping in time with a metronome. That didn't make sense to him – the day was as dry as the sky was blue, and there were no water sources within view that he could observe. Until, that is, his eyes wandered along the ground, and Artur spotted a manhole – at least, he thought it was a manhole – he was unsure of himself, because the bloody thing must have been at least two-hundred metres away!
It was almost as if his hearing had becoming amplified – what had that alien sensation that washed over his ears been just then? When he thought above the acute changes to his hearing, he was sure that it was not as though the sounds around him were deafeningly loud all of a sudden, as though the volume knob had been turned up to eleven. No, if he had to describe it, he might have speculated that sounds which he would never have been able to hear before, and that only ten minutes ago, he could not previously hear, far off in the distance, were now audible to him – it sounded ridiculous, but it was if his ears had picked up, without his knowledge, the auditory equivalent of a pair of binoculars.
He tried to shake it off – he was baffled enough as his eyes swung around his environment, and he knew it was critical that he remained focused.
It was clear to Artur that he needed to find a pub, a civic build, a constabulary… These were always places rich for getting information, Artur had found in the past. Especially a constabulary, and especially near the end of the shift of whoever was stationed at the desk. Those desk coppers were more than happy to open their mouths and let unfiltered words spill from their mouths, especially near the end of a long, boring, thankless shift. He assumed that the place he found himself in would have some form of constable, however Artur hadn't spotted anyone like that. There were a few themes he'd come across as he kept his eyes open along the route he'd followed, and though he knew it sounded silly, the place almost seemed… medieval, in a way.
There were horse-drawn… well, there were lizard-drawn carts and carriages, what he had discovered seemed to be guild houses, and there were folk selling metal arms and armour from their merchant stalls. They must've been toys, Artur told himself, or very good replicas. He had just woken up in a strange place, he wasn't a time traveller. He had to resist the temptation to boot himself in his own shins for having such an idiotic, egoistic thought occur to him. The reality was he had likely ingested some kind of hallucinogen, maybe something that a soldier had smuggled into the trenches, and the reason he couldn't remember what had happened before, well, that surely must be because he was dreaming, or something. It was the only possible thing that Artur could think of within the realm of possibility and reality that he understood. Maybe it was the stress.
Artur's mind raced, trying to come to terms with the fever dream he found himself in, before he observed a circular white road sign with a red circle around the circumference. There were two characters on it the sign – it reminded him of a speed limit sign, in a way. As his eyes studied the sign, the auditory phenomenon returned, and with twice the force it had before. The noises around Artur were almost mute now, and though no ringing took the forefront of his hearing, that same crying-like sound returned. It was louder this time – and if Artur wasn't mistaken, he could swear it was coming from right in front of him. He tried rotating his head, to see if that made a difference in the nature of the sound, or the direction the sound seemed to be coming from, however it remained unchanged – and from straight ahead.
Again, though unconsciously, Artur began to walk a bit faster.
It was after spotting this sign – and after his hearing eventually returned to 'normal-though-amplified', that Artur's eyes finally managed to fall on someone he reckoned he might be able to harass for information. A long road intersected the street he'd been following at a T-junction, which appeared to lead to an ostentatious manor, and numerous gates seemed to fall along the length of the road, as though the owner was very concerned about the potential for someone to wander into his demesne. At the first gate preventing access to the road leading to, what Artur presumed was, a lord's residence, he noticed a man of medium height, with a pale, bearded face, who was coated from head-to-toe with what appeared to be steel plate armour. At the man's left hip, what Artur presumed to be a sword was resting within a dark-brown leather scabbard, and in his left hand, he was holding a polearm about twice his own height, whose non-pointy end rested on the paved ground.
As he took in the details of the man suited head to toe in armour, the assault on Artur's hearing occurred a third time, however on this occasion, there was no pain alongside – and rather than the nature of the sound, or direction of it, being to any level at all vague, it was now clear enough that Artur's eyes could follow the noise to its source.
Artur looked ahead on the pavement, and spotted a child – a little girl – with green hair, cut into a bob. It was going to take a while to get used to the extraordinary hair colours. He guesstimated that she must be around six or seven years old, and around three and a half feet tall. She was wearing a long-sleeved green dress, which had a hood attached at the back. Strange to Artur, though, he couldn't see an adult with the wee girl – something that immediately concerned him, when he considered that he had found himself in a city. He assumed he was in a city, at least – the population seemed far, far too dense to be anything other than that. If he had to guess, he'd posit that the city was more comparable in scale to Berlin, than for example, Edinburgh.
As he walked further along the street, and he got closer to the wee girl, it became confirmed to Artur that he could, in fact, hear crying – and it was coming from the little girl. She was sobbing, her light blue eyes reflective from the tears – highlighted by her wiping at her nose with her green sleeved hoodie-like outerwear, and her wobbly legs. To say she looked distressed would be a severe understatement. It bothered Artur more than he would care to admit, and he could feel the beginning of anger as he wondered why nobody was stopping to help the poor thing. As the green-haired girl looked around, presumably for her mum or dad, her gaze swivelled to the crowds across the road, and the girl's eyes lit up like stars uncovered by passing clouds. She looked to be filled with excitement, and she took a few steps on unstable legs, before running at full sprint.
Artur presumed she must have spotted who she was looking for, and he couldn't help as his eyes follow the wee lass. The girl had crossed into the middle of the road without hesitation, and did not stop to look to either side as she crossed. She must have had tunnel vision, as the young girl did not notice a small hole in the otherwise immaculately-paved road, causing her foot to catch in it, before she fell to the ground. He sped up his walking, just to check if the girl was okay – both his eyes and ears honed in on the wee lass.
She lay in the middle of the road, however, her tears returning and the intensity rising, causing Artur's, unknown to him, paternal instincts to flare, and his fast walk became a jog. As she lay there on the ground crying, a wooden, lizard-drawn cart pulled quickly around a bend in the road, the young girl unfortunately positioned such that the man riding the front of the cart couldn't see her until he was less than five seconds from the young girl.
Artur broke out into both a cold sweat as the reality immediately dawned on him, and a sprint, not hesitating to drop his rucksack and rifle from his back to shed weight, as he began pumping his legs as fast as they would possibly carry him, being thankful that he was wearing his well-broken-in leather boots.
The man at the helm of the cart noticed the young girl, and a look of horror appeared on his face, his eyes wide, his pupils pinpoint, and his teeth grinding together as his lips spread open to help oxygenate the doubtlessly increased oxygen demand that his elevated heart rate required. The man began shouting at the beast to stop, and he pulled on the reins in his hands. Hard.
The effect was negligible, and the beast continued to burst forward at a speed that Artur was certain was faster than would have been permitted.
Faster. Faster. Faster. He wasn't going to make it in time, he was too slow. He wasn't fast enough.
His legs roared with fire as his brain enforced a greater demand than it had ever placed on them, his tendons and ligaments stretching to their limits to aid the movement of his muscles as much as possible. He was sure he could feel each and every muscle fibre in his legs tear as his legs pumped quicker and quicker.
The cart was only three seconds away.
The green-haired girl lying on the road had turned her head to the sound of the careening cart, and the sound of her cries grew even greater into a sobbing wail, desperate for the safety of her mother and father. People going about their business, bystanders, simply stood and watched the heartbreaking scene in the middle of the road, nobody seeming to move to take action. Unnoticed to Artur in that moment, he was crashing straight through dozens of feckless people of in the crowded street that might as well have been dead for all the good they were doing, knocking many from their feet and causing them to crash down onto the pavement. He might have felt the eyes on him from every direction had his mind not been focused on a most pressing task.
The cart was only two seconds away.
The young girl remained unmoving, perhaps paralysed with fear. Maybe that was why nobody else had moved – perhaps they, too, were frozen in fear. It was that fear, however, that was going to allow a child to be ripped and torn apart under the devastating, thundering, ear-tearing hooves of the beast, and the wooden wheels that Artur could swear were only spinning with greater and greater acceleration. He was only a metre from her. Artur's feet had to strike the ground with the force of lightning to propel himself forward, and though he knew it not to be true, he might have sworn that the death machine was flying through the air, powered and accelerated by the engine of a plane.
The cart was only one second away.
With the sole intent of getting the girl out of the path of the incoming catastrophe, he rapidly stooped his upper body downwards to wrap his arms around the young girl, before his momentum carried them both out of the way of the vehicle, and onto the stone paving, with only milliseconds to spare. He rolled along the ground uncontrollably, the girl shielded from the kinetic force of their bouncing and spinning violently along the road, and then the pavement, by Artur's much larger frame that dwarfed hers.
The carriage continued to smash down the road, whether due to the rider being unable to stop the beast, or now out of self-preservation to avoid the consequences of his actions. It mattered not to Artur, however, as his rapid, traumatic spinning carried him solidly, harshly, and ungracefully into the white-painted wall of the gate of, what he presumed to be, the Lord's manor, with a stomach-turning crash. The air was forced out of his lungs as his back struck and fully absorbed the blow of his high-speed, even-higher mass collision, his trajectory stopped rapidly, before he unceremoniously dropped to the stone ground like a sack of bricks.
He lay there for a second, the pain shooting from the lumbar region of his back, and his legs aching as though they had been caught under the weight of the terrible mass of a fully-laden cart. Lying on his back, the girl lying on his chest still wrapped tightly, Artur's arms fell to his side as a bead of sweat ran down his forehead and into his left eye. Whether from the massive amounts of adrenaline his body had dumped into his system, or from the still-present confusion he felt from finding himself lost, time seemed to lose its meaning to him immediately following the impact.
After, to Artur, an indeterminable amount of time passed, he could feel a soft press against his left shoulder, periodically applying the pressure and then releasing it. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling at all, and compared to the pain he was feeling throughout his body, it was undoubtedly welcome. Since when had he become so soft?
"Uh, mister… Are you okay?" Came the sound of a high-pitched, adorable voice from his left, laced with an emotion he couldn't recognise in that moment. Artur opened his eyes, and they fell on the face of the young girl who, miraculously, had been squashed neither by the crazy cart, nor by Artur's frame. A look of concern rested on her visage, and though she was no longer crying, her face remained stained with the tears that had already fallen, and her eyelashes remained moistened.
Artur couldn't respond right away, no air remaining in his bruised, fiery lungs to transmit words from his hung-open mouth. He simply lay there, his right hand clutched to his chest as his torso writhed to inhale air. Breathing out did not present a challenge – the air was more than happy to flee him – however it was loathe to return and alleviate the panic in his chest, nor the blaring alarms ringing throughout his brain.
Some more time passed, however long it might be, and Artur opened his eyes again, still falling on the face of the green-haired girl. She remained concerned, and as he tried to inhale to speak, relief washed over him – not only at the oxygen that had changed its mind and decided to enter his lungs once more, but also as the realisation hit him that the wee lass was safe. It was funny to him how much she reminded him of his little sister, although he guessed that his little sister was probably a wee bit older than the green-haired girl was. His eyes shut as his sister appeared in his mind, but he could feel the searing pain he had felt in his head begin to return, and so he opened his eyes once more in order to ward it away.
He coughed as he exhaled, and then coughed a second and third time, before his lungs and diaphragm learned how to act in unison once again. His eyes fell on the young girl, before he gave a small smile, and a thumbs up to her. She inhaled sharply as a smile flew onto her face, though she looked uncertain, and hesitated to get closer to Artur once his eyes were open and had fallen on her.
Those footsteps had grown louder now, and he could make them out more clearly – they sounded metallic as they collided with the stone pavement, and they were emanating from behind him. In defiance of the commands his brain delivered, Artur placed either hand on the ground to the sides of him, and in unison with his legs, forced himself onto his bottom. He felt lightheaded, and with a movement that surprised the young girl who had only seen Artur motionless just a moment ago, he swung his legs opposite of the wall, such that the barrier along the pavement which had stopped his tumble was now supporting his weight. He smiled at the little girl again, warmly, as he felt the adrenaline in him begin to fade.
"I'm alright, wee lass. That was a close one, eh? How are you feeling?" Artur asked, the young girl's face moving to one of wonder, although he wasn't sure why. Artur turned his head back to the sound of the footsteps, and spotted that it was coming from the armour-adorned man he had spotted at the gate of the large estate. He had shed his polearm, leaving it lying against the gate, as he spotted another guard opening the gate from the inside, exiting the walled-off area, before seeming to stand guard where the approaching one had been.
"You… you're not scary at all!" The young girl said, almost elatedly, out of Artur's right ear. He turned his head back to face her, before giving her an amused smile. He put his hand on his chest, feigning hurt.
"Me? Not scary? I'm very scary. Look – grrr!" Artur said, the amusement leaking into his voice. He let out the most inoffensive growl the world had probably ever been graced with, before inserting each index finger into one corner of his mouth, and pulling the corners of his mouth down into a parody of a frown. This promptly caused the little girl to burst into laughter, causing Artur in turn to let out a deep chuckle, although reluctantly, as the laughter caused a sharp pain to radiate across his back with each inhalation.
"No, you're not! You're a silly man!" She said, before laughing even harder at him. Artur laughed, too, but as the armoured man reached them, the young girl's eyes focused on them, as her smile faded. "Th-thank you for saving me, mister man." The young girl said, before moving to Artur's right, putting him between the martial gentlemen and herself. The young girl had reached out with both hands, and had grabbed Artur's uniform sleeve, surprising the Officer, before he turned his eyes onto the pale man with the scabbard at his waist.
"Hey, you two – are you both alright?" The man asked in a gruff voice, his accent peculiarly reminding him of one you might hear in a noble's court. Perhaps he had been right about the purpose of the large building behind the gates and walls.
Artur placed a large hand on top of the young girl's head, unconsciously putting her at ease a little, before smiling. "Aye, other than bruises, I reckon we're okay," he said, before turning his head to the green-haired girl, "Are you alright, little lass?"
To Artur's amusement, the girl puffed air into her cheeks in a pout, her eyes reflecting a lack of amusement. She grabbed Artur's uniform tighter before opening her mouth.
"I… I'm not little! I'm a big girl!" The little girl said, her voice trying to sound as un-whiney as possible, her eyes closing before her mouth opened, after which they reopened, "Mummy says I'll get thiiiis big when I'm older." She said, standing on her tiptoes, releasing Artur's uniform with one of her hands, and gesturing to roughly four foot off the ground. Her behaviour made both Artur and the gruff-voiced man smile, putting any concern that either of them might have for the child to bed.
"Oh, I'm very sorry miss, I'll remember that for next time." He said, before ruffling her hair with the hand on her head. At that, a smile came back to the wee one's face.
"That's okay, I'll forgive you since you saved me!" She said, her voice returning to that reflecting glee once more. She had put her hand that was in the air back onto Artur's uniform, her grip tight.
Before Artur could respond, the gentleman who approached the pair spoke. "Indeed, please accept my forgiveness, both of you. I have ashamed both myself, my family, and my lord by my failure to intervene. On behalf of Royal Army, please accept my forgiveness." The gentleman said, before bowing his head deeply towards the oddly-dressed man and the young girl, almost headbutting Artur, to his amusement.
"Please, please don't worry about it," Artur said, before pausing, and thinking for a moment, "Although, I hope you find the guy controlling that… vehicle, before he succeeds in hurting someone."
The man stood up from his bow, before nodding at Artur. "Indeed, it was a most reprehensible act. As soon as I saw what happened, I informed my colleague," the man said, before pivoting and pointing to the man armoured in the same style as himself, "who ordered a servant to dispatch a carrier-pyugeon, informing the Royal Army city barracks. He shall not be successful in escaping far with the city garrison on the lookout for him."
Artur nodded, before a thought occurred to him. He paused for a moment, before turning his head towards the green-haired girl to his right. "So, little-", Artur said before catching himself, "I mean, young miss. I never asked you your name."
The young girl either didn't notice Artur's slip-up, or wasn't bothered by it this time, too enveloped by the interaction between the two soldiers. She smiled brightly. "My name's Plum Risch! My mummy and daddy gave it to me for my birthday!" She said, sounding very proud of herself. Artur couldn't help but smile at her childish innocence, an action that both he and the armoured man both shared.
Something occurred to the… knight? "Excuse me, does that mean that you two are not related to one another?" He asked, surprise and confusion in his voice, and eyebrow raising in reflection.
Artur turned his head back to the man, before giving a smile and shaking his head. "Not at all. I just spotted Plum crossing the road, and in fact…," he said, before hesitating, unsure if he should continue. He considered there would probably be no harm in engaging with the soldier, "In fact, I actually only arrived here today."
One raised eyebrow of surprise turned into two as the man found himself astonished. "You mean… Your first day here, and you risk your life to save that of a child, whom you have never met before?" He asked, in disbelief. He had heard of bravery and heroism, but he couldn't believe his ears.
Artur raised a hand to the back of his, before scratching it sheepishly. He let out a nervous laugh. "Haha… I suppose you could say that." Artur said, before reaching a hand out to the armoured man. The gentleman, his face reflecting his surprise, accepted the hand, before helping the taller man up off the ground.
The man grunted as he aided him to his feet, and wondered just how heavy this man was. He didn't look fat… It was only when he was standing at his full height, that the man realised why. "You could have been killed, though! Brutally." The man said, before casting his eyes over Plum, who looked nonplussed at his words. He didn't think she had even heard him, as the young girl's eyes were almost shining at the taller man, transfixed. He looked back at Artur. "No, I would be remiss in my duties if I did not take action to see that your honourable action is rewarded."
Artur raised his left hand again to scratch the back of his head sheepishly. Despite his rank, he had never been goon at accepting positive attention. It would certainly not be the first time that he had ever caused offence by his inept, tactless inability to accept a compliment or praise. "I appreciate it, but not at all…" Artur said, before his head swivelled back to look down at Plum. "In fact… Plum, do you know where your mummy or daddy are?"
Plum, eyes still fixed on the man who saved her life, suddenly remembered why she had been so upset before. The expression on her face reflecting her positive emotions faded, and quickly fell back down to an expression of grief, fear, and despair. She gripped onto Artur's uniform trouser leg tightly, before shaking her head gently, tears appearing at the shelves of her eyes.
"N… No, I don't know. I was shopping with my mummy, but when I turned around, she was gone!" Plum said, a tear beginning to slide down her cheek. Before the tears could begin to fall more, however, Artur bent his knees to drop down to Plum's height.
"Well, that's okay, Plum. Don't worry, I promise you that we'll find her." He said, forcing a smile to his face in an attempt to reassure the young girl.
The threat of tears seemed to fade for the moment, and she wiped her eyes dry. "Do… Do you mean it?" She asked, gripping his uniform tighter, and leaning forward slightly.
"Absolutely," he said, before placing a hand on Plum's head and ruffling her hair again, "there's nothing to worry about."
Artur turned to face the apologetic man, the forced smile he gave to Plum having faded from his face. "I'm glad that you came over here. Do you think you'd be able to take Plum somewhere until you can find her mum?" He asked.
The man looked down at Plum, before peering back at Artur. "I certainly could, yes. However…" he said, before looking back down at Plum, who looked as though she might scream if she was separated from her new best friend," I do not believe that Miss Plum would be too happy." The man paused for a moment, a hand coming to rest on his chin, before an idea came to him. "I believe you should stay with the young girl, at least until she arrives to the barracks safely. It also occurs to me that the… unofficial Deputy Commander is on duty today. I believe that he should be at the barracks, in fact. It would be a great opportunity for you, if you were to be introduced to him."
Artur thought for a moment at the man's words. He peered down at the green-haired girl, whose spirits seemed to be heightening. A pang struck him as he thought about upsetting her – she had already had a traumatic enough day as it was. He tried to remember when he'd had such a soft spot for kids… Perhaps it was due to the contrast between the innocence of a child, and the horrific evil that he'd been witness to for the past three years. It also occurred to Artur that this might present a good opportunity; he wanted information about where he was, and now, a soldier was proposing to introduce him – with a good word given, he'd bet – to a military man of, presumably, high office. This could work out well, he considered – both for his conscience, and his potential for getting back to his men.
"You make a good point, mate." Artur said, before extending his hand out towards the man.
The man accepted his hand, and reciprocated the handshake with a smile on his face. "My name is Gionis Gildark; it is a pleasure to meet a man of your character."
"The pleasure's mine, Mister Gildark." Artur said, sharing both the handshake and the smile.
That was an oddity to Gionis, being addressed as 'Mister'. It was not as though such a thing never happened, or that it was unheard of, however as Gionis understood it, it was extremely unusual for such titles to be used – especially nowadays. Gionis was fairly certain that they were mainly relics of the past. "Please – just Gionis is fine," he said, shaking off the peculiarity, as Artur released the man's hand, "Although, I never got your…" He trailed off as Artur turned back around to Plum, before kneeling down once again.
"Plum, would you like me to come with you to the place where the nice men are? They're going to keep you safe, and help you find your mummy." He said, putting his 'child-friendly' voice back on.
Plum's face brightened, stars shining in her eyes as she was washed over with relief and glee. She nodded quickly, before saying "Yes please, mister! My mummy is a really nice lady, you'll like her!"
Artur laughed easily at Plum's shenanigans, before nodding back at her. "Okay dokay then, that sounds like a plan," he said, before an idea to help keep Plum happy popped into his head, "Say, Plum, do you want to ride high in the sky while we go with the nice man?"
Plum's expression changed to a hilarious one of anticipation and excitement, and she nodded vigorously again, which Artur couldn't help but laugh at again. "Okey missus. On three, okay?" He said, before Plum smiled at him again. She dutifully put her arms in the air, finally releasing Artur's uniform, a serious expression of preparation on her face as though she'd been asked to show her war face.
Artur placed his hands on either side of Plum, and with a one-two-three, he lifted her up easily and placed her on his shoulders. Plum exclaimed a 'wheeeeee' as she was lifted from the ground, the smile staying on his face. He had placed one hand on either of Plum's feet as she wrapped her arms around Artur's forehead. He turned back to face Gionis, who stood there with his arms crossed, an expression of amusement on his face.
"Please, lead on, Gionis." Artur said, trying to keep the laughter that threatened to overtake him from leaking out into his face.
"Absolutely," Gionis replied, "Please follow me." He said, before turning and gesturing for Artur, being mounted like a see-saw by Plum, to follow him.
"Oh, actually, before we head, Gionis…" Artur said, causing Gionis to turn around and look at the man with a questioning look. "Would you mind grabbing my rucksack and rifle? I dropped them over there," Artur said, before pointing vaguely with his head, "and the last thing I need is to lose them."
Gionis chuckled slightly, before nodding. "Of course." The man walked over to the road, and learning from Plum's experience, made sure to look both ways down the road before crossing it. He quickly spotted the man's bag and… what did he call it, a 'riyful'? With haste, the man tucked the rifle between an arm and his torso – not expecting it to be as heavy as it was – and picked up the rucksack, carrying it with both hands. Again, before crossing the road, the man double-checked that he wasn't going to require Artur to save two people from runaway carts in a day, before crossing back over to him.
"Here you are." The man said, causing a bit of relief to wash over the bearded man. Losing essentially everything he owned at that point… That would probably be the worst possible thing he could do for his long-term survivability, he considered. Well, other than the obvious, which had almost just transpired.
"Thanks, man. Do you reckon you could carry them for me? I'm a wee bit pre-occupied with a rogue passenger." He said, a smile coming to rest on his face as he considered the girl on his shoulders.
"H-Hey! I'm not a rogue, I'm a good girl!" Plum said, a pout on her face – of course, one Artur couldn't see – before sticking her tongue out at the man. It promptly caused a smile to come to Gionis' face, too.
"I don't know, Plum. I get the feeling you're full of mischief." Artur said, his voice laced with light-heartedness.
"Hmm…," Plum hummed, "that's what mummy says, too."
The trio walked for a couple of minutes, before an idea occurred to him to keep Plum happy. "Plum," Artur said, "Do you want to hear a song from where I come from?"
He could feel a rocking from above him, which he assumed to be Plum nodding, and an encouraging "mm mm" in agreement. "I love songs! You should hear my mummy sing, she has a really, really, really nice voice!" Plum shouted, sounding ecstatic.
Artur chuckled at her, before licking his lips, and clearing his throat.
If it is wisnae fur yur wellies, where wid ye be?
Maybe in the hospital or infurmuree!
'Cause you would have a dose of the flu, or even pleurisy
If ye didnae huv yur feet, in yur wellllies!
Artur sang before stopping, letting his accent run free as the song necessitated, enjoying the sound of Plum's laughter throughout the song, and being amused by the curious look that Gionis had given him – whether because of his accent, the unfamiliar song, or the fact that Artur didn't bother to restrict his loudness despite being in public, Artur didn't know, but he found it funny just the same.
"More!" Plum shouted between her giggles. "You're so silly! More!"
Artur laughed back at her. He couldn't remember the last time he had laughed. Had it been before the war? It had definitely been before the war, he considered.
"Okay, okay!" He said with a laugh.
Oh wellies they are wonderful, oh wellies they are swell
'Cause they keep oot the waattur, and they keep in the smell!
And when yur sittin' in a room, you can surely tell
When some bugger takes aff his wellies!