The Ash Inn
I know I'm currently doing 9 Months, but writing it is a real pain up my butt, so while I've got writing problems I thought I'd post this easier to write fic. I got the idea to do this from Bartender (crazy but true). Oh, and I'll need a tag for the fic.
Title: The Ash Inn
Author: Me, Jade
Genre: Fantasy
Ratings: G for six chapters, PG for the seventh
Characters that are seen: Brad, Ryan, Colin, Wayne, Greg, Tony, Chip
Characters heard but never seen: Mike, Josie, Niall, Paul
Summary: When Chip leaves Brad to run the Ash Inn for a week, it's business as usual.
Monday
“Brad, are you sure you’ll be alright running the bar alone?” asked Chip as he put on his jacket. For once the inn was quiet. The sun had just risen over the small village of Rostville - the village was full of different races from demons to gargoyles, humans to angels - and the sun’s warm rays shone through the windows of the Ash Inn. The inn was easily the largest building out of the entire village. Instead of looking like a house, it looked more like a small castle with its three-storey square appearance and four two-storey turrets. The turrets were where the staffs’ private quarters were. As Brad and Chip were the only staff members, they had two turrets to themselves. The first and second floors were occupied with guests staying (the inn only held 20 rooms). The ground floor was the bar area.
“I’ll be fine Chip,” answered Brad. He had started working at the inn four months ago, but that was when they had Mike McShane and Josie Lawrence; now it just the two of them working there. And now Chip was going to be absent from the inn for a week due to the Monthly Inn Meeting, where all the managers of the inns went to discuss business and new plans. “I’ve taken notes from you, I’ll be alright. I know the basic schedule anyway.”
“Remember the guest at room 7 eats only raw meat,” said Chip. “The crate is under the bar, third block on the right. And the guest at room 10 will need his potion four times a day, once every four hours, from midday to nine. The cauldron is in the biggest block under the bar. If you run out of potion, go here.” Chip drew out a piece of paper and pen from the top pocket of his jacket and wrote down instructions. He handed them to Brad, who eagerly read what was written on it.
“Right, OK,” said Brad without looking up from the paper. He folded it neatly in half and put a dull silver goblet over it.
“I’m going now, if you’ve got any trouble send Rowland to me,” said Chip. “And Brad, stay out of my turrets please.” Brad watched him strap both his katanas on his back. Before becoming a bartender, Chip had been a Samurai, working for the King. Chip still had all his old equipment, but he rarely touched his armour anymore or his other weapons. In fact the only weapons he now used were his katanas which, Chip had once said, were especially made for him as a result of capturing an old enemy (the enemy had disarmed him of both his katanas) using only ninja shurikens (throwing stars).
“I will,” Brad assured Chip. He knew Chip still cared for his samurai equipment, which lay unused in the turret he more commonly slept in, and he would be in an awful rage if anything happened to it.
After a quick goodbye, Chip left the bar, leaving Brad alone. The inn was really more part-inn part-pub. Apart from the bar and the cabinet behind it, which held drinks of any type and spare glasses, there were fifteen tables placed around the place, each table surrounded by four chairs. A large lime green clock hung directly opposite the bar, which was facing the pair of double doors. There were about five windows either side of the double doors. Either side of the bar were doors which lead to the inn area.
Brad was not entirely human, unlike Chip. Although his appearance was human, he was a hawk hybrid. Sprouting out from his back was a pair of beautiful grey hawk wings. His left arm was a perfectly normal human arm. His right arm was slightly different; from the elbow downwards it was like someone had cut through his arm, waited for a stump to form first before sticking an orangey-yellow talon on for a hand. Even though his eyes were brown, at times they went a shade of yellow.
The inn was also friendly with the local village. The villagers enjoyed going to the inn and stopping by for a drink. Some dropped by more regularly than others, and soon they were getting very friendly with each other. It also appeared that each day they would come in with a problem and ask for advice.
Their customers were quite odd as well in ways. They were an all arms open inn, serving anybody without complaint. Rostville was a village almost dead in the center of surrounding big cities, and travellers were always advised to pass through Rostville, as travelling from one city to another would take at least a day and a half. Different species varying greatly stayed at their inn. Humans, elves, gargoyles, demons, hybrids, spirits, pixies, fairies, trolls, ogres, angels, even vampires and werewolves were allowed to stay at the inn. They even once had a customer who was travelling by a teenage dragon, and asked to stay at the inn for the night.
Ten minutes passed and the door didn’t open once. Frowning Brad glanced at the clock and saw it was almost ten. Normally they would have had customers in by now. Wondering if it was a sudden change, he began to aimlessly polish the top of the bar with the cloth in his human hand. He didn’t use his talon much - it couldn’t work as well as the human hand.
The door opened and Ryan came in. Despite his human appearance, his pointed ears gave away his elfin status. He was in his usual leather top and pants and, strangely, a pair of new blue-coloured dragon hide boots. Slung across his back was his quiver which held two dozen eagle-feathered arrows. He was holding his bow, which was made of oak. Ryan was considered as a regular; he only lived two houses away from the inn.
“The regular?” asked Brad as Ryan took his seat in front of Brad. He nodded, and Brad fetched a cherry red bottle with his talon. The gold label was slowly peeling off. “Are you alright? You seem a bit … dreamy today.” He took a cup from under the counter, used his talon to uncork the bottle, and poured Ryan a drink.
“Tell me, do you see anything interesting about these boots?” asked Ryan as he took his drink, his eyes looking down. Brad leaned over the bar to have a look.
“They’re blue,” replied Brad slowly. “And I think they’re only pair of blue shoes in the entire village … did you slay the dragon yourself to get the hide?” Ryan nodded as he drank. “What breed was it? Cyprus Bluehorn?”
“No, it was a Sea-Fire Snout,” answered Ryan while looking down. “It’s the only blue dragon breed that lives close to us. It took me fifty arrows just to kill one, and two days just to make these. Making these cost me a fortune.” He finished off his drink and brought the cup down onto the table with a bang.
“I hear there are Cyprus Bluehorns nearby,” said Brad carelessly as he refilled Ryan’s drink. For a moment he watched Ryan. “What’s the problem? Is it something to do with those shoes? You seem to be staring at them quite a lot since you sat down.” Ryan looked up at him.
“I can’t stop looking at them,” he said in a half-hushed voice. “I know it’s no big deal slaying a dragon, but there’s just … well … something about them really …” His voice trailed off.
“You just can’t stop admiring them, can you?” asked Brad. Ryan nodded his head. “You’ve developed a soft spot for your boots. I’ll admit they are quite nice and unique.” He glanced at the clock. “Aren’t you supposed to be in archery training.”
“I don’t need to be in training anymore,” said Ryan, a cheery tone in his voice. “I’m fully qualified - I only go to fight when the need comes.”
“Congratulations,” said Brad, a smile on his face. “So, have you thought what job you’re going to get?”
“I was wondering about working here,” muttered Ryan. “I know you’re short of staff since Mike and Josie left.”
“Unfortunately you’re going to have to wait for a week,” said Brad. “Chip’s gone to the Monthly Inn Meeting, and I’m just taking over from him. It’s surprising how little customers we have today. Usually we’ve got customers in at this time. Oh speak of the devil.” At his words the door opened and two men came in. Brad moved over to take their order. Both men seemed incapable of speaking English; they both spoke in squawks and shrieks, but Brad understood. He stretched out his talon behind him and swiped two bottles. All Ryan managed to see of the label was a brown hawk with its wings outstretched. He watched the shorter man hand over the money for both bottles. Suddenly it struck him the two men were also bird hybrids; they both had talons for hands, and their eyes were a sharp shade of yellow.
They uncorked their bottles themselves and walked over to a table in the corner, where they began talking in deep conversation. Brad went back to Ryan looking very troubled. Ryan knew better than to ask Brad what the matter was; Brad never liked sharing hybrid business with anybody but other hybrids. He automatically refilled Ryan’s drink just as the door opened. The bottle almost fell out of Brad’s hand when he saw Colin walk in, and Ryan was gaping open mouth.
The last time they had seen Colin, he had had a lot of hair. Now he had what looked like a receding hairline and a bald patch behind his head. He was looking and feeling so angry the two other hybrids were backing against the wall, afraid of Colin launching a sudden attack. He sat down, not even bothering to sort out his purple robes, which was a definite sign of his anger. Without even asking, Brad instantly reached out for a green bottle behind him and handed it directly to Colin, who snatched the bottle, furiously uncorked it and took a long swig.
“Col, mate, are you alright?” asked Ryan uncertainly. Unlike Brad and Ryan, Colin was a magician, but he wasn’t very advanced. He was always in robes of purple or blue, with a black belt around his waist. Around his neck was a pendant made of a small oval plate attached to a chain. On one side of the plate was a small mirror. To keep that side hidden and to make the pendant seem less suspicious, an emerald covered the other side.
“What do you think?” snapped Colin furiously. Thankfully his magical abilities did not stretch as far as killing - but he was capable of giving serious injuries. Judging by his current state of mind he was ready to curse anything in his way. “I went to a haircut and look at what’s happened!”
“Colin, calm down!” cried Brad, alarmed. “Why did you go for a haircut anyway?”
“I felt my hair was growing a bit long,” answered Colin, a tone of steady anger in his voice. Ryan suddenly noticed that already half the bottle had been drained by Colin. Brad seemed to notice that too because he tugged it away from Colin. “I’m not brilliant at cutting my own hair with magic, so I went to the hairdressers.”
“What happened there?” asked Brad. He had decided it was safer to give Colin his drink cup by cup. He slid the cup across the surface towards Colin. He caught it neatly and drained all of it in one go.
“I don’t know!” he shouted back in fury. At once the two hybrids got up and left as fast as possible.
“You’re scaring away the customers,” hissed Brad.
“Do you think I care?” fired Colin. “I want my hair back!” He slammed his fist onto the table and his wand-like gold and ruby encrusted sceptre fell out of his sleeve. For a moment all three were staring at it. Then suddenly Brad and Colin swiped the sceptre at the same time. There was a furious tug but with help from his wings, Brad sent Colin falling off his stool and landing on the floor, slacking his grip on the sceptre.
“Not so fast,” said Brad as Colin got up, his face livid. He tried to grab his sceptre but Brad lifted it higher as he gently flew up until his head touched the ceiling.
“Give my sceptre back,” snarled Colin.
“Sit down and calm down,” said Brad. Colin got back onto his stool, his eyes still on his sceptre. Brad moved his legs so Colin had no chance of pulling him down. “Can’t you just re-grow your hair?”
“The last time I tried it my hair grew so long everyone thought I was a female,” answered Colin gruffly. Seeing Colin had now calmed, Brad landed and gave Colin his sceptre. Colin took it and placed it back under his sleeve. Just then one of the doors leading to the rooms opened and a horrible stench filled the entire room.
A man had just entered, looking slightly disgruntled. He looked human, but his body was that of a human-sized troll. He was slightly hunched with broad shoulders, thick arms and legs and a fat body. His lower lip seemed to pout. The stench he was giving off definitely classified him as part-troll part-human. Even his choice of clothing showed it - the ragged shirt and pants he was in were ripped and bloodstained. Around his waist was a shabby strip of material fastened around his waist by a clumsily done knot.
He stepped up to the counter (Colin and Ryan moved over slightly, both afraid of him) and said to Brad in a voice with a slight grunt, “I need my raw meat.” Brad ducked under the counter and using his talon easily prised open a box. At once a foul smell came out. Inside were several lumps of raw meat, each one with nets around them. He hooked his talon around one of the nets and took it out. He held it away from him as far as possible as he handed the meat to the troll hybrid.
“Thank you,” he grunted. He went back through the door and disappeared out of view.
“Who was he?” asked Ryan, his eyes fixed on the door the hybrid had gone through.
“He’s the guest at room 7,” answered Brad as she placed the lid of the crate back on. “I don’t know much about him, he only ever comes down to get his meat. According to the record of guests who have stayed here, his name’s Tony Slattery. He’s been here for four months, I remember him arriving - he came three days after me.”
“Did I hear you right?” asked Ryan. “Did you say four months?” Brad nodded. “Without checking out once?” Brad nodded again.
“He’s not the only long-term staying customer,” said Brad. He pulled a nearby open book towards himself and flicked backwards through pages until he stopped. He ran his finger down the book, muttering out surnames.
“Fry … Sessions … Greenwood … here we are. Greg Proops,” said Brad. “He’s the other staying customer. He checked in … ah … seven and a half months ago. He never goes outside during night - he can’t risk it. He normally comes down to have a drink though.”
“Don’t they ever go out?” asked Colin. The arrival of Tony seemed to have calmed him down about his haircut.
“Greg goes out during the day, but he has to return here every four hours.”
“Why?”
“He needs his Potion.”
“For what?”
“I can’t say, it’s up to him if he wants to share the reason,” answered Brad stiffly. He guessed what Colin was about to say. “His problem can’t be solved by magic. No matter how hard we’ve tried, there is no solution for him. The only means we have is the Potion.” Colin opened his mouth, but then closed it. Brad was right; he shouldn’t nose into other people’s problems.
They talked for another thirty minutes before the door Tony had gone through opened. This time it wasn’t Tony who came in but someone with a human appearance, despite having a bite mark on the side of his neck. The bags under his eyes were enlarged by his glasses.
“Ah, Greg,” said Brad, watching Greg make his way over to the bar.
“I need my Potion Brad,” Greg said as he went up to the counter. Brad nodded and grabbed the silver goblet. He went over to a pewter cauldron and swiped out a cupful of pale pink potion. He handed it to Greg who drank it all in one go. He screwed up his face as he swallowed the potion.
“Disgusting,” he said in a high voice as he handed back the empty goblet. “I’ll be back at three.” He went out of the front door.
“That was Greg?” asked Ryan. Brad nodded. “That Potion, isn’t that the Potion for -” He stopped, realising Brad was pointing at the window. Both Ryan and Colin swivelled round on their chairs and saw the familiar face of Wayne passing by the window. He seemed rather worried - they were right the moment he entered.
Wayne was a skilled warrior. He could fight and defend himself well, and he always carried his trusty broadsword with him. He was often seen wearing his torso and skirt armour over everyday clothing. Normally he was very cheerful. But today he was the complete opposite.
“What’s the matter Wayne?” asked Brad the moment Wayne sat down beside Colin.
“My house has been raided by a complete hoard of Poxies,” he answered. “It’s a nightmare, I have no idea how to get rid of them. Even as I speak, the Poxies are making my home their new home.” Poxies were fly-sized pests commonly found in people’s homes. They would secretly make a nest in an unlikely area to look. Once the Poxies considered they had done enough for their nest they would then raid the house and take over. Poxies were also commonly found in caves.
“Did you say you have a Poxy problem?” said a voice, which was immediately followed by a strong stench. Everyone turned to find Tony standing behind Wayne. He was no longer looking disgruntled, but it seemed his lip was supposed to pout. He was carrying a net which everyone but Wayne recognised as the same net which had contained the raw meat.
“Yes …” said Brad slowly.
“I’ll help you get rid of them, I’ve de-Poxied about fifteen caves - most of the caves trolls live in have Poxies you know,” said Tony. “It’s easy to de-Poxy a house, it won’t take longer than fifteen minutes, I promise you. Trolls can sniff out a Poxy nest from a far away distance. The trick to get rid of Poxies is to take its nest out of your house - Poxies are bound to follow their nest, they’ll think they’re moving home or something - then throw it in water. Poxies can’t survive in water, so they’ll drown. By the time they realise what’s happening, it’ll be too late, they won’t be able to make their way back up to the surface for oxygen. Oh, and I want to return this.” He handed Brad the empty net just as Wayne got off his stool.
“Follow me,” he said, looking at Tony as though he would suddenly launch an attack and eat him. They left the pub and as they passed by the window, they noticed everyone they passed moved a few feet away from them as though they were dangerous. Ten minutes later Wayne and Tony returned, Wayne looking much happier which only meant one thing; Tony had successfully de-Poxied his house.
“All gone,” said Wayne brightly. “We took them to the nearest water area and threw the entire nest in. They were quite stupid really - they all went in. By the time they realised they were underwater it was too late.”
“I’ll be in my room,” said Tony. “I’ll come down again when I need my meat.” He went through the door he had entered and did not come down for a while.
That afternoon business picked up from its slow abysmal start. The two hawk hybrids came back and had to pull Brad over to talk urgently for five minutes. They talked in low squawks and shrieks, a tone of grimness in all three voices. They would have talked longer but Greg came in and had to take more of his Potion before leaving the inn once more.
Business gradually faded as it went past 6pm. Greg came back for his Potion, then went up to his room. Tony came back down for another lump of raw meat, and Wayne had to leave them as he suddenly remembered he was to be expecting an important message. It was half past seven before Ryan and Colin left.
As Brad packed up for the night, he wondered if Josie or Mike had ever been left to run the inn on their own. Neither of them had stayed long after he had arrived, and Brad sometimes wondered whether it was him who had scared them away (according to Chip, they weren’t too fond of bird hybrids). Without Chip the day spent running the pub felt much longer. Or maybe that was because of slow business. Still, they had managed to make a good amount of money, and had two customers staying for the night.
Brad unlocked the right door and went up the first set of swirling stairs which lead him to one of his turrets. He had no desire to break his promise to Chip; although he had never seen Chip angry, he shuddered to think how furious Chip would be if he discovered someone had been in his turrets.
Title: The Ash Inn
Author: Me, Jade
Genre: Fantasy
Ratings: G for six chapters, PG for the seventh
Characters that are seen: Brad, Ryan, Colin, Wayne, Greg, Tony, Chip
Characters heard but never seen: Mike, Josie, Niall, Paul
Summary: When Chip leaves Brad to run the Ash Inn for a week, it's business as usual.
Monday
“Brad, are you sure you’ll be alright running the bar alone?” asked Chip as he put on his jacket. For once the inn was quiet. The sun had just risen over the small village of Rostville - the village was full of different races from demons to gargoyles, humans to angels - and the sun’s warm rays shone through the windows of the Ash Inn. The inn was easily the largest building out of the entire village. Instead of looking like a house, it looked more like a small castle with its three-storey square appearance and four two-storey turrets. The turrets were where the staffs’ private quarters were. As Brad and Chip were the only staff members, they had two turrets to themselves. The first and second floors were occupied with guests staying (the inn only held 20 rooms). The ground floor was the bar area.
“I’ll be fine Chip,” answered Brad. He had started working at the inn four months ago, but that was when they had Mike McShane and Josie Lawrence; now it just the two of them working there. And now Chip was going to be absent from the inn for a week due to the Monthly Inn Meeting, where all the managers of the inns went to discuss business and new plans. “I’ve taken notes from you, I’ll be alright. I know the basic schedule anyway.”
“Remember the guest at room 7 eats only raw meat,” said Chip. “The crate is under the bar, third block on the right. And the guest at room 10 will need his potion four times a day, once every four hours, from midday to nine. The cauldron is in the biggest block under the bar. If you run out of potion, go here.” Chip drew out a piece of paper and pen from the top pocket of his jacket and wrote down instructions. He handed them to Brad, who eagerly read what was written on it.
“Right, OK,” said Brad without looking up from the paper. He folded it neatly in half and put a dull silver goblet over it.
“I’m going now, if you’ve got any trouble send Rowland to me,” said Chip. “And Brad, stay out of my turrets please.” Brad watched him strap both his katanas on his back. Before becoming a bartender, Chip had been a Samurai, working for the King. Chip still had all his old equipment, but he rarely touched his armour anymore or his other weapons. In fact the only weapons he now used were his katanas which, Chip had once said, were especially made for him as a result of capturing an old enemy (the enemy had disarmed him of both his katanas) using only ninja shurikens (throwing stars).
“I will,” Brad assured Chip. He knew Chip still cared for his samurai equipment, which lay unused in the turret he more commonly slept in, and he would be in an awful rage if anything happened to it.
After a quick goodbye, Chip left the bar, leaving Brad alone. The inn was really more part-inn part-pub. Apart from the bar and the cabinet behind it, which held drinks of any type and spare glasses, there were fifteen tables placed around the place, each table surrounded by four chairs. A large lime green clock hung directly opposite the bar, which was facing the pair of double doors. There were about five windows either side of the double doors. Either side of the bar were doors which lead to the inn area.
Brad was not entirely human, unlike Chip. Although his appearance was human, he was a hawk hybrid. Sprouting out from his back was a pair of beautiful grey hawk wings. His left arm was a perfectly normal human arm. His right arm was slightly different; from the elbow downwards it was like someone had cut through his arm, waited for a stump to form first before sticking an orangey-yellow talon on for a hand. Even though his eyes were brown, at times they went a shade of yellow.
The inn was also friendly with the local village. The villagers enjoyed going to the inn and stopping by for a drink. Some dropped by more regularly than others, and soon they were getting very friendly with each other. It also appeared that each day they would come in with a problem and ask for advice.
Their customers were quite odd as well in ways. They were an all arms open inn, serving anybody without complaint. Rostville was a village almost dead in the center of surrounding big cities, and travellers were always advised to pass through Rostville, as travelling from one city to another would take at least a day and a half. Different species varying greatly stayed at their inn. Humans, elves, gargoyles, demons, hybrids, spirits, pixies, fairies, trolls, ogres, angels, even vampires and werewolves were allowed to stay at the inn. They even once had a customer who was travelling by a teenage dragon, and asked to stay at the inn for the night.
Ten minutes passed and the door didn’t open once. Frowning Brad glanced at the clock and saw it was almost ten. Normally they would have had customers in by now. Wondering if it was a sudden change, he began to aimlessly polish the top of the bar with the cloth in his human hand. He didn’t use his talon much - it couldn’t work as well as the human hand.
The door opened and Ryan came in. Despite his human appearance, his pointed ears gave away his elfin status. He was in his usual leather top and pants and, strangely, a pair of new blue-coloured dragon hide boots. Slung across his back was his quiver which held two dozen eagle-feathered arrows. He was holding his bow, which was made of oak. Ryan was considered as a regular; he only lived two houses away from the inn.
“The regular?” asked Brad as Ryan took his seat in front of Brad. He nodded, and Brad fetched a cherry red bottle with his talon. The gold label was slowly peeling off. “Are you alright? You seem a bit … dreamy today.” He took a cup from under the counter, used his talon to uncork the bottle, and poured Ryan a drink.
“Tell me, do you see anything interesting about these boots?” asked Ryan as he took his drink, his eyes looking down. Brad leaned over the bar to have a look.
“They’re blue,” replied Brad slowly. “And I think they’re only pair of blue shoes in the entire village … did you slay the dragon yourself to get the hide?” Ryan nodded as he drank. “What breed was it? Cyprus Bluehorn?”
“No, it was a Sea-Fire Snout,” answered Ryan while looking down. “It’s the only blue dragon breed that lives close to us. It took me fifty arrows just to kill one, and two days just to make these. Making these cost me a fortune.” He finished off his drink and brought the cup down onto the table with a bang.
“I hear there are Cyprus Bluehorns nearby,” said Brad carelessly as he refilled Ryan’s drink. For a moment he watched Ryan. “What’s the problem? Is it something to do with those shoes? You seem to be staring at them quite a lot since you sat down.” Ryan looked up at him.
“I can’t stop looking at them,” he said in a half-hushed voice. “I know it’s no big deal slaying a dragon, but there’s just … well … something about them really …” His voice trailed off.
“You just can’t stop admiring them, can you?” asked Brad. Ryan nodded his head. “You’ve developed a soft spot for your boots. I’ll admit they are quite nice and unique.” He glanced at the clock. “Aren’t you supposed to be in archery training.”
“I don’t need to be in training anymore,” said Ryan, a cheery tone in his voice. “I’m fully qualified - I only go to fight when the need comes.”
“Congratulations,” said Brad, a smile on his face. “So, have you thought what job you’re going to get?”
“I was wondering about working here,” muttered Ryan. “I know you’re short of staff since Mike and Josie left.”
“Unfortunately you’re going to have to wait for a week,” said Brad. “Chip’s gone to the Monthly Inn Meeting, and I’m just taking over from him. It’s surprising how little customers we have today. Usually we’ve got customers in at this time. Oh speak of the devil.” At his words the door opened and two men came in. Brad moved over to take their order. Both men seemed incapable of speaking English; they both spoke in squawks and shrieks, but Brad understood. He stretched out his talon behind him and swiped two bottles. All Ryan managed to see of the label was a brown hawk with its wings outstretched. He watched the shorter man hand over the money for both bottles. Suddenly it struck him the two men were also bird hybrids; they both had talons for hands, and their eyes were a sharp shade of yellow.
They uncorked their bottles themselves and walked over to a table in the corner, where they began talking in deep conversation. Brad went back to Ryan looking very troubled. Ryan knew better than to ask Brad what the matter was; Brad never liked sharing hybrid business with anybody but other hybrids. He automatically refilled Ryan’s drink just as the door opened. The bottle almost fell out of Brad’s hand when he saw Colin walk in, and Ryan was gaping open mouth.
The last time they had seen Colin, he had had a lot of hair. Now he had what looked like a receding hairline and a bald patch behind his head. He was looking and feeling so angry the two other hybrids were backing against the wall, afraid of Colin launching a sudden attack. He sat down, not even bothering to sort out his purple robes, which was a definite sign of his anger. Without even asking, Brad instantly reached out for a green bottle behind him and handed it directly to Colin, who snatched the bottle, furiously uncorked it and took a long swig.
“Col, mate, are you alright?” asked Ryan uncertainly. Unlike Brad and Ryan, Colin was a magician, but he wasn’t very advanced. He was always in robes of purple or blue, with a black belt around his waist. Around his neck was a pendant made of a small oval plate attached to a chain. On one side of the plate was a small mirror. To keep that side hidden and to make the pendant seem less suspicious, an emerald covered the other side.
“What do you think?” snapped Colin furiously. Thankfully his magical abilities did not stretch as far as killing - but he was capable of giving serious injuries. Judging by his current state of mind he was ready to curse anything in his way. “I went to a haircut and look at what’s happened!”
“Colin, calm down!” cried Brad, alarmed. “Why did you go for a haircut anyway?”
“I felt my hair was growing a bit long,” answered Colin, a tone of steady anger in his voice. Ryan suddenly noticed that already half the bottle had been drained by Colin. Brad seemed to notice that too because he tugged it away from Colin. “I’m not brilliant at cutting my own hair with magic, so I went to the hairdressers.”
“What happened there?” asked Brad. He had decided it was safer to give Colin his drink cup by cup. He slid the cup across the surface towards Colin. He caught it neatly and drained all of it in one go.
“I don’t know!” he shouted back in fury. At once the two hybrids got up and left as fast as possible.
“You’re scaring away the customers,” hissed Brad.
“Do you think I care?” fired Colin. “I want my hair back!” He slammed his fist onto the table and his wand-like gold and ruby encrusted sceptre fell out of his sleeve. For a moment all three were staring at it. Then suddenly Brad and Colin swiped the sceptre at the same time. There was a furious tug but with help from his wings, Brad sent Colin falling off his stool and landing on the floor, slacking his grip on the sceptre.
“Not so fast,” said Brad as Colin got up, his face livid. He tried to grab his sceptre but Brad lifted it higher as he gently flew up until his head touched the ceiling.
“Give my sceptre back,” snarled Colin.
“Sit down and calm down,” said Brad. Colin got back onto his stool, his eyes still on his sceptre. Brad moved his legs so Colin had no chance of pulling him down. “Can’t you just re-grow your hair?”
“The last time I tried it my hair grew so long everyone thought I was a female,” answered Colin gruffly. Seeing Colin had now calmed, Brad landed and gave Colin his sceptre. Colin took it and placed it back under his sleeve. Just then one of the doors leading to the rooms opened and a horrible stench filled the entire room.
A man had just entered, looking slightly disgruntled. He looked human, but his body was that of a human-sized troll. He was slightly hunched with broad shoulders, thick arms and legs and a fat body. His lower lip seemed to pout. The stench he was giving off definitely classified him as part-troll part-human. Even his choice of clothing showed it - the ragged shirt and pants he was in were ripped and bloodstained. Around his waist was a shabby strip of material fastened around his waist by a clumsily done knot.
He stepped up to the counter (Colin and Ryan moved over slightly, both afraid of him) and said to Brad in a voice with a slight grunt, “I need my raw meat.” Brad ducked under the counter and using his talon easily prised open a box. At once a foul smell came out. Inside were several lumps of raw meat, each one with nets around them. He hooked his talon around one of the nets and took it out. He held it away from him as far as possible as he handed the meat to the troll hybrid.
“Thank you,” he grunted. He went back through the door and disappeared out of view.
“Who was he?” asked Ryan, his eyes fixed on the door the hybrid had gone through.
“He’s the guest at room 7,” answered Brad as she placed the lid of the crate back on. “I don’t know much about him, he only ever comes down to get his meat. According to the record of guests who have stayed here, his name’s Tony Slattery. He’s been here for four months, I remember him arriving - he came three days after me.”
“Did I hear you right?” asked Ryan. “Did you say four months?” Brad nodded. “Without checking out once?” Brad nodded again.
“He’s not the only long-term staying customer,” said Brad. He pulled a nearby open book towards himself and flicked backwards through pages until he stopped. He ran his finger down the book, muttering out surnames.
“Fry … Sessions … Greenwood … here we are. Greg Proops,” said Brad. “He’s the other staying customer. He checked in … ah … seven and a half months ago. He never goes outside during night - he can’t risk it. He normally comes down to have a drink though.”
“Don’t they ever go out?” asked Colin. The arrival of Tony seemed to have calmed him down about his haircut.
“Greg goes out during the day, but he has to return here every four hours.”
“Why?”
“He needs his Potion.”
“For what?”
“I can’t say, it’s up to him if he wants to share the reason,” answered Brad stiffly. He guessed what Colin was about to say. “His problem can’t be solved by magic. No matter how hard we’ve tried, there is no solution for him. The only means we have is the Potion.” Colin opened his mouth, but then closed it. Brad was right; he shouldn’t nose into other people’s problems.
They talked for another thirty minutes before the door Tony had gone through opened. This time it wasn’t Tony who came in but someone with a human appearance, despite having a bite mark on the side of his neck. The bags under his eyes were enlarged by his glasses.
“Ah, Greg,” said Brad, watching Greg make his way over to the bar.
“I need my Potion Brad,” Greg said as he went up to the counter. Brad nodded and grabbed the silver goblet. He went over to a pewter cauldron and swiped out a cupful of pale pink potion. He handed it to Greg who drank it all in one go. He screwed up his face as he swallowed the potion.
“Disgusting,” he said in a high voice as he handed back the empty goblet. “I’ll be back at three.” He went out of the front door.
“That was Greg?” asked Ryan. Brad nodded. “That Potion, isn’t that the Potion for -” He stopped, realising Brad was pointing at the window. Both Ryan and Colin swivelled round on their chairs and saw the familiar face of Wayne passing by the window. He seemed rather worried - they were right the moment he entered.
Wayne was a skilled warrior. He could fight and defend himself well, and he always carried his trusty broadsword with him. He was often seen wearing his torso and skirt armour over everyday clothing. Normally he was very cheerful. But today he was the complete opposite.
“What’s the matter Wayne?” asked Brad the moment Wayne sat down beside Colin.
“My house has been raided by a complete hoard of Poxies,” he answered. “It’s a nightmare, I have no idea how to get rid of them. Even as I speak, the Poxies are making my home their new home.” Poxies were fly-sized pests commonly found in people’s homes. They would secretly make a nest in an unlikely area to look. Once the Poxies considered they had done enough for their nest they would then raid the house and take over. Poxies were also commonly found in caves.
“Did you say you have a Poxy problem?” said a voice, which was immediately followed by a strong stench. Everyone turned to find Tony standing behind Wayne. He was no longer looking disgruntled, but it seemed his lip was supposed to pout. He was carrying a net which everyone but Wayne recognised as the same net which had contained the raw meat.
“Yes …” said Brad slowly.
“I’ll help you get rid of them, I’ve de-Poxied about fifteen caves - most of the caves trolls live in have Poxies you know,” said Tony. “It’s easy to de-Poxy a house, it won’t take longer than fifteen minutes, I promise you. Trolls can sniff out a Poxy nest from a far away distance. The trick to get rid of Poxies is to take its nest out of your house - Poxies are bound to follow their nest, they’ll think they’re moving home or something - then throw it in water. Poxies can’t survive in water, so they’ll drown. By the time they realise what’s happening, it’ll be too late, they won’t be able to make their way back up to the surface for oxygen. Oh, and I want to return this.” He handed Brad the empty net just as Wayne got off his stool.
“Follow me,” he said, looking at Tony as though he would suddenly launch an attack and eat him. They left the pub and as they passed by the window, they noticed everyone they passed moved a few feet away from them as though they were dangerous. Ten minutes later Wayne and Tony returned, Wayne looking much happier which only meant one thing; Tony had successfully de-Poxied his house.
“All gone,” said Wayne brightly. “We took them to the nearest water area and threw the entire nest in. They were quite stupid really - they all went in. By the time they realised they were underwater it was too late.”
“I’ll be in my room,” said Tony. “I’ll come down again when I need my meat.” He went through the door he had entered and did not come down for a while.
That afternoon business picked up from its slow abysmal start. The two hawk hybrids came back and had to pull Brad over to talk urgently for five minutes. They talked in low squawks and shrieks, a tone of grimness in all three voices. They would have talked longer but Greg came in and had to take more of his Potion before leaving the inn once more.
Business gradually faded as it went past 6pm. Greg came back for his Potion, then went up to his room. Tony came back down for another lump of raw meat, and Wayne had to leave them as he suddenly remembered he was to be expecting an important message. It was half past seven before Ryan and Colin left.
As Brad packed up for the night, he wondered if Josie or Mike had ever been left to run the inn on their own. Neither of them had stayed long after he had arrived, and Brad sometimes wondered whether it was him who had scared them away (according to Chip, they weren’t too fond of bird hybrids). Without Chip the day spent running the pub felt much longer. Or maybe that was because of slow business. Still, they had managed to make a good amount of money, and had two customers staying for the night.
Brad unlocked the right door and went up the first set of swirling stairs which lead him to one of his turrets. He had no desire to break his promise to Chip; although he had never seen Chip angry, he shuddered to think how furious Chip would be if he discovered someone had been in his turrets.