Along the Forest Road: Chapter 3, part 1
There's an inn in this one. It's a fantasy story. There's always an inn. Strangely enough, Our Heroes are neither engaged to go on an adventure by a mysterious cloaked stranger, nor do they get into a bar fight. I know that's the kind of thing you're supposed to use inns for, so I apologize for this gross misuse of a venerable, respectable cliché.
Part 1 of 2. Sheesh. Less than 5,000 words and LJ chokes on it.
A couple of days later we needed to head into the village for provisions. It was about the time I would have gone anyway. Even though there were two of us instead of just me, I hadn’t been going through my food any faster than usual. Kit foraged for much of what he cooked, and since only one of us had to be on the road there was time for fishing. At the same time, with Kit helping to collect there was nearly half again the money I usually had. Working in shifts there was almost no time during the day when the road was unwatched, so no one got by for free, and Kit was very bold about asking high prices from some of the travelers.
He insisted I go at my usual pace even though he had to trot to keep up, so it took me no longer than it ever did to get to North Bend village.
There wasn’t much to the place. It had the houses of those farmers who worked the nearest fields and the shops that provided services they all needed such as the mill, the blacksmith, and the tannery; and the inn.
We arrived at The Beaten Horse an hour or so before dinnertime. The common room was almost empty that time of day, so the landlord had time to chat. Crispian was of medium height, thick-set, and grizzled, with an aquiline nose that looked like it had been broken at least twice. I knew he had served in the Imperial legions many years ago, and from an occasional hint he let slip I suspected he’d been an officer. How he had left the legions and come to be running an inn in a backwater like North Bend was a story he had never volunteered, and I thought it would be prying to ask.
Crispian gave Kit a shrewd looking-over when I introduced them. “Show me your hands,” he said.
Kit held them out. Crispian felt along his palms, then up and down his fingers. “More to you than meets the eye, isn’t there?”
“There better be.”
“You don’t use just a sword. What else?”
“Spear, staff, club, knife... just about anything.”
Crispian ran a finger across Kit’s knuckles. “You fight barehanded too. Been punching rocks or something?”
“As it happens, yes.”
“So you got yourself a partner, Tamarick. Just as well to have someone to keep you honest. You know I don’t entirely approve of your business, though I can’t complain too much when you spend all your takings here in the village. The Ladies know the place can use the silver. But it’s just a bit too close to robbery for comfort without you giving something back.”
“I think we have that settled,” I told him.
“Good. Here you go then. Just tapped a fresh one.”
He drew us two pints of beer, and I lifted mine eagerly. Crispian made great beer, and from Kit’s contented sigh after he took a swallow of his, he thought so too. After some of the stew off the fire we were well settled. Folk came straggling in as the evening wore on, until the common room was almost full.
North Bend wasn’t very prosperous. The land round about was fertile enough, so I didn’t understand why. I supposed it was because it was off the main road and the only money that came in was from those who passed by my way. They’d usually spend the night at this inn, but they tended to be a stingy lot and didn’t spread much money around. The people were kind and hospitable in spite of that. Mostly.
I knew Brion would be trouble. Kit and I were standing at the bar when he banged in and announced his presence with his usual bellow. He came right over and elbowed his way in between me and Kit.
“Tamarick! I heard you got a partner now, but I thought he’d be a tough guy like you. What’s with the boy here? Underfed?”
I didn’t bother to conceal my irritation. “Everyone’s underfed next to you, Brion. And he takes better care of himself than you can.”
“That so? Well, boy,” he said, turning to Kit. “Let me give you a little welcoming present!” He reached inside his jerkin and pulled out a tall earthenware bottle. “Give this a try. It’ll put some hair on your face.”
Kit had been looking Brion over the entire time and by now had his tongue planted firmly in his cheek. He pulled the cork and gave the contents of the bottle a whiff. It made him wince, and he jerked his head back. “What in the dozen hells is this stuff?”
Brion bent over laughing and slapping his thigh. “Problem, boy? Never had spirits before?”
“Yes. But what’s this?”
“Just a little something I cook up back of the barn. I call it Dingle-water.”
“I bet you do,” said Kit, looking the bottle over dubiously.
“So, boy? Gonna have some?”
“Kitaro,” said Crispian from back of the bar. “Careful with that. I once saw it cold-cock an ox.”
“He got me to try it once,” I told Kit. “Don’t. You’ll be very sorry.”
He nodded. “Probably. But I think I know someone who’ll be sorrier. All right, Brion. I’ll drink your Dingle-water―but you have to match me drink for drink.” He drained his beer to put a period on the challenge.
As soon as Brion brought out the bottle, all other activity in the common room had ceased, and the attention of the entire company was now focused on Kit, Brion, and the bottle between them. With such an audience Brion could hardly refuse even if he wanted to, and I don’t think he did. He rested his hands on his broad belly, looked down at Kit, and chuckled. “You think you can hold your drink better than me, do you? All right then. It’s a deal.” They shook hands on it.
What Brion didn’t know was that the beer Kit just finished was his fourth pint of the night, and as far as I could tell it was having no effect on him at all. Maybe, I thought, Brion was in over his head this time.
“Crispian, what do you have that’s safe to pour this into?” said Kit. “Maybe one of those half-pints?”
Crispian set a half-pint cup onto the bar. “You sure you don’t want a nipperkin? That’s about all most can take.”
Kit filled the cup right up to the brim, and Dingle-water fumes wafted down the bar. Brion looked as expectant as if he was about to hear the punchline to a shaggy-dog story. The company held their collective breath.
Kit lifted the cup, drained it in a single draught, and slammed it back onto the bar.
For a moment nothing happened. Then all at once he turned positively green. He bent over clutching his stomach, a grimace of intense pain twisting his face. He spasmed a couple of times, making gagging sounds in the back of his throat, but then got himself under control, closed his eyes, and was absolutely still for a moment. Slowly he relaxed his hands and let them fall to his side, and then took a deep breath. His color returned to normal and he straightened up as he relaxed.
The first time he tried to say something no sound came out, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “I admit it takes a little getting used to.”
The room erupted in cheers. Kit didn’t wait for them to quiet down before he poured another half-pint of the Dingle-water and pushed it toward Brion. “Your turn.”
Brion was agog. “No! You couldn’t have... It’s a trick! You got a bag under your clothes you poured it all into! Or it went down your leg or something!” Lightly dressed as Kit was I had no idea what Brion had in mind or what made him think Kit anticipated the situation and prepared for it, but he started groping at Kit all over looking for some hidden contraption. Kit tolerated it, but didn’t look happy. “Aha! Here!”
“That’s me.”
Brion looked down at what he had hold of, gasped, then snatched his hand away and scrubbed it against his side. Hoots and catcalls sounded.
“Brion,” Crispian growled, “You shook on a deal in front of me and about four dozen witnesses, and in front of me and those four dozen witnesses the kid drank down a half pint of that garbage you cook up. I don’t allow a man to back out of a deal like that in my house. Now drink!”
Brion’s hand shook as he picked up the cup, and his habitual bluster was completely gone. He gave Crispian a last pleading look, but was shown no mercy. Finally he brought it to his lips, and after hesitating tipped it back.
I’ll give him this much: he managed to get about half of it down before he dropped the cup and retched. “Not in my house!” roared Crispian. I grabbed Brion by the belt and collar and hustled him to the door. One of the people sitting nearby flung it open. To judge from the splat when he landed I’d tossed him out just in time.
When I returned to the bar Kit was basking in congratulations and refusing offers to pay for his next beer. Brion must have been even more unpopular than I thought.
After folk had gone back to their own business, Crispian himself made Kit one last offer. “You sure you don’t want something better to get the taste out of your mouth?”
“Actually, yes. Where’s your well? If I don’t get lots of water tonight I’m going to regret it.”
Crispian’s eyes widened. “You mean you really drank it?” Kit nodded. “Mother of Mercy! I just thought someone put one over on Brion for a change!”
“You all right?” I asked him after he’d drunk about a gallon of water.
“Yeah. I’m going to be pissing that junk out for a couple of hours though. I’ve drunk poison that didn’t go down as hard as Dingle-water.”
Once in a while some of the locals would bring their instruments to the common room and strike up some music, and they usually invited me to join them with my flute. When I first came to the area I didn’t know any of the songs, but they were easy enough to pick up. It was fun music to play, not at all like the formal chamber music I’d been made to learn when I was younger. Kit went up to bed after we’d been playing for an hour or so, but that night we made music almost until last call and I kept the beer coming.
I was having such a good time the potential dilemma didn’t occur to me until I staggered upstairs. There was only one bed in the room of course, and it was usual to share it when the room was taken by more than one. How on earth could I restrain myself as I slept? It was hard enough when I was awake and sober.
When I got to the room, it turned out that Kit had chosen to sleep on the floor, leaving the bed to me.
Part 1 of 2. Sheesh. Less than 5,000 words and LJ chokes on it.
A couple of days later we needed to head into the village for provisions. It was about the time I would have gone anyway. Even though there were two of us instead of just me, I hadn’t been going through my food any faster than usual. Kit foraged for much of what he cooked, and since only one of us had to be on the road there was time for fishing. At the same time, with Kit helping to collect there was nearly half again the money I usually had. Working in shifts there was almost no time during the day when the road was unwatched, so no one got by for free, and Kit was very bold about asking high prices from some of the travelers.
He insisted I go at my usual pace even though he had to trot to keep up, so it took me no longer than it ever did to get to North Bend village.
There wasn’t much to the place. It had the houses of those farmers who worked the nearest fields and the shops that provided services they all needed such as the mill, the blacksmith, and the tannery; and the inn.
We arrived at The Beaten Horse an hour or so before dinnertime. The common room was almost empty that time of day, so the landlord had time to chat. Crispian was of medium height, thick-set, and grizzled, with an aquiline nose that looked like it had been broken at least twice. I knew he had served in the Imperial legions many years ago, and from an occasional hint he let slip I suspected he’d been an officer. How he had left the legions and come to be running an inn in a backwater like North Bend was a story he had never volunteered, and I thought it would be prying to ask.
Crispian gave Kit a shrewd looking-over when I introduced them. “Show me your hands,” he said.
Kit held them out. Crispian felt along his palms, then up and down his fingers. “More to you than meets the eye, isn’t there?”
“There better be.”
“You don’t use just a sword. What else?”
“Spear, staff, club, knife... just about anything.”
Crispian ran a finger across Kit’s knuckles. “You fight barehanded too. Been punching rocks or something?”
“As it happens, yes.”
“So you got yourself a partner, Tamarick. Just as well to have someone to keep you honest. You know I don’t entirely approve of your business, though I can’t complain too much when you spend all your takings here in the village. The Ladies know the place can use the silver. But it’s just a bit too close to robbery for comfort without you giving something back.”
“I think we have that settled,” I told him.
“Good. Here you go then. Just tapped a fresh one.”
He drew us two pints of beer, and I lifted mine eagerly. Crispian made great beer, and from Kit’s contented sigh after he took a swallow of his, he thought so too. After some of the stew off the fire we were well settled. Folk came straggling in as the evening wore on, until the common room was almost full.
North Bend wasn’t very prosperous. The land round about was fertile enough, so I didn’t understand why. I supposed it was because it was off the main road and the only money that came in was from those who passed by my way. They’d usually spend the night at this inn, but they tended to be a stingy lot and didn’t spread much money around. The people were kind and hospitable in spite of that. Mostly.
I knew Brion would be trouble. Kit and I were standing at the bar when he banged in and announced his presence with his usual bellow. He came right over and elbowed his way in between me and Kit.
“Tamarick! I heard you got a partner now, but I thought he’d be a tough guy like you. What’s with the boy here? Underfed?”
I didn’t bother to conceal my irritation. “Everyone’s underfed next to you, Brion. And he takes better care of himself than you can.”
“That so? Well, boy,” he said, turning to Kit. “Let me give you a little welcoming present!” He reached inside his jerkin and pulled out a tall earthenware bottle. “Give this a try. It’ll put some hair on your face.”
Kit had been looking Brion over the entire time and by now had his tongue planted firmly in his cheek. He pulled the cork and gave the contents of the bottle a whiff. It made him wince, and he jerked his head back. “What in the dozen hells is this stuff?”
Brion bent over laughing and slapping his thigh. “Problem, boy? Never had spirits before?”
“Yes. But what’s this?”
“Just a little something I cook up back of the barn. I call it Dingle-water.”
“I bet you do,” said Kit, looking the bottle over dubiously.
“So, boy? Gonna have some?”
“Kitaro,” said Crispian from back of the bar. “Careful with that. I once saw it cold-cock an ox.”
“He got me to try it once,” I told Kit. “Don’t. You’ll be very sorry.”
He nodded. “Probably. But I think I know someone who’ll be sorrier. All right, Brion. I’ll drink your Dingle-water―but you have to match me drink for drink.” He drained his beer to put a period on the challenge.
As soon as Brion brought out the bottle, all other activity in the common room had ceased, and the attention of the entire company was now focused on Kit, Brion, and the bottle between them. With such an audience Brion could hardly refuse even if he wanted to, and I don’t think he did. He rested his hands on his broad belly, looked down at Kit, and chuckled. “You think you can hold your drink better than me, do you? All right then. It’s a deal.” They shook hands on it.
What Brion didn’t know was that the beer Kit just finished was his fourth pint of the night, and as far as I could tell it was having no effect on him at all. Maybe, I thought, Brion was in over his head this time.
“Crispian, what do you have that’s safe to pour this into?” said Kit. “Maybe one of those half-pints?”
Crispian set a half-pint cup onto the bar. “You sure you don’t want a nipperkin? That’s about all most can take.”
Kit filled the cup right up to the brim, and Dingle-water fumes wafted down the bar. Brion looked as expectant as if he was about to hear the punchline to a shaggy-dog story. The company held their collective breath.
Kit lifted the cup, drained it in a single draught, and slammed it back onto the bar.
For a moment nothing happened. Then all at once he turned positively green. He bent over clutching his stomach, a grimace of intense pain twisting his face. He spasmed a couple of times, making gagging sounds in the back of his throat, but then got himself under control, closed his eyes, and was absolutely still for a moment. Slowly he relaxed his hands and let them fall to his side, and then took a deep breath. His color returned to normal and he straightened up as he relaxed.
The first time he tried to say something no sound came out, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “I admit it takes a little getting used to.”
The room erupted in cheers. Kit didn’t wait for them to quiet down before he poured another half-pint of the Dingle-water and pushed it toward Brion. “Your turn.”
Brion was agog. “No! You couldn’t have... It’s a trick! You got a bag under your clothes you poured it all into! Or it went down your leg or something!” Lightly dressed as Kit was I had no idea what Brion had in mind or what made him think Kit anticipated the situation and prepared for it, but he started groping at Kit all over looking for some hidden contraption. Kit tolerated it, but didn’t look happy. “Aha! Here!”
“That’s me.”
Brion looked down at what he had hold of, gasped, then snatched his hand away and scrubbed it against his side. Hoots and catcalls sounded.
“Brion,” Crispian growled, “You shook on a deal in front of me and about four dozen witnesses, and in front of me and those four dozen witnesses the kid drank down a half pint of that garbage you cook up. I don’t allow a man to back out of a deal like that in my house. Now drink!”
Brion’s hand shook as he picked up the cup, and his habitual bluster was completely gone. He gave Crispian a last pleading look, but was shown no mercy. Finally he brought it to his lips, and after hesitating tipped it back.
I’ll give him this much: he managed to get about half of it down before he dropped the cup and retched. “Not in my house!” roared Crispian. I grabbed Brion by the belt and collar and hustled him to the door. One of the people sitting nearby flung it open. To judge from the splat when he landed I’d tossed him out just in time.
When I returned to the bar Kit was basking in congratulations and refusing offers to pay for his next beer. Brion must have been even more unpopular than I thought.
After folk had gone back to their own business, Crispian himself made Kit one last offer. “You sure you don’t want something better to get the taste out of your mouth?”
“Actually, yes. Where’s your well? If I don’t get lots of water tonight I’m going to regret it.”
Crispian’s eyes widened. “You mean you really drank it?” Kit nodded. “Mother of Mercy! I just thought someone put one over on Brion for a change!”
“You all right?” I asked him after he’d drunk about a gallon of water.
“Yeah. I’m going to be pissing that junk out for a couple of hours though. I’ve drunk poison that didn’t go down as hard as Dingle-water.”
Once in a while some of the locals would bring their instruments to the common room and strike up some music, and they usually invited me to join them with my flute. When I first came to the area I didn’t know any of the songs, but they were easy enough to pick up. It was fun music to play, not at all like the formal chamber music I’d been made to learn when I was younger. Kit went up to bed after we’d been playing for an hour or so, but that night we made music almost until last call and I kept the beer coming.
I was having such a good time the potential dilemma didn’t occur to me until I staggered upstairs. There was only one bed in the room of course, and it was usual to share it when the room was taken by more than one. How on earth could I restrain myself as I slept? It was hard enough when I was awake and sober.
When I got to the room, it turned out that Kit had chosen to sleep on the floor, leaving the bed to me.