by Robert Bevan
Lissa stopped scrubbing. She frowned and jabbed his red puffy leg just below the knee.
“FUCK!”
“That hurts, does it?”
Tim shivered and spoke through clenched teeth. “What do you think?”
“It’s just as I feared,” Lissa said to Katherine. “The disease is spreading. With the herbs I have here, I can slow the spread. Give the halfling two, maybe three more days before his fate is in the gods’ hands. But to reverse it, I require fresh fenberries.”
“What the fuck is a fenberry?” asked Katherine. “And where the fuck am I supposed to...” Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion for a moment. “Why do I know exactly what the fuck a fenberry is, where the fuck to find them, and what their medicinal properties are?”
Tim groaned. The pain in his foot was being caught up to by an overall feeling of shittiness. “You’re a druid. You made a good Knowledge Nature roll. How far away are those berries?”
“There’s a swamp about a day’s ride north of here. Fenberries should be plentiful there around this time of year.”
“The Swamp of Shadows,” said Tanner. “Near the Borderlands. If we leave now, we should be able to make most of the trip by day. Depending on how quickly and easily we acquire the berries, we could –”
“Stop,” said Katherine. “I need you to stay here and look after my brother.”
“It’s too dangerous to go alone. The lizardfolk who inhabit the swamp are wild and unpredictable.”
“I can handle myself. And I won’t be alone.” Katherine scratched Butterbean’s head.
Tim stayed out of the argument. He didn’t like the thought of her being in danger, but he knew she wouldn’t be reasoned with, and that arguing would only keep her around longer, making it all the more likely that her eventual decision to go alone would be for nothing.
Tanner offered her a small coin pouch. “At least take this. Buy a fast horse, and whatever weapons and provisions you require.”
Katherine snatched the pouch out of his hand. “Thank you.” She kissed her fingertips and pressed them against Tim’s forehead. “Stay strong, little brother. I’ll be back before you know it.”
Tim gave her a nod and a weak smile. When she exited the room with Butterbean hot on her heels, he sucked back what was left of his bottle and drifted off to sleep wondering if he’d ever see her again.
Chapter 7
Chaz felt a little insulted at not having been deemed important enough even for hanging-around-at-Arby’s duty.
“People are nervous right now,” Frank had told him when he asked what he could do. All night, Frank had been barking orders left and right, red-faced like a boil about to pop. But he spoke to Chaz in his kindly fatherly voice. “Play the folks a song. It’ll be good for morale.”
Chaz didn’t need a Condescension-to-English dictionary to translate what he was really saying. “Get this fucking bard out of here. The grownups are talking.”
Chaz’s future was as much on the line as anyone else’s, but he sipped his beer and strummed his lute for an audience of exactly no one. People were panicking, and all the Tom Petty covers in the world weren’t going to help.
He’d almost fallen asleep in his chair when he was jolted awake by a sharp knock on the front door.
Gus, the big gay half-orc, was on door duty. He checked the window, then quickly opened the door. A green-robed sorcerer whose name Chaz couldn’t remember hurried inside and Gus shut the door behind him.
Frank looked to him with wide desperate eyes. “Tell me you’ve got something, Gilbert.”
Gilbert. That was it.
“We spotted the sister leaving through Northgate.”
“Was she with anyone? Tim? The half-drow?”
“She was alone on horseback. Her wolf ran alongside her.”
Frank stroked his beard. “What about bags?”
Gilbert frowned. “She could’ve had the dice on her. From that distance, it was impossible to tell.”
“I meant like saddlebags. Something large enough to hide a halfling?”
“Oh no. Nothing like that. She was traveling light. Light and fast.”
Frank drummed his fingers on the table and looked at Chaz.
Chaz had been expecting as much and was doing his best to feign complete and utter disinterest, strumming his lute, singing softly to himself, and only observing through his periphery.
“What is she up to?” asked Frank. “Maybe she’s got a lead on one of Mordred’s avatars?”
Gilbert shrugged. “I won’t know anymore until I get close enough to reestablish my Empathic Link with Barney.”
Barney was Gilbert’s familiar. Chaz remembered that much because he was named for being a barn owl.
“He’s following her from a discreet distance above,” Gilbert continued. “He’ll do so until he loses her, he’s discovered, or she returns to Northgate.”
Frank cradled his head in his hands. “I guess that’s the best we can do. If we can keep track of the sister, she’ll lead us to Tim sooner or later. Hurry back to Northgate so you can pick up Barney’s signal when he comes back.”
Gilbert left quickly. Gus shut the door behind him.
The next time Chaz was suddenly awakened from a slumber he hadn’t realized he’d drifted into, the noise came from the other side of the room.
“Woo wee!” said Denise, emerging from the cellar with an axe in one hand and a glistening, moist-looking chair leg in the other. “I slept like a motherfucker!”
Chaz didn’t realize it was so late in the morning. People who’d actually slept properly through the night were now beginning to wake up.
Denise sauntered over to the front door and glared up at Gus, who was blocking her exit. “Move out of the way, fudgecock. I got shit to do today.”
“I’m sorry, Denise,” said Gus. “I can’t let you leave, as much as I’d love to.”
“Love to watch me walk away, you mean?” Denise turned around and waved her broad dwarven ass at Gus. “You like what you see? Come on down to the cellar and I’ll straighten your ass out.”
“No, thank you. I’m, uh...”
Denise held up her chair leg and waved it around in Gus’s face. “Go on, boy. Get a good whiff. Tell me that don’t stir somethin’ inside you.”
“Please stop that.” Gus looked to Frank for guidance.
There was no reason to keep feigning indifference now. Doing so would probably seem more suspicious than not doing so. Chaz looked over at Frank, who was grimacing and waving for Gus to just open the door and let her out already.
There was something so genuinely vile about her that she could neither be considered useful nor a credible threat.
Gus gratefully stood aside, and Denise exited the Whore’s Head to get started on whatever business she had planned for the day.
Chaz had no specific business in mind on the outside. He didn’t like the idea of being confined, but the world outside the Whore’s Head, at least for now, was considerably less dangerous than inside it. Perhaps his purpose was here, paying attention to developing factions, keeping abreast of their comings and goings, gathering intelligence which might prove valuable when shit hit the fan.
Then again, no one had explicitly told him he wasn’t allowed to leave. Perhaps he was pre-capitulating to a non-existent demand out of extreme cowardice.
Chaz was willing to give himself the benefit of the doubt.
Chapter 8
“This doesn’t feel like the New God’s work,” said Wettle. He dropped the bundle of bricks he was carrying, stretched his back, and wiped a quart of sweat from his balding head. “It just feels like work.”
Randy set down his own bundle more gently, then sat on it. “We’re rebuilding our community. When folks see the good works that we do, they’ll be inspired.”
“Or take us for fools. We’re not even being paid for this.”
“The Lord’s work is its own reward. Ain’t nobody gonna be inspired by watching men work for money. Y
ou can see that anywhere.”
Indeed they could. In the wake of the devastation brought on by dragon fire and the seismic footfalls of a giant bread monster, the part of the city near Southgate was positively abuzz with construction, like ants rebuilding a hill that had been stepped on.
Wettle sat down on his pile of bricks. “I get what you’re saying, but we’re not exactly rebuilding what was lost. Most of these properties were scooped up by opportunistic merchants preying on shop owners who couldn’t afford to rebuild. Do you remember there being this many bakeries on this street before?”
Randy frowned at a row of buildings under construction. At least two thirds of them had signs out front featuring the cheerful smile of the Pillsburg Doughchild. Those which had been rushed to completion already had lines flowing out of their doors.
“Do you know what Jesus was before he started preaching?”
“Sure, everyone does. A heavenly mixture of flour and water, with just a pinch of cosmic salt.”
“Who told you that?”
Wettle shrugged. “That’s what I’ve heard.”
“Well you heard wrong. He was a carpenter.”
“And he worked for free?”
“No. Not exactly. But the point –”
“Forgive my insolence, Grand Baguette, but –”
“Please don’t call me that.”
“But I only seek to make sure that your generosity is not taken for granted and used for unscrupulous ends.”
Randy felt lower than he’d felt in a while. He wasn’t fit to lead anyone. Wettle was probably right, but Randy felt backed into a corner. If unscrupulous men were taking advantage of them, did that mean they should just stop working? That didn’t seem right either. Sometimes it’s just better to let yourself be taken advantage of, right? Wasn’t that in the Bible somewhere?
“Blessed are the...” None of the beatitudes that came to mind seemed appropriate for this set of circumstances. “... poor of heart?”
Wettle stared at him blankly. “Oh. Okay.”
“I appreciate your advice, Wettle,” said Randy. “I really do. I got to say, I’m feelin’ a bit lost at sea myself. I don’t want you to never feel like there’s somethin’ you can’t say to me.”
“I’m happy to hear you say that, Grand... Sir Randy.” Wettle looked back at the other eleven men who had chosen to follow Randy. “There has been talk of late. The men had been expecting a lot more smiting of evil, and not quite as much manual labor.”
Whether he was fit for the task or not, Randy had a responsibility to keep this band of criminals who had been released to his charge from going off on some misguided killing spree.
“The truly righteous seek neither adventure nor excitement.” The fact that he was now badly misquoting Yoda rather than Jesus did little to bolster Randy’s self-confidence.
“You best take it down a notch, Holy Poly,” said Denise, waddling onto the construction site. “Eternity’s a long goddamn time, my friend. I reckon you’d be more comfortable in the queer section than with the blasphemers.”
“Excuse me, Wettle,” said Randy. He hurried to intercept Denise between In Gods We Crust and Loave Thy Neighbor, far away from his disciples for them not to be overheard if they used their inside voices. The air was already heavy with the scent of spoiled wine and yeast, but it seemed to intensify as he got closer to her. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“I just came by to fill you in on the latest developments with the little piece of ass you betrayed me for.”
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”
“I’m talkin’ ‘bout the little boy toy you was chauffeuring around while he was choppin’ my nuts off.”
“You believe what you want, Denise. I have a different recollection of those events.”
“We go back a long way, you and I,” said Denise. “And you just up and threw me under the goddamn bus for some of that sweet sweet toddler ass.”
“I did no such thing! You’re the one who tried to –” Randy felt the blood rushing to his cheeks. Denise was trying to stir him up. “You know what? I ain’t gettin’ drawn in to no argument with you. If you got somethin’ to say, I suggest you say it and get on your way. We got work needs doin’.”
Denise folded her arms over her puffed-out chest and cocked an eyebrow up at Randy. “Your new BFF stole Frank’s dice. He’s gonna ditch us all here in this bullshit world.”
That took Randy by surprise. He wasn’t expecting Denise to have any actual news. “Tim?”
“That’s the one. Sweet little innocent Tim, with his sweet little puckered asshole, just waitin’ for –”
“Would you please shut up?” Tim was selfish and petty, and had some self-destructive tendencies, but Randy didn’t think he’d betray his friends like that. “I call bullshit.”
“You’re a terrible judge of character. That’s the problem with you folks. You catch one whiff of little boy butthole, and all the blood from your brain rushes straight to your dick.”
“Damn it, Denise. It weren’t never like that!” Randy took a breath to calm himself down. “Did you actually see him steal the dice, like with your own eyes?”
“Hell no,” said Denise. “He ain’t done the deed himself. He’s too chickenshit, and couldn’t have gotten close enough if he’d had the balls anyway. He sent that nigger elf to –”
Slapping Denise across the face was just what Randy needed. He felt better about this whole encounter now. “I warned you ‘bout using that word ‘round me.”
“Fine,” said Denise, rubbing her cheek. “That African American elf. Better?”
Randy wasn’t sure if it was. “It’ll do for now. What about him?”
“Your BFF sent Homey the Elf to the Whore’s Head with the stated intention of retrieving his and his sister’s character shits.”
Randy thought for a moment. “Do you mean character sheets?”
Denise scratched under her left boob and nodded. “That probably makes more sense, come to think of it. But the point is, they ain’t all he retrieved.”
“That don’t mean for sure that Tim put him up to it.” Randy didn’t want to believe that Tim would abandon them all, but he had a harder time believing the words coming out of his own mouth.
“Clear the shit out your head, Randy. He fucked us over good, and it’s up to you and me to stop him.”
That was unexpected. “You and me? What about everybody else?”
Denise scoffed and spit on the ground. “They’s all sniffin’ chairs and chasin’ their tails. Ain’t none of them got two brain cells to rub together. What we need is a network of trained professionals to root out that little turd proper like.”
“Are you referring to my...?” Though they liked to identify themselves as such, Randy couldn’t bring himself to call his twelve new companions his ‘apostles’. Instead of saying the word, he just looked over at them busily constructing the city’s latest bakery.
“Goddammit, Randy. No! Them twelve faggots couldn’t find nothin’ that weren’t hidden up each other’s assholes. I’m talkin’ law enforcement.” Denise leaned in closer. “The biggest advantage we got right now is that we’s in a big city. That little shit will think he’s safe to move around, so long as he keeps his distance from the Whore’s Head. He won’t be expectin’ every guard in the city to be lookin’ out for him.”
“And how do you aim to get every guard in the city lookin’ out for him?”
Denise grinned at Randy. “That’s where you come in, old buddy. I reckon the king owes you a favor.”
Chapter 9
Cooper grunted extra loudly, but the portcullis remained down.
“Are you even trying?” asked Tony the Elf. “Why don’t you use your Barbarian Rage?”
Cooper turned around and coughed out a gob of phlegm. “It wouldn’t make any difference.” Technically, he wasn’t lying. Between the rusted bars of the portcullis, the rotting wooden frame, and the fire damage, the thing wa
s likely to fall loose under its own weight at any moment. He’d felt a lot of crunch with his first half-assed attempt to lift it, and all of his effort since then had been focused on trying to make sure it stayed upright while attempting to appear like he was trying to do the opposite. That was some complicated shit.
Tony the Elf folded his arms. “Do you know what I think?”
“If it has anything to do with me giving a fuck what you think, you’re mistaken.”
“I think you’re not really trying to open the gate. I think you’re faking it to buy your little murderous friend time to escape.”
Damn you, Bluff, for being a Charisma-based skill.
“Tim’s a lot of things, but he’s not a murderer.”
Tony the Elf’s jaw hung open. “We all watched him slit a guy’s throat a few nights ago.”
Shit. Tony the Elf made a compelling argument. Arguing was likely an Intelligence-based skill. Also not Cooper’s strong suit.
“That was different. He was upset.” The pressure of Tim’s life hanging on Cooper’s wits built up in his stomach, then escaped through his anus. The portcullis had reached its threshold of suffering, and clanged against the stone floor.
“You stupid fool,” said Tony the Elf. “You can bet your foul ass that Frank is going to hear about this. Now get out of the way.” He cautiously stepped past Cooper.
Cooper allowed him to pass. “Frank can eat my ass. He wants to kill my friend.”
Tony the Elf stepped into the room beyond the stairs, but seemed perplexed. “Your friend is on a killing spree. And he took the only means we have for getting back home, just to spite us. I personally don’t give a damn what Frank does with him. I just want those dice back.”
“He said he didn’t have them.”
“You can’t possibly be that stupid. I don’t care what your Intelligence score is.” Tony the Elf was knocking on random parts of the walls. “Open your eyes, Cooper. Tim doesn’t give a shit about you. If he gets his hands on another Mordred, he’ll ditch us in a heartbeat. All of us, including you.”