Critical Failures IV

by Robert Bevan

  Dave had grown accustomed to being ignored or forgotten, and had considered it a blessing in this case, but now he’d been re-discovered.

  The man moved quickly and excitedly toward Dave, like maybe he was interested in more than a friendly sniff.

  “Please!” cried Dave. “No!” He shielded his face with his forearms as the crazy naked man bounded toward him.

  “Aha!” said the old man, grabbing Dave roughly by his left forearm. “I know a pussy when I smell one! Explain yourself, dwarf!”

  Dave was dumbstruck with confusion, but felt compelled to at least try and beg for his life. “I’m sorry for being such a pussy! It’s just that my legs are short and I’m always the last one to the fight. Please don’t kill me!”

  “Have you lost your fool mind, boy?”

  Dave considered pointing out the irony in the question, but pussied out. “What?”

  “I’m not interested in your legs,” said the old man, shaking Dave’s arm vigorously in front of his face. “What’s this on your arm? Are you a wereleopard?”

  Dave had had enough. He yanked his arm away. “Of course I’m not a wereleopard! What kind of question is that? Who the hell are you?”

  The old man puffed out his wrinkly, sagging, pale chest. “I’m Doogan Merriweather, mayor of Porttown.”

  “Is that an elected position?” asked Stacy.

  Mr. Merriweather ignored her, his mad eyes still focused on the band of leopard fur on Dave’s arm. “Now explain that arm, son. You don’t want to anger me.”

  This guy had some nerve. Sure, he was kind of terrifying at first. The shock of a naked old man showing up out of nowhere and demanding to sniff everyone is bound to throw anyone off their game. But that shock had passed now. He was elderly, unarmed, naked, and outnumbered. He wasn’t in a position to demand anything.

  Dave put his fists on his hips. “I don’t have to explain shit to you, you crazy old bastard. Go piss on a post.”

  “Dave!” shouted Stacy and Julian simultaneously. Tony the Elf just shook his head.

  Doogan Merriweather glared at Dave, the whites of his eyes turning yellow. Orange, white, and black fur sprouted out all over his face and body as he grew and changed shape. His fingernails and toenails grew into claws. His face became more feline, his mouth spreading wide in what looked like a maniacal grin as his teeth grew sharp and pointed.

  Dave’s bladder emptied into his armor.

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Merriweather!” Dave blubbered. “I’ll tell you anything you want! My arm got hurt when a leopard attacked me. I didn’t have any healing spells on me, so my friend patched up the wound with some leopard skin. When I healed my arm the next morning, I accidentally grafted the leopard skin onto my arm.”

  The giant tiger-man hybrid in front of Dave nodded once, then morphed back into his naked old man form.

  “Fascinating,” said Mr. Merriweather. “That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

  Julian and Stacy were gawking. Dave the dog cowered behind Tony the Elf, who was glaring at Dave.

  “That was amazing!” said Stacy. “Are you a... I don’t even know the right word.”

  “I am a weretiger.”

  “That’s so cool!”

  “I apologize if I gave you a bit of a fright,” said Mr. Merriweather. “I have a tendency to be overly territorial.” He gave Dave a stern look. “And I don’t tolerate sass talk from youngsters.”

  Dave’s heart skipped a beat. “I’m sorry, sir!”

  “So that explains why you don’t wear clothes,” said Stacy.

  “That is correct, Miss...”

  “You can call me Stacy.”

  “That is correct, Miss Stacy. I usually do my patrols in tiger form, but I approached you all in human form, so as not to alarm you.”

  “Of course,” said Tony the Elf. “I can’t think of anything less alarming than being sniffed by a naked old man.”

  “You mind that sass talk, boy,” said Mr. Merriweather, pointing at Tony the Elf. He turned back to Stacy and spoke in a more jovial tone. “It’s also the only form I’m able to speak in. Are you folks hungry?”

  Dave was hungry as hell, but he held his tongue. Likewise, Tony the Elf’s and Stacy’s eyes were both screaming “YES! YES! YES!”, but they deferred the question to Julian, who had the most to lose by lollygagging.

  Julian nodded. “It would be my honor to buy you lunch, Mayor Merriweather. I’d love to know more about your town.”

  Mr. Merriweather smiled broadly, swallowing Julian’s Diplomacy bait. “That sounds delightful! I know just the place. Follow me.”

  And just like that, he morphed into an actual tiger. His striped tail swaying like a charmed snake, he started walking down the cypress boardwalk.

  Porttown was not a city for dwarves, or for people in heavy armor, or especially for dwarves in heavy armor. The entire town was on the water. The town’s ‘buildings’ were just miniature barges tied to the expansive boardwalk, which formed the streets. From the looks of it, Dave imagined the whole city could disband at a moment’s notice, leaving behind only a network of piers to bewilder any future travelers who happened to wander upon it.

  Atop the flat roof of each of these buildings was a garden, boasting a rainbow of colorful vegetables. Citizens stopped what they were doing to wave at the tiger walking before Dave's group.

  “Good afternoon, Mayor Merriweather!”

  “How do you do, sir?”

  “Merry weather we’re having today, wouldn’t you say, Mayor?”

  To each, the mayor responded with a nod or a low, rumbling growl.

  Human and half-elven children hopped down from their parents’ rooftop gardens to run their fingers through the mayor’s fur, provoking a purr that should have had them shitting themselves. Dave didn’t care much for kids, but he had to force himself more than once to refrain from saying “What are you crazy little bastards thinking? Don’t you know that’s a man-eating wild animal?”

  At the end of the main avenue floated a barge much larger than the other ones, about twenty yards wide and two stories tall. The sign over the main entrance read MERRIWEATHER INN. Clearly the family had their furry paws in more than just politics.

  Two of the windows on the second story of the Merriweather Inn had blackened frames, as if they had recently been burned. Workers wearing scarves over their noses and mouths were prying off burnt pieces of wood.

  “Trouble at the inn?” asked Stacy.

  Mayor Merriweather let out a sharper, more terrifying growl, bordering on a roar, which nearly caused Dave to soil his armor again, but merely sent all the kids scampering happily away.

  When the kids were gone, the mayor turned down a side pier and morphed into his human form. “Aye, there was trouble at the inn. Band of ruffians come in yesterday evening, all full of sass talk.” His visible annoyance of the memory quickly faded. “But never you mind that. Prepare yourselves for the finest grilled fish to ever grace your gullet. Now I’ll be in tiger form, as it’s not proper for me to dine like this. But don’t you worry. One-Eyed Pete will take care of you.” Without waiting for a response, he took his tiger form and continued his way along the pier.

  The barge they entered was longer than most, and boasted one of the more impressive vegetable gardens on top. A steady tendril of smoke flowed out of a chimney at the far end.

  “Fisherman’s Hole,” said Stacy, reading the sign above the door. “Something in there smells good.”

  She wasn’t wrong. The mingling scents of grilled fish, hot peppers, and sea salt incited a rumble in Dave’s stomach to rival the mayor’s growl.

  “Mayor Merriweather!” said a kindly old woman’s voice. “What a pleasant surprise! Come on in.”

  Dave followed Mayor Merriweather into the floating tavern, and the rest of the group followed behind him.

  The heavyset elven woman behind the small bar had streaks of grey running through her brown hair, but her plump face remained youthful.

  “
I see you brought some guests,” she said, watching as the rest of the group shuffled in. She turned to the far end of the tavern. “Pete! Throw some more fish on the grill! And bring out the mayor’s bucket!”

  “Righty-Ho, Maisy!” came an old man’s voice from the kitchen.

  “You good people make yourselves at home,” said the elf woman, Maisy. “Pete’ll bring you some food in just a minute. Can I get you something to drink?”

  Dave was about to respond, but the Mayor cut him off with a sharp growl.

  “Right away, Mr. Mayor.”

  Dave, Stacy, Julian, and Tony the Elf sat in chairs around a round wooden table. Dave the dog lay down behind Tony the Elf’s chair, and Mayor Merriweather sprawled out on the floor next to the table.

  They all sat quietly for a moment, until Julian couldn’t wait any longer.

  “This band of ruffians you mentioned earlier. How many did you say there were?”

  The mayor looked up at him, snarling softly as if to say “You know I can’t talk when I’m a tiger.”, but then reconsidered. He held up a front paw and extended four long white claws.

  “Four?” asked Julian.

  Mayor Merriweather nodded and retracted his claws.

  Stacy leaned in to whisper to the others at the table. “That’s one less than we saw in the wagon, including the driver.”

  Tony the Elf tapped his fingers on the table. “You may have interrupted his recruitment. That’s good. If we can keep him on the run, we might keep him from gaining as much in the way of followers and Experience Points as he would, left to his own devices.”

  “Hope you folks are hungry,” said a man bursting in through the kitchen door carrying a platter of sizzling grilled fish in one hand and a massive bucket of raw fish in the other. His smile was as friendly as a man wearing an eye patch and an apron covered in blood could hope to offer. He placed the fish platter on the table and the bucket on the floor next to the mayor, who wasted no time gulping back an entire two-foot long tuna.

  Dave hoped his assumptions were correct, that this man was One-Eyed Pete, and that the blood on his apron had once belonged to fish.

  “And thirsty,” said Maisy. She had a tray of tall cups made from the stalks of very thick bamboo, and a large wooden bowl. She placed it on the table next to the fish platter. The cups and bowl were full of beer. She placed one cup in front of Dave and each of his companions, and placed the bowl on the floor next to the mayor’s fish bucket. Dave noticed words engraved at the bottom of each cup. He took a closer look at his own.

  The small, but carefully etched letters spelled ‘FISHERMAN’S HOLE’.

  He sipped his beer. Light and fruity. Not a bad flavor at all, but nothing he’d be able to get drunk on.

  The mayor took a break from devouring fish to lap up some beer from his bowl.

  Maisy pulled a bunch of wooden chopsticks out of the front pocket of her apron, much cleaner than her husband’s, and passed them around. Then she reached into another pocket and pulled out a handful of dried sardines.

  She crouched down below the table. “Don’t think I forgot about you.” She tossed the sardines to Dave the dog, who happily accepted them.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” said Tony the Elf. “You are most generous.”

  “What brings you folks to Porttown?” Whether she was genuinely interested or merely suspicious, the question sounded more sincere than the typical pointless small-talk Dave was used to hearing from tip-hungry waitresses.

  “We’re looking for someone,” said Julian. He looked down at the mayor, who was tearing a tuna in two with his claws and mouth. “Mr. Mayor. Did you notice anything peculiar about these ruffians?”

  Mayor Merriweather’s responding growl didn’t sound friendly, and he remained focused on the task of tearing his fish apart.

  “Best not bother the mayor while he’s eating, son,” said One-Eyed Pete. “There’ll be plenty of time for talk once you’ve had your supper. Go on and eat your fish before it gets cold.”

  “Of course,” said Julian. “I beg your pardon, Mayor Merriweather.”

  Dave had to admit the mayor was right. This was some fantastic grilled fish. Peppery and flaky, with a hint of lemon. He thought he could eat this every day of his life and never want for another food. Of course, he’d been hungry enough to eat his own boots before he started, so that may have enhanced the flavor as well.

  Before long, they were all sitting around a pile of fish bones, completely picked clean of meat, while the mayor stretched out on his back next to an empty bowl and bucket.

  Julian raised his eyebrows at the rest of the table. Stacy and Tony the Elf nodded their approval.

  Julian cleared his throat. “Mayor Merri–”

  “Mayor Merriweather!” cried a young half-elf who had just stormed in through the door carrying a bundle of blue fabric. “Thank the gods I’ve found you.” He rushed over to the mayor and unfolded the cloth, revealing it to be a robe.

  Mayor Merriweather morphed into his human form and wrapped himself in the robe. “What is it, Piper?”

  “It’s Dylan Swann, sir. He’s climbed up to the crow’s nest of the Second Wind again. Says he’s going to jump if Mary Stillwater won’t take him back.”

  “Drunken fool,” grumbled the mayor. “These sorts of shenanigans are exactly the reason she left him in the first place. A pretty girl like that can do much better for herself than a degenerate, sass-talking drunk like him. And why does he always choose my boat to host his theatrics?”

  “I can only speculate, sir. Yours is the tallest in the harbor, which amplifies the dramatics.”

  “It’s not that tall. He’s like to do more damage to my boat than he does to himself.”

  “Also, he probably counts on you to come get him down, so he won’t have to make good on his threat.”

  The mayor nodded. “He’d better not. If he survives the jump, I’ll make him wish he hadn’t.” He turned to Dave’s table. “I’m sorry to cut this short, new friends. It seems a mayor’s work is never done.”

  “But,” said Julian. He was too late. Mayor Merriweather and his assistant were already out the door.“Well... shit.”

  “Mind your tongue, son,” said One-Eyed Pete. “There are ladies present.”

  “I’m so sorry,” said Julian, balancing his Diplomacy against his frustration. “I was out of line.”

  Maisy smiled at him. “What’s this urgent business you have with the mayor anyway. Who are you looking for?”

  Julian sighed. “The mayor mentioned some ruffians who rode into town yesterday evening. It may be one of them.”

  “They were a strange lot,” said Maisy.

  Julian perked up. “Did you see them?”

  “Not personally, but nothing stays a secret in Porttown for long.” She pulled a chair over from another table and sat down to share her gossip. “I heard these fellas rode into town like they owned the place, the leader up and demanding passage by ship, right then and there. But there weren’t any boats scheduled to leave until this morning.”

  “They say he used words that I won’t repeat,” said One-Eyed Pete, “And some I just plain didn’t understand.”

  Maisy put her hands on her hips. “But he changed his tone once Mayor Merriweather took his hybrid form.”

  Dave gulped. “I can believe that.”

  “So they left this morning,” said Stacy. “On a boat.”

  “On four boats,” said Maisy. “They left their room at the inn one at a time, each boarding a boat bound for different destinations.”

  Tony the Elf bit his lower lip. “Decoys. He sent his lackeys off in different directions so that we’d have to choose between splitting our own party or gambling on a twenty-five percent chance of following the right lead.”

  “Did you hear anything about one of these guys carrying a bird?” asked Julian.

  One-Eyed Pete and Maisy looked at one another, then shook their heads.

  “Don’t recall hearing anything about a
bird,” said One-Eyed Pete. “But all of them were said to be carrying so many bags that they could scarcely walk down the pier.”

  Maisy shook her head. “That’s no way to live your life. Shackling yourself to material possessions will only slow you down.”

  “So what happened at the inn?” asked Stacy.

  Maisy grimaced. “Well it seems the last of them didn’t take kindly to being told what’s what by Mayor Merriweather the day before, so he decided to leave something for the town to remember them by.”

  One-Eyed Pete pounded the table with his fist. “He set a fire elemental loose in his room just before he left and boarded his boat, the coward!”

  “Calm yourself, dear.” Maisy put her hand on her husband’s shoulder, and addressed the rest of the table. “It wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Thank the gods Mayor Merriweather was here in town, rather than out on one of his fool border patrol missions. Everything his great, great, great grandfather worked so hard for might have been burnt to ashes.”

  Dave tried to imagine the scene. “A weretiger fighting a fire elemental. I wish I could have been able to see it.”

  One-Eyed Pete shrugged. “Wasn’t much of a spectacle. He just turned into a tiger and tackled the thing through the window. The seawater snuffed it right out.”

  Tony the Elf tapped his fingers impatiently on the table. “We need to figure out which one of those guys is the real Mordred.”

  “If they left one at a time,” Stacy reasoned, “then Mordred was probably in the biggest hurry to get away.”

  “Or he could have been the last guy,” said Tony the Elf. “He might have felt betrayed, being intimidated by something he thought of as his own creation. Burning down the inn and running away sounds just like the sort of thing that Mordred might consider worth hanging around for.”

  Julian looked at One-Eyed Pete. “Do you know where each of these boats were headed?”

  One-Eyed Pete rubbed his chin. “If I recall correctly, the first of them was headed west for Portland.”

  Tony the Elf smirked and shook his head, no doubt thinking about Mordred’s lack of imagination when naming the seaports of his fantasy world.