Critical Failures IV

by Robert Bevan

  “And the second one, I believe, was sailing south to Port City.”

  Stacy and Julian also smiled quietly to themselves.

  “The third boat was bound for Portsville.”

  Everyone at the table, except for the co-owners of the establishment, laughed like bursting dams.

  “Where was the fourth boat going?” asked Stacy. “Portugal?”

  “Were they on an im-port-ant mission?” asked Tony the Elf.

  Julian wasn’t laughing anymore, clearly anxious to get back to the task of tracking down Mordred... and of course Ravenus, but Dave had just thought of a port pun that he didn’t want to go to waste.

  “Was it captained by Mr. Port-tato Head?”

  Nothing but stares and silence. If laughter was people, Dave would be a war criminal.

  “The fourth boat,” said a visibly bewildered One-Eyed Pete, “was headed to Meb’ Garshur.”

  “Ooooh,” said, Stacy. “Meb’ Garshur. Sounds exotic.”

  “That’s no place for a pretty young girl like you, dear.” Maisy’s voice was grave with warning. “If all they did to you was murder and eat you, you could count yourself among the lucky ones.”

  “Is it really that bad?”

  “Stay away from that place, child. It’s a cursed land. You’ll find nothing in Meb’ Garshur but orcish barbarians.”

  “Or even worse,” whispered One-Eyed Pete, leaning in. “You might even find Timmon’s Tomb.” His eye was wide as he let the last word linger a bit.

  “I’m giving the girl a serious warning,” snapped Maisy. “Now’s not the time to go filling their heads with silly fisherman’s tales.”

  “How can you say it’s silly?” asked One-Eyed Pete. “That legend is older than either one of us.”

  “Exactly! I’m three hundred years older than you, and no one took it seriously when I was young.”

  “Excuse me,” said Stacy. “If the place is so evil, why do you have boats going there?”

  “King Winston the Wise opened up trade in an effort to strengthen peace along the border.”

  “Winston the Weak! Pish to the fool king and his peace,” said Maisy. “How can you call that trade? We give them grain and corn to keep their armies well-fed, and lumber to construct their siege weapons.”

  “What siege wea–”

  “And what do they give us in return? Poisonous herbs to weaken us for when they finally decide to invade.”

  One-Eyed Pete smiled. “She disapproves of my smoking.”

  “Invade?” said Tony the Elf.

  One-Eyed Pete rolled his eyes. “There’s not going to be any invasion. There are at least a hundred different barbarian tribes down there, all too busy fighting one another.”

  “Pish!” said Maisy. “Open your eyes, you old fool. The invasion’s already begun. Just look at Shallow Grave. That used to be a thriving district of Cardinia until it was overrun by the dark races.”

  Stacy cleared her throat.“Can we maybe use a different term than dark races? And what’s Shallow Grave?”

  One-Eyed Pete glanced at his wife. Satisfied that she was going to allow him to field the question, he turned to Stacy. “Another part of the king’s peace plan was to invite anyone who swore allegiance to the realm to live in Cardinia. It has not been one of his more popular actions among the common folk. Most who took him up on his offer have been orcs, and most of them settled in the part of the city known as Shallow Grave. But as much as people worry, I’ve not heard tell of any more crime or violence in Shallow Grave than in the rest of the city.”

  “You mark my words,” said Maisy. “They’re biding their time. When the invasion comes, King Winston the Weasel will see his once great city gutted from the inside.”

  A moment of silence passed. There was only so long anyone could stand to argue with a possibly racist four-hundred-year-old woman.

  Tony the Elf cleared his throat. “I’d like to know more about Timmon’s Tomb.”

  “Pish!” said Maisy, standing up. “With all the real problems in the world, you youngsters only want to concern yourselves with spooky fisherman’s tales. Well some of us have work to do.” She retreated behind the bar and started aggressively washing some dishes.

  One-Eyed Pete grinned. “Don’t mind her none. She grew up in the aftermath of the War of the Fractured Kingdom. She still remembers the raids and the ransoms.” He looked at Tony the Elf. “Now lad, how is it an adult elf has lived so long without hearing of Timmon the Terrible or the legendary elf Simon Swiftheart? Did your father never tell you these tales?”

  “My parents died when I was very young,” said Tony the Elf. “They were eaten by bears.”

  Players would make up any kind of bullshit to avoid having to write a complicated back-story for their character. Dave didn’t realize he was laughing out loud until he once again felt everyone’s eyes on him.

  “I’m sorry. I was thinking of something else.” Another giggle bubbled up, which Dave failed to pass off as a hiccup. He stood up.“I’m just going to go to the bathroom for a while.”

  He hurried out of the floating tavern and took a walk along the pier. Thanks to Mayor Merriweather, Dave’s bathroom needs had already been taken care of. He just needed some air.

  In no hurry to make a further fool of himself, he wandered along the maze of piers, and was soon enjoying this oddly quaint town. The sea air felt good in his lungs. It was as close to Gulfport, familiarity-wise, he’d ever felt in this world. He looked out at the vast, calm sea and imagined that on the other side of it he might find Cancun, rather than some orc-infested shithole wasteland.

  Dave passed a little shop called Leeches & Lures, which struck him as kind of horrifying until it occurred to him that it was probably a bait shop. Fishing sounded nice. He’d have to tell Julian about this place. Even if they didn’t have the sorts of souvenirs he was looking for, having some fishing gear suddenly appear in their inventory might hint that they were on the coast.

  He decided that he had better head back to join the others again, so they wouldn't think he'd fallen in the water and drowned.

  The others were exiting the Fisherman’s Hole as Dave approached.

  “You guys get anything?” asked Dave.

  Julian held up two of the bamboo cups. “I bought these. The name of the place is engraved on the bottom.” He shrugged. “Better than nothing, I guess.”

  “I was talking about information,” said Dave. “Did Timmon’s Tomb turn up anything?”

  “It’s just your standard fantasy bullshit,” said Tony the Elf. “Evil king obsessed with immortality. Betrayals. Vows of vengeance. Phantom ship. Yadda yadda yadda. About as original as you’d expect for someone who came up with Porttown, Portsville, and Port City.”

  “And Meb’ Garshur,” said Stacy. She froze. “Oh my god! That’s it. Mordred’s going to Meb’ Garshur!”

  Tony the Elf rolled his eyes. “Take it down a notch, rookie. You heard the elf lady. Even One-Eyed Pete didn’t really seem to believe the story. This is how people entertained themselves before television.”

  “Au contraire, mon frere!” Stacy was not taking it down a notch. She was giddy with excitement. “Television is exactly what I’m talking about. Have you ever seen a movie or TV show in which people were talking about some creepy old legend, joking about how only a fool would believe in it, and they turned out to be right?”

  Julian shook his head. “I can’t think of any. The guy joking about it is always the first to get killed off.”

  Tony the Elf’s eyes were no longer rolling. “Mordred would know exactly where to find the hiding place of Timmon’s Eternally Beating Heart, because he’s the one who hid it.”

  Stacy folded her arms. “Mm hmm.”

  “And he’d know the location of the tomb, and the altar, and all the details of the Forgotten Rites of Resurrection.”

  “Mm hmm.”

  “An undead lich king hellbent on destroying Cardinia could unite the orcish barbarian tribes.”<
br />
  Stacy looked admiringly at her fingernails. “Not bad for a rookie.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “How the heck should I know?” asked Stacy. “Because he’s an asshole.”

  “He wants to kill us,” said Dave. “We’re the only ones here who know his true self. With us out of the way, nobody will know he’s a big phony.”

  “He’d kill all of those innocent people for that?”

  “None of these are people to him. They’re sets of statistics on a sheet of paper. He made them. He can unmake them.”

  “We have to stop him,” said Tony the Elf.

  Julian frowned. “There won’t be any boats leaving until tomorrow.”

  Tony the Elf tugged on his ears. “What can we do?”

  Dave cleared his throat and pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “I saw a bait shop back that way.”

  Chapter 24

  Tim woke to the smell of sweat and urine that was not his own. He had a splitting headache, and the sun was shining right in his face. Why was he outside? Why was he upside down? Why was he moving?

  All of those questions were answered with a long, wet fart.

  “Goddammit, Cooper! Let go of me!” Tim kicked his legs, freeing himself from Cooper’s grip and, consequently, allowing gravity to slam his head into the road.

  “Dude,” said Cooper. “Are you okay?”

  “No, I’m not fucking okay!” Tim rubbed the stinging pain in his head to a dull, but still excruciating, ache. He looked at his fingers. There wasn’t any blood on them.

  “I would have let you down gently if you’d asked before you started kicking.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Tim. “I was too busy choking on fart.”

  “Hey. I didn’t ask to carry your sorry drunk ass.”

  Tim looked up and down the road. Nothing but road and trees in either direction. “Where the hell are we?”

  Cooper shrugged. “Somewhere south of Cardinia.”

  “Did we pass the Horsemen’s house yet?”

  “No,” said Cooper. “I was too exhausted to keep going, so we spent a few hours sleeping in a tree. We haven’t traveled very far at all.”

  Tim stood up. “Let’s keep moving. It still smells like fart around here.” He started walking. The pavement was warm on his feet. It must have been close to noon. “Do you have anything to drink?”

  “I’ve got the Decanter of Endless Water.” Cooper paused mid-step to squeeze out a little more fart.

  Tim shook his head. “That’s not the only Endless Decanter you’ve got.”

  “You’ve been turning into quite the little asshole these days. You think it’s fun to go through every day with zero bowel control? Do you know what it’s like to have rash from your taint all the way down to your knees?”

  Tim cringed, forcing himself not to look at Cooper’s legs. “All right, enough already. I’m sorry I said anything. Okay?”

  “You know what?” said Cooper. “Fuck your sorry. It’s not okay. You act like your problems are the only ones that matter. You’re not even fun to drink with anymore. I spent an hour last night listening to you bitch and moan because the girl you like doesn’t spend every waking moment of her life fantasizing about your tiny dick. I don’t –”

  “Shut up,” said Tim. “What the hell happened here?”

  Just around the bend in the road, two white horses stood in front of an overturned wagon.

  “Shit,” said Cooper. “What could have pushed a wagon over like that?” He squinted at the forest. “You think an owlbear could’ve done that?”

  “No way. Those things are vicious. The fact that those horses are still alive is evidence enough to rule out owlbears.”

  Cooper laughed. “And Julian.”

  “Stay here. I’m going to go check it out.” Tim unsheathed his dagger, slid the blade down his left shirtsleeve, and concealed the hilt in his palm. He walked in slow, even steps, so as not to spook the horses.

  From inside the wagon came grunting and the rattling of chains. That didn’t sound good. They might be better off just leaving this one alone. He was so focused on the sounds coming from the wagon, he neglected to watch where he was stepping and accidentally kicked something metallic and jingly.

  As he looked down to find a ring of keys, all sounds from within the wagon stopped.

  Fuck.

  The wagon’s rear door swung open sideways. The wagon lay on its side, meaning that the door was actually meant to lower down to form a ramp like on a Jawa sandcrawler. A man poked his head out, looked at Tim, then down at the keys, which he seemed much more interested in.

  “You there! Fetch me those keys at once!”

  His presence given away, Tim waved for Cooper to come over.

  “I wonder if you’ve seen any of my friends walking along this road,” said Tim. “Two elves, a dwarf, and a very attractive human woman?”

  “Are you deaf, runt? Or just dimwitted? I just gave you an order.”

  “And I asked you a question.”

  The man raised his eyebrows. “Surely you jest! It will be a pleasant day in the frozen wastelands of Trabajar when Captain Cornelius Reynolds bargains for the obedience of a halfling!”

  “Trabajar?” asked Tim. “Isn’t that the Spanish word for to work?”

  “I don’t remember,” said Cooper, who had just caught up to him. “All I remember from Spanish class is sacapuntas.”

  Tim pretended not to notice the chained man’s growing frustration. “Oooh, that’s a good one. What is that, like, a bag of whores?”

  Cooper snorted. “Nah. It only sounds dirty. It means pencil sharpener.”

  “Will one of you two cretins stop blathering and fetch me those keys?”

  “Who the fuck is this guy?” asked Cooper.

  Tim shrugged. “I don’t know. I think his name is Cornholius or something. He wants me to unchain him, but he’s kind of an asshole.”

  “Careful,” said Cooper. “Whoever put him in chains did it for a reason. He could be dangerous.”

  “You unchain us this instant,” said Captain Reynolds. “Or you’ll find out just how dangerous we can be.”

  “Us?” Tim kept his distance, circling the back of the wagon to get a better look inside. “There’s more than one of you in there?”

  One other soldier sat in the wagon, his chin resting in his palms and his elbows resting on his knees. From the bored and listless expression on his face, Tim guessed that Captain Reynolds was this man’s superior officer, and it was the captain’s ranting and raving that had gotten them both into their current predicament, and was now keeping them from getting out of it. But he dared not suggest a more diplomatic approach.

  Tim gave him a little wave. “‘Sup?”

  “This is your last warning,” said Captain Reynolds. “You will fetch me those keys right now, or else once I’m free I’ll hunt you down like the dogs you –”

  With a rustling of chains, both soldiers’ arms suddenly jerked to the left. Both men were pulled to the hole in the roof of the wagon as Cooper came around the other side with a fistful of chains and broken gears.

  Tim pushed the wagon’s door out wider, then cleared his throat. “I’m going to ask you one more time.” He started unlacing his pants. “Your answer will determine how soaked with halfling piss you get.”

  Cooper pulled up the front of his loincloth. “And half-orc piss.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!” The expression on Captain Reynolds’s face suggested he knew otherwise.

  Tim was impressed at the captain’s dedication to continuing to be a stubborn piece of shit. He didn’t want to have to urinate on a fellow human being, but he needed information. A simple yes or no shouldn't be too high a price to pay to not be drenched in urine.

  Tim enunciated every word carefully and clearly. “Have. You. Seen. My. Friends?”

  Captain Reynolds’s face trembled with rage and fear. “Do you know who you’re talking to? I am one of the king’s own soldier
s. Urinating on me is the same as urinating on the king himsegblbghfrgb...”

  Tim winced. “Dude, not in the mouth!”

  Cooper’s stream was strong enough to strip the bark off a tree, but Tim didn’t appreciate the sheer volume produced until he saw it flowing back out of a man’s open mouth.

  By now, Tim really had to pee. Since Cooper had gotten things rolling, he supposed there was no point in not making good on his threat. He aimed high and was soon hosing down the captain’s shiny breastplate.

  “The gods have mercy!” cried Captain Reynolds, moving his head around to avoid Cooper’s stream, which was following his mouth. “I’ll have your heads for this!”

  “I’ve never done this before,” said Cooper. “I always thought my first time would be more... I don’t know... erotic?”

  Tim was all tapped out before long. He had traded longevity for power and accuracy. But Cooper was still going strong. It was going to come down to Cooper’s Fortitude check against the captain’s Willpower check.

  Unfortunately, the captain’s stubbornness prevailed as Cooper’s stream wilted lower and lower, until he shook off the last few drops and lowered his loincloth.

  Captain Reynolds may have won the battle, but it was a Pyrrhic victory for sure. A man can only be but so proud of himself while crying and kneeling in a puddle of half-orc piss.

  Tim had one more idea that just might crack the fucker.

  “Cooper,” he said, rubbing his fingertips together. “I seem to have dripped a bit of pee on my fingers. Might you have anything on you with which I could wash my hands?”

  “Sure,” said Cooper. “Look in my bag.” He dropped his fur and filth covered bag on the ground with his free hand.

  Tim pushed aside all of the scroll cases containing their character sheets, which he had forgotten were in there, and pulled out the Decanter of Endless Water. He pulled out the stopper and let the cool clean water run over the tips of his fingers.

  “Aaaaah,” said Tim. “That feels really good. I do so hate the feel of pee on my skin.”

  “How about some for me?” Cooper put his hand out.

  “Sure, pal!” Tim rinsed Cooper’s fingers, avoiding eye contact with Captain Reynolds. He then poured the water over his own head. “Nothing like a cool shower to beat the summer heat.”