Grand Opening (Badger Hole Bar Book 2)

by Taki Drake

  Vincent and Brechal were in quiet consultation on some topic that was absorbing to both of them. Wynn was moving around the room, checking all of the details one last time. Madrik asked her, “Where is Alastair?”

  “Down in the storerooms pulling some of the last items that we are going to give as prizes in the contests,” she replied.

  It’s a good thing that I have a great team, Madrik thought to himself. I totally forgot about the prizes.

  Idly, Madrik wondered what they were going to offer as prizes and how they were going to judge the contests. However, other items quickly claimed his attention, and he was busy working with his bartender and his cook to make sure that food and beverage services were all handled.

  <<<>>>

  It was T minus 30 minutes, and Madrik was a basket case. Everyone else looked busy, but Madrik knew that his nerves were reaching the explosion point. He couldn’t sit still, he couldn’t stand without motion. Sitting down, standing up, he could not stay still. His mind skittered between “Oh my God, what if no one comes?” to “Oh my God, what if too many people come?” He was incoherent and unable to concentrate.

  The bar manager knew that after the first person arrived, he would be better but the waiting for that point was torture. He felt like he was a band that had been stretched well beyond its breaking point. All he had to do is wait for that snap, that sound of separation, and the bits and pieces of him would be all over the room. A flash of morbid humor made him think, That would leave a mess to clean up!

  Knowing what was happening didn’t really help deal with it. Instead, he merely had to endure.

  T minus ten minutes!

  Torture. The whole thing was torture. How had he ever gotten himself into this position?

  Madrik was obsessed with the idea that no one was going to show up at the Grand Opening. All of the work that they had done, all the preparation, would be for naught. He had put everyone through this effort to organize, arrange, and strategize. And no one would come. A huge weight of disappointment had already settled on his shoulders. He wanted to tell everyone to go home, that he was sorry, that he made a mistake. Only the support from the BHB that floated across their companion bond prevented him from blurting it out to everyone.

  He knew that his whole team felt the same tension. Adrenaline was ratcheting up, and everybody was running around, obsessively checking their areas. Even Najeer had emerged from the kitchen to thrust plates of food in Madrik’s hands, placing others on the bar.

  In a strangled voice, the cook had asked, “Are these are right? Please, please taste them!”

  Before anyone could take a step toward the plates, the frazzled cook had disappeared back into the kitchen with the suddenness of a teleport.

  Even Madrik was pulled out of his funk by the smells coming up that plate. Looking down he saw each individual bite had the look of an art piece. Najeer had done a fantastic job. Madrik found his hand picking up a piece and moving it toward his mouth without any conscious thought. Once the food hit his mouth, the only thing that was left was a flood of sensations.

  The smells and taste combined to entirely bury Madrik under waves of pleasure invoked by the food. The perfect balance of flavors created a journey from the first second that it had touched his tongue until long after he had swallowed it. The experience made the food a remarkable adventure all of its own.

  How had Najeer come to this bar? What journey had led him here? Madrik did not know. Here was another person that eventually would share his story, but for now he was someone who deserved a safe place to heal and recover.

  T minus one minute.

  It was showtime. The door to the BHB had been closed, and it was now time to open it. Madrik could finally find out how many people wanted to come to the Grand Opening for the BHB.

  It was one of the hardest things that he’d ever done to approach the door. He was so focused on the entrance that it was as if he was in a long tunnel walking toward a goal that kept receding from him. He finally was at the door and put out his hand to open it, praying that at least a few of the regulars were out there, waiting. Even if it were just the regulars that came to this event, it would be worth it. He could turn it in his mind and make it a celebration of what they had done on an unofficial basis. Their “soft opening” had garnered them a loyal following, and on Earth, he would have been thrilled with just the strength of that.

  Here, he wanted more. Here, he wanted to be unique. A place that people could go to have problems solved and a defined sanctuary when they needed a place to escape. Someplace that people would learn to work together and make a family, a tribe. This was the Badger Hole Bar and the Badger Hole dimension. A special place outside of time and separate from regular space that allowed them to hold a position unusual, uncommon.

  Madrik was in a disassociated state. He couldn’t really feel his hands and feet. Operating with a high level of adrenaline, his emotions totally detached as he reached his hand toward the door, planning on pushing it open. His companion anticipated what he wanted and opened the door for him.

  Madrik thought his heart would stop. The quiet outside had fooled him into thinking that there was no one there. He was wrong.

  People. People everywhere. There were people lined up by the door, crowded in so tightly that Madrik could not have taken one single step outside of the building. People as far as he could see. Bodies crowding his vision, preventing him from seeing across the road. Blocking even the sight of the swirling chaos fog that defined the dimension.

  People waiting for their Grand Opening.

  <<<>>>

  It was party time. From the minute that Madrik had opened the door, the BHB had been filled. Madrik was dimly aware of many of their regulars streaming past him, focused on claiming their usual tables.

  The evening became a kaleidoscope of snapshots to the bar manager. Flashing between the celebration and joy that sparkled everywhere, to the contests that were continually running all evening.

  Drinking, arm wrestling, darts. The contests were designed to appeal to the mercenaries that had formed the mainstay of the BHB’s regular clientele. The competition added to the bardic entertainment and the Storyteller would be hopefully enough to keep the people that had come to the event in a good mood and engaged.

  Madrik’s mind was bombarded with more images. The amazement when one of BHB bankers won the lightweight division of the arm wrestling. At a later time, Madrik would trot out the memory of the expression on the mercenary’s face at the banker’s explanation that he built up his arm muscles wrestling with numbers. It was a priceless moment that the bar manager never wanted to forget.

  The drinking contests were hysterically fun and entirely amusing. The Dirty Bucket Brewery’s saison was a major hit. The unique taste of it was incredible, and the attendees drank the entire stock and demanded more. Sage, Cairn, and Rowan were kept busy running back to the brewery and restocking their beer supply all night long.

  The reception of the Mad Honey beer had been especially impressive. Madrik had watched as two of the most hardened mercenaries in the group had faced off with Brechal over the drink.

  “Don’t you have anything stronger?” the more massive mercenary had demanded. He stood at least seven feet tall with shoulders as broad as a barn, tattooed with war markings and clad in jeweled armor.

  “Tired of this panther piss you guys always serve,” his friend had complained.

  With a smirk, Brechal slid a half pint of the Mad Honey Saison towards the two men.

  “What’s this? We can’t even get a full stein?” the tall man had complained.

  “We’re men, not boys who can’t handle a wee beer,” his friend had chimed in. “What’s the meaning of this insult?”

  Brechal had busied himself cleaning a glass, and said,“If you’re still standing when you finish that, we’ll discuss the possibility of a stein.” Dark humor glinted in his eyes, and Madrik was afraid that there would be immediate blows exchanged. Luckily, the merce
naries were so intent on the drinking they hadn’t noticed the wicked gleam in Brechal’s eye and the attentive expectation that others at the bar had turned toward them.

  The two men shrugged and saluted each other with their glasses. With well-practiced ease, they knocked the glasses back as though they were shooting whiskey. Apparently, they had not thought beer was anything dangerous.

  Within seconds, their eyes had rolled to the back of their heads. Their knees had given out, and their unconscious bodies collapsed to the floor.

  Smirking broadly, Brechal had called for Alastair, “Two more for the cart.”

  Surreptitiously, money was handed from one mercenary to another at the bar. The side betting was becoming immense as mercenaries were tested as to their judgment and understanding of how powerful and innocuous things might be. The Mad Honey Saison was a roaring success.

  Not only was the beer a powerful drink but it filled the drinker with an urge to explore sensations that were more than just drinking. Luckily for the mercenaries, Jasmyn had taken Madrik up on his invitation to come to the Grand Opening. The bar manager wasn’t keeping track of the woman, but he noticed her coming in and out of the bar with a fair amount of frequency. Madrik was uninterested in policing her activities or the mercenaries that tripped out after her with their tongues hanging down to the ground and drool pooling on the corners of their mouths. He had noted that both she and the mercenaries had appeared at different times after their initial exit. All of them looked pleased, so he was content.

  Reassured that nothing permanent was happening to his customers, Madrik wasn’t concerned with the intricacies of their private life. His was not a position to judge morality or ethics. He only dealt with behavior. Jasmyn seemed pleased, and the mercenaries seemed overwhelmed. What more could a man want after a drink of mad honey?

  The party had expanded out into the street. There was not enough room for all of their contests and the sheer number of people that had chosen to come to the Grand Opening. When Madrik had looked out into the front, he noticed that it appeared to be much wider and longer than it had earlier in the day. Shrugging his perception off as the altered vision of his focus, Madrik thought nothing of it until Alastair came up to him and asked, “Do you realize that the road in front of the bar is much longer and wider than it was before?”

  Startled, Madrik reached out to his companion over their bond with the query. The smug satisfaction of the BHB punched him in the head so hard that his eyes spangled with stars in his head and echoed as if a large bell had been rung. Immediately, the BHB had slid a cooling easement of apology over his brain. Dropping shakily into a chair, Madrik had grabbed his head with both hands, answering Alastair through the pain of his pounding headache, “I understand that’s true, although I’m not exactly sure where it came from.”

  Alastair responded quietly, “I thought you ought to know.”

  “Thank you.”

  Chapter 26 – Fun and Competition

  Other parts of the party stuck in Madrik’s mind through all of his exhaustion and the many drinks that he shared with his customers. One of them, something that was absolutely spectacular, was the knife throwing contest.

  The mercenaries had been quite smug about their abilities in this area. The heavily laden men with crossed bandoliers and obvious knife placements had taken turns trash talking and competing against each other. They were playing the same game and were totally unprepared when other contestants entered the competition.

  The first to trouble the minds of the brawny fighters was the female assassin that had appeared days before to solve the problem of the space-going quadruped. Carrying an aura of cold, the woman had taken her daggers and beaten everyone. Her weapons seemed to be the extension of her mind, flying exactly where she wanted them to go.

  The accuracy of her throws and the speed in which she could release her knives sobered the rest of the mercenaries. Looking at her with new eyes, Madrik could see the recalculation of her effectiveness and the danger that she represented as each of the men and women re-slotted her in their importance queue.

  She had beaten all the mercenaries and finally stood up asking, “Is there anyone else who wishes to challenge me?”

  The room was quiet until a low-toned voice answered her saying, “Yes. I need a break from the kitchen, and I would welcome the chance to throw knives again.”

  There was a stunned silence as the crowd parted and the cook, Najeer, walked to the front. One of the mercenaries that the assassin had defeated started to object, saying “He’s just a cook! Why is he competing?”

  The man beside him slammed him upside the head with his forearm. Leaning over the half-stunned fighter that was lying on the ground now, his chastising battle mate said, “Never argue with the man who makes food like that!”

  The woman bowed slightly to the cook, offering him the respect that some of the mercenaries didn’t understand. Standing up, she said, “I would be honored.”

  Taking a position on the line, she threw five knives in quick succession. Her blades stuck in an area of the center of the target within a one-inch diameter. The slender tips of her throwing knives clustered like a wondrous flower. Murmurs of amazement were heard over the crowded area. Many of the mercenaries pointed out to each other how perfectly she had thrown.

  Madrik watched her face as Najeer had stepped up to the line. She did not look so sure of herself now. Instead, she had the attentive posture of a student, someone who is willing to learn. At the time, Madrik had thought that she was just courteous.

  Soon, he would learn differently.

  Straddling the firing line, Najeer laid five knives across his forearm. Unlike his competitor’s blades, these were not stilettos or typical throwing knives. Instead, they look like common cleavers or kitchen knives. One of the mercenaries started to make a joke and shut up as soon as he saw his sergeant’s face.

  Madrik was amused and alerted by the fact that the experienced noncoms all viewed his cook in a different light. Movement at Madrik’s left shoulder made him look to that side only to see Alastair standing there watching intently. Something made Madrik looked to his right where he saw that Vincent was standing in a similar position. The same eagle-eyed stare that was present in Alastair was echoed on Vincent’s face. It was the aspect of someone who dealt with life-and-death situations, ones that depended on skill and perseverance. Madrik remembered those days from his own military service and focused his scattered attention back onto the man he had regarded as “just a cook.”

  What followed next was something that Madrik believed would never be reproduced. One moment Najeer was standing there, motionless and innocuous. The next moment he was a blur of motion, flicking his knives rapidly toward the target. As each of his blades landed, his competitor’s knives were dislodged and dropped to the floor. The bar manager was surprised that the cook’s knives did not join the others on the ground. Instead, a new pattern was formed.

  Instead of a flower with a center and four petals, Najeer’s pattern formed a trio, a pyramid of blades in the middle and two more knives that had been slipped in and balanced among the three.

  It was an impossible position, a demonstration of a true master’s art.

  There was no question of who had won the contest. The female assassin was the first to acknowledge the win, bowing deeply and asking in a humble tone, “If you choose to teach anyone, I would be honored to be your student,” she said.

  Najeer had nodded his head but not answered.

  At that point, the stunned audience had given way to a cheering, crazy crowd. Yelling in appreciation, they hoisted their drinks to the cook, a man of many talents and secrets. Smiling briefly in Madrik’s direction, Najeer disappeared back into his kitchen, content.

  Confused, Madrik had turned to ask Alastair a question only to discover that his bouncer had disappeared. Flipping back to the other direction, Madrik realized that Vincent was also gone. An alert from the BHB told him that his bouncers had moved to the
edge of the crowd and were looking at something in assessment. Trying to determine if it was a threat or not, Madrik realized that the BHB didn’t think it was a problem, but he wanted Madrik to know.

  Moving as quickly as he could in the press of the crowd, Madrik made his way toward where he knew his bouncers were. As he came up behind them, he saw that three figures were emerging from the swirling gray of the chaos mist. Confused for a moment on why they were coming from there rather than through one of the doors in the BHB, Madrik soon forgot that question in the amazement of what he saw.

  One of the figures was a tall, slender shape in a deep cowl and heavy robe. Glowing eyes peered from the shuttered opening, and Madrik’s skin crawled a bit as the creature’s gaze had lighted upon him.

  Recognition thrummed across the companion bond, and the seldom heard voice of the sentient building said, “Magistrate, final law.”

  Before Madrik could echo the name, his eyes widened in amazement, and he clutched for a weapon that was not at his waist. The two figures that stood beside the magistrate uneasily flicking their tongues in and out of their mouths were reptilian in form. Easily two meters tall, the massive shapes of the bipedal reptiles made it very plain that they were predators. Prominent teeth and large jaws showed the species development from meat eaters and dominant lifeforms.

  Drawing together in their unease, the two creatures watched Madrik and his bouncers uncomfortably. Madrik didn’t know where it would’ve gone if they had waited just a little while longer but Vincent took a step forward.

  In a very clear voice, the veteran said, “Be welcome. I am Vincent, a retired warrior, and fighter for honor. I would be pleased to show you around.”

  Madrik’s head whipped around and stared at his assistant bouncer in amazement. He had no idea where Vincent had come up with those words, but they appeared to be exactly the right thing to say because the two reptiles released their hands from their weapons and started toward the speaker with an open and easy gait.