by Mike Miller
So Conrad dipped the sword into some oil then lit it with some burning tinder.
First, he appreciated the dreamy beauty of the wavering flame. Then he promptly hammered the blade down onto the base of the Yeti’s neck.
Chapter LVI
The New World
The tavern was quiet in the early morning. The few rogues in the establishment listlessly drank their cups of ale with little fanfare, as drinking was a routine duty at the moment. Nobody talked, and every man was privately lost in his own thoughts.
When the door opened, it attracted everyone’s attention. The fact that three strange men entered, each of a different colour, was even more exciting to these dreary and bored souls. Only one could have been a native Chinaman like them, though the other two were exotic Westerners.
The three were all scarred and ravaged like filthy beggars. They had thick, unshaved beards and carried the stench of foul grime. The young Asian one was even missing a hand to contribute to the spectacle. A few patrons sneered with laughter at their pathetic appearance.
Without acknowledging any of the men in the place, the trio walked to the counter, and the Asian one spoke on behalf of the other two.
The bartender was a fat oaf with short hair, though a scar across his lip and his seriousness displayed his legitimate hostility. He took a closer look at the three weary strangers and gruffly asked a question.
Jah turned to Conrad and Baxter and said, “He wants to see payment first.”
“Of course,” murmured Conrad flashily flipping a dirty gold coin onto the countertop.
A few of the men rose from their seats at the sight, causing Baxter to defensively survey the environment. He could see hunger in their greedy eyes at the sight of real money, perhaps easy earnings from such weak prey.
The bartender laughed, happily accepting the coin in his pudgy fist as he fetched three drinks for the customers.
He served three warm ales to them, which they all drank heartily. “This is good,” enthused Jah. A one-eyed rascal laughed wildly from the corner of the room, though nobody else bothered to comment.
Jah asked for another round, but the bartender didn’t move, instead asking another question.
With an angry and defiant stare, Jah was visibly displeased. Baxter knew the look well on the brash boy and intervened to avoid an incident.
“What’d he say?” asked Baxter.
Jah sighed but kept his gaze levelled on the impudent bartender. “He wants to know who we are.”
Conrad scoffed and leisurely leaned against the counter to address the bartender himself. “Tell these men that we are the slayers of the Yeti.”
Jah contemplated the language then faithfully communicated the message.
The entire bar erupted with laughter. Some men cried tears at the humour, as if their faces hurt to laugh from having gone so long without expressing any mirth. A few began chattering with each other to discuss the raving statement.
“What’s so bloody funny?” said Conrad, hurt by the condescending mocking.
One man covered in daggers shouted over at the trio, and Jah translated. “They are unimpressed,” he said. “That man there claims to have killed two Yetis just last month.”
Conrad and Baxter were stunned, looking at each other in disbelief.
To prove his claim, the bold drunk held up a small rope from his waist. Tied to the end jingled two small horned Yeti skulls. Including the horns, each head was no bigger than a fist. They clattered together like dead bells.
This made the three strangers howl with laughter. Now this odd outburst from the intruders silenced the gaiety from the bar, where all were confounded at the men’s delirious hooting. Some of the patrons grew visibly angry at the derisive and disrespectful tone, though they had just been equally guilty of doing the same previously.
The bartender pounded his fist against the wooden bar to re-establish domain. He demanded answers from the three laughing men with a rapid series of sharp words.
“He wants to know what’s so funny,” Jah said through chuckling gasps of air.
Baxter was still bent over from fits of hysteria, but managed to swing a large sack onto the counter that slammed against the aged oak with a thunderous explosion. It startled everyone but the three.
The dirty bag bore a bulbous shape the size of a man’s torso. The bottom of the container’s canvas was stained with dark blood.
Conrad patted Jah on the shoulder and said, “Please inform these gentlemen that we didn’t kill just any Yeti.”
About the Author
Pictured: The author being attacked by a tiny ninja.
Mike Miller is a graduate of UC Berkeley and lives in L.A. with his wife and daughter. He has written numerous short stories, comics, screenplays and novels in all genres, as well as overseen the subtitling and translation for hundreds of films and television shows like The Lord of the Rings, Kung Fu Hustle, Seinfeld and The Simpsons.
“You have entered a world of death, but do not want to die. No treasure on earth is worth facing the Yeti.”
In the year 1850, a British caravan crossing the Himalayan Mountains from India into China has vanished, along with its priceless treasure. Now the race is on to reclaim the lost fortune as a pair of intrepid soldiers - a virtuous African private and a daring British corporal - spearhead their own mission to seize the prize by betraying their fellow troops. On this epic adventure, each man’s will, character and fortitude will be challenged to survive the perilous quest as they battle the wrath of the vengeful English army, the fury of the native bandits, the greed of their cutthroat accomplices, and the harsh, frozen hell of the alpine peaks. And the only other obstacle to their success is a savage beast of mythical power.
Mike Miller is a graduate of UC Berkeley and lives in L.A. with his wife and daughter. He has written numerous short stories, comics, screenplays and novels in all genres, as well as overseen the subtitling and translation for hundreds of films and television shows like The Lord of the Rings, Kung Fu Hustle, Seinfeld and The Simpsons.
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www.MikeMillerVerse.com
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