Another Stupid Trilogy

by Bill Ricardi

  I awoke to find Ames rummaging through my pack. My hazy mind slowly remembered: The cat’s packages were in there. I grumbled and sat up slowly.

  “Hello there sleepy head. Do your ritual stuff, then come join me for dinner. Same booth.”

  The cat punctuated the statement with a cheeky little tail flick, and then left me to sort myself out.

  After meditating and casting my intellectual enhancement spells, I joined Ames at the table. The were-cat was chatting with their head chef. I took a moment to appreciate my new companion in their natural environment. The fluffy white feline was so relaxed just then; completely in their element.

  The chef glanced up at me, and then excused herself. Ames treated me to a bright, toothy smile. “I’ve already ordered for us. Hope you don’t mind. We had some extra meat on ice from the entre a couple of days ago, so I’m having Sylvia prepare something off-menu.”

  To be honest, the smells coming from the kitchen were driving me crazy. I would have eaten whatever was put in front of me at that moment. But I tried to be more suave than just admitting my voraciousness. “Oh? That sounds wonderful, thank you. Shall I get us some rolls from the back?”

  Ames reached across the table and grabbed my hand in their paw to restrain me. “No! Rolls are on the way already. You’re not working, you’re done for the day. We leave in the morning. Time to relax.”

  I covered the cat’s paw with my free hand. “Okay.”

  Emerald green eyes held my hazel eyes. There was a moment of comfortable silence. This time I knew that I was holding that paw, and I wasn’t letting go. Ames treated me to a gentle smile, fangs mostly hidden this time.

  The dividing curtain was drawn back so that Ames could keep an eye on both front and back of house. There were no obvious troublemakers tonight.

  I murmured, “I know you had mentioned loving to adventure. But running a place like this must be quite intense. When the Vole is financially stable, will you actually end up doing this full time? You seem to be a natural. At running this place and leading these people, I mean.”

  Ames’ claws extended and retracted a few times so that I could feel the clawtips prick gently against my palm. “You’re right of course. Success might cost me some freedom, and I’d have to manage this place most of the time. That’s okay. I love running this place, and dancing. I even like fixing a lock or picking a chest open from time to time. But I think my vacations will still be adventuring, no matter how profitable this place is. Toby once said, ‘Living is what you do when you’re not tending to life.’ That really stuck with me. I don’t just want to be comfortable, I want to be alive.”

  I squeezed the were-cat’s paw gently. “Shaman told me something similar. He said that if your life is just feeding an engine over and over again, that isn’t living, that’s slavery.”

  My feline companion nodded in agreement. “A wise man, your Shaman. Right now, this is my engine. I’m rigging it so that, in time, it will be feeding me. Then I’ll be free, just like you.”

  I broke eye contact. “I’m still a slave to copper and silver.”

  Just then the rolls arrived, still steaming. They had already been sliced down the middle and coated in butter. I had the presence of mind to let go of Ames’ paw so we could eat.

  After the servant left, the were-cat commented, “Everyone is a slave to money, Sorch. It might be more literal and urgent for you, but everyone has debts to pay or mouths to feed. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

  That made me feel better, oddly. I grabbed a buttered roll and tore into it. Ames did the same.

  After chewing a muzzle full of fluffy, buttery bread, the feline rumbled, “And I’ll share something with you. This expedition is hot. Normally we’re working off of old rumours and dusty tomes. Sometimes we get lucky, sometimes we don’t. But as of around ten days ago, a hunter reported strange activity in the area we’re going. Noise, vibrations in the ground. I don’t think we’ll have a boring time on this one!”

  I wouldn’t have minded just finding a lost treasure deep underground somewhere. Bored and rich would be a fine result as far as I was concerned. But I forced a smile anyway and said, “Outstanding.”

  Ames nodded in agreement. “I can’t wait really.”

  We polished off the rolls just in time for the main dish to arrive. It was a plate of beautiful red-brown steak of some sort. I sniffed it, but this wasn’t cow or horse meat. We were each poured a glass of red wine as well.

  Seeing my look of confusion, my companion supplied the name. “This is an elk steak on a bed of fried potatoes. Enjoy!”

  And I did. The slightly gamey taste of elk went well with the light cider sauce. I hardly had the patience to cut it up with my knife, though I knew that exposing my swamp etiquette to Ames wouldn’t be very impressive.

  I paused. I was trying to impress Ames? Our back and forth had been entertaining, but the cat’s job was to be entertaining.

  “Ames?”

  “Hmmmm?”

  I set down my utensils. “The sitting in my lap, the teasing. Is that just part of the job, or is that you being friendly, or… something else?”

  The feline smiled, showing bright white teeth. “Something else.” my companion assured me.

  I had to ask. “Why?”

  The feline bought some time to think by popping some of the delectable meat into their maw. There was some thoughtful chewing, and then a shrug. “You look like you’re a lot of fun.”

  I snorted.

  “And…” the feline added, “You’re unique. I may be a relative rarity in this world, but I can honestly say that I’ve never met anyone else like you. There might not be anyone else like you in the world, Sorch. The last genuine orc magi was a figure in ancient history. But you haven’t let any of that go to your head. You’re still sweet, and sensitive. That’s quite attractive.”

  The number of compliments heaped upon me in just a few seconds was too much. I took a long pull of wine to collect my thoughts and hide my blush for a moment. “Thank you. ”

  We both ate in silence for a while. Then Ames dropped their utensils to the tabletop and asked, impatiently, “Well?!”

  I jumped a bit in my seat. “I’m sorry, what?”

  The cat threw their paws up over their head. “This is the part when you tell me why you like me!”

  I blinked. “Oh!”

  “You are so bad at this.”

  “I am. I’m sorry. When it comes to relationships, there isn’t this much ritual back in the swamp.”

  The were-cat tapped their claws on the table, waiting.

  I cleared my throat. “Well you’re beautiful of course, that goes without saying. And I like that you have goals. I have goals, and I think being driven is very attractive. But…”

  Ames tilted their head to one side. “But?”

  “But mostly I appreciate your candor. People are always trying to hide stuff and things. They’re afraid feelings might be bruised, or they think it will be an advantage later on, or they just want to feel superior. But you say what you think, and that’s incredibly attractive to me.”

  The feline smiled. “Well. Not half bad for a boy from the wetlands.” I took that to mean Ames approved. I let out a half-held breath in relief.

  We were mid-way through our meal when I noticed the cat sprinkling something into their wine. “Is that the…”

  Ames glanced up at me, looking perhaps a shade guilty. “Catnip, yes. I figured I shouldn’t take it on the road, and this is my last night here for a couple of weeks.”

  I smiled reassuringly, “Sure, go ahead.”

  The change that overcame the feline was quite dramatic. The strong wine was having a little effect on me, but to Ames the impact was magnified sevenfold. My companion alternatively looked like they were falling asleep and melting into their chair, or wide awake and hyper-alert.

  I had to smile. “You really like that stuff don’t you?”

  Ames licked their lips with that long feline tongue. “Y-yea
h. It’s very relaxing. Harmless in the long term. No hangover like you get with alcohol.” The were-cat devoured their steak and potatoes voraciously. I was impressed.

  “Does that catnip stuff enhance appetite as well?” I asked.

  I jumped a little bit as a felt a soft feline footpaw running up and down my leg under the table. “It enhances everything dear.” was the rumbled reply.

  We finished our meals in relative silence. I couldn’t help but make some fairly unmanly sounds as that feline foot wandered, of course. But I wasn’t complaining.

  I continued to not complain when Ames shifted over to sit on my side of the small booth. I truly and steadfastly did not complain when the feline ended up in my lap with their arms looped around my neck.

  With my arms encircled about the were-cat’s midsection, I gazed down at the smaller creature. “This restaurant has the best service that I’ve ever experienced.”

  The cat sighed a little bit. “I’m glad you think so. However…”

  “Hmmm?”

  “I need to go dance soon.”

  I growled. My teeth found the tip of one of those inviting triangular ears and nibbled firmly.

  Ames squirmed and mewled. “Sorch! Stop. I can’t… I can’t be too worked up before I dance.”

  I murmured into that twitching, captive ear, “You’re high on catnip and tipsy from the wine. I don’t think it’s safe for you to dance right now.” My armed squeezed the squirming creature in my lap, possessively.

  The were-cat growled and assured me, “It’s safe to dance.”

  I relented and gently helped the cat back to their feet. “Fine. You can dance if you want to. But I’m not helping you to get dressed afterwards.”

  Ames winked at me. “I don’t think I’ll want to get dressed afterwards.” With a practiced half turn that included a dramatic tail flick, the feline padded to their dressing room in order to get ready for the show.

  I flicked the dividing curtain closed. Slowly I finished my wine, feeling that pleasant burn spread from my belly to my chest, then throughout my entire body. As the show was starting, I paid a visit to the kitchen. I took a couple of damp hand towels and a small vial of oil, ferrying them into Ames’ dressing room and leaving them on the nightstand by the bed. Always best to be prepared.

  By the time the feline joined me, the bed was turned down and my clothes were already in a pile alongside theirs. The cat quickly closed the door. I lifted Ames, and those nimble legs curled around my back. Taking this as a good sign, I held the fluffy white creature in my arms and kissed the cat, feeling that long feline tongue curl dexterously around my humanoid organ.

  That night, I learned everything there is to know about the mysteries of were-cat anatomy.

  Chapter 12

  “It’s freezing and I hate you!”

  That was Will’s comment to Rick every hour or so as we trekked across the high mountain valley to the northeast of Ice House. I couldn’t really blame the human for being annoyed by the bitter cold and biting winds. Three days of this cross country plodding was more than enough for any of us, truth be told. But we only had a day to go before we reached our destination, so things were looking up.

  Our respite from this frozen hell happened every evening, just after sunset. Rick had a spell that summoned a zone of comfort for eight hours. Apparently there was a version of the spell that created an actual dome that one could see out of, but nobody could see into from the outside. However, our minotaur companion wouldn’t have fit inside. Instead, Rick’s version of the spell temporarily created a soft, mossy floor and an area of comfortable warmth. The ritual took a little over an hour to prepare and complete. That gave us time to patrol the area and see if there was anything worth hunting. Once the comfort zone was ready, the five of us had dinner. That was followed by seven hours of sleep, and a quick breakfast in the morning.

  Today was the worst day so far. Light snow had followed strong winds, which had followed frozen rain. And it wasn’t even noon yet. Of the five of us, Ames was the best equipped to deal with the weather. Not only did the feline have a natural fur coat, they also had all of the gadgets required to make the trip bearable. Next best off was Toby, which is to be expected from a mountain of bovine-man flesh. The minotaur’s only issue was that he had to wear not only boots, but snowshoes. As the snow got deeper day after day, we were all forced to wear snowshoes. Last on the coping scale were the three humanoids, with all of our reliance on warm climates and the desire to live as far away from the frigid equator as possible.

  I wasn’t any happier than Will. Not by a long shot. But I kept my complaints to myself. Adventure was the life I had chosen, and that sometimes meant getting cold, wet, and lost. We had only been lost once, to be fair, and Toby had us back on track in short order.

  The Ice Cave, as we cleverly called it because it had been described as a cave made of ice, was noted in the journal of Private Timothy Vec. The private was the only known survivor of the elven expedition code named ‘Salt Mines’. Oddly, Private Vec was not an elf himself. He was a halfling bard that was tagging along to record the adventures of the elven company, in both poetry and song. The halfling noted the unwillingness of the elven troop to abandon their mission, even when it was clear that the supplies that were supposed to be stockpiled there had never arrived. He was told to go back to civilization while he still could.

  Rick had picked up the bard’s memoirs in a family estate sale, along with a staff that he had hoped was magical. The staff ended up being garbage. But the journal turned out to be very interesting, indeed. It claimed that inside these ice caves was a vast salt mine that had been abandoned for decades. In cold climates, salt was a key industrial and military resource. It could be used to melt snow. That meant a far easier time making paths and building roads, in addition to any commercial value that the excess salt held.

  As Rick and Will had explained several times, we might be the first sentient beings to set foot in these caves for over one hundred and twenty-five years. They expected that there might be surviving elven armor and weapons, assuming any of them were enchanted. And of course any wands, staves, or preserved scrolls and spellbooks would fetch a healthy price as well. At this point I would just be happy to get there without anyone in the party killing each other.

  We were travelling in the high valley between Tomath’s Peak and Thunderscale Mountain when nature stepped in. Without any warning, the light snow turned into a blizzard. The intense wind and blinding wall of white brought us to an immediate halt. We were nowhere near anything that could be defined as shelter. We huddled together to discuss our options, needing to shout to be heard at all.

  Rick yelled, “No time to prep for the spell, we’ll be buried in half an hour!”

  Ames pointed down. “We need to dig, make a quinzhee or igloo as best we can!”

  I asked, “Like a dugout in the snow?” I had made more permanent shelters with the tribe, and one option was to dig into the hillside so that all you needed was partial walls and a roof. The thought of doing that with snow terrified me.

  The feline nodded, “Yes, but fast, temporary! We need to keep snow off us and pack the walls as hard as we can.”

  Will turned his back to the wind and started casting. In seconds, a Flat Mule was hovering off of the ground. Rick said, “Hurry! We’ll clear to the sides, if it gets too heavy the Mule will collapse!” The rate at which the surface gathered snow was alarming to say the least.

  Immediately Toby, Ames, and myself detached our snowshoes and dove under the flat disk of force. The three of us started to dig. Up above, Will and Rick were using empty leather loot sacks to pack and compress the snow that they were clearing off of the disk. They shaped the snow into misshapen blocks that we could work with. It wasn’t pretty or exact, but progress was being made.

  Toby shouted when he reached bare earth. We focused our efforts on widening that hole. I was neck deep in snow before I felt that I was standing on something solid. Ames said, “We
need to clear the bottom, pack the walls, and make a dome.” The cat didn’t sound very optimistic.

  But I had a secret weapon.

  After clearing a small area on the bare ground, I unhooked my pot from where it hung on my backpack, and set it down on the ground. “Don’t get too close.” I warned. “Blaze.”

  Toby and Ames got the idea immediately. The big minotaur equipped his shield and used it to compress the snowy walls in a gentle outward slope. The were-cat filled the cooking pot with snow before nimbly scrambling out of our hole. I summoned my Invisible Shield and followed Toby’s lead. Of the mages, I was clearly the one with the most physical strength.

  With warm water and a general source of heat suddenly available, our ability to craft the snow increased dramatically. Once a portion of the wall was compressed, we used water to help freeze it in place. The side of the pot could be used to help expand and shape the structure as needed. Those working above could take shifts; two of them forming and placing blocks, while the third huddled by the pot to warm up. When my Invisible Shield expired, Will took my place down below and summoned his own Shield, while I went up to help form more blocks and build the dome.

  With the main body of the shelter created, the Flat Mule was moved away and dispelled. Below, they were digging out a broad escape tunnel that would also serve as an air hole so that my pot didn’t melt our structure. The tunnel needed to be wide so that we had storage for our packs, keeping them out of the confined area below. Rick started to dig down from above, and helped to pack and freeze the lip of the tunnel. We just needed to build the dome over the area of hard packed ice and snow that we had created.

  Ames complained, “These blocks need to be more precise! We have to square them off. Maybe bring the pot up and we can melt them against the side?”

  I shook my head. In a few seconds, I had a flaming short sword in my hands. For the first time all day, Ames smiled.