I pointed to the wizard. “This dude says he’s in charge, and that’s fine. I don’t give a damn who’s in charge of your little bunch of dumbasses. All I care about is this—y’all leave me the hell alone. If I ever see any damn one y’all again, I will beat you so bad your own mama won’t recognize you. And if you try to ambush me, or throw magic at me, or shoot me with a damn arrow? Then I will put a cold iron bullet between your eyes and drop you deader than I did Scar. Are we clear?”
I looked around the circle, and every eye met mine, and every head nodded like a bobblehead on the dashboard. “Good. Now I’m gonna go about my business, and I suggest you go about yours. And go about it some damn where else.”
I turned and stomped off, heading to the one place I knew I could find some peace, comfort, and people that didn’t want to kill me on sight. I took my happy ass to the nearest bar.
Chapter 12
I stepped into the tavern, and it was like all my troubles melted away. In times of great stress, and a significant amount of ass-kicking, there are few things in life that will relax a man like copious quantities of alcohol. And boobies. But now that I’m in a committed relationship with a woman who shoots straighter than me, can kick my ass, and has the authority to send me to Gitmo, my time at strip clubs is severely curtailed.
That, and I don’t even know if they have titty bars in Fairyland. I mean, if they don’t, what’s the point? It begs an existential question—if you don’t have strip clubs, how do single fairy moms make a living? And where do ballet dancers go to get jobs when they grow up? And what will all the fairy women with daddy issues do? But that’s beside the point because I didn’t step into a fairy strip club, I stepped into a fairy bar.
This was a place for serious day-drinking. This is where the professionals went, the men who woke up in the morning, rolled out of the gutter, wiped the chunks of last night’s party off their chests, and headed straight back into the ring for more punishment. This was the kind of establishment that served so many drinks before lunch in the name of “hair of the dog” that you wondered if there was a single scrap of hair left on a dog in a ten-block radius. In short, it was my kind of place.
It was dark, so dark that when I first walked in, the only things I could make out were the coals glowing in the fireplace and the light emanating from the whiskey bottles behind the bar. I went straight for the booze like a moth to a flame, stubbing my toe on a chair that I didn’t see and bumping into a table that I didn’t see. I heard an angry shout from beside me and saw a shadowy form lurch to its feet at my right elbow. I reached out with my fist and thumped the outraged fairy on the head, and he collapsed back into his chair.
My eyes had adjusted by the time I reached the bar, and I nodded at the stocky bald fairy who stood there, bar rag in hand, polishing a metal tankard. I wasn’t sure which was dirtier, the tankard or the rag, but I didn’t really care. I’ve found in my life that alcohol makes a really good disinfectant.
“Whiskey,” I said, pulling a ring from the purse at my hip. I placed the ring on the bar, and the bartender walked over.
“What’s this?” He picked it up and examined it closely. He placed the band between his teeth and bit down, nodded, and put it back on the bar.
“Payment,” I said. “How much will that buy me?”
“Two bottles, four meals, and my best room for two nights. Plus, all the beer you can drink, if you’re of a mind not to drink whiskey.”
“Done. Give me one bottle now, and keep the beer coming.” I took the shot glass and the bottle and made my way over to a table in a corner away from the fire. I try not to sit too close to the fireplace in bars. It’s not that I start fights. I really don’t. But there’s a certain segment of every bar population that likes to fight, and those people very often want to start fights with me, so I have to end a lot of fights. And if I happen to do that ending too close to open flames, it ends with people getting hurt. Or buildings burning to the ground. Or sometimes even really bad things, like spilling my drink.
I sat with my back against a wall in a corner opposite the fire and downed a couple of shots in quick succession. The fairy liquor was strong, and I felt the ache in my muscles from trying to sleep on a fairy-size cot ease almost immediately. A cute little fairy girl in a flouncy top brought me a beer and leaned forward a little more than was necessary to deliver it. I took note of the fact that the top wasn’t the only flouncy thing she had going on but turned my attention to my drinking. Remember, committed relationship to a woman who is an expert marksman.
I sat there drinking and watching the room for about an hour until the barmaid came back with another beer and a tray laden down with meat, cheese, and bread. None of it was terribly exciting food, but it was very tasty, and just basically a solid, well-prepared meal. Nothing to write home about, but nothing to complain about, either.
I made some small talk with the barmaid, who became a little more honestly friendly when she realized that I would tip her even without the cleavage and I wasn’t going to put my hands on her. I even wandered back up to the bar as the afternoon dragged on, and I had no better idea than when I walked in how I was supposed to get into the castle. The bar was a long wraparound affair with most of its length facing the door but a couple of shorter segments at right angles to the entrance, so if I took up a spot in one corner of the bar, I was not only far enough away from the fireplace and the postage-stamp-sized stage where a bard was tuning his lute, I was also somewhere I could put my back to a wall.
Which became much more important the further into the bottle of fairy whiskey I got. For a bunch of little bastards, they brewed some strong damn liquor. I only had about half the bottle, but I was as close to tore up as I’d been since the first Lynyrd Skynyrd reunion tour.
The bar started to fill up after lunch, and I sat in my corner chair with my back pressed against the wall and some moderate level of equilibrium achieved, and started to quiz the barkeep.
“Have you ever been inside the castle?” I asked, trying to keep my voice casual.
“Yup,” he said, wiping down the bar. I reckon being a bartender means you’ve always got something to do with your hands because everyone I’ve ever known spent as much time polishing the top of the bar as they did pouring drinks.
“How did you get in?”
“Through the front gate, how else?”
“Yeah, that’s the problem. Those dumbass guards won’t let me in.”
“Why not?”
“I might have killed the Queen’s cousin this morning. And now, even though I killed the little bastard at her unspoken but very politically savvy request, she can’t allow herself to be seen giving me any favor. She can’t just randomly have me killed because I won the duel fair and square, but the thieving little shitball was royal blood, so she has to at least act like the whole thing wasn’t her idea. Regardless of the fact that it was all her idea.”
“I’m not sure I follow, friend.”
“You can call me Bubba,” I said with a magnanimous wave of my hand. My magnanimity might have been a little poorly timed since my hand was holding a tankard of beer, a fair amount of which sloshed right in the bartender’s face.
“Sorry,” I said.
He stood there, not moving for a long moment. Then he shook his head and wiped his face with the bar rag. “Don’t worry about it. But I’m not giving you any more booze.”
“That’s fair,” I agreed. “What about when I get sober?”
“You get sober, and we can talk about more booze then.”
“What about when the bard starts to play? He looks like the type that requires a lot of alcohol to appreciate.”
“When he starts, I’ll start drinking with you,” the barkeep said.
“Fair enough. Now about the castle...”
“What were you saying about trying to break into the castle?” There was suddenly a new voice beside me. I had been pretty focused on the barkeep, and just about drunk enough to only be able to focu
s on one thing at a time, so I didn’t notice that the guy sitting on the other side of the bar so as not to put his back to the door was a castle guard.
I have never been the most discreet or restrained person. Add a little whiskey, and I become somewhat less restrained. Add a lot of magical Fairyland whiskey, and the whole idea of restraint goes right out the window.
“I was asking the bartender, in a private damn conversation, mind you, if he knew a back way into the castle, or if he knew which ones of you dumb bastards could be bribed into letting me into the castle. There’s somebody in the dungeon I need to bust loose.”
He looked at me like a dog that caught a car and now didn’t have a damn idea what to do with it. “You’re admitting to one of the Guard that you are planning to break into the castle and free a prisoner from Her Majesty’s dungeon, and that you intend to bribe a guard to do it?”
“I know you asked that like it was a question, but was there a question there?” I asked.
The guard went from confused to pissed off in a couple seconds. I have that effect on people sometimes. “You’re under arrest. Come with me.”
“No.”
“What?”
“No. I ain’t going with you, and ain’t none of you sawed-off bastards able to make me.”
“You should look again, human,” the guard said, and he stood up. And up. And up.
“What the hell are you, part troll?” I asked, staring at the seven-foot guard standing in front of me. Through my beer goggles, I realized that he didn’t have the fine features of every other fairy, but looked like he’d been carved out of rough granite. He had a thick brow and a jaw that stuck out with a pair of short fangs curling over his lip. He was huge, not just tall, but big, too, and had fists the size of coconuts.
“Half ogre, asshole. And you’re under arrest. Now come with me and I won’t have to hurt you.”
“Okay, okay,” I said, holding up both hands. “I mean, hell, I wanted to get into the castle anyway, right? This is probably the most efficient way.”
I stood up off my barstool and promptly lurched left, staggered over to a table, flopped belly-first onto the table, and belched loudly. The two fairies sitting at the table sprang up and bolted for the exit, and in the confusion, I stood up, grabbed one of the chairs, and broke it to kindling over the guard’s head.
He took a step back, shook his head to clear the cobwebs, and punched me in the gut. I dropped like a boulder to the floor, hitting my hands and knees and trying not to puke. Ogre-boy yanked me up by the back of my collar, and I sprang forward, burying my shoulder in his gut and crashing him into the bar.
He thumped both fists into my spine, and I almost went down again, but when he reared back to do it again, I jerked back and stood up quick, nailing him on the point of his chin with the chair leg I still clutched in one hand. I swung that chair leg like I was Babe Ruth calling my shot, and his eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed.
I looked around the now-empty bar and grinned at the stunned fairy standing there holding his rag staring at me. I tossed him another ring from my purse and grinned. “Sorry about the table, buddy. But no worries about helping me get into the castle. I got it figured out.”
Chapter 13
A couple of minutes later, I stepped out of the bar, tugging at the tabard on my new guard uniform. Or the parts of the uniform I’d stolen, anyway. I didn’t take all of the dude’s clothes, just his mail shirt, the tabard, his gloves, helmet, and sword belt. I felt a little bad leaving the belt and sheath Puck gave me behind, but I jammed his sword into the guard’s belt and hoped nobody would call me on the different hilt.
Instead of walking along the edge of the crowd like I’d done since I got into Tisa’ron, this time I almost strutted down the middle of walkway, expecting everyone to get out of my way. And they did—they scattered like rats in front of this giant in a guard uniform. Nobody even noticed that my hauberk was a little too long in the sleeves because nobody stayed in my way long enough to notice.
I walked through the gates of the castle without anyone even looking at me twice, just nodding as I walked past. I made it all the way to the keep before anyone challenged me. I was in the entryway just about to turn and head down the stairs to the dungeon when a voice hailed me.
“Torg! What are you doing back? I thought you’d be knee-deep in a game of dice or cards by now!” The cheery fairy quick-walked over to me, clapped me on the back, then froze as he looked at my face.
“Who are—” I punched him in the face, holding onto his belt as his eyes rolled back in his head. He sagged into my arms, and I looked around the foyer, wondering if I was just going to end up in the dungeon the old-fashioned way. We were alone, so I threw him over one shoulder and hauled him down the stairs with me. I set the unconscious guard on a landing halfway down to the dungeon, patted him on the head, and used his sword belt to tie his feet together. Hopefully it would slow him down just enough for me to get free, and he wouldn’t fall down the stairs and break his neck.
I walked down the steps like I owned the place and never paused as I walked between the two guards at the bottom of the steps. I walked over to where the keys hung on the wall and picked them up, turning to the cell that held Tamara. I kept my face down as much as I could, hoping that I could avoid a fight with the four guards in the dungeon.
“What are you doing, Torg?” a guard sitting at a table playing cards with his buddy asked.
“Queen wants to see this one,” I said, trying to pitch my voice into the low rumble that Torg had.
“For what? She’s to be sold at dawn.”
“I don’t ask questions. I just do as I’m told,” I said.
“I can’t let you in there, Torg,” his buddy said, and for the first time, I noticed the gold braid on his uniform. Well, at least I know who’s in charge, and it ain’t my old buddy Torg.
The sergeant, or whatever Gold Braid was, came over to me and reached for the keys. He froze when he saw my face. “You’re not Torg,” he said.
Shit. Oh well, it was mostly a good plan. I grabbed Gold Braid by the front of his tabard and yanked him around into the bars, slamming his face into the steel. He didn’t go down, so I did it a couple more times until his nose crunched into a flat mass, and with one more slam against the bars, he passed out.
I dropped Gold Braid, tossed the keys to Tamara, and said, “Get yourself and the other girls free. I’ll take care of the guards, and then we’ll get the hell out of here.”
I turned to the other guards, trying to figure out exactly how I was going to take out three armed guards in a small dungeon without killing anybody. This was not going to be pretty.
The other guard at the table was halfway out of his chair when I charged him. My forehead caught him under the chin, and he went over backwards, chair and all. I sprawled on top of him, driving him into the floor and crushing the air out of him with a whoof! I pushed myself up to my hands and knees and smashed my elbow into his face a couple of times until his eyes rolled back in his head.
With booted feet rushing my way, I scrambled upright and grabbed the guard’s helmet off the table. I flung it at the first guard, who ducked. In a moment right out of a slapstick comedy movie, the helmet nailed the second guard right in the face. It clanged off his helmet, and he went down flat on his back just like he’d been clotheslined.
The odds were suddenly even, but I was still way more hampered by the close quarters than the guard. Of course, he was a fairy and could actually stand all the way upright, so he had that going for him. He also carried a sword like he knew how to use it, which was way more than anyone could say for me. I grabbed a thick broadsword from a downed guard and fended off his strokes as best I could. I parried a couple with the blade, then stepped back to get out of his reach. Of course, I stepped right on the chest of the guard I tackled, and I went over backwards like a redwood, if redwoods have a shitload of tattoos and swear a lot.
I landed flat on my back and lost my
sword and my wind at the same time. My head thumped into the stone floor, and my eyes crossed. I hadn’t taken a lick like that since I played for the Bulldogs. Or training with Amy, but she didn’t pull any punches. I lay there for a second trying to clear my vision and get those damn birds whirling around my head to shut up, then rolled over just in time to not get my head cleaved in two. The guard’s sword drew sparks from the stones he swung so hard, and I smelled the unfortunately familiar and never-pleasant scent of singed beard hair.
I lashed out with one leg, catching him in the knee and making it bend backward. I had to hand it to him, he didn’t go down and cracked that sword down across my thigh, making me very glad I decided to take the thigh guards off of Torg after I beat his ass. I still felt that strike way down deep in my leg, and I knew I was going to limp for a couple days. I rolled back the other way and spun to my feet in a really, really clumsy version of fat white breakdance. I really only made it to one knee, then launched myself at the guard when I got to that one knee, bulling past his guard and planting my shoulder right in his solar plexus. I straightened my legs and picked him up, running to the far wall and ramming him into it like he was a tackling dummy. Or an ACC quarterback, which are really the same thing to a defensive player in the SEC.
I ran into the wall with a full head of steam and a guard in a tin can as my cushion. I heard a bunch of cracking sounds from his ribcage, a hollow bong as his helmet slammed into the stones, and a loud pop from my shoulder as it dislocated. I collapsed to my knees, really hoping that I’d just smeared the last of the fight out of this dude like jelly on peanut butter.
I looked around to see if anybody was actively trying to kill me, and it all looked good. The four guards were out, but the one who took a helmet to the face was starting to stir.
Midsummer - A Bubba the Monster Hunter Novella Page 9