by Robert Bevan
“I simply mean to alleviate her fears,” the gnome explained. “Lycanthropy is transmitted through bodily fluids such as blood and saliva.”
“And semen.”
The gnome frowned at Cooper. “Yes, that is correct.” He smiled warmly at Stacy. “For you to contract the curse from sitting in a lavatory, you would need to have an entry point, such as a laceration on your backside. And even then it would require the previous occupant to have left their own blood on the seat.”
“Or semen,” said Cooper.
“Yes,” said the gnome curtly. “We mustn't forget that.”
“What? People do a lot of fucked-up shit in bathrooms.”
“Please,” Stacy pleaded. “My parents were killed by werewolves!”
“Shit,” said Cooper. “I didn't know that. I'm really sorry.”
Nabi sighed in Cooper's head. I don't believe this story for a second. Her lies are growing tiresome and desperate.
“I grieve for your loss, miss,” said the shopkeeper. “But you must understand. Belladonna, also known as Deadly Nightshade, is a highly-toxic plant. It must be prepared just right, and even then you run the risk of doing yourself harm. To put yourself at such a risk, in light of the infinitesimally small chance you might have contracted lycanthropy... I simply do not see the sense in it.”
“I appreciate your opinion,” said Stacy. “But I'm not here for medical advice. I'm here, as a customer, looking to buy some peace of mind. However irrational my concerns are, I will sleep better between now and the next full moon knowing I've done everything I could possibly do to prevent myself from turning into a ravenous bloodthirsty monster. Now do you have a fresh sprig, or don't you?”
The gnome retreated to the darkest corner of the rear of the booth, then returned with a small shrub with bright green leaves and dark purple berries in a clay flower pot.
“Is this fresh enough for you?”
Stacy nodded. “That'll do. How much.”
“Fifty gold pieces.”
“For a plant?”
“If I knowingly sell you something with which I believe you will do yourself unnecessary harm, I must do so at a price which will alleviate my guilt.”
“You'll feel better about letting me hurt myself if you rip me off as well?”
The old gnome shrugged. “There's also the matter of wastefulness. Suppose another customer comes here later today who actually needs this plant because they've been bitten. I shall then have to live with the fact that I sold my only one to give a foolish human woman peace of mind against a curse she almost certainly doesn't have.”
“I'm sorry,” Stacy said after a long pause. “I made that story up about the werewolf in the bathroom.”
If that was a lie, then might it also be possible that...
“What about your parents getting killed by werewolves?”
“No, Cooper,” said Stacy. “My parents, in Bay St. Louis, Mississippi, were not killed by werewolves.”
Cooper sighed. “You had me going there for a minute.”
“The belladonna is for my friend here,” Stacy explained to the shopkeeper. “He was bitten on the ass yesterday by a wererat.”
“Look,” said Cooper, turning around and lifting his loincloth. “It's true.”
“Please, sir,” said the gnome. “That is not necess– Mercy of the gods! Please lower that at once!”
Stacy smiled apologetically at the shopkeeper. “There, you see? He really was bitten.”
“Who's to say that's from a wererat? Perhaps it was one of your gophers.”
“I deserved that,” said Stacy. “I didn't know if getting bitten would get us ostracized or quarantined or whatever. We need this plant, and I think you know I'm telling the truth now. So can you please give us the price you give for people who really need it?”
The gnome nodded. “Very well.”
“Thank you so much! What's the damage?”
“Fifty gold pieces.”
“But that's the same price you gave us last time.”
“Correct.”
“Then where's the margin for alleviating your guilt?”
“That is replaced with higher demand. Anyone who is genuinely afflicted will happily pay that price for the chance to rid themselves of such a curse.”
“And you feel less guilty charging extortionate prices for life-saving medicine?”
“This plant can be found in the wild.” The old gnome was getting testy now. “If you would rather spend your time foraging for it, I have every confidence that you can find an adequate supply well before the next full moon. If you want this particular specimen, which I hired goblins to forage for me, then it will cost you fifty gold pieces. If you would like to continue bickering, I'm afraid I shall have to start charging by the hour.”
Stacy took out her actual coin purse, which she kept hidden beneath her Cloak of Elvenkind, then counted out all the coins she had.
“I've only got thirty-six gold pieces.”
“We've got this,” said Cooper, placing his thief-bait sack of copper coins on the counter next to Stacy's money. She put hers on there too, happy to be rid of the extra weight. “That comes to thirty-eight. It's all we've got.”
Cooper let out a long trumpeting fart. “Sorry. It's probably my rat bite giving me gas.”
“Very well!” said the gnome, waving his hand furiously in front of his face. “Take it and go!”
Stacy took the plant and hugged the pot, lest the shopkeeper have second thoughts on the matter after Cooper's fart dissipated.
“We still need to know how to use it.”
“Chop up the leaves as finely as you can, then put them in a small pot of boiling water. Squeeze in as much juice from the berries as you can. You may even want to chop up the berry husks and throw them in there as well. Keep stirring as the water boils, until enough water has evaporated so that you're left with a thick paste. Spread the paste over a crust of bread and consume it.” He sneered at Cooper. “Try not to shit yourself for as long as you can hold it. The longer the toxin remains in your system, the more effective it will be.”
“And what about the toxic effects?” asked Stacy.
The gnome shrugged. “Try not to die.”
“I don't carry around a whole lot of cooking equipment,” said Cooper when they stepped away from the booth. “You think they got all the stuff we need back at the Whore's Head?”
Stacy looked over at the Holy Biscuits booth. “Maybe, but considering what's at stake, I think we'd be better off using some more modern equipment. Hang back a few seconds, then join me at that bagel booth but pretend you don't know me.”
“Okay.”
Your friend relies too heavily on deception.
Cooper shrugged. “She's a rogue. That's their thing.”
She doesn't seem to be very good at it.
“Did she say how long we're supposed to wait before we join her?”
Of course not. That's what I'm talking about. How can we play our part in her ruse when we don't even know what that part is?
“I think it's been long enough. Let's go see what happens.”
The behavior of city folk is so frustrating. In the forest, we protect what is good and destroy what is evil. Very simple. We do not play these cowardly mind games.
“This isn't the forest,” Cooper explained as he approached the bagel booth. “I can't go around chopping up every person you don't like in broad daylight. There are laws and shit. I could get –”
“Excuse me, sir,” said the bagel monger. “May I help you?” His tone pretty clearly suggested that he was less interested in helping Cooper, and more interested in getting rid of him.
“What are these?” asked Cooper, reaching for a bagel as he assumed Stacy wanted him to pretend to be a customer.
The shopkeeper actually slapped his hand away. “Can you not read the sign?”
Cooper glanced up at the sign, then glared at the shopkeeper. “No, I fucking can't, ass face.”
&nbs
p; “How dare you use such disgusting language with me. This is a place of reverence!”
“The fuck it is.” Cooper took a second to scan the entirety of the booth, searching for something someone might revere. “This is a poor man's Dunkin' Donuts.”
The shopkeeper gasped. He may not have understood exactly what Cooper was talking about, but he knew a belittling insult when he heard one.
“I am afraid I must ask you to leave,” said the shopkeeper. He didn't even bother to follow it up with an insincere “sir” this time.
“Why?” demanded Stacy. “Because he's a half-orc?”
The shopkeeper turned to her, gawking like she'd just sprouted a dick out of her forehead. “No! I mean, not only that. You heard how he spoke to me.”
“I am appalled that, in this day and age, small-minded people like you are so quick to judge others by their race.” She shook her head at him like a dad who wasn't 'angry,' just 'disappointed.' “And you call yourself a follower of the New God!”
“But I –”
“Did you not see with your own two eyes how He came to deliver this city from the siege of the Phantom Pinas?”
“I saw it!” cried a woman from the crowd gathering around them. “I was there!”
What is she doing?
Cooper shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“He spilt His blood over human and orc alike,” Stacy continued to the gathering crowd. “So that we all might live peacefully together!”
“And dwarf!” shouted a teary-eyed dwarf. “I was dead, and yet I live again!”
“And dwarf!” Stacy agreed. “And elf! And gnome! And hobbit!”
Cooper cleared his throat. “Halfling.”
“I mean halfling! For we are all equals in the eyes of the New God.” Stacy shot a quick scowl at the bagel vendor, then turned back to her audience. “Eat not the foul crust of false prophets who seek to divide us!”
The small gathering cheered, drawing the attention of additional passersby.
“Yeah!”
“Fuck that guy!”
“Praise be to the New God!”
Cooper ripped out a thunderous fart which quieted the crowd.
The shopkeeper choked on the divine aroma of Cooper's Holy Biscuits. “Please,” he pleaded. “Go away and leave me be.”
The crowd was already beginning to disperse, the power of Cooper's fart apparently greater than that of Stacy's improvised evangelism.
“Go forth and spread His Good Word!” she said in an effort to appear still in control of the situation. Those few who had hung around to listen seemed more than happy to be dismissed.
Stacy grabbed her pot and Cooper's arm, then followed after them.
“That was some good preaching,” said Cooper.
“Thanks,” said Stacy when her breathing got a little easier. “But we're going to have to find a way to make some more cash. That was a hell of a lot of work just to steal a bagel.”
A wererat lair would have plenty of coin. Surely there is a secret door in that alley.
“Nabi says that if we go back to that alley, we might be able to find a secret door leading down to their lair, and that they probably have some money stashed away.”
“Tell your psycho axe that we're not going on any murder sprees.”
“Dude, she can totally hear you.”
Stacy stopped walking and addressed the axe directly. “I'm very sorry, Nabi. But I have a lot on my mind right now. We have no idea where Tim is, and no leads on where to look next. Meanwhile, Cooper is in danger of turning into one of those things, which will probably make you try to force him to chop his own head off. So excuse me if I don't want to haul our precious plant through a wererat infested sewer in the hopes of scoring a couple of coins. Right now, I just want to get to Arby's and get this antidote made.”
I understand. Tell your friend I am sorry too. My thirst for the blood of the wicked sometimes clouds my judgment.
“Nabi says she's sorry too,” said Cooper, opting to omit the thirst for the blood of the wicked part.
“Apology accepted. Now let's find out where that Arby's is.”
Chapter 27
Dave turned to look at the little shop where they used to buy beer for their gaming sessions. The large black letters spelled GARDNER'S against the yellowed background of the sign. “It's open.”
“Would you mind accompanying the good officer there and picking us up a pack of toilet paper?” asked Tim from around the side of the Chicken Hut.
Dave raised a brow at Officer Williams, who shrugged. “Okay. Anything else?” He only then remembered that Officer Williams was the only one who had any real-world money, and felt rude for making the offer on his behalf, but Officer Williams nodded reassuringly.
“Grab me a pack of smokes and a case of beer. We don't know how long we're going to have to wait around for your stupid boots to recharge.”
As they walked to the shop, Dave considered turning invisible and stealing what they needed, but decided against it. He wanted to believe that it was because he wasn't truly evil, but he knew in his heart that it was more a matter of convenience. Invisible or not, trying to climb up on the counter to grab a pack of cigarettes while an elderly woman was standing right there was more trouble than it was worth. And besides, forcing a cop that he was essentially holding hostage to pay for their shit wasn't exactly the definitive lesser of two evils.
“What's a wererat?” asked Officer Williams, snapping Dave out of his crisis of alignment.
“It's like a werewolf. But, you know, a rat.”
“So you're saying that you can turn into a rat?”
“A dire rat,” said Dave. “About as big as a medium-sized dog. Or I can take a hybrid form.”
Officer Williams nodded. “I don't guess you'd be willing to demonstrate, would you?” Dave could practically read his thoughts. It was like when Sarah Connor was being evaluated at the nuthouse. Even after the Ring of Invisibility demonstration, this guy thought Dave was just some random nutcase.
I'll give you a demonstration, you condescending fuck. I'll bite your head off and fuck your neck hole. Jesus, Dave. Cut that shit out. You're a good person. The rules of some stupid game can't make you evil. Keep your shit together.
Still, it might not be a bad thing to demonstrate, solely for the sake of keeping Officer Williams in line.
“Sure,” said Dave. He didn't want to strip down to just a pair of boots in front of a police officer, and he wasn't sure how his new robe would handle the transformation into hybrid form, so he opted for dire rat form instead.
“JESUS CHRIST!” cried Officer Williams when Dave peeked his rat head out from under his robe.
Now that Dave thought about it, they'd kind of overloaded this poor guy today. Turning into a rat might have been a better Day 2 demonstration.
Officer Williams started sprinting toward the store. “Help!” he shouted. “HELP!”
Fuck!
The last thing they needed was more attention, and Dave was the last person who had any business trying to chase down a cop. At least, not in his dwarf form. He took his hybrid form instead, snatched up his robe and boots, and found that he was easily able to catch up to Officer Williams. He grabbed him by the shoulder about fifty feet from the entrance to the shop and turned him around.
“Calm down!” Dave tried to say. “It's just me.” But he soon realized he was speaking solely in growls, snarls, and drool.
“Please!” cried Officer Williams, looking even more terrified than he was before. “Don't eat me!”
Dave was a little disturbed to find that he was enjoying the terror on the officer's face and in his voice. He morphed back into his dwarf form and covered his junk with his hands. “I'm not going to eat you. Please calm down.”
“How do you expect me to calm down after that? I almost shit myself!”
“You asked me to show you.” Realizing that he was now showing the officer more than he'd asked for, Dave put his robe and boots back on.
“I didn't expect you to really do it.”
“Well, now you know. So can we just go get the shit we need to get? Once we use the boots to get back to the world we came from, I promise you'll never see us again.”
Officer Williams nodded. “You got yourself a deal.”
Dave followed him into the shop, grabbed a case of Bud Lite and the smallest pack of toilet paper he could find, which was still twenty-four rolls, and brought them up to the counter.
“Hey, Mrs. Gardner. Can I get a pack of Marlboro Lights as well.”
Mrs. Gardner, who'd been staring at Officer Williams, looked sharply at Dave. Exhaustion was getting the better of him. Of course she didn't recognize him. He was a goddamn dwarf.
“I saw the sign outside. I just assumed...”
Without a word, she took a pack of cigarettes from the dispenser above, then set it down on the counter next to the beer and toilet paper. Her old eyes darted back and forth between Dave and Officer Williams.
“Here you are, ma'am,” said Officer Williams, handing her his credit card. “Would you like to see some ID?”
Dave laughed, thinking it was a joke. Neither of them looked like they could possibly be anywhere close to twenty-one. Dave's beard was down past his chest, and Officer Williams's, aside from being a uniformed police officer, had to be pushing sixty.
Mrs. Gardner nodded with no trace of mirth, seeming to regard it as a test rather than a joke. Maybe Mississippi had recently passed some strict new zero-tolerance law on carding people for tobacco and alcohol.
She took a good long look at his driver's license, ran his credit card, then handed both cards back to him along with the receipt.
“Thank you,” he said as he grabbed the toilet paper, leaving Dave to carry the beer and cigarettes.
“That was weird,” said Dave as they walked back to the Chicken Hut.
“How's that?” asked Officer Williams.
“She's usually a lot friendlier. At least, she was always friendly with us. Maybe she's uncomfortable around strangers.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
Dave thought she might be nervous around cops, but he kept that to himself. It seemed silly to think that a woman as old as her would be suspicious of the police, but what did Dave know? Maybe she had a checkered past.