Homebrew

by Xavier P. Hunter

  They all stared at him.

  “What?” Gary asked. “Let’s enjoy a nice cup of tea and head over to find our guy.”

  Gary failed to mention that Nethel was staying at that same inn, and his room was 3E.

  46

  Cask of Thousands reminded Gary of the exclusive underground clubs he was just barely cool enough to hear about back home and nowhere near cool enough to get into. The alley it backed onto had one of those split-level entrances with stairs along the building wall that brought visitors just below street level.

  Knocking three times on the steel door, Gary waited. A panel the size of a playing card slid open, revealing a pair of narrowed eyes.

  “Private establishment,” a gravelly voice said through the panel. “Come back during business hours.”

  “Saw a lucky pigeon fly over this place,” Gary said. “Took it as an omen and decided to check it out.”

  “They with you?” the voice asked. The eyes seen through the panel glanced at the rest of the party.

  “Saw the same omen as me,” Gary replied, laying the password on thick to make sure it covered everyone.

  The panel slid shut with a metallic clack. From inside the door, there came the scrape of a bolt sliding back. The steel door opened without a squeak, however. Metallic creaks in the night were the sort of thing that got an illicit establishment busted.

  “Enjoy your evening,” the bouncer said as he stepped out of the way to allow them in. He turned out to be a scrawny, gangly gentleman with a knife belted openly at his hip and no doubt several others hidden about his person.

  The party filtered in. The fact that they were armed did nothing to set them apart from the rough clientele inside. If anything, Beldrak’s armor was what stood out most. Light blades and dark ensembles were the dress code. Some wore fancier attire indicative of noble birth or excessive mercantile success and had blades to match. Zeeto was far from the only halfling in the room, and to Gary’s mild surprise, Braeleigh was not the only elf.

  Dwarves rounded out the motley assembly of races in the cosmopolitan capital. Politics could shunt the non-human races to the outskirts of power, but in the criminal underworld, meritocracy reigned.

  “You see him?” Sira whispered as they filtered through the surprisingly large gathering of gamblers and drinkers.

  Beldrak shook his head. “Our villain’s portrait was painted with a horse-tail. By name alone shall we know our—”

  “There,” Gary cut in. He didn’t point or angle his head to give away that he was singling out a man from across the room. “Sitting at the corner table with the serving girl in his lap.”

  Beldrak squinted. “Art thou certain? What dost yonder thief thinketh to do with that hand on the lady’s… oh, my.” The paladin averted his eyes.

  Zeeto leaned over to Braeleigh. “Take him outside. Keep an eye out.”

  “What’s the plan?” Braeleigh asked.

  “Flush him,” Zeeto said. “Chase him into a trap. Knock him out. Rob him. Use his own money to buy horses and a wagon. Simple as a dimple.” He reached up and tapped the spot on Braeleigh’s cheek where her dimples formed with each smile.

  And right on cue, smile she did. “Got it! Thanks, Zeeto. Miriasa and I will owe you for this.”

  “How you propose to chase him out of this place?” Sira asked once the paladin had been sheep-dogged away from the casino.

  Zeeto headed for the table with a knowing grin. “I think I can find a way. You two keep clear and be ready to back me up.”

  Gary bought a pair of drinks for himself and Sira. They sipped at them and chatted. “Try to flirt with me,” he suggested. “Should keep most of the rabble from bothering us.”

  Sira raised a glass of whiskey to her lips and let the liquid slosh against them without drinking any. “Is that all, huh? That trick work back in Palo Alto?”

  “Yes,” Gary replied.

  d20: 1 + (Persuade +8) + (Like Hell It Did -2) = 9

  Sira raised an eyebrow, and Gary just chuckled. He didn’t even bother using Fast Talk to try again.

  At the card table, Zeeto was gambling with funds heretofore unseen by the rest of the party. It wasn’t a surprise, really. The halfling had never let money come between them and anything but creature comforts so far. Plus, he’d been left unattended all day in a city home to a fair amount of Kovia’s wealthy elite.

  Meanwhile, Gary talked to Sira about her family. The parallels to Kim’s personal life were both transparent and telling. Sira had been shipped off to the clergy at a young age, as soon as her predilection for chastity became clear. She had a mother who did accounting work for the Kovian Royal Bank and a father who was a veteran of the Kovian army, on pension since a knee injury suffered in a border skirmish with Quay Shai. Kim’s family was reversed. Her father had been CFO of a series of tech startups, and her mom was the Purple Heart recipient who competed in wheelchair races into her late forties.

  Kim was the black sheep of her family. Sira played that role in hers.

  Gary found himself playing matchmaker in his head as he listened. If he could convince Kim and Katie to get married in some sort of Platonic civil arrangement, they’d probably make both their families a lot happier. With two incomes, they could afford daycare, and Katie could work full time at a job where her master’s degree would matter. Kim would provide a grandchild to her needy, overbearing parents.

  “Cheater!” Zeeto’s voice carried across the room. The halfling was standing on his chair, leveling an accusatory finger at Nethel.

  The casino fell into an expectant hush that lasted only until Nethel began a stammering self-defense of his actions.

  Gary pushed back his chair. “I’ll go get the others ready,” he whispered to Sira. “You watch his back. This is going to get rough.” She nodded her reply.

  Pushing his way past the crowd being sucked toward the poker table at the back of the casino, Gary found himself joining a small number of other savvy cowards. No point in seeing the violence if you didn’t want to take part in it.

  Out on the street, Gary found Beldrak and Braeleigh. “There you are! Get ready. Non-lethal attacks only. We need him alive. I’m going to get in position to head him off. Be ready for any trick or ruse.”

  “Right.”

  “Understood.”

  Gary ducked around a corner and burst into a run. Korver’s Nook wasn’t far, but he had a lot to do and no idea how much time.

  The common room at Korver’s Nook was still serving when Gary arrived. He caught one of the servers by the arm as he headed back into the kitchen with a platter piled with empty bowls. “Can you grab me one of those raspberry pastries?” he asked, pressing a gold coin into the young man’s free hand.

  “Sure, mister!”

  A minute later, Gary was cradling the morsel in his hand as he visited the front desk. The elderly innkeeper was polishing his spectacles on the front of his shirt and squinted across at Gary.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Gary said. “I locked my key in my room somehow. Can you let me in to retrieve it? Room 3E.”

  “Wait. Wasn’t that—?”

  “No,” Gary insisted. “I know I’ve got room 3E. I know just where I left the key too. Top drawer of the dresser.”

  “Very well, sir,” the innkeeper replied. He took a jangling keychain from his pocket and headed up the two flights of stairs with Gary trailing in his wake. The floors creaked beneath their feet—an excellent early-warning system for a paranoid guest.

  The innkeeper fumbled with the ring of keys until he got the one for 3E and unlocked the door. Gary slipped inside Nethel’s room and went straight for the dresser. Reaching inside, he withdrew his own room key, which he’d palmed while the innkeeper wasn’t looking.

  “Aha!”

  d20: 4 + (Sleight of Hand -1) + (Innkeeper Wasn’t Looking +10) = 13

  Gary held his breath and his smile. Was the dotty old key-renter the suspicious sort? Would he suddenly remember which room he’d rented to Gary
versus Nethel?

  “Very well, sir,” the innkeeper said. “Good night.”

  “Good night,” Gary replied. When the door closed, he slumped against the wall. He had work to do.

  47

  When Nethel appeared in room 3E in a puff of smoke, Gary had Hair Splitter aimed at his forehead.

  “What the—? Who are—? How did you—?”

  “Take off the boots,” Gary ordered. “Unbuckle your sword belt. If you want to see what a critical hit looks like, you can see the aftermath from the afterlife.”

  Nethel’s face was awash in sweat. The simply cut mop of sandy brown hair was darkened as it plastered itself to his scalp. A flush of both exertion and booze reddened his cheeks. The look in his eyes was of a man struggling to piece the world together from a jigsaw puzzle that had been solved just a moment ago and scattered suddenly onto the floor.

  “Hey now, friend,” Nethel said, holding up one hand in front of him while the other fell behind as he retreated slowly. “No need to be hasty. Just put the—”

  “Boots. Off. Now. Or I pry them off your cold, dead feet.”

  d20: 16 + (Persuade +8) + (80’s Hollywood Action Line +2) = 26

  Nethel unbuckled his sword belt first and kicked it aside. Then, with trembling hands, he worked the boots off his feet. “Who do you work for? Whatever they’re paying you, I can double it.”

  Gary considered whether telling him they were working for Kurgath might help or hinder the situation. Then he caught Nethel glancing over at the window.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Gary warned. There was a crudely drawn geometric pattern smeared onto the glass in raspberry pasty filling. At a glance, it looked close enough to blood that Gary hoped it would dissuade the thief from trying a daring escape out the window.

  “Listen,” Nethel said. “I—I—I can make you rich. Your days of lurking in strangers’ bedrooms with crossbows can be over. Finest foods. Women at your beck and call—men if you prefer. Can—can you point that somewhere else? It might go off by accident. I’m not going to run.”

  “You’re not going to run because I have it pointed at you and it might go off by accident if you startle me,” Gary said. His own pulse was racing. If Nethel collected his courage, Gary was no match for him in a fight. Kurgath’s nemesis was level 7 down the Path of Shadows, and Gary wouldn’t have bested Zeeto in hand-to-hand combat with the two of them both level 4.

  Gary just had to keep the ruse going until backup arrived.

  “Sit,” Gary ordered.

  Nethel sat on the end of the bed and folded his hands in his lap. “My morals are completely for sale. Whatever it takes to get me out of this alive, I’ll do it.”

  Silently disgusted with the thief, Gary lowered the crossbow a hair. “You really are a self-serving piece of shit, aren’t you? I might be doing you a favor if I put you out of your misery.”

  Nethel nodded amiably. “Piece of shit. Yessiree! That’s me, all right. Thanks for thinking about my well-being, but I’m quite happy in my misery. I’d like to stay in it as long as possible.”

  Creaking footsteps approached from the stairs down the hall. The party was returning from their frustrating chase of the rogue.

  “In here,” Gary called out when the steps drew near.

  He only took his attention from the thief for the blink of an eye, but that was one blink too many.

  d20: 8 + (Perception +4) = 12

  Not good enough. Nethel acted before Gary could even roll for Initiative. Scooping his boots from the floor, Nethel dove through the glass of the inn’s window, completely ignoring the false blood rune Gary had painted there.

  With a crash of glass, Nethel was gone.

  Beldrak burst through the door, sword drawn, just in time to see the shattered glass where once a window had been.

  Gary rushed to the window, only slowing to make sure he didn’t step on broken glass. On the street below, he saw Nethel tug on his boots and vanish.

  “So,” Zeeto said, strolling into the room. “Practical joke or an attempt at heroism gone wrong?”

  “I had him!” Gary snapped. He threw Hair Splitter down on the bed. “I had that slimy bastard.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us you knew what room he was staying in?” Sira asked, putting the pieces of the puzzle together more easily than the shattered window would ever be reassembled.

  Gary hung his head. “You guys don’t seem to need me. You think I’m a fuck-up. Maybe I am. But I thought if I could catch Nethel and hold him until you all got back, I’d show what I’m worth.”

  “Mission accomplished, compadre,” Zeeto said.

  Braeleigh came over and wrapped Gary in a hug. “It’s OK.” She sniffled. “We’ll catch him. Miriasa won’t have to—”

  The elf stiffened. When Gary pulled away, the pupils of her eyes had gone unnaturally wide. Staring. Unseeing.

  When Braeleigh spoke, it was in Miriasa’s voice. “Being held on Cloudspire Peak. Underground Cavern. Kurgath patient but giving me no food. Strong magic. Abysmal swordsmanship. Will trade me for Nethel. Beware guards.”

  As the message ended, Braeleigh shook her head as if to clear it. “I… did everyone else hear that?”

  “Yeah,” Zeeto said. “What was that?”

  “Sending spell,” Gary said quickly. “You’ve got a few moments to compose a reply. Same length.”

  “How long was—?” Sira began to ask.

  “Twenty-five words,” Gary said. “I counted.”

  d20: 8 + (Persuade +8) + (No One’s Listening For Lies +4) = 20

  If anyone questioned Gary’s accuracy, now wasn’t the time to bring it up.

  “What do I say?” Braeleigh asked.

  “Shut up,” Gary snapped. “She’s hearing this. This is counting. You’ve used… ten words already.”

  Braeleigh made a “hurry up” motion with a continuous wave of one hand, summoning speech-writing help via charades.

  “This is your ball game,” Zeeto said to Gary. “You wanna be useful? Be useful.”

  Gary pinched the bridge of his nose. There was a certain exhilaration in reacting to a contingency he hadn’t written. This was new ground, some combination of factors he hadn’t anticipated and scripted. In his head, he wrote and rewrote his reply, counting the words in each.

  “Tracking Nethel. Stay strong,” Gary said to Braeleigh. She echoed his words. “We’re on our way. Contact us again when possible.”

  Sira had kept count on her fingers. “One word left. Anything else we can add?”

  “Think that’s got the essentials,” Gary replied.

  Zeeto caught Braeleigh’s eye. “Cunnilingus,” he told her earnestly.

  Dutifully, Braeleigh echoed him, then realized what she’d just sent. “Hey! What’s the idea?”

  Zeeto was overcome with giggles. “Oh, man. I can’t believe you said it. I can just imagine the look on her face. Come on. It’ll all be funny once she’s rescued, and Gary said we’d told her everything we need to.”

  “I like nothing of this matter,” Beldrak said. “Thy lady’s peril is the only hook in my moral flesh.”

  “Good enough,” Sira grumbled. “Now can we get out of this room before someone comes up to investigate?”

  48

  There was a hubbub over the scuffle in Nethel’s room at Korver’s Nook, but Zeeto took point and parlayed it into a refund of one night’s lodging fee for the disturbed sleep. After that, the five of them found a bakery and made their morning meal a planning session.

  “Well, last night was a real shit show,” Zeeto said with far less sugarcoating than the puff pastry in his mouth. “Not only did we not catch Mr. Cheat-and-Poof, we tipped him off that we’re after him. Now it’ll be ten times as hard to nab him. No, a hundred times.”

  “What value the thief when our aim hath clear and true been laid before us?” Beldrak asked. “Would, by chicanery, the blackguard Kurgath stand to gain aught? Nay! ’Tis the villain’s only aim to recompense his loss
and rip justice from the flesh. And with the narrow knowledge of our errand, it can only hold that Miriasa hath sent for succor.”

  “Even if we believe her, what chance do we have breaking into Kurgath’s stronghold to rescue her?” Sira asked between sips of morning tea.

  Zeeto held up a finger on each hand. “Let’s put this out there. What do we really know about Kurgath? I mean—”

  “He’s holding a competent elven wizard against her will,” Gary pointed out. “Braeleigh missed him at point-blank range. No accident. Not anything she did wrong. Magic. Miriasa herself warned that he had powerful magic in her message. He also completely destroyed the Talis Guild—or at least their headquarters—in, as best we can tell, a fit of pique.”

  Braeleigh sighed. “So… no valiant rescue attempts. Back to finding Nethel.”

  “I never said that,” Gary replied, drawing a raised eyebrow from Beldrak. “We just can’t take him on. Whatever we’re going to do to get Miriasa back, it’s going to be a heist, not an assault.”

  Braeleigh’s eyes lit. “You mean it? We’re going to rescue her?”

  Gary got solemn nods of confirmation from Beldrak and Sira. Zeeto scowled and held out. “Yes. We are. To hell with Nethel and his stolen magic boots and his thousands upon thousands of gold.”

  Zeeto emitted a faint whimper. Gary had to do a double-take to confirm it wasn’t Caspian.

  “No,” Gary continued. “We’re going to find our way to Cloudspire Peak. We’re going to find where Kurgath is hiding Miriasa.” Gary sighed. “And then we’re probably going to spend the rest of our natural lives on the run from his vengeance.”