The Wandering Inn_Volume 1

by Pirateaba

  I’m only half listening. Food is one of the things that usually grants me a reprieve, but I’m—struggling. With myself. I have a selection of spoons to use, and one of them, one with an edged front, like a spork, has caught my eye.

  Go on. Pick up the spoon.

  I stare at it. I want to. I can see myself picking up the spoon, and then gouging Keith’s eye out. Or my own. A spoon. What a convenient weapon. But everything’s convenient when you use it right.

  Wrong. Use it wrong. It’s just a thought.

  Take it.

  I stare at my right hand. It doesn’t move. I deliberately raise it, take the spoon, and dip it into my soup. I chose soup to start with. It’s delicious. I barely taste it.

  You are insane.

  “‘Mnot.”

  “What, Tom?”

  Keith looks over. He sat himself so that Cirille was between him and me. I shake my head and he looks…nervous. That annoys me.

  All of the guys and girls can’t stand to be around me anymore. Not after the village. I know what they saw. Of course I do! But can’t they pretend? Can’t they—at least Richard tries. The rest jump if I so much as sneeze. Cynthia won’t be in the same room with me.

  A [Clown]. I chose the class on a lark, because I thought—

  I thought this might happen. But I didn’t expect it to happen like this. I thought I might be able to get powers.

  You wanted to be an insane clown and didn’t want the insanity? Hah! That is a good joke. Now stab Keith in his treacherous little eye. Go on. You picked up the spoon, didn’t you?

  God, maybe I am insane. I keep having the same thoughts, over and over in my head. Isn’t that the first sign of insanity?

  That’s not insanity, you idiot.

  Yes it is. Einstein said that. I think.

  Across the table, Richard is talking with Emily. She’s flirting. I think he might be as well. Or perhaps he’s oblivious. They’re a couple, at least in some sense of the word, but it’s not official. If there is an official. I don’t think they’ve had sex yet. News would spread quickly in our tight knit circle.

  Lonely Tom. Why don’t you try your luck? I’m sure Emily would get to love you. If you held a knife to her throat. Why bother with that? Just kill her. Throw the spoon.

  [Unerring Throw]. How hard could I toss it?

  Just a thought. They’re just…thoughts. They pass by, and it doesn’t mean I’ll act on them. But does everyone have these murderous ideas? I have to distract myself. I push the bowl back and put the spoon in it, probably committing a major breach of etiquette.

  “Hey, so what’s this I’m hearing about a war with the Goblins?”

  Cirille turns towards me. Across from her, a Drake with red scales slams his fist onto the table, making my bowl of soup jump.

  “It’s a crime, that’s what! Garusa Weatherfur and Thrissiam Blackwing are dead! Two of our finest [Generals] and over twenty thousand good Gnolls and Drakes, gone, and for what? Because those bickering bastards couldn’t field a larger army? We could have sent three times that number! And I heard that vital intelligence wasn’t even passed on to them! The Goblin Lord uses undead, and no one thought to pass off that tidbit to either [General]! Some [Mage] bastard or low-level [Scribe] thought it wasn’t important information when it came from Zel Shivertail himself!”

  He grabs a goblet and drains it, ignoring the looks he was getting from further up and down the table. The Drake raises his voice, cutting above the local babble of voices.

  “It’s bloody infighting that’s killing us, when we should be cutting the Goblin Lord off at the knees and then banding together against those blasted Humans—not you lot, the ones from the north—or the Antinium! We don’t have time to spend infighting. Hah, I’m beginning to see why Shivertail doesn’t spend his time in politics if all the eggheads back home can’t defeat a damn Goblin!”

  His companions try to placate the angry Drake. I’m pleased. This is a good distraction.

  “It sounds like they’re not that competent.”

  “You’re telling me?”

  The Drake turns one bloodshot eye to me. I can sense his tail lashing the ground angrily underneath the table.

  “Every year we send an army to pound the Humans, and every year they send one down to the Blood Fields. We tear each other apart, killing thousands like clockwork, then march on back and say what a glorious victory we had! On both sides! Either invade and start tearing down cities or make peace already! Don’t waste our soldiers’ lives when there’s real wars to be fought!”

  His speech got voices of approval from some of the other Drakes at the table. Cirille rolled her eyes and twitched her wings as if she’d heard the same griping many times before. I nod, trying to keep the Drake talking. It slips out before I can help it.

  “Yeah, exactly. That’s insane. Insanity’s doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results, right? That’s the definition of it, anyways.”

  I freeze. I didn’t mean to ask. It was just a thought in my head! I sense every head, every person from my world, stop talking and turn to look at me. They stare. There’s fear in some eyes.

  “Yeah, well you’d know, right Tom?”

  Eddy says that. Good old Eddy, breaking the sudden silence. The others laugh, a bit too loudly. Cirille rolls her eyes and flicks her tail.

  “Tell that to my superiors. They’re happy enough to send a few thousand soldiers over here to get combat experience, never mind the losses.”

  “That’s different. That’s…that’s important. This war has to be won. Can’t expect to make peace with Demons. Not those bastards. Lost a detachment to the Fearless the other day. Crazy bastards ran right onto my [Pikemen].”

  The Drake who’d been so angry slumps into his chair morosely. Talk turns elsewhere. I relax a bit, only to shoot up when I sense Keith poking me. I turn.

  “What?”

  “Tom, that’s just a myth. Einstein never said that.”

  “Said? Said what?”

  “Insanity. You know, doing the same thing over and over? That’s not the actual definition, you know.”

  My blood runs cold.

  “What? No it is.”

  He shakes his head.

  “People assume Einstein said it, but that’s just a myth. Trust me, my professor loved to talk about laws. Insanity isn’t a real medical condition. It’s a legal term. It means…well, it’s a defense people used. If you’re insane you can’t be held responsible for breaking the law. Medically, it doesn’t really exist anymore. It doesn’t make sense.”

  That’s not the definition. I was wrong. And he—I—

  I was wrong.

  Keith nods towards me, helpful, oblivious. I stare at him with a grin frozen on my face until I realize what I’m doing. I turn back, staring at my cooled bowl of soup and not seeing it. Inside my chest, my heart’s suddenly beating all too fast.

  How did he know? No—I must have known. It’s a coincidence, that’s all. I must have known and subconsciously—

  It’s me in here. Just me. And the voice is just a voice.

  Are you crazy? Or am I real? Am I something else? How would I know that, Tom? Who am I?

  Who are you?

  I sit in my chair, sit, as the world greys out around me. It must be me. It has to be me. I went crazy back then and I might be crazy now. But I can’t let it be anyone else. Even if it is. Because if I don’t take responsibility for my actions, I really will go crazy. I’ll use that as an excuse. It’s always been me. If it’s not—

  Then who’s in here with me?

  “Tom? Tom!”

  Someone’s hissing at me, shaking me. I look up. I was sitting for so long that I didn’t notice the room go silent. I didn’t hear, and I didn’t realize everyone around me was standing up. I look around and see Richard shaking my shoulder, face pale.

  I look up, and at the head of the room, the Blighted King is on his feet. He is staring towards our table, towards us. And his eye
s are locked on me.

  Slowly, I rise. By his side, the [Chronomancer], the mage Nereshal beckons. We slowly leave our table and file towards the Blighted King. I stare at him.

  I am afraid. But not of him. I break out into a cold sweat as I approach him, one of the most powerful men in the world, the one who summoned us here. Not because of his presence, not because of the armed guards who stand next to him, or his stare that weighs us like ants. I do not fear him.

  But there is someone laughing in my head. And I am terribly afraid that person isn’t me.

  1.03 C

  The Blighted King has a presence. It weighs down on me as I walk forwards. The silent feasting hall is too long, and the few of us have to walk past the watching guests, hearts pounding.

  And as we approach the front of the room, I feel it. The King sits at his table, next to a tall woman who dwarfs him with her stature. But he is like a rock, too heavy. His very existence weighs us down, makes me feel—

  Gassy?

  I can remember the first time I stood in front of him. Then it was like being crushed as he looked at us. Now, it is different.

  Around me, the others shudder. I see Emily’s face go pale, Keith start sweating, Cynthia’s eyes roll wildly in her head, and Richard clench his jaw. They are being crushed. I walk, feeling my shoulders ache. It’s…heavy.

  That’s all.

  We stop, in a ragged line in the steps leading up to the raised area where he is seated. The King looks down at us. We meet again.

  There is no love in his gaze, no sense of familiarity. He weighs us with eyes that seem like scales, measuring our worth. Most of us stare at our feet, or at some other part of the room. Some are shaking. I look at the Blighted King. I can’t be afraid of him. Not like I was.

  Does that make me strange? I’m certainly alone from the others. I can feel it, but I can’t help it. Fear’s another one of those things I lost. I’m not afraid of people with swords. I’m not happy about being stabbed, but they can’t scare me.

  I scare me.

  “So. The heroes of prophecy return. Diminished.”

  The Blighted King speaks at last. His voice echoes through the chamber. It’s not grand. It’s not particularly wise. It’s just an old man’s voice, tired. I stare at him and see few grey hairs in his beard. But he is old. He sounds like it. I wonder how long Nereshal has been keeping him young.

  Here sits a monster. Ageless. And here stands a monster. Can he see it in you, Tom? Or is this King as worthless as the land he rules?

  The King’s eyes flick towards me for a second, and then towards Richard and Emily.

  “We have been told that two of your number have reached Level 30. A commendable achievement in such a short time.”

  “Miraculous.”

  The whisper comes from the Blighted Queen. She’s younger than the King, but her towering height makes her seem older. I stare at her. She can’t be more than thirty, while he…

  “But so many have been lost. We sent over sixty of you to do battle against the Demons. Now less than a third remain.”

  “That wasn’t our fault! We told you, we’re not warriors. We—”

  Emily raises her voice and chokes as the Blighted King’s gaze falls on her. He nods, once.

  “So you have said. But some of you are warriors. The rest have seen the threat which imperils our nation. Nay, the very world itself. Would you hide behind walls my people have died for, deny your purpose still?”

  “Not me. I’ll fight. But we can’t all be held to the same standard, your Majesty.”

  This time it’s Richard who speaks. The Blighted King weighs his words and nods.

  “One has reached Level 30 in three months. A [Knight] he stands, sworn against darkness. Yet no [Lord] or [Lady] has given him a title. Another, a [Mage] of water has taught herself. Miraculous feats, as our lady says.”

  The Blighted King looks across our group, at frightened faces. He pauses.

  “You will have a place in our halls, and your companions food and my protection so long as you hold back the scourge of darkness. But we have heard of one more. A champion who defended our people. A warrior who slew a Demon raiding party single-handed.”

  His eyes move to me. I feel a chill.

  “You. Step forwards.”

  I can see Richard and Emily both staring at me, worried, out of the corners of their eyes. I take a step forwards and sense the eyes of everyone in the hall on me. Oh boy.

  Want me to tell them a joke? How about a magic trick?

  My lips twitch. I try not to smile. I don’t feel afraid. Rather, in this moment as the Blighted King stares at me, some strange, perverse side of me wants to fart, or laugh. He’s so serious. Everyone is. They hang on his words. Whereas I—

  Get the joke.

  The hilarity vanishes. I feel cold. No, it’s not funny. The Blighted King certainly doesn’t find me amusing. He frowns.

  “We recall thee from before. Who art thou? What is your class? [Warrior]? [Mage]? [Rogue]?”

  “None of those, your Majesty. I’m—I’m a [Clown]. Not a fighter, actually.”

  He stares at me. I hear Cynthia begin to giggle, a mad, hysterical cackle which cuts off quickly. The King looks confused.

  “What class is this?”

  “One from our world, your Highness. Tom is an—an entertainer. Someone who makes people laugh. Clowns aren’t fighters. They’re…”

  Emily trails off, unable to explain what I am. The King exchanges a slow glance with his Queen. I can sense people’s eyes fixed on my back. I know I look ordinary. I don’t have my face paint on, or a rubber nose or the oversized shoes I made. I’m not juggling or wearing a silly grin. I have nothing to prove I have a funny class in any way.

  You have me. You always have me.

  “An entertainer? How did you slay a war band of Demons, then? Speak.”

  He looks at me and I feel heavier. That’s all. And perhaps it’s the devil in my chest, but I don’t want to answer. So I shrug.

  “Luck, I guess. Your Majesty. I don’t know how exactly. But that’s what us summoned heroes are supposed to do, right? I got…lucky. But I am no warrior. Sorry about that.”

  I hear a hiss and see Richard wince. The Blighted King fixes me with a look that tells me he’s annoyed.

  “So you claim. But if thou art an entertainer, prove it.”

  “What?”

  He leans back in his chair that’s like and unlike a throne and gestures.

  “Perform, [Clown]. Show the court the tricks of your profession. Make us laugh.”

  Oh boy. Now everyone’s staring at me, and I suddenly find myself on the spot. I glance around uncertainly and see Richard giving me a pale-faced look. Emily’s standing back and half of the others are trying to pretend they don’t know me.

  I don’t have my makeup, my props—but I can tell there’s no point protesting or making excuses. So I sigh and flick my wrist. A bright red ball, stuffed with dried beans to make it round, appears in my hand. I hear a murmur and someone at the head table sits up.

  My heart isn’t pounding. I feel embarrassed and sure I’m about to make an idiot out of myself, but I’m not afraid. Why? Why not?

  No, this is normal. It’s because I’ve seen worse than this. Far worse. What’s a few minutes of humiliation?

  I hold the red ball up, and I sense a thousand pairs of eyes on me. Now I do smile, at the ludicrous nature of this. I’m no famous performer. I’m self-taught, and badly at that! I couldn’t make a bunch of village kids laugh. But here I am, about to perform before the Blighted King. Okay, that is funny.

  Wilen, this is for you. Red ball in hand, I flick my other hand and a blue one appears. I hear a soft gasp, from the Blighted King’s table, but nowhere else.

  That’s right. I can make things appear and disappear at will. I can also make objects vanish, pull the old ‘coin behind the ear’ trick with objects too large to hide. Because I have a pocket space.

  It’s two Skills, actu
ally. [Sleight of Hand] and [Trick Space]. One allows me to do stupid tricks like you’d see card magicians do if I had a deck of cards, and the other gives me an invisible space around my body I can pull objects out of and put into. I keep three balls there. The third comes out, yellow and worn.

  A second gasp. Who’s making that sound? For the first time I wrench my gaze away from the Blighted King and to his left. I see a young woman, not more than…sixteen perhaps, sitting tall at his side, wearing a sparkling circlet made of dark metal. And sitting next to her, on a cushion to let her actually reach her plate on the table—

  A young girl. A [Princess], no doubt. Her dress is bright green and white, and she’s very pretty in that way kids are. Her eyes are wide as they fix on the balls in my hand. A child. I saw her laughing at the guy doing pratfalls earlier. I give her a small bow. Hope this entertains you at least, kid.

  It’s not. You suck.

  Shut up. I begin tossing the balls up in the air, juggling them quickly. It’s hard to do three balls at once. I know that tells you how much I suck, but I had to practice a long time to get to that level. [Sleight of Hand] doesn’t work with juggling and I don’t have a Skill.

  I really need one. At least [Unerring Throw] lets me decide where the balls come down. Hey, I might be able to do four balls this way! Too bad I don’t have four balls.

  The room watches me juggle, and I see the young [Princess] brighten and nearly clap her hands as I start juggling the balls high into the air. The older girl, another [Princess] probably, stops her. Everyone watches as I juggle.

  And watches.

  And watches…

  After a few seconds they realize that’s all I’m going to do. Yes, that’s right. I can feel the Blighted King’s gaze boring into me. What? Do you want me to do pins? I can juggle pins too, but my act has been pratfalls, juggling, and terrible jokes. And I think that if I tried to trip over his table, I’d be skewered.