by Taki Drake
Madrik’s resolution as he grabbed the door frame so that he could swing into the bar without slowing down was, Someone is going to pay.
Madrik and Alastair charged through the door at a dead run. Madrik swept the room with one comprehensive glance and changed his trajectory to move quickly toward where Brechal and one of their regular drinkers, a lean scar-faced mercenary stood protectively over the waitress. Wynn was sitting on the floor, disheveled and clutching a chair leg. Red marks on her face and upper arm were clearly visible, as was the torn nature of her blouse. The bar manager could hear her hiccuping sobs, and that heart-wrenching sound ripped a tunnel into Madrik’s heart.
“What in Xander’s hell is going on here? Have you lost your collective minds?” Madrik’s fury was wrapped around his words. They seem to sizzle through the air and leave a stench behind of ozone and approaching lightning.
Brechal had his cudgel in hand, and Madrik could see where it had splotches of blood spattered on it. Traces of that same blood had misted Brechal’s spotless attire. Stabbing the bartender with his eyes, Madrik forced a terse “What happened?” through his teeth. His fury must’ve been visible in his expression and reinforced by his voice because even Brechal took a small step back and the mercenary that had been helping to protect Wynn crouched over her more closely.
Pushing at the man’s shoulder with one of her hands, Wynn managed to choke out, “Silly, he won’t hurt me. He’s just mad at those idiots.”
Alastair had dropped to his knees next to the young woman. Using a gentle voice that none of them had heard him use before, the bouncer asked, “Is it all right if I pick you up? We really need to get you off the floor, and someplace that is more protected.”
Brechal quickly suggested, “Behind the bar? I can get a chair.”
Madrik was not waiting for anything. His cold voice carried the definition of action and speed when he said, “Yes, behind the bar.” That was followed immediately by the word “CHAIR” which rang with the power of an anchor’s command.
There was a small sparkle of light, and a chair materialized from the floor and cabinet of the bar. It was deeply cushioned with some of Wynn’s favorite polka dots in wild colors scattered all over the fabric. Starting to laugh in amusement, the waitress caught her breath in pain and clutched her ribs. Madrik’s fury rose even higher.
As Alastair and the leather-clad mercenary carefully got Wynn to a more protected position, Madrik took a few seconds and looked around the taproom. The bizarreness of what he saw took a while to sort out in his brain. Bar patrons and mercenaries alike were held in their seats or hung from the rafters by thick tendrils of root-like material. The majority of the secured patrons were held with slender cords of the black, armored fingers of wood. However, three separate groups of mercenaries were fastened more securely. One of them was rooted in place with so many wrappings that the individual people looked like mummies. Only their faces were visible, and roots were fastened across their mouths as gags.
Even one of their party that was lying on the ground was wrapped securely. Madrik could see where the man had an obviously broken leg and arm. It was sluggishly bleeding around the splinters of a chair leg that had embedded in his skin. Glancing from the splinters to Wynn’s chair leg, abandoned on the floor when she had been moved, Madrik thought to himself, Good girl!
Even that small touch of positive emotion was not enough to deal with the immensity of the anger that was burning in a ridge down Madrik’s back and bringing sweat pouring inside of his clothes. He turned to Brechal once more and asked in a quiet, controlled and reasonable voice, “Please explain.”
Hurrying into speech, the huge man said “I am not exactly sure what happened. You would have to ask Wynn about that, but I heard her yell and the whole table of those idiots over there started laughing, and it wasn’t a friendly laugh. When I looked up, I could see that one of them had grabbed Wynn’s blouse as I watched, he ripped it. I grabbed my staff and headed over, but she twisted out of his hands and fell against the chair. Somehow the chair leg came off in her hand, and she brought it around in a really big swing which I think broke his leg. When he fell to the ground and still tried to grab her again, she hit him on the arm. That broke too.”
The mercenary standing by Wynn contributed the next part, saying, “My friends and I always come here to drink a bit in the BHB. It keeps us from been getting bored, and we don’t much feel like going anyplace else. We were hoping that you would be hiring one of these days and we like what you are doing here, so we have been hanging out waiting for a hiring fair. These guys are new to the bar. We do know of their unit, and they don’t have the best reputation.” One of the gagged men started to shout inarticulate words around the tendril blocking his mouth. All out of patience and dangerously angry, Madrik pointed the staff that had appeared unnoticed in his hand at the man and a fireball flew across the room and hovered directly in front of the man’s face. The sound of falling water and the stench of urine made it immediately obvious that he had both got the man’s attention and frightened him into silence.
Courteously bowing his head and nodding his head to the mercenary, Madrik said, “Please continue.”
Watching Madrik’s staff nervously, the black-clad mercenary added, “We saw the jerk over there grab Wynn. All the guys at our table started to get to their feet figuring we were going to have to help her. That group doesn’t have a very good reputation when it comes to civilians, especially females. We didn’t want that sort of behavior here in the BHB.
“Before we could get over there, he had yanked at her blouse, and she had fallen on the ground. When she whacked him a good one, we could all hear the crack of his leg, and he fell down. But the idiot just grabbed her again, yelling, “Bitch!” So she whacked him again.
“The other idiots at the table pulled their weapons. On an unarmed woman!” Madrik could hear the outrage in the man’s voice and was happy to think that at least some of the mercenaries that came to drink at his bar had principles.
The soldier continued his tale, saying, “They outnumbered us by half again, so we yelled over to the rest of our group. They were drinking at that other table over there.” His gesture encompassed one of the other groups that was thoroughly attached to their chairs. The merc continued, “I was free, and so I charged over to Wynn thinking that my armor could take blows better than her skin. I managed to get in between her and a couple of their hits. By then the bar went nuts and started grabbing people. It must’ve known that I was on her side because I was left alone and free to move. As soon as it quieted down a bit, I dragged Wynn to a place that the bartender and I could both protect her. I was worried about moving her any more since I could tell that she was very hurt.”
Turning his attention back to Brechal, Madrik asked in a cold voice, “Do you have anything to add?”
Swallowing to moisten his mouth, Brechal straightened and said, “I should’ve seen it coming. I wasn’t paying enough attention to be able to head the problem off. By the time I noticed what was going on, she was down and hurt. If these guys hadn't gotten in the way, she would have been very hurt. I went charging across the floor, and most of our regulars got out of my way, but some guys that were part of their unit decided to slow me down. I laid one of them out with a couple blows and tossed a few more up toward the wall. The guy on the floor was pretty much mummied by the BHB and the ones that I threw got caught by those funky looking roots.”
Madrik realized that a lump of rootlets on the floor actually was a completely wrapped figure. The narrative had also explained why some of the mercenaries were suspended such a distance from the floor. Addressing Brechal, the bar manager said, “I can’t say that I like your decorating style, but at least it was efficient.”
Including both Brechal and the helpful mercenary in his glance, Madrik said, “You both did very well. I really don’t have any complaints, Brechal, because you were in a difficult situation. It is also obvious that we need another bouncer.” Singli
ng out the mercenary, Madrik added, “You and the rest of your group went above and beyond to help. I will not forget this.”
Turning to the room in general, Madrik raised his staff and let the fury that he felt about the attack be shown in the form of thick tendrils of fire wind and the smell of earthly things. In a great voice, he said, “This sort of behavior will never be tolerated at this bar. Everyone here is to be treated with respect, and there will be no fights. I mean that. No. Fights. And if you have any doubts about how that will be enforced, let me give you a hint.”
Lifting his staff above his head in both hands, Madrik slammed the point of it into the floor. Sinking into the suddenly soft floor, the staff spread the arms that formed its top knob out in a radiating disc, and a large fireball appeared, sitting nestled in the center of those arms. Madrik was one with the BHB, merged in their shared outrage and anger. At the speed of thought, the fireball fragmented, smaller fireballs flying to pause briefly in front of each mercenary that had perpetrated the attack on Wynn and tried to fight in the bar.
Moving so quickly that the frightened men had no opportunity to cry out, the fire singed every item of clothing off of their bodies. Naked as the day they were born, their weapons were a jumbled pile on the floor at their feet. Madrik’s cold voice and hot stare traveled around the barroom, making eye contact with each shivering man. “I won’t melt your weapons, this time,” he said. “Next time, you won’t ever need them again.”
<< <> >>
The rest of the evening was very quiet. Wordlessly, the punished mercenaries were provided with cobbled together clothing and otherwise ignored. Their injured members were seen to, although not gently, by the medics in the bar. Most of the abashed mercs left as soon as they were ambulatory. The four that remained leaned together nervously before sending one of their members over to stand, trembling in front of Madrik.
“We are very sorry that we were so stupid, sir. Please don’t forbid us the bar. It’s the best place we know of to hang out and drink. I know you probably don’t want to see our faces again, but we are willing to make whatever restitution that you ask.”
Madrik said, “The one with the largest grievance against you is not me, it is Wynn. If you come to an accommodation with her, one that she feels is acceptable as an apology. I will give you another chance.”
After going again to consult with the other three, the same man came over clutching all four of their money pouches nervously. He asked to speak to Wynn, and the protective Alastair let them through at her urging.
Madrik watched out the corner of his eye as the frightened man tendered their apologies. He saw Wynn’s acceptance of the apology and her refusal of payment. When the man looked desperate, the bar manager saw that she spoke to the merc and that his face lightened although he still looked confused. She said something more to him, and he shrugged his shoulders as if to say OK. Giving her a half bow of thanks and acceptance, the man turned and walked back to his companions.
They promptly dragged him down for an urgent discussion. Hearing what he had to say, they turned surprised and respectful looks at the waitress before putting their belt pouches back on.
Dying to know what she had said but unable to go back and ask her since it would lose him the authoritative angry parent position, Madrik was happy to overhear Brechal asking, “What on earth did you tell them?”
Wynn answered serenely, “I told them that their gold wasn’t any good to me. If they truly wanted to be forgiven, they have to come help.”
Alastair, amusement lurking in his tone said, “So you…”
Wynn said, “Yes, I assigned them penalty chores.”
Chapter 28 – Weather and Wherefore
It was an early morning at the BHB. The weather today was reflecting Madrik’s mood, sunny and comfortable with just the hint of a breeze. Thoughtfully, the bar manager went about his daily chores with part of his mind realizing that he had no idea what was causing the weather outside. Was it something he did? Or was there some form of the cosmic scheduler that said what the weather inside this pocket dimension was going to be?
Glancing over at where the waitress had some mercenaries moving furniture and doing scrubbing tasks, Madrik smiled. By assigning her erstwhile attacker's penalty chores, the waitress had established her authority over them. Those men would never again behave in that manner. It was a beautifully crafted, nonconfrontational way of making a point and changing somebody’s attitude. At first, the men had been slightly resentful but frightened. Just in the space of a couple of days, they had moved from reluctant participants to people that were wholeheartedly involved in making things better.
Wynn was happy, as could be seen in her choice of shoes for the day. A cheerfully flower spangled pair, they had high enough heels that the waitress actually looked a little taller. She might even have come up to some of the men’s armpits, although Madrik couldn’t be sure.
Brechal and Alastair were involved in once more rearranging things behind the bar. With the mercenaries on penalty duty taking the rearrangement tasks from Alastair’s shoulders, the bouncer was able to do more general activities, including some storeroom exploration. Every day that he went delving into the long-forgotten rooms, he would come back with spoils, things that he would lay out on the table for discussion.
So far, he had discovered several useful items and a couple of incomprehensible ones. Those of unknown purpose were placed somewhere the BHB thought they could be contained. As long as they were under control, Madrik was fine with it.
The bar manager was sitting contentedly at the table looking through the open doorway to the road that ran in front of the BHB. It was a rare moment of relaxation for him, and he was determined to enjoy it to the max. He knew in a short while that Rowan or Emesh would stop by with more supplies. Until then he just wanted to enjoy the pleasant weather and the sunny view through the door to the main street.
His reverie was not really interrupted. Instead of some abrupt event that set his adrenaline to pulping and his body to shaking from shock and tension, Madrik experienced a small but growing request that he look at something. Anytime something strange came up, he checked with the BHB over their bond. In this case, a query to his companion got a response it was first irritable from being interrupted and then intensely curious about what was going on.
Madrik glanced around the bar trying to identify the source of the alert and realized to his surprise that right behind Brechal and Alastair’s backs that the right-hand door had opened. There was no explosion, no rushing figure. Instead, a narrow-faced man slipped into the room and stood to one side of the door looking around.
He was a slight man with medium brown skin that could have belonged to many racial mixtures from Earth. Using his home planets genotypes as a guide, Madrik might’ve classified this guy as either Middle Eastern or Mediterranean. The warm chocolate eyes, coupled with the tanned skin, would’ve allowed the visitor to slip unnoticed into many populations.
Madrik could feel the BHB’s interest but could not detect any fear or warning that was associated with this person. Internally prodding himself into moving, Madrik stood up and walked over to where the man was standing and said, “Welcome to the Badger Hole Bar. My name is Madrik. How may we help you?”
The visitor flashed a brief smile and answered Madrik in a quiet voice and with downcast eyes, “Najeer. My name is Najeer.”
The bar manager waited for a moment to see if any other comment was going to come out. When nothing did, he invited the visitor to sit down at a table with him and motioned to Brechal that they needed to do their usual food and drink welcoming. Nodding his head in acknowledgment, Brechal quickly produced a drink and a platter of sliced fruit and vegetables for the table. At the last moment, the bartender also placed a small cup of the hot soup that had been cooking over the kitchen fire since early morning.
Madrik had been studying the man as he sat across the table. He found it interesting that the visitor never directly met anyone’
s eyes, instead opting for sideways glances or indirect examination. Madrik found the man a cipher. There were very few clues as to who he was as a person. His sad eyes and overly thin face told Madrik that this man had been living a life of deprivation. And that the situation had not been short-term.
It was at that moment that Brechal came over with a tray of food and drink. Instead of the normal alcoholic drinks, Brechal had brought a mug of what looked like hot tea. Smiling in thanks, the mostly silent visitor had wrapped his two hands around the warm mug and held it close to his chest, absorbing the heat into his own body and showing every sign of enjoyment.
Madrik asked, “It looks as if you like tea. I’m not too sure what assortment we have, but hopefully, this will do.”
“That is okay, I thought perhaps he would have nothing for me to drink here since this is a bar and I don’t drink alcohol. However, this tea is perfect and very welcome.”
Madrik chatted for a few more moments but was not getting much insight into the visitor’s character. He knew the man’s name, Najeer, but that was almost it. Okay, he knew that the man drank tea and no alcohol. It still felt like he didn’t really know much past the opaque protection that the man drew around him like a cloak.
The sound of jingling harness bells and voices coming closer told Madrik that Emesh and Rowan had probably come together. Excusing himself from the table, the bar manager went out to see what the two of them had brought. Lost in his conversation with the brewmaster and gardener, Madrik didn’t spare another thought to the man that he had left at the table so very carefully spooning the food up into his mouth. As he walked away, he had seen the look of slight distaste after the man had tasted the soup. That is too bad. I thought it was one of my better efforts at cooking.
