THAT DARN SQUID GOD

by Nick Pollotta

  Approaching the counter, the explorers' feet crunched with every step, given that the floor was covered with a thick carpeting of green and blue peanut shells. As they expected, there were no proper stools at the counter. The customers placed an order and drank it standing, or walked away. The counter itself was a massive slab of wood, apparently hewn from a single incredible tree. On the staggered shelves behind were the usual assortment of bottles, flasks, jugs, and casks. But some of them hissed, while others trembled for no discernable reason.

  The fat barkeep, who sported a scruffy moustache and wore a cracked leather apron over a stained tunic and breeches, wiped a pewter tankard clean with a damp rag as if he had been doing it forever. Off to a side of the counter was a small green lizard slurping at a bowl of milk. On the wall nearby hung a crooked mirror with a thirty-piece orchestra inside, playing a snappy tune that was vaguely familiar.

  "Is that Mozart?" asked the professor, scratching his head.

  "Liszt," Lord Carstairs corrected.

  As could be expected, the patrons were an unappetizing collection of snoring drunks, shifty touts, toothless whores, boisterous toffs, and several deadly serious drinkers. Even in his feckless youth, if Einstein had walked into such a place all by himself, the scholar would have used the momentum of his entrance to wheel about and leave immediately.

  Spotting an empty chair by the stairs that led to the mezzanine, Lord Carstairs directed the professor to take a seat. Then, flexing his hands, the lord sauntered into the middle of the tavern and loudly announced. "I can beat any man in this bar!"

  A stunned hush fell over the room. Then, a grinning bear of a man stepped into view from behind one of the thick beams that supported the ceiling. Wearing only baggy trousers and thick-soled boots, the bald giant was covered with scars, and had a gold chain looped from a cauliflower ear to his broken nose.

  "Is that a challenge, stranger?" the Goliath asked politely, waving the small cask he was been using as a mug.

  With forced bravado, Lord Carstairs sneered contemptuously. "What? Are you stupid as well as ugly?"

  Two of the tavern patrons fainted on the spot, and another looked embarrassed as a splashing sound came from under his table.

  "Hey, no need to get nasty," the mountain of muscle said, laying aside his drink. "And the name is Crusher, Skull Crusher d'Colinquet on formal occasions like this."

  "Lord Benjamin Carstairs," the explorer stated loudly and clearly, while he advanced closer.

  Crusher moved forward, and the men met in the middle of the tavern to face each other eye-to-eye. That was a new experience for the British Lord, and not a pleasant one. They were of precisely equal height and girth.

  Seeing that he was not having the usual effect of raw terror on this weirdly dressed newcomer, Crusher noisily cracked his enlarged knuckles.

  "Now if you wish to die," Crusher said in a friendly manner, "I'll be happy to just kill you. No charge."

  "Ah, but I am betting that you can't," Lord Carstairs said, pushing a chair out of the way to make some combat space.

  Interested murmurs now rose from the onlookers, and faces started to smile with avarice. The band in the mirror began playing a dramatic military tune, and the bartender started placing the more delicate glassware safely under the wooden counter.

  "Oh, you wanna disguise the suicide as a bet?" Crusher said, tightening his belt a notch. "Fine. Name the figure."

  This was not going as Carstairs had planned. In the background, several patrons had taken positions of safety on the railed balcony over the barroom, while others had simply tilted their tables sideways, forming impromptu barricades to hide behind.

  Drawing in a deep breath to gain time, Lord Carstairs chose an amount at random. "Ten gold pieces?"

  "Done!" Crusher grinned, displaying a gold tooth. "Mighty generous of you. What about weapons?"

  The lord arched an imperious eyebrow. "Well, if you need a weapon, I suppose…"

  "Bare hands it is," Crusher smiled, nodding his head. Then without another word, the bald man charged forward, every slam of his boots making the floor shake.

  Waiting until the very last possible moment, Carstairs nimbly sidestepped the man's rush, and then smashed the fellow in the side of the head with a powerful right jab. With a startled cry, Crusher went sailing sideways to land on a table. The bar furniture smashed into kindling under his weight, and the hairless giant crashed to the dirty floor.

  Wild cheers exploded from the crowd.

  "Do it again, my gruntie!" a drunken man called from behind a palisade of empty bottles.

  "Aye!" a leering wench added, plumping her ample wares. "To me!"

  Doffing his hat to the laughing throng, Lord Carstairs turned to assist his bleeding opponent off the floor. For a second, it seemed as if Crusher planned on continuing the fight. Then he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck and smiled.

  "Now that was new dirty trick, ya scum," Crusher muttered unhappily. "Where'd ya learn that?"

  "Oxford debating society," Lord Carstairs said, proffering an open palm. "My winnings, if you please."

  Lowering his head, Crusher scuffed his boots about in the colorful nutshells. "Well, y'got me there," he muttered. "I… I only have two silvers."

  Instantly, the shouting, drinking, and laughing crowd went deathly quiet. Then all of them turned to frown at the obviously embarrassed Crusher.

  A little fellow with a metal pot on his head finally spoke. "Crusher, you made a bet without having the money to cover?" he demanded in askance.

  Looking like a whipped dog, Crusher made feeble gestures with his scarred hands. "Well, ya see I… The thing is… Damn it, I've never lost before!" he offered as an excuse.

  "Cheater!" the customers screamed in loose unison, the cry echoing to the rafters.

  Swarming upon the bald man in a savage mob, the patrons pounded Crusher until he fell. They hauled his broken body out the swinging doors and into the street. Rushing to the window, Professor Einstein and Lord Carstairs watched in growing horror as the howling villagers threw a rope over a tree branch and hanged Crusher without pause or ceremony.

  Feeling sick to their stomachs, the explorers stumbled away from the window and sat down in some empty chairs. Murdered over a bar bet? Incredible! Unthinkable!

  Casting a glance at the window, Einstein and Carstairs could see the patrons now using torches to set fire to the swinging corpse, while others pelted it with stones pulled from the street. After a while, the muttering crowd filed back into the bar and angrily returned to their abandoned drinks.

  Somehow or other, the professor found the power to speak, "I say, lad, good thing you won," Einstein whispered.

  "Rather," Lord Carstairs agreed, rubbing his aching hand. "These chaps take gambling even more seriously than does a Greek jailer."

  "Different lands, different values," Professor Einstein muttered, watching the patrons set the tables right, and return to their former seats. "It's rude in Sweden to brag, and I once got badly beaten by a cabby in Japan for giving him a tip."

  "Ah, yes. That is quite an insult over there."

  "Indeed, it is, my friend. Even more so than licking your lips after a meal in…"

  "Hey, you two!"

  Braced for anything, the explorers slowly turned at the summoning, and saw the fat bartender waving them over. Exchanging glances with each other, Einstein and Carstairs decided to take a chance, and crunchingly walked across the floor to the counter.

  "Since the honor of my tavern is at stake, I will pay the ten gold pieces that Crusher owed ya," the barkeep stated, displaying a gap-toothed smile. "In credit, of course."

  "That sounds quite acceptable," Professor Einstein said.

  "No, it is totally unacceptable," Lord Carstairs countered smoothly. "Since it is in credit, wouldn't fifteen gold pieces be more appropriate?"

  In grudging acceptance, the bartender curled a lip, and offered his hand. "Done and done. Shake on it."

  "Of course, rat
her than fifteen credits, I'd happily settle for five in hard cash," Lord Carstairs quickly amended, also extending his hand.

  Recoiling slightly, the bartender underwent a variety of facial expressions before exploding into laughter. "By the Oracle, you argue as well as you fight. Five it is, hard and clean." Reaching into a pocket of his leather apron, the bartender produced the coins and placed a mixed stack of gold and silver disks on the stained counter top. "Agreed?"

  "Indubitably, sir," Lord Carstairs answered politely.

  Tilting his head, the puzzled barkeep stared at Carstairs.

  "Yes. Agreed," the lord translated, and now the two men attempted to crush each other's hands for a while before finally parting.

  "Now will ya be wanting to purchase anything with your winnings?" the bartender asked, resting an elbow on the counter as he slipped into professional mode. "Fighting and arguing makes a man mighty thirsty, eh?"

  "Naturally, barkeep," Lord Carstairs smiled. "We'll start with a drink, for me and my friend."

  "Fair enough," the bartender said, reaching under the counter to operate a spigot. When his hands returned into view, each carried a large pewter tankard of frothy beer. "And the name is Red Jack."

  "Really?" Professor Einstein said in surprise, taking the heavy container. "Any relation to the pirate of the same name?"

  "Not that I know of," Red Jack said, placing the mugs down. "But then I know three more folks with the same name. They be a bootblack, a blacksmith, and alchemist. Nice fellows all."

  Then Red Jack leaned closer to add softly, "But I don't suggest ever stopping by for dinner at the alchemist if he's having one of his 'brain fevers', if you knows what I mean."

  "Quite so," Lord Carstairs politely chuckled, raising the frosty tankard. "Chin chin, old bean!"

  Sniffing the contents first, the explorers experimentally sipped the amber brew, and were pleasantly surprised to discover it was ordinary beer, although slightly chilled. Cold beer? What kind of barbarian country was this island of Dutar?

  Without any warning, the orchestra in the mirror swung into a rousing rendition of the exact same song they had been playing ever since the two men had first entered the bar.

  "Is that all they know?" Lord Carstairs asked, using a handkerchief to wipe his lips.

  Drawing another beer, Red Jack sighed. "Sadly, yes." He shoved the pewter tankard down the length of the counter. Another patron made the catch and sent a coin rolling back. Red Jack caught the coin, bit it, and then tucked it away into his leather apron for safekeeping.

  "By the way, your mirror is crooked," Professor Einstein said, using a sleeve to wipe the residue from his lips. He had a spare handkerchief, but instinctively knew its use would not be met with universal acceptance in this class of establishment.

  "That be normal," Red Jack replied, gathering a dirty mug and tossing it over a shoulder to splash into a barrel full of soapy water. "The tuba player is fat. Will there be anything else?"

  "We could use some weapons," Lord Carstairs stated, placing down the empty tankard. "Swords, crossbows, anything like that."

  "Plus some medicinal chemicals," Einstein added ever so coolly. "Sulfur, charcoal, potassium nitrate…"

  Scratching his head, and then his arse, Red Jack grunted steadily at the monumental effort of hard thinking. "I sell drinks. Weapons you got to buy from the City Chancery in the Mayor's Office," he said, plucking a mug from the soapy water and starting to dry it with a rag that had seen better days. "As for them other things, I have no idea. Sorry."

  Einstein and Carstairs exchanged weary glances. Oh well, there went the idea of black powder bombs and French petards.

  A customer at the end of the counter called an order. Red Jack pulled drafts into a pair of pewter mugs. The same motion that set the drinks sliding along waved the explorers closer.

  "Tell ya what," Red Jack whispered, looking about warily. "I got a book of magic I can sell ya. Never been used, she is. Nice an' clean."

  Although born and raised in London, Einstein had heard this dubious description applied before to everything from young girls in Mexico to gold bullion in Russia. He hadn't believed it then and he certainly didn't believe it now.

  "May I please see this alleged book," the professor demanded suspiciously. "I own several and don't want to buy a book that I already have at home."

  "Sure, sure! No problem!" Beaming, Red John headed into the back room. "Just a tick, eh?"

  Listening to the exchange, Lord Carstairs decided to play the devil's fool and stay out of the conversation until needed. Radiating a casual air, the lord gently stroked the lizard on the counter. It gave a goofy smile.

  "Nice," the lizard said in a high voice.

  Snatching back his hand, Lord Carstairs almost went airborne. "By Agamemnon's shield, it talks!"

  Stepping back into the room, Red John barked a laugh. "Well, of course he talks. Say hi, Winslow."

  "Hi, Winslow," the lizard obediently replied.

  "Er, hello," the lord replied in strained courtesy.

  As the lizard slurped at the bowl of milk, the level dropped enough for the lord to see that most of the bowl was filled with small rubies.

  "Great Scott, what are those for?" Carstairs asked askance.

  Winslow stopped drinking and glanced at the man as if he was stupid. "Pretty."

  Feeling like a fool, Lord Carstairs tried to hide a grin. "Of course. Forgive me."

  "S'right," Winslow replied amiably, returning to his interrupted meal.

  Laying a wrapped bundle on the counter, Red Jack folded back the flaps of cloth, revealing a small leather book. "Ah, here she is! Careful now, it's untouched," he said passing the book to the professor.

  First inspecting the binding, Professor Einstein wet a finger and leafed through the volume. "Impressive," he said. "But how do we know that these will actually work?"

  "Why, them spells is genuine," Red Jack cried out, placing a hand on his heart. He sounded genuinely hurt. "And every one works, too. I seen 'em! Ya got my word of honor on it."

  Glancing out the window, the professor saw the still burning figure hanging from the tree, small children were jabbing the charred body with sticks. "Mmm, yes, well, we accept your word of honor of course," Einstein said with strained emotions. "Yes, I believe that we are interested in obtaining this particular volume. How much are you asking?"

  "Obviously, I couldn't let it go for less than two gold pieces for such a rare and valuable item as this," Red Jack stated, blinking innocently. "Take it, or leave it."

  "One," the professor replied, holding out a coin.

  Red Jack eagerly snatched it away. "Done!"

  As Professor Einstein and Lord Carstairs bent over the curious volume, Red Jack turned away to bite the coin in private, before stashing it away. This was the easiest two silvers' profit he had ever made. Ah, tourists. Ya gotta love 'em.

  "How very interesting," Lord Carstairs said thumbing through the book. "The table of contents is in a recognizable form of English, but the rest of the book, hmm."

  "Ah, well, there's the rub," Red Jack said, polishing the bar top with a rag. "If you want it translated, that's another matter."

  "No thanks," Einstein said, petting the lizard who began to purr. "We can read it perfectly fine."

  As if hit by lightning, Red Jack dropped the rag. "What was that?" he whispered softly, his eyes threatening to leave his body. "B-but you're not supposed to be able to read it! Nobody can read the damn thing!"

  In wry amusement, Professor Einstein stopped stroking the happy reptile. "Really, now," he scolded. "I should think the book highly useless if we could not read it."

  "Quite simple, really," Lord Carstairs announced, flipping through the pages of cryptic scrawling and ideographs. "The book is written in several languages, the majority of them dead, secret, or antiquarian. But no real problem." Suddenly, a light dawned on his face. "Or is that the scam?" Carstairs demanded.

  "Aye, it is," Red Jack conceded, pouring
himself a quick shot of a green liquor that radiated visible lines of force. He tossed it back and shuddered. "The book costs a gold piece, but the Magicians Guild charges a hundred gold pieces to translate every page."

  Closing the volume, Lord Carstairs gave a chuckle. "So the book itself is a loss leader." He saw the lack of understanding on the bartender's face. "A come-on - a tease," the lord explained lugubriously. "A ruse to generate business for the Magician's Guild."

  "Yar, that be it," Red Jack sighed, starting to clean the shot glass. "Everybody in town has a copy. But there be more. After ya reads a spell, the words disappear from the page."

  "A cheap book filled with terribly expensive, one-shot magic spells," Professor Einstein muttered, looking at the book with marked disdain. "No, I don't think we wish to do business with this Magician's Guild."

  "Thieves is the term we use," Red Jack whispered, glancing about quickly to see if anybody was within hearing distance. "But not very loud."

  With a crash, the swinging doors slammed aside and in walked a group of battered young men wearing only underwear.

  "There they be!" the black-eyed leader shouted.

  "Thieves!" another shouted.

  "Let's kill them!" the boy with the horns added, smacking a metal bar into his hand.

  Pivoting on a heel, Einstein grabbed a bottle and smashed it on the counter. Still holding the glass neck, the professor gestured with the jagged broken ends towards the teens.

  "On the count of three," Carstairs said, lifting a solid oak chair above his head.

  "Don't try it, lads!" Red Jack cried out, raising a warning hand. "They got a magic book. And kin read it!"

  "Cow flop," the leader muttered, taking a step forwards.

  "A demonstration, then," Lord Carstairs offered, lowering his chair. "If you so please, Professor?"