Gift of Gold (The Year of Churning Bloods)

by Leone, Hudson

  “Let’s see if bad joke telling runs in z’he family aye?” he said, prodding me up to the front of the stage. “Give ‘em your best shot!”

  I trembled slightly on the stand as in one clueless moment, I seemed to have forgotten how my tongue worked. “Well... Erm... This one time I was being held hostage by a monster.”

  The crowd continued to look up expectantly as I swayed from side to side.

  “And this monster was made entirely out of vegetables,” I said with a nervous smile. I had heard this joke once from the other members of the Montrose and seriously doubted it was going to do me any good. Unfortunately for me, it was the only thing in my arsenal, so I pinched my arm, forced a grin and continued despite myself.

  “When I asked him if he’d set us free, he said he’d never lettuce go.” An awkward silence filled the air around me, as this last sentence left me with a spectacular jump in my voice. A few people in the crowd guffawed, giving me the tiny bit of extra support I needed to continue. “I begged him, I said ‘peas peas lettuce go’!”

  Gregor groaned loudly as he shamefully buried his head into his arms. A few more started to giggle uncertainly. Warmth flooded back into my chest, and with this extra energy I made my voice a little louder.

  “The monster was going to make me work in his in forest for an incredibly low celery. You could say I was in quite a pickle. I tried to escape into the river made out of fruit, but the currants were too strong.” Nearly the entire crowd was laughing now. Holding back a sheepish smile, I launched into the finish. “I grabbed onto a nearby plant but let go because the object was cucumbersome!” The people around me burst into loud applause and from all around I could see merry smiles and cheer filled eyes.

  I had become a warlock. I had become a member of the quenched. I’d even entered a competition and tied for first place, yet for some odd reason this one point in time had become my most proud moment. All I had done was tell a bad joke. I looked back at Gregor who was red with exhaustion and embarrassment. Seeing as now we were free to go, he grabbed me by one ear and threw me off the stage without any more objection from the band members. He lead me to an empty alleyway, and proceeded to slap me across the face, not even having the decency to take off his gloves, which smelled faintly of over-ripened tomatoes. After throwing me to the ground, I still managed to get the last say in:

  “You have to admit though, ‘cucumbersome’ was a stroke of genius.”

  Gregor smiled sweetly, before kicking me sharply in the ribs.

  ***

  “So where are we exactly?” I asked him for the second time. It was nearly a half an hour since the joke telling incident and during this time, Gregor had been leading me around town while he whispered with various innkeepers and store owners.

  “We’re in a town called Euphradies,” he said, putting emphasis on the ‘yew’. “It’s the town to the south of the Charlie-Horse woods. It’s famous for its ports and its bad taste in humor.” Gregor sniffed bitterly before directing all of his attention back to the map clutched in his hands. We entered a warm little eatery before Gregor approached the young guy who appeared to be in charge. “Have you seen this man?” he asked in a hushed voice before giving a brief description I couldn’t quite hear. Nearly all the people he had asked so far had laughed and walked off without answering his question. This man however shook his head sadly and gestured across the roadway.

  We left immediately and approached our last destination, which was a small little pub half buried underground. There was a large sign hanging at an odd angle from the door which read in burnt letters:

  “Port Drink-a-lot.

  No minors without money allowed.”

  Gregor took me to one side and spoke in a very slow, careful voice, trying to make sure that I would understand. “Now listen Sunshine. You have no purpose here. You are meant to stand still, not talk, and not touch anything while I negotiate these taborthodox deals with the man inside. Do you understand?”

  “Why does this man live in a tavern?” I asked innocently.

  Gregor’s lips suddenly pursed together. “From what I understand, he’s a very sad sort of character who’s simply down on his luck.”

  “Some army,” I said, snickering quietly. Gregor made a movement of a throat being cut, before storming into the building while I trailed behind.

  The horrible smell in the tiny enclosure made me wretch and cover my mouth with the front of my shirt. The source of the stench appeared to a stocky looking man with mugs upon jugs of empty ale surrounding him. The pitiful excuse for a human being was humming to himself slightly. It was entirely possible he was even proud of how drunk he was. A matted black beard was hastily stitched into his face, along with tiny bits of food and froth from meals long since gone.

  Although his eyes seemed to be swimming in a sea of pungent alcohol, there may have been a glimmer of intelligence somewhere inside them. He was wearing a well tailored maroon overcoat that suggested he’d once been moderately wealthy, yet the jacket was now covered in so many stains it was like it’d been used as a baby’s bib. The dozens of overcoat pockets that were scattered over his limbs and chest did their best to de-emphasize the size of the man, however his gigantic belly still poked out of his front.

  Gregor stared around the room uncomfortably, before apprehensively marching up to the man before him.

  “Now what do you want?” the bearded fellow bellowed, throwing down a metal tankard. “If you're here to tell me I’m your father; tough luck. I haven’t had any for fifty years.” He downed his glass and looked at the bottom as if surprised to see it empty. “Fifty long years,” he repeated stupidly.

  Gregor coughed prudently before carefully withdrawing his folders. “No, nothing like that,” he said, carefully thumbing through each individual sheet of paper. “I’m just here to claim the money that you had taken out of Tyrannus loans almost sixteen years ago. You do owe us... Don’t you Button?”

  A loud chortle, like the whine of a donkey unexpectedly shot through my lips. “Your name’s Button?” I asked in disbelif. The moment seemed so anti-climactic and ridiculous that without even realizing it I began to snort with laughter. A nearby knife was suddenly stabbed onto the table, narrowly avoiding the tips of my fingers. I shut my mouth immediately and promptly turned a ghostly shade of white.

  “You think it’s funny being a scrawny little orphan boy taken in by pirates? You think its funny when the pirates give us all terrible names to all their orphans, just so we have to work twice as hard to be taken seriously?”

  “You're a pirate?” I asked, looking in disbeleif at the mounds of empty drink containers.

  “Aye. A pirate of the infamous Storm Striders no less,” Button responded proudly. He looked drowsily back at Gregor’s stern figure. “Look, I’ll be perfectly honest with you. The man in charge of my debt is gone. He’s probably died a horrible death and because of that, I can finally drink in peace.

  “I happen to be your contractor’s son,” Gregor boasted, sticking his shoulders out slightly.

  “You know what? I don’t care if you’re the new princess of Equestria. You’re not my problem.”

  Button suddenly yelped in pain and furiously began to rip at his skin as Gregor soundlessly held a single hand up. The pirate gasped in relief as soon as Gregor’s kinetic anti-magic rose off of him like a heavy weight.

  “I also happen to be one of the best kinetic Grimlars this earth has ever seen,” Gregor admitted with a slight shrug of his shoulders. “Now this up to you Button. You can either give me the money you owe, or submit yourself to me until you manage to pay it off.”

  “How much do I owe?” Button asked, rubbing his head in deep agony.

  Gregor flipped over a sheet of paper and squinted slightly. “One hundred pounds of fine gold and a diamond brooch.”

  Button looked hardly surprised at this ridiculous amount of debt and instead chuckled as a naughty grin swept over his face. “Ah, you’ll never believe what I ended up
doing with that brooch,” he said, winking slightly. “It was a warm day on the southern parts of the seas when suddenly I meet a stunning bunch of ladies by the docks--”

  “Okay I’ve heard enough,” Gregor said sharply. “The point is, you belong to me and it just so happens that we require a serious bit of assistance.”

  I couldn’t explain the feeling that came over me after he had spoken these words. Something that Button had said before had triggered a memory deep within me. A broad cunning suddenly awoke within me and stirred me to the point where I found myself tapping Gregor on the shoulder.

  “We need to talk,” I blurted suddenly.

  My companion raised a single suspicious eyebrow before reluctantly following me out of the pub.

  I gasped greedily at the cold fresh air from outside, and allowed myself a moment to enjoy the area that did not smell of sweat, mildew and beer. “Button says he’s a pirate right?” I asked after a dozen or so deep breaths.

  “A drunk oaf of one, but yes a pirate,” Gregor conceded slowly.

  “He said that he belongs to the Storm Striders,” I continued excitedly. “Totara told me that they’re the most dangerous bunch of pirates out there. Obviously there’s going to be more.”

  “I imagine so.” Gregor suddenly furrowed his brow and shot me a nasty scowl. “Jacob, if you lead me out here just to talk about your little pirate fantasies, I’ll--”

  “No-no! It’s nothing like that!” I interrupted quickly. “What I was getting at, is that by himself Button doesn’t seem to be all that useful. Instead, couldn’t we trick him into signing away the rest of his fleet for us?”

  Gregor’s eyebrows shot up as considered this. “Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if that was the best bloody idea you’ve ever had Sunshine.”

  Unsure how to respond to his unexpected compliment, I wordlessly nodded while Gregor continued to think to himself. “By the gods, it might not even come close to working, but it’s definitely worth a try.” Nodding furiously to himself, Gregor dashed back into the tavern while I slowly eased myself back.

  Gregor had taken a seat at the table opposite from Button before producing a scroll of parchment. As he scribbled furiously at it with a cheap quill, he would glance up every few moments before biting his lip and trying not to smile with self-satisfaction. After he had finished, Gregor reached under the table and began searching through his bag, eventually coming up with his bronze handled taborthodox stamp. He blotted it with ink and pounded it on the bottom of the page before neatly rolling up the paper scroll and looking surprisingly pleasant.

  “Button,” Gregor called out, trying his best to gently wake the pirate who had now passed out on the table. Suddenly growing impatient, Gregor pounded Button on his back which immediately caused him to flail around in distress. I figured he would stop as soon as he recognized Gregor, but unfortunately, the sight of his face seemed to further speed up Button’s spastic attack.

  Gregor eventually silenced the commotion by throwing the pirate back into his seat. “I’ve got a little deal for you here Button!” Gregor exclaimed with the enthusiasm you would carry if you were trying to talk to a distraught child. “This contract right here will get rid of all of your debt in exchange for a year’s worth of service from your fleet, the Storm Striders.” Gregor tried to smile warmly, however with his sharp teeth sticking out past his lips he ended up looking like a rabid dog. “During this time we can also provide you with accommodation--”

  “We can?” I whispered in his ear uncertaintly.

  Gregor slapped me away. “--As well as all the mead, rum, gin, beer, booze, whisky, cider, and ale you want at a discount price,” he declared with a very loud emphasis on the price.

  Button carefully unfolded the treaty and mumbled to himself as he read each individual word. Twice, it looked like he had gone so cross-eyed from Gregor’s small print that he literally had to stand himself up, shake his head until his eyes rolled the right way round and then sit back down to continue reading.

  “Sorry mate. No deal,” Button replied forcefully.

  Gregor’s jaw clenched as he sat in a hard-boiled silence for a painful half minute. He whipped out another scroll of parchment and started to write once more, this time adopting a fierce warlike glare. “It looks like you’re good at drinking,” Gregor remarked, motioning down at all the glasses.

  Button roared with laughter before falling into a deep coughing fit. “Are you kidding? This is just my warm up!” Gregor smiled sincerely and made a note on the new contract which he was scribbling on.

  “Here stands my new offer: My friend here will challenge you to a drinking contest.”

  I wasn’t sure if it was Button or I who was more startled by this declaration.

  The pirate opposite the table looked bewildered beyond every measure. Immediately after he realized Gregor was being completely serious, Button began to giggle. Each four outtakes of air, his volume doubled until he was shrieking with laughter and pointing to me like I was a bug who had challenged him to a fistfight.

  Gregor ignored this and continued to speak. “You beat my friend here in a drinking contest and your debt is forgotten. Lose this contest, and your entire fleet belongs to us for the year.” Gregor looked over the room solemnly before bowing his head slightly. “My offer stands there.” Button wiped a single tear of mirth before quickly applauding.

  “Oh I can tell you this Tyrannus, you’ve just made me a very happy man,” Button exclaimed gleefully. “I’ll try not to laugh too hard when your companion falls through the floor after his third drink.”

  Gregor removed a pin from his coat pocket and carefully eyed Button as he let a single drop of blood fall onto the taborthodox stamp. Gregor did likewise with a different pin, before pushing the contract off to one side and nodding towards me. “If you’ll excuse us, our contestant here needs to prepare. Jacob? Why don’t we go outside to have another little chat?”

  I refused to look at him as I got up and focused instead on the beefy form of Button, who was now doing some warm up stretches. As soon as I was outside, I clutched the head on my hair and began to tremble with rage.

  “What are you thinking?!” I hissed loudly. “I’ve never touched a drop of alcohol in my life! What makes you think I’ll have any sort of chance at beating that barbarian!” Gregor held up a finger to his lips and began to whisper in my ear.

  “You have something that probably none of the pirates out there have: distortion anti-magic,” Gregor began eagerly. “You can dilute the alcohol just by using your own abilities.”

  I stared at him in alarm. “What makes you so sure I can do that?”

  Gregor brushed this question off to one side with a careless jerk of his head.

  “Warlocks need to know the properties of all other forms of magic and anti-magic. I know from my studies that your kind can stretch, mimic, distill substances and dilute poisons.” I groaned in irritation and clenched both fists tightly.

  “That may be so, but that dilution would only apply to poisons wouldn’t it?” Gregor shrugged slightly.

  “Realistically, alcohol is a poison,” he told me with a weak chuckle.

  I pressed both hands into my face and resisted the temptation to break down and weep.

  “I suppose I could try,” I responded limply

  “I suppose I’m not giving you any choice.” Gregor responded harshly. “Now get in there and take one for the Grimlars.

  I calmly walked back into the dank room and found that Button was arguing loudly with a frail looking bartender.

  “I’m telling you! It’s these guys that are ordering all of these drinks not me!” Button said, motioning to the vast amount of goblets now spread in front of the table. “Look, ask him.”

  I nodded to the barkeep and pulled out my large sack of gold.

  He looked at me suspiciously before shrugging, and taking nearly a fifth of the pieces.

  Button sat down and eagerly confirmed that both tables had the same number of
drinks. Twenty mugs were currently present on either side, reflecting the little light there was with a yellow glow.

  “Allow me to explain the rules,” Gregor said in an official sounding voice. “Winner is the last one standing, or in the event that two hours go by, the one with the most glasses emptied.” He paused to look at the nearby grandfather clock which was just about to hit six.

  “Go!” Gregor roared, dramatically throwing both of his hands up. I grabbed my first mug, and willed the warmth of my anti-magic to flood into my hands. As soon as I had done so, all the bubbles in the mug suddenly disappeared. I took a tentative sip and found myself repulsed by the flavor. How Button could sit here all day and drink this fermented swampwater was a question beyond me. My head spun far too much after the first glass so I desperately tried to dilute the second one further. After quite a bit of effort, I managed to turn the liquid into a faint pastel yellow color, which was a dramatic improvement from what it was before. I drank deeply, thankful that this one was more watery than the last. I threw the second one to my side and proceeded to my third, fourth and fifth.