Tales from the Dead Man Inn

by Daniel Schinhofen

  “True enough, lad,” Grimgar’s eyes darkened slightly at Stewart’s tone. “Did ye wish to talk about anythin’?”

  Stewart downed his mug, then poured another from the pitcher Grimgar had brought to the table. When he sat back, his eyes had returned to normal, the Infernal flames no longer evident, “You really want to hear my complaints?”

  “Ye be me friend, lad. Iffin it will help ye blow off some steam, then aye.”

  “I didn’t realize I was different at first. Everyone who comes here is understanding because of what happens in the basement. Shortly before I turned six, I was finally made to understand what it meant to be a Half-blood Infernal.” Stewart sat back, his eyes glazing over slightly as he recalled the days of his youth. “It was the first time I was sent out of the inn without supervision…”

  ~*~*~

  Stewart woke yawning, stretching as far as he could. He was still a little sore from all the yard work yesterday so he snuggled into his blankets, but he couldn’t get back to sleep. Light was just starting to come through the window, and Alistern was still snoring away in his bed. Stewart got up and dressed, careful to make no noise, and snuck out of the room. He headed down the hall past the private dining room and into the main taproom.

  Alistern’s grandmother worked behind the bar, where she’d run the night shift that was almost over. She looked up as Stewart came into the room, “Stew, you’re up early. Is anything wrong?”

  “No, just can’t sleep anymore. Can I help with anything before breakfast?”

  A small smile graced her lips, “You’re a good boy, Stew. You can ask Abby in the kitchen if she wants any help.”

  “Sure, Gran,”

  Skipping into the kitchen, Stewart lit up with happiness to see Abby at the oven, pulling out fresh loaves. “Abby, Gran told me to see if you needed any help.”

  The very plump, dour woman at the stove frowned at Stewart. “Breakfast first. If you don’t take too long with that, we’ll see.” She put a chunk of fresh bread and a slab of cheese on the small table in the kitchen.

  Stewart grabbed the still hot bread, tearing it open to stuff the cheese into it. He winced a little from the steam when he opened it, but tried to hide the pain. The cheese immediately began to soften when he placed it on the open face, and he smooshed the bread closed so he could eat it. He missed the approving nod that Abby gave him for making the quick sandwich.

  “Well, since you already made the meal to be eaten on the go, I can give you a task after all.”

  Looking up at the cook with wide eager eyes, Stewart beamed, “Thank you.”

  Abby started to put a basket together as Stewart took his first nibble of the bread. It was still far too warm, making him pant in an effort to avoid burning his tongue. He’d eaten half the sandwich by the time she brought the now full basket to him, setting it on the table.

  “You need to take this to the temple, understand?”

  “The Dark Lord’s Temple?” Stewart clarified, reaching out for the basket.

  “We don’t deal with any other temple, do we?” Abby snapped at him in exasperation.

  Abashed, Stewart took the heavy basket with his bottom lip quivering just a little, “No.”

  “Darkness, save me from children,” Abby sighed. “Off you go. Hurry now, and do not keep the Priest waiting.”

  Stewart hurried off, the heavy basket dragging his arms down. It took both hands to manage it, so Stewart set it down long enough to shove the rest of his sandwich into his mouth. Abby silently noted his resemblance to a chipmunk that had just found a stash of seeds. As he neared the door, a quest appeared in the air before him.

  Quest: Delivery to the Dark Lord’s Temple

  Reward: Abby will be pleased and 1 copper

  He smiled happily, finally managing to swallow the last of the sandwich, and tottered down the alley. He swayed as he walked, carrying the basket in front of him with both hands and just barely clearing the ground. He looked around at the people he passed, smiling brightly at them at first. His smile slowly slipped away though, as he started noticing the looks they were giving him in return.

  Stewart slowed as he looked around, becoming aware that the looks directed at him seethed with disdain, fear, and even outright hatred. He came to a stop against the front of a building, cowering as people walked by him with their mouths twisted into sneers while they glared at him. Stewart stood there, trying to figure out why everyone was so mad at him. A guard approached the crying boy, and frowned down at him.

  “You there, Half-blood. What are you doing?”

  “D-d-delivering food…” Stewart stammered as he looked up into the unfriendly face of the guard.

  “To this residence?” the guard snapped, eyeing Stewart as if he thought Stewart was lying to him.

  “No…” Stewart shook his head quickly, immediately recalling the tales of how lawbreakers were carted off to the Stockades by the guards. “The Temple of the Dark Lord.”

  A pronounced looked of distaste flickered across the guard’s face. “Where is this food from, Half-blood?”

  “The Dead Man Inn, sir,” Stewart quickly replied, his lips quivering.

  “Trash,” the guard huffed as he looked away. “Who are your parents?”

  “I’m an orphan, sir. The Crowley family is raising me,” Stewart sniffled, tears spilling down his cheeks anew.

  “Summoner filth,” the guard spat. “Shouldn’t be surprised they’re raising a Half-blood. Give me the basket and you get back to the Inn.” The guard held out his hand demandingly.

  Stewart froze, torn between obeying the guard, and the thought that he might fail the task given to him by Abby. “I was told to deliver it myself,” Stewart told the guard hesitantly, even as he started to lower the basket to the ground.

  With an exasperated sigh, the guard snatched the basket from Stewart’s hands. “Just get along back to your hole, Half-blood. I’ll take it to the Priest.” He gave Stewart a rough push, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make Stewart stumble. “Now get going. Clear the street for good folk.”

  Confused and hurt, Steward sobbed, “Why?”

  “What are you crying for? You’re not hurt. Get along home before I give you a real reason to cry,” the guard growled down at him.

  The sight of a crying child gave some people pause, notwithstanding the fact that it was a Half-blood. A few people stopped, but were hesitant to approach the guard. The guard looked at the people now watching him, trying to decide what to do now. While he dithered, another man in a guard’s uniform came along.

  “What is happening here, Terrance?” the second uniformed man asked. Not waiting for an answer from the guard, he dropped to one knee in front of Stewart. “Child, what is the problem?”

  “Why does everyone hate me?” Stewart cried, rubbing at his eyes. His normally pink skin was flushed a darker red with his crying. His fingers brushed across the nubs of horns on his forehead, hidden by his bangs.

  “Lord Theron,” the guard finally managed to speak. “The child was making a delivery. He was causing some unrest amongst the city folk. I was telling him to go home, and I was going to complete the delivery for him.”

  With a quick flick of his eyes at Terrance, Lord Theron snorted. “I’m sure your warm manner brought a smile to his face. Leave the basket and go on about your patrol.”

  “Yes, Captain,” Terrance saluted after setting the basket next to Lord Theron. He quickly marched off, shooing away the onlookers as he left.

  Lord Theron turned his attention back to the still sniffling Stewart, “What is your name, child?”

  “Stewart. I-I’m being raised by the Crowley family, s-sir,” Stewart had his crying mostly under control as he looked up at the well-dressed guard. This man wasn’t being mean to him, which gave him some hope.

  “My name is Captain Theron. It’s good to meet you, Stewart. Why were you crying? Did Terrance do something?” Lord Theron asked with a serious, but caring expression. “Are you up to w
alking while we talk, child?”

  Wiping his nose on the sleeve of his shirt, Stewart looked up at the friendly face of Lord Theron. “You’re going to let me deliver the basket?”

  “I am, and I’m going to make sure you make it to your destination, if you will accept my aid. Will you allow me to be your guard on your valiant quest?” Lord Theron’s lips quirked into a tiny smile, though his eyes were serious.

  “You’ll act like my Destroyer?” Stewart asked, eyes wide.

  “Without the horns, and only for the duration of the quest, but yes. If you will accept me, that is.”

  “Okay. I will call you Theron. You are my Destroyer now,” Stewart said with an attempt at seriousness marred by the grin he couldn’t keep off his face. “Pick up the basket and carry it for me, minion,” he said with as much command as he could put into his squeaky voice.

  “As you command,” Lord Theron stood up, picking up the basket as he did. “Do you know the way, Stewart?”

  “Yes,” Stewart replied and took a few steps in front of Lord Theron. “Follow me, minion.”

  Stewart started marching down the street. After a few feet, he faltered a bit and looked back hesitantly, afraid that Lord Theron wouldn’t be there. Lord Theron was right behind him, keeping pace with the small boy’s stride. Stewart’s face split into an even bigger grin than before, his confidence returning full force. He imagined what it would be like to have a minion all the time and failed to notice the few people who still glared at him. Those few were quickly stared down by Lord Theron, and no one dared approach the Captain of the guard.

  The walk to the temple took about ten minutes. When Stewart knocked on the set of double doors, one door cracked open and revealed a middle-aged Priest wearing a quizzical expression.

  “Did you need something, sir?” the Priest asked Lord Theron, having missed seeing Stewart.

  “I am but the minion of this lad,” Lord Theron intoned evenly, his eyes twinkling, gesturing toward Stewart.

  Looking down, the Priest saw Stewart bouncing from foot to foot excitedly. “Stewart? What are you doing here?” The shock was easy to hear, along with a tinge of sympathy.

  “Abby sent me with the food for you,” Stewart answered the Priest with a large smile. “I even bound a protector for the quest. I introduce Theron, my Destroyer.”

  Eyes going wide, the Priest shot a worried look at Lord Theron. Lord Theron only smiled mildly at the Priest and held out the basket of food. Breathing a silent sigh of relief, the Priest looked back to Stewart. “Stewart, did you have trouble getting here?”

  Stewart’s face fell, going from excitement to bewildered sadness in seconds. “The other guard and the city folk were all mad at me and looked at me mean, and the guard yelled at me. Why did they do that?”

  With a sigh, the Priest shook his head slightly, “Old fears and hatreds, Stewart. It wasn’t directed at you specifically, but toward your heritage. You’ll learn about this next year when you come for instruction.”

  “It’s my father’s fault?” Stewart asked with a frown.

  “It is indeed because of who your father is. Save your questions for one more year. You’ll learn all the history behind them then. Did Abby ask anyone before she sent you out of the Inn alone?”

  “No.” Stewart looked puzzled by the question.

  “Sir Theron,” the Priest said as he stood up, meeting the Captain’s eyes, “I humbly ask that you escort Stewart back to the Dead Man Inn.”

  “I am under his command until the quest is completed,” Lord Theron replied with a simple nod and a suppressed grin. “I will deliver him back to the inn.”

  “My thanks, sir,” The Priest bowed from the waist. Taking the basket from Lord Theron, the Priest turned to Stewart. “You did well Stewart, and you have found a very powerful minion. Go home and let Abby know that you’ve completed the task.”

  “Okay!” Stewart gave the Priest a quick hug before turning to Lord Theron. “Minion Theron, guard me on the way home.”

  “As you command,” Theron replied, motioning Stewart to take the lead.

  Walking away with a bounce to his small steps, Stewart led them back toward the Dead Man Inn. He glanced back twice to check that Captain Theron was still following him. His smile grew both times to find that the Captain was indeed close behind him.

  Captain Theron kept his eyes moving to each person they passed, giving anyone who thought to approach Stewart pause. Two blocks from the inn, a carriage rolled up the street and came to a stop just in front of Captain Theron and his small charge.

  Stewart blinked, stopping in surprise and wondering why the carriage would stop in the middle of the road. Lord Theron took two steps forward to stand next to Stewart as the door of the carriage swung open. A man about the same age as Theron stepped out, and was richly dressed, wearing flowing silks decorated with gold and silver threads. He looked down his nose at Theron, eyes haughty and full of disdain.

  “Why do you persist in making us look bad by playing at being a guard, Theron?” His tone was icily arrogant.

  “Lord Gilden, you are impeding traffic in violation of the laws of Stormguard. You are hereby ordered, by the guard, to move your conveyance at once or face penalties imposed by the Crown.” Captain Theron’s tone was emotionless, his face carefully neutral.

  Scoffing, Gilden sneered at the Captain, “Not above throwing your meager weight around, I see. I will press the King to have you removed from your post. It is a disgrace for any noble to do a commoner’s job. Guards should answer to the nobles, not be them,” With a flounce, Gilden got back into his carriage, which then drove off.

  Eyes wide, Stewart slowly turned to Lord Theron. “You… you’re… a Lord?”

  Crouching down to look Stewart in the eyes, Lord Theron nodded, “I am indeed, Stewart. I’m also a Captain of the guard. Of the two, I prefer being a guard.”

  Stewart took a step back from Lord Theron, suddenly wary. He had heard tales about the Lords of the city from various patrons at the Inn. They were cold, shallow, and mean in all the stories he’d heard.

  Theron sighed sadly at the change in Stewart’s attitude. “Stewart, you are still in command of me. Shall we continue your quest to return you home?” He kept his tone friendly, offering the boy a friendly smile with the question.

  Gulping, Stewart licked his lips, “You aren’t mad at me?”

  “No, Stewart, I’m not mad at you. I am mildly upset with many of the adults in this city. No child should be spurned as you were. The perceived sins or crimes of the parents do not transfer to the child. I’m still yours to command for a time. Shall we?”

  Straightening his small frame, Stewart brushed at his hair. “Take me home, Destroyer.”

  “As you command,” Theron stood up, bowing as he motioned Stewart to take the lead again.

  Stewart hesitated for a long moment, eyeing Theron as though he thought this might be some cruel joke. Coming to a decision at the sight of Theron’s patient and earnest expression, he started walking again. His gait was subdued for the last two blocks of the trip, and he looked back frequently to make sure Theron was still with him. As they neared the inn’s door, they could hear angry yelling from inside the building.

  Alfonse, Stewart’s quasi-adoptive father, was yelling, “Damn it, Abby, ya know how Half-bloods be viewed. I be goin’ to find him and bring him back. Iffin he has been injured, ya will suffer the consequences.”

  Opening the door, Lord Theron coughed once, “Excuse me. I have found a child I believe resides here.”

  Alfonse pulled up short in his rush toward the door. He and Abby both stared at the doorway, where Stewart had hidden behind Lord Theron’s leg because of the shouting. “I’m home,” Stewart intoned softly, peering at them with worry on his face.

  Alfonse’s relief was clear as he stepped forward, “Thank ya for bringin’ him back, sir…” He trailed off as he took a better look at the uniform and the man wearing it. Face blanching slightly, Alfonse cleared his
throat, “Lord Theron, it be an honor to have ya visit me establishment.”

  “It is nothing, please don’t think about it. I found your ward when he was out this morning. I helped him deliver his package and have brought him safely home.”

  “Stewart, come here lad,” Alfonse said.

  “Am I in trouble?” Stewart asked, still hiding behind Theron’s leg.

  “Aye. Ya left the house when I have told ya many times nay to do so. But ya will nay be tasked too hard as ya made it back safely. Get to ya room and wake up me lazy boy.”

  Stepping hesitantly into the building, Stewart looked up at the Captain. “You are dismissed, minion. You have done well and completed your task.” Stewart darted off toward his room.