"Mary, now'll come 'ere! I knows you're cheatininin. . . in." His movements and slurred speech gave away the fact that he was heavily drunk. Marcius distanced himself from the bartender and the girl as the sailor half pushed, half stumbled, his way unsteadily closer to the pair.
"Camden, you're drunk, you know what you do when you're drunk." The bruises on her face, something Marcius had initially missed in the gloom of the tavern, gave several hints to Camden's demeanor while under the influence. "Y-You also know what my father said if he caught you drunk."
At the mention, Anthony encircled his arm even more protectively around her. "Aye, Camden, you make no sense while drinking. It's unhealthy for Mary. I won't have you beatin' her again."
"Oh is that so, pops?" A rather malicious grin found its way to Camden's face, and faster than Marcius would have expected from a drunk guy, the sailor's fist closed the distance between the two men. The sound of broken glass and flesh hitting flesh filled the tavern. Though as quickly as it had began, it suddenly settled around the now unconscious body of the bartender. He had taken an awkward position on the floor, knees bent at opposing angles with his head off to the side. The girl screamed and sought refuge the nearest place she could. Unfortunately, the location was behind Marcius, and the now seething sailor turned his glare and attention towards him.
"Who's this pansy, Mary!? He's your lover that you 'ere seeing behin’ my back? I knews you're a cheating whore!"
Marcius reacted on instinct as the sailor loomed over him. The energy from the nether welled up inside him, a sensation that always thrilled and terrified him, and he quickly shaped it into the can-trip that signified sleep. A muffled throbbing was felt near his temples, the blood threatening to pound out through his skull. It came to a head and thus he released it, streaming from his body like a mental purging. Camden's eyes flickered for a moment, a slight green haze afflicted the air around him, and Marcius closed his eyes with relief. Crisis averted.
"What the hell was that?!?! Tryin' to do witchcraft on me? Is this who're you left me for?" the drunken sailor's cries were borderline hysterical and he was clearly still awake.
Marcius hurriedly scanned the room, looking for anything that might help, trying to suppress the feeling of panic that was cascading through his veins. All attention was focused on him, but frustratingly no one made a move to help.
Why did it fail? He didn’t have time to deliberate as the man warily moved closer. An idea sprung to mind when he spied a stool on the ground, discarded by someone who obviously didn't want to get between a man and his troubles. Marcius started edging his way behind the table, hoping that the belligerent man would follow.
"Running away dress wearer?!" the man sneered, reaching over to grab a chair. Marcius noticed that he all too easily broke off one leg of the chair and discarded the rest to the now littered ground. Camden started edging his way to the table with arms spread. The chair leg was in one hand, and he was ready to take off in either direction should Marcius try to dart away.
With a smile, Marcius cast the can-trip, a simple device that summoned an object to the casters hand. The only noteworthy detail was that it did not "warp" the target. It simply pulled it from a nearby location. Marcius had found it useful to grab objects around his room as he worked.
Now it served another purpose. He watched the stool zip across the bar, and collide with Camden's head with a hollow thud that even made Marcius wince, and continued its course to the caster, who promptly ducked. The furniture hit the wall, and with a thump, it hit the ground.
Camden had just enough time to fix Marcius with an astonished expression, mouth agape, before his eyes rolled up into his head and his feet buckled underneath him. He joined Anthony on the floor, as well as the ruined chair, shards of glass decorating the edges.
"Oh thank you great wizard! Your help was most appreciated!" The girl had appeared in front of him and now was rousing her father who was beginning to stir. "Camden never used to be like this, then he started drinking." Her eyes grew sad at the statement; her bottom lipped trembled as she bit it. "I hope he isn't hurt, he always feels so bad when he learns about what he did when drunk. He drinks to forget though. Please don’t blame him." Tears started welling up in her brown eyes.
"Aye, honey," Anthony was now awake and intently listening to his daughter fill him in on the events that happened. "Underneath it all, the lad is a good boy, just can't take his alcohol. Brother went off to the war up north. They were close them two, and he drinks ‘cause he worries so. Still Mary, drinks or not, he shouldn't be treatin' you like that." He gently grabbed her chin and inspected her face. He gave a grimace as he rubbed the side of his own face before dusting off his dirty apron as if it helped. "Now, wizard is it? I think I owe you an apology. I was just gonna take your money and send you ona' wild goose chase. Let's talk 'round back and I'll show you why. Lil' stuffy here."
"I’m no wizard, I just picked up a few tricks here and there. I'm not good enough to be part of the Academy, really. But yes, I am interested in seeing the dwarf.” The grin Marcius felt on his face most assuredly debunked the attempt at modesty. He felt aglow with accomplishment, though he had only performed a simple can-trip.
They didn't know that.
He noticed that the bar was still quiet, and every eye was trained on him. An aura of apprehension filled the room. The only sound was his labored breathing as the excitement of the encounter settled.
Magic was frowned upon in these parts. Sailors are a very superstitious crowd to begin with. Sprinkle in the mysteries of the arcane, and you easily got yourself a recipe for trouble. He could hear the wheels turning in their heads, trying to decide how dangerous he was, and whether it was worth remembering what had transpired.
Anthony solved the latter problem. "Now see here you lot," the bartender was now the focus, "You'll forget what just happened here, this good man did this bar a service. Now! Free drinks on the house!" He motioned to a barmaid for the kegs to be brought out from the cellar. The room burst into applause and quickly resumed its atmosphere of nonchalance, glasses tinkling merrily.
Marcius was impressed with the way the bartender handled that. His grateful look was returned by the bartender. The man then ordered one of the more muscular men to pick up the still unconscious Camden and place him in a secluded corner. The man's daughter was cleaning up the debris from the fight, gingerly sweeping up the glass that still littered the floor. Marcius was startled at how quickly all trace of the encounter was wiped up; obviously this wasn't the first time they had cleaned up after a fight.
The older man led Marcius to a door that he hadn't noticed before in the dark room. Fumbling around for a key, he opened the door and gestured Marcius inside.
T he small room was faintly lit like the rest of tavern, though the universal smell of alcohol somehow managed to be even stronger than the tavern itself. As his eyes scanned the room, they came to rest upon a small ratty cot that was thrown against one corner, and on it lay, who Marcius could only assume, was Raggor. The dwarf seemed to be passed out, since a loud snoring could be heard. The sickeningly sweet smell and several kegs littering the room gave away the reason as to why he was in that condition.
" He pays well for the peace and quiet, and I try to give it to him. Best payin' customer I have," the bartender muttered. "He was a friend of the previous owner o' this place. When I bought this place from the dwarf, he made me promise to treat this dwarf right, gotta lot on his mind he does. Apparently there be trouble in the dwarven city of Thrimghol; then again, there be trouble everywhere nowadays." That would explain where this tavern got its name. Marcius stored the tidbit about the dwarven capital away, making a note to bring it up to Antaigne as well.
"I understand. I'll write a message instead. Mind giving it to him then when he comes to?” With an enthusiastic nod, the man indicated he would. Marcius fumbled in his pack for some paper and the bartender loaned him a stick of graphite.
Master Raggor,
I would like to order two kegs of your finest dwarven stout. Deliver at the Realure estate before the next sundown. I will pay whatever price you set.
Marcius Realure
P.S: Your secret is safe with me.
He folded the letter up and handed it to Anthony, who respectfully placed it within one of the pockets of his dirty apron. Marcius had to refuse an offer for a drink on the house. He no longer felt the need for the spirits, and instead he opted to purchase a sandwich from a street corner food seller located outside the bar.
As he bit into the juicy, albeit greasy, sausage, the full reality of what he’d just done hit him. It was the first real world application of magic. Despite the bungling of the sleep can-trip, Marcius was rather proud of himself.
He managed to stop a huge, rather irate man without having to physically fight him. Which he considered a lucky break since the only fighting experience he had was the little fencing he did during particularly boring afternoons. Even then, he wasn't very good at swordplay. In the barroom fight, he had the sneaking suspicion the drunken man would have ripped him in two. With the mental equivalent of a pat on the back, he ran through what remained for him to gather for the dwarven wizard.
He had the stout. He still needed the fruit, host, herbs, and the magical ingredients. Fredalyn's Menagerie should be open by now. Marcius looked up, the sun was high above him and the heat was starting to bake the cobblestones.
Another thought entered his mind. Perhaps he should see what the Mage Lady wanted? Last thing he wanted was for her to become even more stuck up. He resolved to check up on her after his duties to Antaigne. Marcius still had his priorities. With a large bite he finished off the last of the sandwich, wiping the grease from his hands on the side of a passing wagon.
Chapter 03
Fredalyn's Menagerie was a collection of exotic animals in cages located on the outskirts of town. One could generally follow the pungent aroma of animals to locate it. They pitched their tents around the beginning of summer and stayed till about mid-fall, when they went off to acquire more attractions from various distant lands.
Fredalyn was someone whom he was briefly acquainted to, a stout little woman with a soft spot for animals and an even softer spot for gold. She was one of those people you greeted on the streets if you passed each other, but you went out of your way to avoid at all other times.
Marcius jingled the coins in his pouch subconsciously as he walked. They were his greatest ally in the upcoming bout, and hearing the soft tingle comforted him. He wasn't looking forward to dealing with Fredalyn. His feet betrayed him, and thus he found himself in line at the front of a striped tent, unpleasant sounds and smells coming from the confines. Wiping the sweat off his forehead, he waited for the line to advance.
"Move along people," a positively grating, and regrettably, familiar nasally voice could be heard above the general noise that accumulates from many people being forced to wait. "That'll be three coppers, thank you, move along. Hey you! Try that again and you'll be thrown out. Three coppers, thank you, step inside." The line thinned and eventually Marcius was staring at the owner of the voice, Fredalyn.
She was a small woman who bustled with untamed energy. Her flashy multicolored silk dress swayed just clear of the churned mud as she directed the visitors into the tent.
"Mistress Fredalyn, if I may partake a moment of your time." Marcius fought a grin onto his face that he hoped seemed sincere.
"Marcypoo, is that you? Oh my goddess Avalene, it is! What brings you to my humble abode?" She quickly indicated to one of her workers that he was to watch the front gate for her, using a glare that suggested untold punishments should he fail, and fell into step with Marcius who was already walking away from the line of people.
"Of course Fredalyn, I've come to ask a favor from you." He cringed inwardly at the usage of "Marcypoo."
"Please, call me Freddy. What can this humble woman do for you?" And your purse.
"My father has recently acquired a very fussy, but important customer. He has a soft spot for animals. He sent me to pick up a goodwill gift if you catch my meaning." The eagerness in her eyes and the increased bounce in her step indicated that she did indeed.
"Ah, and thus your first thought is of my meager establishment! Bravo Marcypoo, I would be honored to help you out!" She clapped her hands together excitedly, no doubt imagining the fees to come for the service. She led Marcius to the back entrance, the guards quickly let them pass and the stench of animals grew stronger along with the heat.
Fredalyn had an impressive collection of creatures, much bigger than the last time Marcius was here. He watched one of the workers go about feeding what he thought was a hydra, a supposedly rare and dangerous creature. "That right there is a four headed hydra, much rarer than the three headed variety," she beamed. "He put up quite the fight he did, almost lost a few of my boys during an attempted escape, but the bars are enchanted." With a wink she tapped the bars with a stick. A large crack filled his ears as the stick was violently snapped into pieces. “Doesn’t hurt the poor lil' dear permanently, thank goodness. Just gives him a right smart shock."
She led Marcius past a wide variety of creatures; a drake from Harrevegan coast, an elephant from the Tereneve Peninsula, and even a thought eater, which was a rather nasty creature that fed off one's memories. Stripping the most poignant and emotional ones like a ripe berry, it was something that was generally feared, but the big, now comical looking beast was harmless behind the enchanted aquarium that he was enclosed in.
As much as Marcius didn't like the lady, he was impressed at the lengths she went to acquire and maintain such an odd assortment of animals. Time flew by as she showed him every animal she had, even upcoming exhibits. Soon they were standing once more at the opening of the back entrance.
"You have an impressive collection of magnificent animals, but none caught my eye as something our customer would want. Are you sure you showed me everything? I’d be willing to pay for your troubles of course."
"Well," the woman bit her lip, unsure. Marcius decided that she needed help. He shifted, tactfully jingling the coins in his pouch as he did so. At the sound, her face grew firm. "I do have one more. He’s a rather temperamental little beast from the island of Grantiare, but if you’re still interested, I will show you."
She led him to what he thought was the backroom, most likely where she counted her money for the day. The unofficial zoo was a popular form of entertainment in Rhensford, and she no doubt made a profit even after the upkeep of pay and animal costs were extracted. In the corner there was what Marcius could only guess was a small pen sheltered in a black cloth. "I keep him covered. He isn't used to his environment yet, and don't want to scare the little dear." She fluttered over to the cage, where she paused for dramatic effect.
With a flourish she whipped off the cloth, "May I present to you an authentic wyvrr, caught off the coast of Grantiare!" Familiar green eyes watched Marcius, the metallic scales shimmering in the torch light, and the creature languidly stretched out and stuck its head through the cage. It was the creature from his dreams, right down to the small claws that even now navigated the confines of the cage bars. Only it was much smaller than his nightmare.
Marcius found his mouth unexpectedly dry, "How big does he get?" he managed to force the words out, his mind racing at the implications.
"You ok, Master Marcius?" Marcius nodded, and indicated for her to answer his question, “This is a rare creature, they are typically only found very far south, and to find one around Grantiare is even rarer. They are coveted for their pet like qualities, like a dog, though they are often mistaken for dragons. They get nowhere as large as the mythical beasts. This one is almost full size right now. Oh, also they have no wings, as you can see. And they can’t breathe fire either." She coughed a bit then made to continue the lesson, but Marcius held up his hand.
"I’ll take him." The choice was simple. Here was a creature he’d dreamed about, and one look at the sharp
eyes that even now watched Marcius’s movements was all that he needed confirm his decision.
"I'm not so sure I'm willing to part with him. He's to be a rather popular attraction, you see. Kids seem to love Dragypoo here." She stuck her finger through the cage and absently stroked the creature's eye ridges. It pushed against her and gave a tangible sigh of contentment. “Strange, he usually isn’t this calm around visitors. . . ”
Though her words claimed she wasn't interested in selling, her posture and tone gave another story. One didn’t have a successful merchant as a father without picking up a few useful tricks here and there.
Marcius put the best indifferent face on that he could. “Perhaps fifty gold would be enough to change your mind?" The slight widening of her eyes indicated that it was far more than she had expected. "Maybe not, our client might disagree with a creature such as this." He made as if to leave. Marcius mentally started counting to ten. He had gotten to five before he heard her clearing her throat behind him.
"I believe this would be a great gift. They are very exotic, and yet easy to take care of. Your client would no doubt be the talk of the town with a creature such as this." Her voice dripped with desperation.
"So you are willing to sell?" It was getting very difficult to maintain his facade, so he made a show of reaching for his bulging pouch. He started pulling out gold pieces and putting them down on the table next to the cage one at a time. With every gentle clank of a coin, he could see her defenses crumbling. At the last coin, she was little more than clay in his hands. "Fifty pieces, correct?"
"Aye, Master Marcius, he is yours, as is the debt of my meager holdings. You have funded us for the next few seasons with this bounty." As she moved protectively around the coins, Marcius found himself likening her to a covetous dragon protecting her hoard.
A Dead God's Tear (The Netherwalker Trilogy) Page 4
