Chapter 12

Tavern Party

"What about the missing little boy," said Fred. "I don't feel comfortable leaving him."

"Let's split up," said Joan. "I'll look for Tomas, you go and talk to Doris at the tea shop. Meet you back at the Beer and Loathing in an hour?"

They went their separate ways. Fred managed to sneak in a cup of tea at the tea-shop while he chatted up Doris the waitress. However, apart from confirmation that Myrtha had a sweet tooth and a fondness for gingerbread Fred was unable to learn anything else of import.

Disappointed and hungry, he made his way back to the tavern.

"Any luck?" he asked Joan, spotting her at a table.

"No," she said, frowning. She traced the wooden grain of the table with one finger. "I couldn't find any sign of Tomas, and no one had seen him. Not even a single clue. It was weird."

"I mean you were only looking for an hour," said Fred.

"Yes, but we are still in tutorial mode," said Joan. "At least I think we are. At least until we level."

"Oh, so this is easy," said Fred, with a grimace. "Should have known."

"You'll be fine," said Joan.

Rosie sashayed over to ask them if they wanted anything and they took the opportunity to quiz her about the midnight witch.

Rosie leaned over the table and flicked a blonde braid over one shoulder.

"Myrtha?" she said. "Yes, we were friends. Poor Myrtha! Dead on her wedding day!" She pretended to faint, clutching one hand to her chest, the other pressed against her forehead. The performance was a little spoilt by the wide grin. Straightening she leant forward on the table, bending close and whispering rather conspiratorially.

"I'll tell you one thing," she checked over her shoulder as if the elderly patrons at the next table had suddenly turned into attentive spies. "The red stain on her dress. That wasn't blood. It was raspberry coulis!"

"The plot thickens," said Fred. "The proof of the pudding is in the eating. Et cetera, et cetera."

"Why," said Joan. "Is jam on her dress important?"

"Well most brides-to-be don't cover themselves in condiments moments before they are due to walk down the aisle," said Fred, thoughtfully.

"Myrtha did like to eat," said Rosie. "I always thought that's why she wanted to marry Simon."

"What did she do, before she met Simon?"

"She had a sweet shop," said Rosie. She looked down, adjusting her corset so her breasts were a little more visible. Satisfied, she fluffed her sleeves and looked up once more with a seductive smile. "Who doesn't love something sweet, ey? Oh no, sorry, there I go again." She smiled and rolled her eyes. "That's all I can tell you. Simon and Myrtha were such a perfect couple." She sniffed, dramatically, and struck a pose. Her eyes sparkling with mirth rather than tears.

"What did I tell you," said Fred to Joan. "We need to break into Simon's house to look for clues."

Rosie stuck her fingers in her ears.

"Lalalala," she said, "I did not hear that." She picked up the mugs she had come to collect and walked away.

The tavern was growing busier as the evening drew closer. On the other side of the room, a loud altercation broke out. A young man and woman were arguing. Both of them stood out in the silver-haired crowd as possibly some of the youngest players Fred had seen so far. Neither of them looked far out of their teens and both were arguing at the tops of their voices.

"Isn't that your thief," Joan nudged Fred.

"I think it is," he said, looking closely. Dark skinned, with bouncing curls and sparkling eyes she was, thankfully, fully clothed in trousers and shirt. No less than six belts looped around her waist. The young man with whom she was engaged in boisterous discourse was pale, freckled and bewildered in a badly fitting wizard's robe. Shoulder length strawberry, blonde hair was tucked behind ears that were growing pink with rage. As Fred and Joan watched the argument progressed from accusatory finger waving to poking to slapping. Voices rose above the usual din of the tavern. A moment later the young woman drew out a blade and drove it into the young man's heart with a wicked cry.

"Steady on," said Fred, leaping up in alarm, but it was too late. The young wizard clutched fingers to the wound, scarlet blood dripping over his hand. His face turned milky and he crumpled to the floor. He lay there, eyes glassy, while Fred hovered in panic. Then his body disappeared – sucked with an uncomfortable 'pop' into the wooden slats of the floor which then closed over.

"Get out of the way, friend," said the thief from between clenched teeth. "Or you will be next."

"Oi!" shouted the bar-keep from across the room. "No roughhousing! That's your last warning, miss!" He bagged his hand on the sign suspended on the wall behind him which read 'Strictly No Murder Hobos'.

"Sorry," the thief yelled over her shoulder.

Fred stared at the rapidly disappearing bloodstains in shock. All that remained of the young wizard was his travel-stained bag, and then even the drops of blood were gone.

"Don't you dare," said the thief, seeing him look. She pushed him out of the way and grabbed the bag. "Mine. Oh, aren't you that bloke that said something about joining a party? How about something to eat?"

"She seems like a peach," murmured Joan in Fred's ear. "Such a good idea this."

"What- what did you do?"

"What do you mean?" asked the thief. "I wanted his stuff." She pulled a short bronze dagger out of the bag, admired it and slipped it into her belt. She saw Fred looking at her. "It's fine," she said. "He's a friend. He'll be back in no time, no doubt in a mood and wanting a rematch. Now you said something about a party? Or are you just gonna stand there like a gaping grandpa for the next decade or so?"

"Fine," said Fred, and they all sat.

To Fred's intense surprise Epic appeared out of the crowd and slid onto the bench next to Joan.

"Hello," she muttered, inspecting the grain of the table with grim determination. "Um, you said something about breakfast?" Fred looked over to the window where the darkness of the night was held back by several smoking torches.

"Sure," he said. "We were just about to eat."

"That's a nice chainmail shirt," said the thief to Epic, as Joan waved Rosie over. She trailed her fingers over the shiny mesh, and Epic pulled away stiffly.

"Leave her alone," said Joan sharply.

"But it's too pretty to belong to someone else. I'm Alice, by the way," she declared, "Alice69. Master Thief and Expert Sneak. And I could really do with a burger."

"Epic Failure," said Epic. "Eggs on toast please?"

"Fred," said Fred. "The Fredinator." Alice69 snorted ale through her nose. "I'll have whatever's going, thanks, Rosie. "

"Joan of Snark," said Joan, with icy dignity. "Something leafy?" Alice clutched her sides and squealed.

"Ah, all the stupid names. Oh, my lord. Hmm...Maybe I should order something for Hugo..." Alice mused.

"Hugo?"

"The friend I just murdered," she said. "Hugo Balls. Nah, he can get something when he arrives. He's gonna be pissy either way."

"If he respawns at the Meadow of Beginnings, won't it take him ages to get back here?" asked Fred. "It took us the better part of an afternoon to walk here."

"Nope," said Alice. "It won't take him that long."

"How can you be so sure?"

"He's lucky."

Joan made a small "oh" with her mouth. Fred and Epic exchanged bemused glances and Alice rolled her eyes at them.

"Something will come along. Trust me I've killed him, like, three times already. It's because of the way he died," she said. "At least I think that's why."

"What is? How did he die?'

"Meteor fell on him," she grinned, "annoying boy has a Luck Bonus."

"Now that," said Joan, leaning back and crossing her arms, "could be very handy."

"It's not that good, mind," said Alice. "Birds like to shit on him. But I wouldn't play him at cards. It helps out. You'll see, he'll be back in no time. Someone will just happen to be passing in a dick shaped airship, or a portal will appear floating in the air that just happens to lead to the Beer and Loathing privy."

"Been ages since that's happened," said Rosie, setting down plates of food."Haven't had a privy portal in weeks."

"Why a dick shaped airship?" asked Epic, nodding her thanks.

"Why not," said Alice, diving for her burger and sinking her teeth into it with feral energy. "Hugo likes dicks. Oh, that's good," she said, spraying crumbs over Epic who shuffled sideways. "But also, he met me, so he must be lucky."

"Indeed," said Epic, watching her with some alarm.

"Still," said Joan. "I assume Hugo is only level 1 or 2? I bet it will grow as he levels. The luck bonus. Bonuses usually develop."

Alice shrugged.

"How am I supposed to know?" she said.

"Do you have a bonus?"

"No," said Alice, her mouth full. "I'm God's Gift to you all, just as I come. Just enjoy my presence, peasants."

Epic wiped a crumb off her cheek and shifted even further up the bench. They ate in silence, watching the bustle of the tavern. Two bards were getting out their instruments on the little stage.

"So what's the deal then?" said Alice, looking around "You boomers look organized. I've just been wandering about killing stuff. Spent some time in the gaol. That was dull, don't fancy that again. Got a quest on the go? Not gonna lie, this purge thing has got the wind up me."

"I'm only 25," said Fred.

"Two quests," said Joan, "We need to find a missing child and vanquish a witch. But a party should be mutually beneficial. The witch is a big quest, we should get some decent XP out of it."

"A witch, huh?"

Fred and Joan explained what they had discovered so far. Epic looked thoughtful but didn't say anything, staring off into space. She stayed sitting though, which Fred found a little surprising. He had half been expecting her to slip off the bench and slither onto the floor to assume her favourite position.

"So you want me to break into this dodgy baker's house," said Alice, pursing her lips consideringly, "and look for... what exactly?"

"Anything dodgy," said Fred. "Clues, I guess."

"Sure," said Alice, downing most of a mug of beer in one go. "Sounds like fun. Last time I only broke into the kitchen. And you guys can keep cavey. Be nice to have someone watching my back."

"Last time," said Joan, and covered a laugh with the back of her hand. The bards struck up a merry tune. Someone started to sing a rather rude song called "Dungeon of Lurrrve". Fred tucked into his stew with a grin. The food was surprisingly good. He wondered if it would be this nice all the time.

"Do you ever wonder–" said Epic, suddenly. She was staring at her plate with hollow eyes. "Do you ever wonder, those times when you are so soul-crushingly sad it feels like a black-hole of emptiness is in your stomach, sucking you in with so much agony you are constantly on the verge of tears: are you sad or just really, really hungry?"

"No," said Alice, taking a huge bite out of her burger. "Unrelatable."

"Do you want something else to eat?" asked Joan.

"I'm not sure," said Epic.

They sat and ate, and listened to music. The two elderly bards had moved onto a song called "Goblin For Your Affection" and were plucking their lutes with more enthusiasm than skill. The noise level was high. The tavern was growing full and noisy. The fire pit and the smoking candles led a warm, golden ambience to the energy of the room. All in all, it was pleasant.

Just as they were finishing their meal the door burst open and an angry and distinctly Hugo shaped figure came through it. The young wizard wheeled around, spotted Alice, and stormed over. His face was as stormy as his gait.

"Alice, you arsehole," he said by way of greeting.

"I told you," said Alice, leaning over conspiratorially. "Like a bad penny."

"Alice!" said the poor Hugo, slamming his palms on the table. "You are such a twatwaffle. Give me back my stuff!"

"Widdums," said Alice. "You'll have to be quicker next time. Have a chip." She held out a floppy, luke-warm offering.

"I said–"

"How did you get here so fast?" asked Joan, hoping to curtail further bloodshed.

"Got a lift with a passing knight," said Hugo, without looking at her. "Who the fuck are all of you anyway?"

"Language," muttered Epic, very softly.

"We are starting a party," said Fred. "Would you like to join us?"

"Not if Alice doesn't give me my bag back."

"Take it," said Alice. "I dare you. I've stocked up on potatoes you'll never–"

Hugo lunged for her and she fell off the bench, clutching the bag.

"No," she yelled. "It's mine now."

With a growl, Hugo leapt for her and the two went down in a pile of flailing arms and legs. Blood and curses flew like treacle. Fred, Joan and Epic all leaned back.

"The eggs were very nice," said Epic, "but I think I'll be going now..."

"Don't go," said Fred. "We'll sort them out."

"This is a terrible idea," said Joan. They all looked down at the brawling pair. Hugo seemed to be holding his own this time. It was hard to say if they were enjoying it or not. "What have you gotten us into?"

"You wanted a party," said Fred. "We have a party." A blow horn sounded and the room was suddenly filled with confetti.

[DING! CONGRATULATIONS!

YOU HAVE STARTED A PARTY! The Fredinator, Joan of Snark, Alice69, Hugo Balls and Epic Failure! You will now have the ability to share quests and XP! This arrangement will continue until it does not!]

"Party!" yelled one of the bards. He brought down his hand on the strings of his lute in a great wheeling motion. Over in the corner, someone sat down at a creaking piano and started thundering away at the keys. The lute players picked up the pace. A conga line struck up on one side of the room to an atmosphere of general merriment and much whooping.

Alice and Hugo rolled across the floor bumping into elderly patrons. Some of them swore and jumped out of the way. An old gentleman in knights regalia turned and punched the elderly wizard next to him. The elderly wizard fell into another armoured adventurer's knitting. She flipped a table and advanced on the beleaguered wizard, knitting needles held high.

"Oi!" shouted Rosie, banging on the bar, "oi!"

But it was too late. Fights broke out all over the room. The conga line scattered in distress.

"Turn up the damn music!" yelled an old man, who was beating time with an old spoon. "My heart feels like a refrigerator!"

"What does that even mean?" shouted someone else.

"Uncultured yob!"

"Keep it down," bellowed an old lady, who was nursing a giant tankard in a corner. "You are all giving me a splitting headache!"

"What did you say, you old baggage?"

"Not the sharpest claymore in the armoury are we?"

"Say that again to my FACE–"

"Whooooo hooooooo!" screamed Alice, blocking and punching with every evidence of enjoyment.

Tankards, table legs and dentures all went flying.

"Too loud," said Epic. She slipped off the bench and ducked out the back door. Fred and Joan backed away, trying not to get caught in the brawl. The bards, who couldn't have been a day younger than eighty themselves, didn't seem to mind and carried on playing, soporific grins on their faces, bodies swaying back and forth in time with their strumming. It leant a rather jolly, cartoon-like quality to the fight. Bits of furniture and assorted weapons whizzed through the air.

One elderly gentleman in a rather scandalous robe was swinging from the chandelier.

"I don't remember there being a chandelier there before," said Fred. And he was right because if there had been it would have been described.

"The dungeon probably grew it for the occasion," said Joan. "It has a real flair for the dramatic."

"I can appreciate that," said Fred, and ducked as a tankard flew through the air and hit the wall behind him. "But I think Epic is right."

"Come on," said Joan, and they made their way out into the night.

Outside the Beer and Loathing, the stars were bright. All was peaceful. The air was a little frosty and the cool breaths cleared Fred's head.

"What now," said Epic, from her spot in the deep shadows.

"Oh good," said Joan. "You are still here." Epic shrugged.

"I would like to see what's next," she said. "And you seem to know what you are doing."

"It's my second time," said Joan.

The door burst open and Alice and Hugo were expelled into the night by the irate bar-keep.

"Find a new place to drink!" he yelled and shut the door again. Alice and Hugo collapsed into a giggling pile, all animosity apparently forgiven.

"Now we are all here–" said Joan.

"Who are you again?" Hugo asked, peering up at her in confusion.

Introductions were made.

"So how about it?" said Joan. "Alice is keen but what about you and Epic?"

"Sure," said Hugo. "It's gotta beat hanging out with Alice."

"My wounded heart," said Alice.

"Fine," said Epic. "For now."

"Yay!" said Fred. "We have our party!"

"Ahem," came a small cough. Everyone turned to look, and Alice squealed as they saw Lamb-kin hanging from the Inn's eaves.

"So this is the messenger spider," said Fred, deadpan. "That reminds us not to forget about the witch..."

"Ew, it has a mouth," said Hugo.

Lamb-kin's eyes glowed red:

"The Midnight Witch is waiting,

With mince on her fingers and buns on her toes,

Where she gets the meat, nobody knows!

The Midnight Witch is waiting..."

He disappeared in a puff of floating particles.

"To the bakery!" cried Alice. She and Hugo thundered off down the street.