Chapter 96

A Drinking Game

Thrush

Omes Arbor. A dark city. Deep in the wood.

Wrought Iron sconces were nailed to towering trees. A collection of candles burned brightly in each one, making the city appear like a spread of fireflies. The trees were awesomely tall, and it took a moment to see the tops. Since the canopy blocked the sun, Omes Arbor was cool and held a dampness smelling of disturbed fungus and fresh soil.

The residents did not live in the trees, however, suspension bridges criss-crossed overhead, giving people direct access from one part of the city to another. Most humans wore cloaks to ward off the chill, which only added to the dark tone of the city. The “city in shade” people called it.

I walked the suspended bridges and descended to my destination, Poppy Wings. The building mimicked all the others. Built of thick boards fit together like a log house. The windows were warm with dancing firelight. Blue smoke rose from a chimney of stone and clay.

I entered. A bell jingled above me.

“Welcome to Poppy Wings,” a young woman said. Her voice was soft and soothing. “I am Wex Hill. Owner. How may I be of service?”

“Good day, Miss Hill,” I said. “I’m looking for cowbell roots. As much as I can afford.”

“Cowbell roots. Oh, yes. I’m quite familiar.”

“Indigo suggested I come see you.”

"Yes, of course.”

“We looked at a foragers map together and the roots are most likely found by a crescent shaped lake between two hills. Should be near this city.”

“Crescent shaped lake. Yes, I’m familiar. If you head down Link Road, it’ll take you out of Omes Arbor. Continue down that road for two days. You’ll come to a bridge. A short one. Follow the flow of the stream for another day. You’ll find yourself at the crescent lake you seek. Cowbell plants are currently in season, though they do seem to bounce about locations from year to year. Are you familiar with cowbell plants?”

“No,” I said.

“If you don’t find them around the lake, use your ears. They ring like rusted chimes in the wind.”

“That’s tremendously helpful. Thank you.”

“A pleasure, my darling. Anything else I can help you with?”

“Mana,” I said.

“I’ve got potions. Mana potions if that’s what you’re after. 15 copper per bottle, or 20 copper per gallon if you’ve got your own container.”

“Like a barrel?”

“A barrel is quite big, but I suppose so.”

I excused myself for a moment and exited the shop. Around the building, in the shadows, I chugged an entire 15.5 gallon barrel of Hawkin’s Super Tavern Ale. I held the heavy barrel up with one hand and tipped it with the other. Glugging. Glugging. Glugging.

I returned, hefting the barrel, and set it beside Miss Hill’s table of alchemist tools and ingredients.

“My god,” she said. She touched the barrel like it was a puzzle. “How much does this hold?”

“A little more than fifteen gallons,” I said.

“I… …suppose I can fill it. I’ll charge you an even 3 silver for that.”

Flattery earned me 2.5 silver to fill the barrel instead. I thanked Miss Hill and wished her a good day.

Finding Link Road was simple. The suspended bridges were quite easy to navigate. Every intersection had clear signs and ample room to walk around congregations. Although I wanted to go dig up cowbell roots as soon as I could, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to sell more beer at new taverns and inns.

The Weeping Wisp Inn was on Link road, and I was welcomed in by a shy innkeeper, a fat and jolly bartender, and the smell of smoked meats.

“Yo-ho,” the bartender yelled. “Come on in, stranger! The beer is flowing today! Rooms aplenty! Fresh, hot food! Anything you’d like!”

“I smell smoke,” I said. “Some smoked fish would do me good.”

“We’ve got smoked brisket. Smoked pork butt. Smoked turkey breast. Smoked Elodon ribs.”

“I’ll take all of it,” I said.

The bartender and innkeeper shared amused glances and laughed.

“How much for one of each?”

“Uh,” the bartender said. “You’re serious? Do you know how big these cuts are?”

“I’m famished," I said.

“Are you good for it?”

I placed a gold coin on the bar.

I enjoyed a fresh tankard of a sour cherry ale until my food arrived. Huge hunks of meat filled massive platters and I easily slurped down each one. I was careful to keep my face hidden. The smoke was a dream come true. The bark that they had managed to get on the meat was deeper and held much more flavor than I’d been able to get on fish.

I pushed my Merchant Options to the limit, bribing the bartender to get the chef, and bribing the chef to share his smoking techniques. He beat around the bush a bit, but eventually divulged his techniques of time, temperature, wood, and letting the meat rest. By the end of our conversation, I was interrogating the startled man for specifics. He fended me off with quick answers and intimidated half smiles until I wrung out all the information I could.

Before I realized what had possessed me, the inn was packed and dozens of patrons surrounded me at the bar, watching me in awe.

Face recessed in shadow, I suddenly realized why they’d stopped to watch me talk to the chef. I’d been chugging my mana potion straight from the barrel with one hand to keep my Merchant Options available.

Oops, I thought, and immediately deposited the barrel into my inventory. I shouldn’t have done that. I need to transfer the mana potion into bottles. Either that or get some more mana beers from Hawkin. Something less conspicuous to drink from.

My Merchant Options promptly ended. The chef suffered through a mixed reaction until shaking his head and disappearing to the back. The bartender and innkeeper asked everyone to move along, and before I knew it, order was restored to the inn. Folks lined up at the desk for a room. Patrons joined me at the bar. Beer was poured. The smell of smoked meat continued.

I was ignored throughout several more rounds of beers. Then a drunk man approached me.

“Say,” the man drawled. “Was here earlier. Couldn’t help but notice you’re one of them adventurers with them strong classes. Lifting kegs and whatnot.” He burped and, “Excuse me—ehk… …Well I’ll let you in on a little secret. I’ve been watching you from over there.” He threw a thumb over his shoulder. “You’re on your—what—elevensths beer? Not even a bit tipsy? I’ve got a pal like you. Could beat you in a drinking contest. Name’s Horace.” He crooked a finger at a large man in the corner, who nursed a beer. Horace came over.

“Yes, father?” Horace said.

“This. My son,” the father said. “He can out drink you. No problem.”

“Reigning champion,” Horace boasted.

“A drinking competition?” I said.

“I’ve beat every traveler who’s come through here. But I play for gold. Think you can beat me?”

“Horace,” the bartender hollered. “Phillip! Leave the man alone!”

“You scared?” Horace said, ignoring the bartender.

“I’ll play along,” I said. “I’ll give you five gold if you win. But there’s one condition.”

“Five gold,” Horace said. “You’re out of your mind. What’s the condition?”

“If I win, you have to drink a planes cutter beer and deliver a message to my friend Hawkin.”

“Pshh. I don’t know what you’re on about, but for five gold, I accept. There’s no way I’m losing to you.”

“Aye-aye-aye,” the bartender muttered, shaking his head. “Here we go again. Listen mister. Before you face off with Horace here, we’re gonna need you to pay for a room in advance, and ten rounds of ale for the both of you.”

“I’ll pay for a room,” I said. “And the beer. No problem."

“Then let the challenge begin,” Horace said, rousing the establishment's patrons to their feet.