Karl returned with the mead soon enough. Upon tasting it, Glenn discovered a delicious variety of apple cider that tingled on his tongue. While the spices cooked into the big slab of barbecued pig were hot, they were not so hot as to be unpleasant. Combined with everything Karl had seasoned it with, the meat was absolutely legendary. It tasted like meat a mayor would eat.

One mug of consumed mead led to another, and Glenn paced himself at first. Yet after completely draining two mugs, he scarcely felt drunk, so the mead seemed mild enough. Becka kept up with them both, drinking her mead with abandon.

That reassured him he’d be all right. If the mead were strong, Becka’s low Vitality would have her on the floor by now. Karl grew more boisterous and red-faced with each emptied mug.

Somehow, Glenn finished the entire slab of meat, though it was a near thing. His stomach swelled, and thank the Pantheon, Karl did not offer another slab. So what was Karl going to do with the rest of this barbecued pig? The meat might keep through the night, but it would sour soon after.

Eventually, Karl lifted the big plate with the pig and set it on the counter to clear the table. The drinking songs started after they’d all cleaned their plates, after Karl had chugged his fourth mug of tingly apple cider mead. And the songs Karl chose were ... colorful.

Glenn had sung songs with his family too, on special occasions, but their songs hadn’t been near this bawdy. Yet with Karl and Becka clearly committed, he had no choice but to throw his best in with them. Mead poured and Glenn drank, and the Coldbreakers felt like family.

Becka leaned heavily on his arm, laughing and smiling, and Karl merely beamed in pleasure. Karl offered a number of jokes that grew progressively dirty with each cup of mead, yet rather than laughing at those, Becka merely rolled her eyes. She’d no doubt heard them all before, and Glenn gained brand new insight on just where she’d picked up her bawdy sense of humor.

Then, of course, Becka’s hand landed upon his thigh, below the table, and squeezed.

Gods, she was merciless! He did his best to keep a straight face, but she kept squeezing his thigh at just the wrong time, throwing his singing off cue or making him completely forget a word. Karl laughed heartily and corrected Glenn every time he messed up, and Glenn simply grinned and played along. He prayed that if Karl got up and walked around, Becka would relent before her father saw.

Soon after, seeing that Karl had no intention of rising out of his chair, Glenn dared to grab Becka’s knee, then went for her lovely thighs through the thin fabric of her dress. She scarcely reacted at all, and after that, the battle was on. Levos might prevent their hands from venturing anywhere they shouldn’t, but with this much mead and the danger of detection so close, the battle was thrilling.

Finally, after draining his sixth mug, Karl rose, wobbly, to his feet. “To Becka and Glenn!” he managed, though the names were so slurred Glenn barely understood. “Heroes of Wolf’s Pine.” He sat down again, somehow landed his mug on the table, and fell asleep sitting in his chair.

Glenn stared for a moment, then glanced doubtfully at his own half empty mug. He was midway through his sixth mug, more mead than he usually drank in a single night, yet the apple cider obviously only had a hint of alcohol. He’d merely need to ask for use of the privy later, when it was appropriate.

Yet Karl was completely passed out. Could a man this massive be such a lightweight in regards to liquor? How was that even possible? Karl had the Vitality of a Grass Boar.

Becka rose and ruefully shook her head. “That took even longer than I expected. He really is a master of his cups.”

Glenn, confused, looked between Karl, who was completely passed out, and Becka, who looked, at best, mildly tipsy. The whole kitchen spun slightly around him, but Glenn still knew he could stand, walk a straight line, and swing a sword if necessary.

“It’s the root,” Becka said, and patted his thigh affectionately.

Glenn thought back. “The one we chewed?”

“It counteracts the effects of the mead.” Becka smiled at her sleeping father.

Glenn gasped. “You drugged your father?”

Becka laughed as if he’d made a fine joke. “I drugged us. My father’s simply enjoying his reward for a night of trying to drink his new best friend under the table. When he rolls out of bed tomorrow with a fuzzy headache, I imagine he’ll respect you all the more for drinking him under.”

Glenn stared down at his half empty mug. “So this is strong mead.”

“Without that root, you’d have been drooling on the table after four mugs. I imagine I’d have dropped after two. Barleyglade Orchard Mead is the strongest stuff you can get out here in Wolfpine.”

Glenn looked at a blissfully snoring Karl again, then at her. “So … what’s happening?”

“We’ll address that in a moment. First, I need you to lift up the big oval plate on the counter and carry it back into the smithy. Father labored a whole day over this pig, and it’s slated to be served along with other delicacies at Mayor Coleman’s feast tomorrow.”

“Oh?” Glenn said. How would that even work? Wouldn’t the meat spoil?

Still, this was obviously another of Becka’s famed plans unfurling before his eyes. Her plot was already in motion. All he could do now was follow her and ensure he didn’t get swept away.

Glenn picked up the big oval serving dish, carefully, and grimaced at the weight of the dish and all the meat that remained. He was certain that it would take two adult men with normal Strength to carry it, with one on each end. He balanced it carefully as Becka opened the door.

Once in Karl’s smithy, intense heat assaulted Glenn, yet there was barely a glow in the round opening leading into the big furnace. Becka walked to another odd structure instead, a long stone table with a round white cover like half of a giant spear haft. She grabbed a handle and cranked it open.

Glenn gasped as he recognized the shimmer of strong magic inside. “What is this?”

“Slide the pig and plate onto the table carefully, from the side,” Becka instructed. Her pale cheeks and bare arms already glistened with sweat. “And don’t let your hands enter the field. I mean that. Treat that shimmer like a burning forge.”

Glenn balanced the big serving dish on both arms, knelt before the table, and rested the side he wasn’t touching atop the table. Once it was balanced, he eased his arms back and slid the whole dish on the table, into the shimmer. He didn’t touch it once.

“Nicely done,” Becka said. “Now step back.”

Glenn did so. Becka cranked the big white round top closed, and soon the pig and serving plate were entirely covered. Glenn could contain his curiosity no longer. “What is this?”

“[-Triage Pocket-],” Becka said proudly.

Glenn frowned. “What’s a [-Triage Pocket-]?” He’d never read about such a Skill, so it must be a Skill used by an Evolved Class. Wolfpine’s chapel only included Skill tomes for base Classes.

“Richard can make them now,” Becka said. “It’s a Rare Spiritualist Skill, one Richard acquired when he reached Level 36 a few weeks ago. Anything placed within the field designated by the etched inscriptions is placed in a bubble where time simply ceases to be. The effect lasts one full day and night. It’s also permanent, like an Enchantment, and simply needs to be renewed once a year.”

Glenn immediately understood. “So if someone is bleeding out, it stops their bleeding until you can heal them. Does it stop the twelve hour release on ensouled corpses?”

“Sadly, no, or there’d be dozens in every chapel in Balarel. But it stops everything else, including cooldowns, and you can’t remove anything placed inside until the timer expires. For that barbecued pig, time has stopped. Its meat will be as warm and tasty tomorrow night as it was a moment ago, when you slipped it into the pocket.”

Glenn stared in awe at the now closed table and the round shield over it. “That sounds like it cost an ungodly amount of crescents.”

“Try moons,” Becka said. “Father has been saving everything for the past two years, ever since he learned Richard was going to select that Skill. He’s quite proud of our new luxury.”

“What would have happened if I’d stuck my hands in it?”

“Probably only an hour or two of frozen fingers. Losing the use of your hands would mean we’d need to be more creative tonight, but we’d manage.”

Glenn glanced at the kitchen, where Karl slumped entirely passed out in his chair, and then out the window, where it was dark, but not absurdly dark. He still had hours before his parents expected him home, yet Karl was out like a light. He and Becka had this house entirely to themselves.

“Creative?” he prompted hopefully.