Chapter 10

NOTE! This is an ongoing story. If this is your first visit, please read the About This Page link, and then use the archive links to go the first post and read backwards.

Granny Lilly pulled an unbroken chair from the floor and set it up to the bar. As she sat down, Earl appeared from nowhere with a full mug of ale. She took a long drink, and set down the mug with a satisfied sigh.

“Ahhh, that hits the spot!” she said. “Kicking bad guy ass always makes me thirsty.”

“And bloody,” Sam noted. “The explanation?”

“Well, it all started when I was spending some time in the kingdom of Rom.” Lilly began. “The King had posted notices all over town offering a thousand gold pieces to who ever brought back his eldest son, Prince Don. So, I went to the castle, got an audience with the King, got the details and took the job.

“I started snooping around, everybody gossips with an old lady when she looks the part, and managed to get a pretty good idea of where the little Prince was hiding. I tracked him down and explained to him that his old man wanted him to come home. He told me there was no way in hell was he going to do so. He had his merry little band of renegade cut-throats, and was quite happy being an asshole.

“The problem, for me, was that I wasn’t going to get paid unless I delivered the goods. Showing up at the castle saying ‘I found him, he doesn’t wanna come home’ doesn’t get you very far. I explained all this to the fair Prince Don, and he didn’t seem to see that it was his problem. I insisted that he do the right thing, and he took offense at my methods.”

“You ‘insisted?’” Sam prompted.

“OK, so I waited until nightfall, snuck into his tent and dragged him out by his ear.”

“Hard to imagine how anyone would take offense to your courteous treatment,” Bob opined.

“Sam,” Tink interjected, “I just want to let you know that I really like your gramma.”

Sam ignored her friends and motioned for her grandmother to continue.

“Well, he made such a racket that the whole damn camp was up and after us in a flash. The Prince got away from me while I was fighting off a dozen or so of his men, and I took the first opportunity to get out. They followed me here. You know the rest.”

Sam frowned for a moment in thought, and then turned to Bob.

“Let ‘em out.”

“What?” shouted Tink and Lilly.

The curtain of flame vanished, and men looked at Sam nervously.

“You guys go back to your boss and tell him that this issue is resolved.” She told them. “No one will be coming after him, and I don’t want to see any of you back in our place again. Got it?”

The men exchanged glances amongst themselves, and then nodded. The group started towards the door.

“Hold it!” Sam barked. “You still have a bit of unfinished business to take care of before you leave.”

The men turned to Sam, confused.

“I don’t want you leaving your trash lying all over our place.” Sam said as she motioned to the arrayed bodies. She kicked the one closest to her. “Take it with you.”

Hesitantly, one moved forward and took hold of one of his fallen comrades by the ankle.

“And,” Sam continued, “you caused quite a bit of damage to the place.”

“But you guys were the ones…” a man started to object.

“You caused the damage,” Sam’s voice overpowered his objection. “You were the ones that came in here looking for a fight, you were the ones that didn’t leave when I told you to, and so you are the ones responsible for the damages. Empty your pockets.”

“But…”

“Empty your pockets,” Sam snarled, “now.”

The men filed forward angrily, and each one placed the items they were carrying on the table near Sam. When the last one finished, they began dragging unconscious companions towards the door again.

“Don’t your friends have pockets too?” Tink asked.

The man closest to Tink whirled towards her, a snarl on his lips, his hands clawed. The table leg cracked against his shin and the snarl turned to a yip of pain as he started hopping on one foot. Tink swung her makeshift club into his other shin and he dropped to the floor. The others started digging in the pockets of their comrades.

Lilly had been pacing back and forth along the bar, gulping at mugs of ale. Earl was sweating furiously as he raced back and forth in opposite directions as Lilly, refilling the mugs she had at each end of the bar.

“This is taking too damn long,” Lilly barked. “Just make ‘em leave their pants.”

“And to keep things fair,” Tink said with an evil grin, “you guys leave yours too.”

Sam rolled her eyes, but said nothing.

“We,” one of the men said, “are not leaving our pants.”

Tink smacked the business end of her table leg into her tiny hand.

Soon, a large pile of black pants was piled around the table, and the men stood near the door, trying valiantly to cover themselves.

“Just a suggestion,” Bob told the nervous group, “you may wish to speak with your employer regarding your dress code. One would imagine that undergarments should be a necessity.”

“And don’t come back here looking for entertainment,” Stella called from the balcony. “We ladies have standards, and none of you measure up.”

They started slapping companions awake to help drag out the dead. Soon, the bar was clear of half-clad men.

As soon as the door swung shut, Lilly bounded across the bar and confronted her granddaughter.

“And just how the hell am I supposed to get paid now?” she demanded.

“We go to the King and tell him what happened.” Sam calmly answered. “Then we ask that he pay half the reward.”

“HALF?!?” Lilly shouted, her nose an inch from Sams.

Sam decided in that moment that long lost Grandmother or not, she didn’t like being yelled at any more now than she ever had. Her brow furrowed and she leaned forward the remaining inch until the family noses were touching.

“Yeah,” she screamed back into her grandmother’s face, “Half! You did half the job, you get half the pay! You found him, and can tell the King where he is, that’s the half you did. You were supposed to bring him back, but you didn’t, so you don’t get paid for that half!”

Lilly staggered back a step, not used to having people yell back.

“We just opened this bar, and look at it!” Sam continued, stepping forward to close the widening gap between her and her Lilly. “You don’t hear any of us bitching and moaning about having to bail your ass out after you brought your little party inside, do you?”

“I never asked for your goddamn help!” Lilly found her footing and pressed back until the two were nose to nose again.

“No, you just came in here knowing they were hot on your heels! You knew there was going to be another fight, and you were hoping a barroom brawl would take some of the heat off you so could deal with them one at a time. I should have let them go with their pants and charged you for the damn damages!”

“I never thought that my own flesh and blood would be more concerned about bean counting than honor.” Lilly snarled.

Silence fell across the bar, the only sound that of Samantha forcefully slowing her breathing.

“I was too busy to keep track of how many of those assholes each of us took out,” Sam said quietly, “and I was too busy fighting your fight to watch you, so I don’t know which one of us is the better warrior. But I do know this: Anyone who questions my honor, even my father’s mother, will feel my wrath.”

Sam started to slowly remove her sword from its scabbard.

“Now if you want a little contest here, Gramma…”

Lilly dashed forward, oblivious of the half exposed sword and wrapped Sam in a great bear hug.

“That’s more like it!” Lilly shouted. “Good girl, don’t let anyone ever push ya around, even kin!”

The tense crowd gave a nervous cheer, and underneath its noise, Lilly leaned in close to Sam’s ear and whispered. “But, if you ever draw that sword on me again, you ain’t gonna be getting no hug.”

“You ever challenge me in my place again,” Sam whispered back, “the sword will come back out.”

Lilly released her embrace on Sam and held her at arms length, gripping her shoulders.

“That’s my girl,” She said with a smile. “Always stand up for yourself, your friends, and what you believe in, no matter who challenges them. You do that, and you will always have a reason to hold your head high.”

Lilly released Sam and headed towards the bar. She found a ready mug waiting for her. She took the tankard and nodded thanks to Earl. She did a double take, peering closely at him.

“Say, didn’t I kick your ass a while back?” She asked him.

“Yes, ma’am, you did,” he answered. “I hope that these drinks will count towards an apology for my behavior back then.”

“What did I tell you about giving out free drinks?” Stella shouted.

“Every one of her drinks is paid for!” Earl retorted.

“By who?”

“Me!”

“Where did all your drinking buddies go during the fight?” Lilly interrupted, glaring at the men who were now sheepishly finding their way back to the few unbroken tables.

“We’re just a bunch of farmers and shopkeepers,” one spoke up. “We don’t know how to fight like you do.”

“Yeah,” Lilly sneered. “I was able to figure that out the last time I was here. You boys need to grow a pair and stand up for yourselves now and then.”

Stella motioned for Earl to start pulling drinks. “One round, on the house.” She announced.

The mood started to lift and Stella motioned for the band to assemble and resume playing. One of the ladies made her way to the stage and began dancing as the drinks were passed out. She bumped into the javelin several times before having the idea to work it into her dance. She incorporated some of the moves that she had seen Sam use during the fight, swinging around the javelin and kicking her legs high.

The men loved it.

“Maybe we should leave that there,” Stella observed over the din of coins clanking into the urns.

“We should probably replace it with something more secure,” Sam offered,  “the way she is swinging around that thing it will work itself loose before too long.”

“Allow me,” said Bob as he strode to the stage, hands beginning to glow.

He was met with boo’s and catcalls as he stepped onto the raised platform and motioned the dancer away from the javelin. He gripped the shaft tightly and bright light escaped from between his fingers. A coin rattled into an urn, followed by laughter.

Bob ignored the crowd as he closed his eyes and muttered under his breath. As he spoke, the metal tip  began to slowly puddle around the shaft. A fine network of roots embedded itself deep into the stage, taking a firm grip. The wood took on a new life as a tree as it grew upwards to the ceiling, branches encircling the rafters as leaves sprouted. The pooled metal began to shimmer as it flowed upwards, encircling the trunk and becoming smooth and shiny.

Bob opened his eyes and the light from his hands expanded into a shimmering globe as he released his grip on the new tree. The orb traveled up the trunk, becoming smaller orbs that traveled the path of the branches before exploding into colored streamers that fell to the stage and the crowd beyond. Bob surveyed his handiwork and smiled with satisfaction before stepping off the stage to rejoin Stella and Sam.

“Just a bit of magical botany and carpentry,” he told them. “It should be sturdy enough now to support any of the ladies.”

“It’s perfect!” gasped Stella.

The dancer reclaimed her place on the stage and resumed her dance, spinning around the metal pole to the great delight of the patrons.

Phillip joined the group and watched the dancer for a moment with disinterest.

“Did we get a new tree?” he asked.

“Uh huh,” Sam replied. “Apparently Bob has quite the green thumb.”

“Yup,” Bob told Phillip. “See?”

He held up a thumb that was bathed in green flame.

“Gimme,” said Lilly as she grabbed Bob’s wrist and pulled the flame close. She produced a pipe from somewhere and sucked the flame into the bowl before exhaling a cloud of smoke to the rafters.

“You’re kinda handy to have around, String-Bean,” she told Bob.

“I do what I can,” replied Bob.

“Grandma,” Phillip interrupted. “I have prepared a hot bath in the back for you to clean up in, if you like, and I can clean and mend your clothes while you soak.”

“Mighty kind of ya, Phil,” Lilly said. “But, first things first. Anyone know anything about healing?”

“Why?” asked several voices in alarm.

“This,” she answered as she pulled aside her cloak to reveal a short wooden stump protruding from her shoulder, a rivulet of drying blood trickling down her back.

Tink leaped to the top of the bar and peered closely. “What the hell is that?” she asked.

“Arrow,” Lilly responded. “Broke the shaft off while I was on my way here.”

Bob examined the wound.

“I can get the arrow out of the wound,” he said, “but I am afraid I won’t be able to do anything about the wound itself. I know very little of the healing arts.”

“I know a little,” Sam said as she looked on. “Tink, can you get the usual roots and herbs?”

“Sure thing, Sam.” Tink answered before leaping from the bar and running out the door.

“Oh, don’t make such a fuss,” Lilly griped.

“You asked for healing,” Sam sternly told her, “you get a healing. Now shut up.”

Bob moved around behind Lilly.

“Hold still, Ma’am,” he told her as he placed his hands a few inched from the arrow. “This is going to hurt, quite a bit, actually. Are you ready?”

“Just get it over with,” Lilly ordered.

Once again, light spilled from Bob’s fingers. It enveloped the stump, flickering slightly. With a rapid motion, Bob yanked back his hands and the arrow head leaped from the wound, a spout of blood erupting from the sizable hole.

Earl appeared with two drinks and a clean towel over his shoulder. He handed one to Lilly, who gulped it down, then poured the other over the wound before placing the towel over the gaping wound.

“Ow,” said Lilly before taking another pull from her pipe.

Tink returned and handed Sam a fistful of dirty roots. Sam quickly brushed the dirt from them before popping them into her mouth and chewing furiously. The look on her face accurately described how nasty the taste was. After several minutes, Sam spat the mass into her hand, removed the towel and slapped the concoction onto the wound. The flow of blood stopped almost immediately, and Sam held her hands in place as she muttered an invocation under her breath. When she stopped, she replaced the towel with a bandage and tied it into a sling under Lilly’s arm.

Lilly pulled on her pipe.

“Where did you learn that?” she asked around the stem of her pipe.

“My father.”

Lilly chuckled. “I taught him that. Good to know he remembered some of the stuff I taught him.”

“Then I guess I don’t need to tell you anything about how long it will last, what it does and so forth,” Sam said. “You should probably go take advantage of Phillips tub and then get some rest. It will take a while for that medicine to do its work. I’ll have some food prepared and bring it to you.”

“That sounds perfectly wonderful, dear.” Lilly said before continuing in a conspiratorial tone. “Barbarians aren’t supposed to enjoy a hot bath, but every now and then I indulge myself. I am still a lady, after all.”

Sam chuckled.

“Go to it, Granny,” she said as Lilly gathered her things and followed Phillip into the back.

Sam went to the bar and Earl handed her a drink. Bob took up position next to her, leaning back against the bar as her surveyed the action on the stage. After several minutes of silence, he cleared his throat.

“Would you care to dance?” he asked.

Sam shot him a sharp look.

“No, no, no!” he clarified quickly. “Not on stage, but with me!”

Sam sighed.

“Bob, while I appreciate the offer,” Sam answered, “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“How can dancing be a bad idea?” he asked. “We have just won a minor battle, we saved our bar and the virtue, such as it is, of our ladies, and helped out your grandmother. A little celebration would seem to be in order.”

Behind him, a glass lifted itself from the counter and waited patiently while a bottle upended itself to pour liquid into it. The glass floated to Bobs waiting hand.

“Would you care for one as well?” Bob asked.

“No thanks,” Sam answered, holding her glass for Bob to see.

Sam sighed.

“Look Bob, it isn’t as if I don’t want to dance with you, it’s just that I don’t do well in relationships. Every person I have ever gotten close to has been hurt terribly, either by me, or by association with me. I like you, Bob. I like you a lot. I like you too much to hurt you.”

Bob took a slow sip of his drink and stood in silence for a moment before speaking again.

Samantha,” he began seriously, “I must apologize. I had no idea that in your culture and invitation to dance indicated a marriage proposal. I do hope you can forgive me.”

“See?” Sam retorted. “That is just what I was talking about. Now I have gone and offended you, and…”

Her voice trailed off as she caught sight of Bob’s face. He was trying to suppress a smile and failing terribly.

“It’s just a dance, Samantha.” He said with a chuckle. He held out an arm towards Sam. “Learn to enjoy yourself.”

Sam smiled and took the proffered arm and started leading the way towards the stage before stopping suddenly.

“There isn’t anyplace to dance except on the stage,” She protested.

“You can always leave the little things to me,” Bob told her as he raised his hands again.

Several nearby tables, along with the occupied chairs around them, slowly began to lift into the air. The occupants gave small shouts of alarm before realizing they were in no danger of falling, and then resumed their revelry.

The center of the bar was now devoid of tables, and Bob led Sam into the center of the floor. He took a step back and bowed to Sam. She returned with a small curtsy, and they began to dance around the floor.

One of the Ladies gave a squeal of delight and jumped from the lap of the man she was sitting on and pulled him from his chair towards the floor. The man shouted, as they had been sitting at one of the tables that now hovered a dozen feet over the floor.

Neither of them fell, and they began to dance and spin in the air over Sam and Bob. Sam looked up with a smile and watched as several other pairings joined them. Soon, the floor and the air above it were full of spinning couples, laughter filling the space between.

Sam pulled Bob close and stood on tiptoe to whisper into his ear.

“Granny was right; you are kinda handy to have around.”

Chapter 9

NOTE! This is an ongoing story. If this is your first visit, please read the About This Page link, and then use the archive links to go the first post and read backwards.

Sam vaulted the railing and dropped the dozen feet to the floor. She landed in a crouch, hand gripping the hilt of her sword in its scabbard. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bob in the corner, glowing hand raised. She motioned for him to wait, and the blue flame dancing in his open palm faded.

Earl had poured a small glass of a nasty looking liquid and he placed it in front of the bleeding woman. It sloshed onto the bar and small tendrils of smoke curled around the glass.

The woman grabbed the tiny glass and tossed the vile liquid down her throat with a toss of the head. The glass was slammed violently back onto the bar, and several of ladies and a few men jumped at the sound.

“I wanted a drink,” the woman growled, “not a swallow. Gimme another and do it right this time.”

She turned to face the bar and caught sight of the undead warriors standing at attention with weapons drawn.

“You boys might want to close that door and lock it tight.” She said. “Then, I suggest you make ready for a fight.”

Phillip had left his corner booth and was slowly walking towards the woman, a look of confusion and concentration on his face. Earl placed a mug of the same liquid on the bar in front of the woman, and she dipped a bloody rag into it. She dabbed at a bleeding cut on her forehead with one hand while draining the mug with the other. She put down the drink and took up her sword as she faced Phillip, now only feet away.

“If you want to look like me,” she growled, “just keep staring.”

Phillip paled visibly, and then squinted at the woman.

“Granny Lilly?” he said quietly.

The woman returned the squint as she studied Phillips face.

“Phil?” she asked, the growl vanishing from her voice for the first time. “Is that little Phillip?”

Phillip smiled and stood up straighter.

“Yes, Ma’am” he answered, smiling.

“Come here and give your ol’ granny a hug!” she cried. “You only came up to my knees the last time I saw you!”

“If you don’t mind, Granny, I will wait until you have had a chance to clean up a bit.” Phillip demurred. “These are rather expensive clothes.”

“Of course, dear.”

Sam’s eyes were bouncing back and forth from her brother to her apparent grandmother. Phillip looked her way and Lilly’s eyes followed. They widened in surprise as she saw Sam.

“Hey! I used to have some chain mail just like that!”

Sam’s mouth closed with an audible click as she gained her composure.

“Apparently, this is your armor,” Sam said. “My father gave it to me and said it used to belong to his mother.

Lilly looked back to Phillip. “Sam?” she asked.

Phillip nodded.

Lilly looked back to Sam with a twinkle in her eyes.

“By my shiny brass brassiere!” she cried. “You still had rags to hold the shit in last time I saw you!”

“Yeah, we can catch up on those happy times later,” Sam said, blushing. “For now, I would really like to know why you are dripping blood all over our bar and telling our men to get ready for a fight.”

“Oh, yeah!” she exclaimed, smacking herself on the forehead before remembering the large cut. “Ow, shit! Because there is a group of soldiers that belong to an evil prince hot on my tail, and they are really pissed off at me.”

“Why?” Sam asked.

“The Prince is pissed because I insisted upon him doing something he didn’t want to do, and the troops are pissed because they no longer have the full strength platoon they started out with.”

“And they followed you here?” Sam asked. “Why did you come here?”

“Yes, they followed me here.” Lilly answered testily. “They have been following me for a week. I came here because I needed a drink. Speaking of which…”

She lifted the empty mug and waved it meaningfully at Earl, who hastily refilled it.

“But, why this bar?” Sam pressed. “You didn’t know we were here, how did you know you would find help here?

“Sam, honey, you ain’t listening.” Lilly said with a hint of the gravel returning to her voice. “I didn’t come here looking for help, I came here looking for a drink.”

She drained the mug again and wiped her mouth with her sleeve. She set down the mug and picked up her sword. She cocked her head to one side, listening.

“You should have barred that door like I said,” she announced. “They’re here.”

The door burst open again, and a flood of masked men entered the bar. The women screamed and dashed up the stairs, crowding the railing as they looked down.

The crowd of masks parted as a smug looking man made his way to the front. He slowly looked around the bar, pausing briefly as he took in the sight of a couple of dozen scantily clad women leaning over the railing above him and breathing heavily. At last, his gaze landed on Lilly, who was scowling.

“We have come to take that woman into custody,” he said, pointing at Lilly. “Once we have her in custody, we will require food, drink, and…” he glanced back to the railing, “companionship.”

Sam walked to within a couple of yard of the man. Bob, walking with his head bowed and his fingertips pressed together in front of him, joined her. Tink hopped from her stool and took position on the other side of Sam, a growl in her throat. Bob looked to her, eyebrow arched. Tink looked back at him.

“What?” she asked.

“I thought I heard a kitten purring,” he said before closing his eyes again.

Lilly remained at the bar. Earl hastily refilled her mug again before ducking out of sight. Lilly took another long pull at the mug and placed it on the bar. She saw Phillip, standing at the end of the bar, visibly shaking.

“Phillip, dear,” Lilly said, “this is not your fight. Scurry along now.”

Phillip slowly shook his head. He started to speak, but his voice caught in his throat. He began again.

“Sorry, I can’t do that.” He said. “I don’t know what these men have against you, but they have to pay for wearing all black before the winter solstice.”

Sam took another step forward, trying to regain control of the situation.

“Let’s see your money.” She ordered the leader.

“Money?” the man asked with a snorting laugh. “What money? We are the Elite of Prince Don, we take what we want, and we pay for nothing.”

“This,” Sam said with a sweeping gesture, “is a bar. It has food, it has drink, and it has companionship. None of it is for free. We three are part owners of this bar, and unless you prove you have the ability to pay for the things you demand, we will be forced to ask you to leave.”

The man began to laugh, looking from side to side at his arrayed men, who dutifully laughed along with him.

“You seem to be unaware of the situation, missy,” he said. “You, and all your trollop friends are going to give us what we desire, or we are going to take it by force.”

He glared at Sam through the narrow slit in his mask. “And I claim you for my own personal entertainment.

Sam slowly slid her sword from its scabbard. She stood at the ready and snarled.’

“Then let the games begin.”

Granny Lilly let out a battle yell and leaped across the room. She was halted in mid-air and hung there awkwardly as a silent wall of flame surrounded the men in black.

“A moment, if you please.” Bob said, a gesture from his hand gently lowering Lilly to the ground. He turned to face Sam, his back to the men that were testing the flame.

“We have not yet had the opportunity to put in place any method for the disposal of a large number of bodies,” he stated. “Also, I am concerned about the amount of time it will take to clean up after your entertainment. This is our opening night, after all.”

“We cleaned it once,” Sam snarled, “we can clean it again.”

“Are you quite certain you wouldn’t want to take this outside?”

“Do you see me in the battle crouch?” Sam asked, frustrated. “Just lock the damn door so none of them get away.”

Bob sighed. “As you wish.”

Bob raised his hand and the doors slammed shut behind the circled men in black. The heavy crossbeam fell into place and glowed with a faint blue light.

“Keep my drink full, round boy,” Lilly told Earl before leaping with a scream towards the black clad warriors.

Sam took her grandmothers cue and leapt at the leader, who was waiting for her with his sword at the ready. Sam’s blade flashed and drew sparks from opponents. He parried skillfully, deftly blocking her blade while pivoting underneath. He spun around, his arm whipping the blade with a snap of the wrist at Sam, who wasn’t there. She had taken advantage of the moment his blind spot during his spin to move behind him, burying her sword into the belly of another of his troops. She used her boot to shove the twitching corpse from her blade, spinning to face the leader. Her way was blocked by four more troops, her back to a mess of overturned tables. With a scream, she charged the men, blade flashing as she cut down the two center men while making a dash for the stage. Turning, she faced the troops from the higher vantage point.

Lilly had opted for a less flashy approach to her battles. She waded into the mob, brawling with her fists. She clenched a dagger in her fist, using its heavy hilt to add momentum and impact. Her fist smashed a black masked face, then spun the blade to bury into the middle of his gut. Yanking the blade free, she flung it with horrible accuracy into another mans shoulder before grabbing the next that was reaching for her by the arm. Lending her not insignificant weight to the task, she spun him around several times before releasing her hold to toss him several yards onto a table, which smashed under the impact.

As Lilly retrieved her dagger, Tink rushed into the pile of lumber that a moment before had been a table and purloined one of its legs. The man Lilly had tossed there started to get up, and Tink delivered a nasty crack to his head with her new weapon. He quickly fell back among the rubble. Tink dashed to one of the few tables that remained intact and leaped upon it. She began swinging her club around her at any black mask she saw, the momentum carrying her around half a turn with every swing. What she lacked in accuracy, she made up for in enthusiasm, and soon combatants on both sides of the fray avoided her table.

Bob sat on a stool, his back leaning against the bar. He calmly sipped a steaming mug of liquid as he watched the proceedings. His head followed the action as he watched. It turned to left, then the right, then towards the ceiling for an unusually long time before returning to the level. Every time a masked intruder ventured near, an undead warrior intercepted him. One of them slid a long dagger into the bare chest of an undead warrior, an evil smile on his face. The warriors blank eyes slowly looked down to its chest to see the hilt protruding. One had gripped the hilt of the buried dagger as the other shot forward to grip his foe by the neck. The dagger came free with a sickening sound, leaving a nasty, black hole. The enemy looked past the meaty hand that was starting to lift him from the ground at the bloodless wound before staring in horror into the dead eyes of the lifeless warrior.

“Hrrrkk?” the man asked before the hilt of his dagger caved in his skull. The warrior release the corpse and it crumpled to the ground.

Sam still stood in the center of the stage, a semi-circle of opponents on the lower level. None of them seemed anxious to be the first to join her in battle.

“Awww,” she taunted. “What’s the matter, boys? Got stage fright?”

Bob guffawed from the bar.

“Bravo!” he cried. “Jolly good, jolly good indeed!”

One of the men in the back of the bar raced forward, a huge javelin at the ready. With a grunt, he hurled it at Sam. Sam skittered to the side and her hand latched onto the shaft of the javelin, and she allowed its inertia to carry her into a spin. After two complete circles, she twirled it over her head before finishing in a battle crouch, javelin held across her body with one leg stretched to her side. She sheathed her broadsword and beckoned the men with a finger and a wink.

Furious, the six men all rushed the stage. Sam used the javelin to brush the first man aside and used the follow through to deliver a blow to the back of the head of another, sending him sprawling across the stage. Raising the javelin high over her head in both hands, Sam let out a mighty grunt as she plunged the metal point deep into the hard wood. She pulled back on the free end until the flexible wood of the javelins staff started creaking ominously. As Sam leapt off the stage, the tension propelled her feet first into the face of another attacker.

Rebounding back to the center of the stage, she kept hold of the makeshift pole, spinning around to kick at attacker after attacker. Before long, the stage was littered with comatose bodies.

“Gods, girl!” Lilly cried from her brawl across the bar. “Don’t kill ‘em all, save some for me!”

“You have plenty!” retorted Sam. “Don’t be so damn greedy!”

“I agree with Samantha,” Bob said in a raised voice from his position at the bar. “I think the other ladies would welcome a chance to defend their new home.”

He raised a finger and a slinking man about to plunge a dagger into Lilly’s bag rose into the air. Bob traced a path in the air in front him, the kicking man following until he hovered with his back to the assembled ladies at the upper railing.

Stella grabbed a large serving tray from the hands of a stunned waitress and slammed it forcefully against his head.

Bob closed his hand into a fist and the man dropped to the floor. Bob opened his hand and lifted the man again into the air. Another serving tray met its untimely end against his skull and his head lolled forward onto his chest. Bob turned his attention elsewhere and the man fell again, not moving after he hit the floor.

Only a handful of black suited men remained mobile. Some were still fighting; some were trying to crawl out the door. One was running around the bar, hopping over broken chairs and overturned tables, hotly pursued by the screaming Tink. Her table leg was swinging wildly, connecting with just about everything Tink passed except the man she was pursuing.

“Tink!” called Sam.

Tink slid to a stop, and the man she had been pursuing joined his companions. They formed a shaky circle, swords pointed out.

“What!?” Tink responded, frustrated.

“Why don’t we stop killing and maiming these guys long enough to see if they are ready to answer our questions?”

“Why?” Tink and Granny Lilly asked together.

“I want to know if they want to continue fighting and losing, or if they want to return to their boss with an ultimatum.” Sam asked calmly. “Bob, can you keep them from going anywhere for a minute?”

“Sure thing, Sam.”

Bob clapped his hands together and a pillar of flames erupted from the floor in front of the men, who started backing away. Bob’s hands separated and described a circle in the air. The pillar split, and mimicked the path of Bob’s hands to encircle the men.

Granny Lilly dropped her sword from the ready position and the point sunk several inches into the floor. She leaned on the hilt casually, facing Sam and Bob.

“I wasn’t done with them yet, you know?”

“OK, Grandma,” Sam began. “Why are these guys after you?”

Chapter 8

NOTE! This is an ongoing story. If this is your first visit, please read the About This Page link, and then use the archive links to go the first post and read backwards.

Samantha and the ladies of the Chain Mail Bikini had spent several weeks changing the interior décor of their new bar. Sam and Tink had claimed a large room upstairs as their living quarters, even though Tink did not require much space. Bob the Mage had discovered a narrow door leading to a disused wine cellar and promptly set up his laboratory. Once empty shelves for wine now held a dizzying array of potions and ingredients, most of which the ladies refused to ask the contents of. Bob spent several days in the surrounding forest, accompanied by several re-animated stone masons selecting and shaping a large slab to be used as a table. He levitated it through the center of town and into his lab.

The bar itself had undergone a radical transformation. Gone was the filthy sawdust on the floor, and the hardwood underneath had been repaired, leveled and polished until it gleamed. Long neglected brass works once again shone brilliantly, reflecting the light from the now cobweb free chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. A huge fireplace had been swept out and now sat unused, this being the warm season. Several logs sat on the fire grate, ready to be lit in case of an early chill.

Sam sent a small group of women to her hometown, and they worked out a deal with the glassblower. The ancient, soiled tankards had been replaced with shiny new glasses and mugs. The huge ale kegs behind the bar had been drained of the watered down grog and refilled with a new batch of what Tink had called ‘the good stuff.’

The fanciful filly sign had been torn from its remaining hinge and ceremonially burned, and with a crowd gathered, replaced it with a new sign. It had been hand carved by a local carver with the understanding that the better the sign looked, the longer he would drink free. The ladies were so happy with the sign they happily agreed to two months of drunken revelry, free of charge. The sign bore the name in large raised letters in an arc over a startlingly realistic depiction of a woman’s torso clad in the chain mail bikini that gave the place its name. Although the craftsman had been sworn to secrecy under penalty of death, Sam allowed herself a private smile every time someone commented favorably about the sign. She had snuck off several times to model for the carver.

Sam’s brother Phillip had spent several weeks visiting on a working vacation, shopping and designing the interior décor. The women had watched in amazement as colorful bolts of fabric were transformed under Phillips skilled hands into curtains and wall hangings that accentuated the décor without making the bar look crowded or gaudy. He then assisted each of the ladies in transforming their room from the spartan quarters they had been living in into small apartments they could be proud of.

Soon, the day arrived for the grand re-opening. The girls were dressed in their finest new attire, also designed and created by Phillip. They looked radiant in their work clothes that hinted at being made of chain mail. In some cases, actual chain mail was being worn, gleaming in the sunlight of the street. The clothes were designed to show just enough flesh to tantalize the male clientele, and cover just enough to make them want to see more. After much deliberation and heated discussion, a musical group was formed from their ranks to provide background to the dancing the other girls performed on a small stage. It had been decided that those who were willing would have free reign over their attire while gyrating on stage, including revealing hidden bits of anatomy. It was agreed that this method was much preferred over the old method of taking the men upstairs for the ultimate in ‘personal entertainment.’

Large decorated urns had been placed at strategic locations around the bar and especially on the stage where the men could throw coins as incentive for the ladies to reveal more of their flesh. It was agreed that the proceeds of the urns would go into the common pot and divided among everyone according to ownership percentages.

There had been an expression of concern from many of the ladies that they may not be safe in an environment where they removed articles of clothing around drunken men who were used to getting more for their money. Bob arrived at a unique solution. He traveled to a distant battlefield and re-animated a score of fallen warriors. They were charged with the defense of the ladies and the property. Bob had locked himself in his laboratory for a week after the ladies complained that the odor of decaying flesh would drive away customers and employees alike. He finally emerged, gaunt but triumphant, holding a new potion of his own design that halted and reversed the process of decay. The process took about as long as normal healing, but the undead troops now stood guard around the bar. They never spoke, they never ate, and they never stopped scanning for any signs of trouble.

* * *

The ladies stood in the main room of the bar, fidgeting nervously. Sam, Bob and Stella stood with their backs to the door, facing the assembled Ladies of the Chain Mail Bikini.

“We have managed to create a miracle through hard work, ladies,” Stella announced. “We have a beautiful bar, we have beautiful ladies, and we have plenty to drink and eat.”

She paused and smiled at each of the ladies in front of her, “Now let’s open this door and make ourselves a shitload of money!”

As the ladies cheered, Bob lifted a finger and the massive cross beam holding the doors locked lifted its self away and found its niche in a dark corner. The doors swung wide, and the waning sunlight barged into the room, shining on the still cheering women.

As eyes adjusted, the cheering came to a ragged halt. Silhouetted in the doorway was a large, familiar figure.

“Um, hi,” Earl said nervously.

Stella stepped forward, hands imperiously placed on her hips and a scowl on her face.

“What the hell are you doing here?” She asked.

“I found out that I am a terrible farmer,” Earl answered.

“And?” Stella prompted.

“All of my goats died.”

“And?”

“And my chickens wouldn’t lay eggs.”

Stella waved a hand in a circular motion, indicating Earl should continue.

“Because they were all roosters.”

Stella’s foot began tapping impatiently.

“But I am still a pretty good bartender,” Earl concluded. “I was hoping for a job.”

The ladies began to mutter to each other and in Earl’s general direction as Stella exchanged a glance with Sam.

“Gather around!” she ordered the ladies.

A tight circle of bodies surrounded Stella.

“Well?” she asked them.

“I don’t know, boss,” said one. “The bruises on my ass just finished healing.”

“In spite of his other shortcomings,” piped in another. “He was a pretty good bartender.”

“It doesn’t matter to me,” said Helga, the largest of the assembled women. “He pretty much left me alone.”
“That’s because you can kick his ass!” retorted another.

The discussion ground to a halt, many ladies chewing a lip or furrowing a brow in thought.

“How about we give him a trial run, with conditions?” Stella proposed.

The ladies returned an unenthusiastic agreement, and the group broke into a semi-circle surrounding Stella.

“Earl!” Stella called. “Get over here.”

Earl slowly entered the bar, head turning as he took in the new décor. He stopped a few feet away and waited expectantly.

“We have decided to give you a trial period,” Stella informed him. “But you are going to work under our conditions.”

“What exactly are the conditions?” Earl asked suspiciously.

“One: You are not allowed to give away anything. No food, no drinks, nothing.”

Elmer nodded.

“Two: Hands off the owners. No butt pinching, slapping or grabbing. You don’t lay a hand on anyone.”

Another nod.

“Your wages will be the food you eat and five gold pieces a month.” Stella continued. “Anything you drink from the bar, you pay for. And you don’t drink on the job.”

“Done,” Earl agreed. “Anything else?”

Stella looked around at the girls and received a multitude of shrugs and head shakes. Her eyes fell on Tink, who was glaring at Earl evilly.

“Just one more, Earl.” Stella said with a smirk. “If you break any of our rules, no matter how trivial, Tink will be the one who decides what your punishment will be, and she will carry it out.”

Earl blanched as Tink let out a squeal of delight and jumped up and down while clapping her hands furiously.

“That,” Earl said hesitantly, “is a very good incentive. Does that mean that I’m hired?”

Stella glanced around the room one more time. There were many stony faces and distrust showed on many, but there were no objections. She paused a moment, eyes locking with Sams, silently asking her advice. Sam shrugged.

“It’s your call,” she said.

Stella sighed, then looked one more time at Earl before jerking a thumb over her shoulder towards the bar.

“Get your ass back there before we change our minds,” she said.

Earl tried with limited success to suppress a smile as he walked across the floor. He paused in front of Stella and said, “Thanks, Stella. I’m amazed with what you have done with the place.”

“Just get ready to serve drinks.” Stella responded. “Don’t forget, you are on probation and can be booted back out on your ass at any time.”

Earl quickly took his place behind the bar.

Everyone watched the door expectantly. It didn’t open. They continued to watch for several minutes, during which time it continued to fail to open. After several more minutes, the ladies began sitting at tables one by one, some solitary, some in small groups. No one talked. The only sound was from Earl’s needless and nervous cleaning of the new glasses.

So softly that it almost went unnoticed, the latch on the door clicked. The door crept slowly open until a head poked it’s way in. The eyes in the head darted nervously around the room, taking in all the ladies. The head pivoted, and the eyes scanned the other half of the bar. They froze on Earl.

Earl placed the glass he had been polishing into a rack, then lifted his head in greeting to the head in the doorway.

“Howdy, Stan.” he said as he calmly picked up another glass and resumed polishing.

Stan’s head retreated and the door slowly crept shut again, the latch clicking back into place.

Stella turned around to face the assembled ladies with her hands stretched to her sides. A questioning look on her face asked them all, “What the hell was that about?” She whirled round to face the door as a loud voice sounded from the street.

“He ain’t dead!” it cried.

Moments later, the door burst open and a flood of men crowded into the bar. Tables quickly filled as the ladies scurried out of the way, faces a mixture of horror and confusion. After several minutes, the sounds of bussling feet and scraping chairs subsided. There wasn’t an empty seat in the house, and all faces were looking to Stella.

She faced the crowd, eyes misting slightly. “Well, Earl,” she said. “Starting pulling mugs. What are you ladies waiting for? These men look thirsty!”

The men and the Ladies of the Chain Mail Bikini erupted into load cheers. The band struck up a lively number and the ladies began delivering frothy mugs of ale. Earl was starting to sweat, and Bob stepped behind the bar to assist. The sounds of laughter and clinking mugs mixed with the music. One by one, different ladies would take to the raised dance floor, gyrating to the music. The ones not dancing were circulating among the crowd, explaining the house rules of behavior to the patrons. Soon, the sound of coins clinking into the urns joined the cacophony, along with shouts of appreciation and encouragement.

Stella stood on the balcony, looking down on the scene. Sam joined her at the railing, and the two women watched in silence.

“Something wrong?” Sam finally asked.

“Not a thing,” Stella answered with a satisfied sigh. “Not a single thing.”

“It looks like we’re a big hit.”

“I think every person in town is here.” Stella said. “Even some of the wives. They’ve never come in before.”

“I was a bit surpised by the number of femal customers myself,” Sam said. “Knowing the general attitude of the area, I would have thought that most of them would be upset about the skimpy attire.”

Stella laughed. “You aren’t going to believe this, but I had several of women ask where they could get some the clothes they have seen, and at least two were wondering how to get a job here.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Nope. I am going to have to call a meeting to discuss it with the rest of the ladies. Are we going to allow others to work here? How will we divvy up the money? Will they be partners or employees? There are a lot of decisions to make.”

“And you are just loving it.”

“Is it that obvious?” Stella asked with a smile.

“I have been watching you closely for the last hour to make sure I didnt have to call a doctor for a facial sprain.”

Stella laughed again. “I didn’t think that was possible!” she said when she had caught her breath. “But you know, it seems like I have been waitig for this my whole life, and now that it has happened, I am really anxious to…”

She was cut off by the sound of the front door crashing violently open. A large woman filled the frame of the doorway for a moment before stumbling to the bar. Several people jumped out of her way as she made her weaving path, leaving a trail of blood behind her. The woman slammed her bloody sword onto the bar as she slumped into a stool.

“Gimme the strongest stuff you got,” she demanded in a gravelly voice.

Chapter 7

NOTE! This is an ongoing story. If this is your first visit, please read the About This Page link, and then use the archive links to go the first post and read backwards.

Sam awoke to the sounds of glass beads tinkling in the darkness. Instantly alert, she very quietly and carefully moved her hand from her sword to a dagger at her waist. Opening her eyes the barest fraction, she scanned the room without moving her head. A figure stood in the darkness, its form outlined in the flickering light coming from the window. The figure stood near Bob, who still slept soundly. Sam tensed her body, preparing to leap upon the figure at the first sign of danger. The figure raised an arm to its head, and Sam slid the dagger from her belt. She saw the flash of lace about the figures wrist and the dagger slid noiselessly back into place with a silent exhale.

Sam quietly stood and approached Phillip, laying a hand gently upon his shoulder. He gave a small start as he turned to face her. Sam made a motion with her head towards the front room. Phillip nodded and followed her into the shop proper.

“What were you doing in there?” Sam asked quietly once the sleeping area was safely behind them.

“I was just… uh…” Phillip stammered, “Looking for something.”

“You aren’t going to find what you are looking for in there,” Sam told him sternly.

Phillip lowered his eyes shamefully.

“Are you and he…”

“No, Phillip, we are not together,” Sam said, her voice softening. “But I know him well enough to say that he doesn’t pick from the same flower bed you do.”

The two looked at each other in uncomfortable silence for several minutes. Finally Phillip let out a deep sigh.

“I didn’t mean any harm, Sam.” Phillip said sadly. “I was only looking.”

“It was creepy, Phil,” Sam’s stern voice had returned. “If I woke up to find someone watching me like that, I would probably attack first and then see what they were up to. And Bob is a mage, he might react with a little more force than a gasp of surprise.”

“You’re right, of course,” Phillip said with another deep sigh. “I just get so lonely, Sam. There are aren’t that many that share my tastes, and those that don’t tend to show their opinions with their fists. I am reduced to ogling and fantasizing just to make sure that I don’t get beaten.”

“You just need to be more careful, Phil,” Sam told her brother, putting an arm around his shoulder. “Most men are going to react that way, and I don’t think that you are very well suited towards brawling.”

“That’s true,” Phillip answered with a half smile. He withdrew from Sam’s embrace and sat down on a pile of fabric.

“Any luck with the pearls?” Sam asked after another long silence.

“Oh!” cried Phillip, glad to be off the subject. “Yes, very good luck indeed! Here.”

He tossed two small leather pouches to Sam, who caught one in each hand. She tucked one into her waistband and opened the other. Looking inside, she gave a low whistle of appreciation.

“Is the other as full as this?” she asked.

“They are both the same,” Phillip answered. “He wouldn’t give me a price for each, only as the set. But the price was good enough that I took it and split it down the middle.”

Sam tossed the pouch she had been examining back to Phillip.

“Give this one to Bob when he wakes up,” she said. “I’m going to go get something to eat.”

“There’s a tavern two streets south and one east that has the best food,” Phillip offered. “But it’s kind of a rough place, especially this time of night.”

Sam slipped her head and arm through the strap of her scabbard and cinched it tight.

“I usually don’t worry too much about that sort of thing,” she said with a smile. “Tell the other two where I went when they wake up.”

“All right,” Phillip said, eyes flickering towards the doorway.

“And no watching him sleep,” Sam reminded her brother.

“I’ll keep busy cleaning the shop,” he promised. “Be careful, Sam.”

“I’m always careful,” she answered with a smile, and then she stepped out of the doorway into the street.

* * *

Sam walked down the dirty streets following Phillips directions. She looked from side to side, surveying the condition of the cottages and shops. When she reached the correct location, she looked up to see a wooden sign dangling at an awkward angle from one iron hook. The other hook was broken, and judging by the rust, had been for quite some time.

“The Fanciful Philly,” Sam read aloud. “How quaint.”

Sam pushed her way through the wooden doors that complained loudly, old hinges screaming in protest. She was immediately assaulted by noise and the unholy stench of booze and sweat. Rowdy men of all shapes sizes and odors were arrayed around the large room, seated at dimly lit tables. A multitude of women in various states of undress circulated among the tables, occasionally stopping to talk to groups of men who would start being more boisterous.

A quick scan of the bar revealed an empty table in a dark corner, away from the majority of the crowd. Sam walked a rapid path towards it, her circuitous route winding around several of the crowded tables.

As she passed by a group of men who were laughing drunkenly, a pudgy hand reached out and took hold of Sam’s lower set of chain mail, and the anatomy underneath.

“Hey there, honey!” the owner of the hand slurred loudly, “Sit that fine ass down! We can have ourselves a real good time.”

Sam stopped mid stride and turned to face her assailant. The hand did not release its hold on her.

“Hey there yourself,” she purred at the man. “You’re quite the frisky devil, aren’t ya? Like what you feel?”

The man gave a couple of experimental squeezes.

“It doesn’t have as much give as I usually like,” he said, continuing to knead Sam’s flesh, “But as my fisher friends here always tell me, any port in a storm.”

Sam smiled at the man and batted her eyes as she shifted position to lean a little closer to the man.

“How would you like to feel more,” she asked, simpering.

The man turned his friends and gave a knowing look, then turned his watery eyes back to Sam.

His eyes almost, but not quite made it all the way back up to her face.

“I would defin.. itl… um, absotiv…” he paused and seemed to come to the conclusion that big words were beyond his current capacity.

“Yes,” he finished lamely.

With a flash, Sam’s dagger was at the mans throat and her sword free of its scabbard and poised above her head, ready to swing.

The dagger pressed tightly against the flabby skin, indenting the flesh dangerously.

“Can you feel that?” Sam asked in a dangerous whisper. “Are you feeling anything more now?”

The man’s eyes were wide, sobriety seeming to come to him in a flash. He said nothing in answer to Sam’s question.

“If you ever want to feel anything ‘more’ with that hand again, I suggest you remove it,” Sam snarled, “Now.”

Every eye in the tavern was watching the scene, the mans friends had all become instantly silent. The man very carefully removed his hand from Sam’s body and let it fall to his side, fingertips dangling near the floor. He tentatively tried to back away from the dagger at his throat. When it did not follow, he continued leaning back, away from the sharp edge until the front feet of his chair left the ground. Sam watched him carefully, holding the dagger steadily in place until the chair was at a rather precarious angle. She suddenly gave a tiny flick of the dagger towards the man and he overbalanced and he toppled over backwards, arms flailing uselessly. He lay on the sawdust covered floor, staring up at Sam.

Sam flicked her wrist and the dagger was back inside her belt. The sword went back into its scabbard as quickly as it had been removed. Without a word, she turned her back on the sprawling man and continued her path towards her selected table. The crowd began talking softly, and in moments the tavern was filled with the low hum of a hundred quiet voices. By the time Sam reached her table and seated herself, the hum had grown into the cacophony it had been when Sam had entered.

Sam sat quietly at her table for several minutes, scanning the crowd, glaring down any curious stares that came her way. When she was satisfied that she wouldn’t be bothered, she began looking for a barmaid. To her surprise, one was already making her way through the crowd towards her table.

“Wine?” the barmaid asked without preamble.

“Uh, yes, please,” Sam answered as the woman placed a large goblet in front of her.

Caught off guard by the prompt service, she fumbled at her belt pouch for a few coins. A gentle hand stopped her before she could unfasten the drawstring.

“You don’t pay for anything tonight, sweetie,” the server told her. “You put Earl in his place, and that paid your tab.”

“Oh, umm, thanks,” Sam stammered, still a bit confused. “I gather that he is a bit of a problem on a regular basis?”

For an answer, the woman turned her back on Sam and raised the hem of her skirt to expose her buttocks. They were covered with dark purple bruises, and one red mark that was quickly blossoming to match its neighbors. The woman let the skirt fall and turned to face Sam again.

“Does that answer your question?”

“Yes,” Sam said tightly. “Have you talked to the owner? Can he get them to stop?”

“That was the owner.”

“Oh, really.” Sam said with narrowed eyes pointed at Earl, who quickly turned his own gaze away. “And I gather that he doesn’t exactly discourage similar behavior from the customers?”

“Exactly the opposite.”

“Then I am a bit confused,” Sam turned her gaze back to the barmaid. “I don’t think that he is the one buying me a drink, so who is?”

“Me,” she answered, “And some of the other ladies as well. We have a community fund that we set up and everybody pitches into. Your drinks are coming out of that fund.”

“Not that it’s any of my business, but why did you set up this fund?”

“It’s a long story,” she answered evasively.

“I have time,” Sam retorted, “And the longer you are standing here, the less frequently your ass will get grabbed.”

“Good point,” she said as she shifted to a more comfortable position leaning against the table. “A few years back, a woman a lot like you came in here and Earl did pretty much the same thing to her. She wound up kicking the shit out of pretty much everyone in the place.”

“She went nuts and tore into everyone in the bar for that? Sam asked, surprised.

“Nooo,” the barmaid said slowly, surveying the room with a practiced eye. “She did it because they all ganged up on her, like they are getting ready to do to you.”

A quick glance around the room confirmed the girls statement. About a third of the men were making their cautious way towards the door, and the rest were glaring at Sam and murmuring under their breath. Earl was in the center of the room, talking feverishly to several men who were gathered in a circle around him. They were all nodding in turn as he gestured instructions for each of them.

Sam heaved a great sigh and turned her attention back towards the barmaid.

“I’m still too damn tired for this shit,” she said. “That still hasn’t explained the collection plate you gals have.”

The girl was looking back and forth between Sam and the gathering crowd.

“Well,” she began nervously, “We were hoping that she would come back. If she did, then we were going to offer her the money to get into another fight with Earl and maybe do a little more damage. Like maybe permanent damage. Like dead damage.”

“Why don’t you just kill him yourself?” Sam asked, keeping an eye on the crowd. She estimated she had about five more minutes before they were all in place and had enough liquid courage poured into their gullets.

“We know that if Earl dies, the bar goes to his son,” the barmaid was talking faster now, anxious to get out of the fight that was inevitably coming. “His son doesn’t want anything to do with the bar, so we were going to buy it from him. We figured that he wouldn’t want to sell it to the ladies that killed his old man.”

“Why not just buy it from Earl?”

“We tried,” she answered, beginning to back away towards a far corner where the rest of the ladies had gathered. “He took the money then claimed that he didn’t know what we were talking about the next day.”

“You mean he cheated you?” Sam asked, eyes narrowing.

“Yeah, and then he started taking a bigger cut of what we made so it would be harder to get the money together again.”

A loud voice bellowed across the tavern.

“Stella! Stop flapping your lips and get back to work!” Earl yelled.

Sam took a firm hold on Stella’s arm as she glowered at the man.

“Stay here,” she ordered.

“But…” Stella protested.

“Make him come to us,” Sam whispered, turning her eyes upward to meet Stella’s. “And see if you can get some more of the women to join us without leaving my table.”

Stella looked at her nervously and fidgeted as she darted quick glances around the room. Earl glared at the pair of women, but made no move towards them. Seeing that she was not in any immediate danger, Stella stopped fidgeting when she caught the eye of another barmaid and motioned her over. The maid glanced at the group of men nervously, but gave a small nod and walked over to join them. Sam ordered her to gather the rest of the girls and return as quickly as possible. Soon, the still seated Samantha was surrounded by the female workers of the tavern, and the male patrons were gathered around Earl.

The two groups faced each other in silence. A brash male voice from the crowd broke the tense silence.

“Earl, what the hell is going on here?” he asked. “My ale is empty and I’m getting lonely.”

Earl looked at his cronies arrayed around him and found his bravery in their numbers.

“You wenches get back to work!” he ordered in a loud voice.

Sam stood and moved to the forefront of the gathered women.

“What makes you think you have any right to order them around?” she asked, voice eerily calm. “They don’t work for you.”

“The hell they don’t,” Earl retorted, stepping a few paces forward and placing his beefy hands on a table as he leaned towards Sam.

“They bought this place from you,” Sam said, walking to the same table Earl was leaning on. She matched his pose as the two glared across the table.

“No they didn’t,”

An angry collective protest arose from the ladies. Sam held up a hand to silence them before continuing.

“Yes, they did.” She countered. “They made you an offer. You accepted and took their money. Then you lied about having done so.”

Earl stood from his leaning stance and addressed the assembled men in a loud voice.

“Who owns this place?” he asked.

“You!” came the scattered but unanimous response from the men.

“You see?” Earl asked as he resumed his leaning posture, “Everyone in town knows that this is my place.

Sam rose abruptly and Earl took an involuntary step back.

“Everyone in town is about to learn the truth,” Sam said, voice cold. She raised her voice and addressed the tavern. “These women bought and paid for this bar. They own it, and they want you all to leave, right now. Earl, you are going to walk out of this bar and never return. The rest of you are welcome to come back under the new management.”

Earl began to laugh and was quickly joined by the rest of the men. He advanced on Sam, moving around the table and cracking his knuckles. A nasty leer spread across his face as he moved, then he suddenly stopped.

It took a moment for him to realize that he had stopped, since his legs had continued to move. He glanced down at the floor to see his still walking feet hovering several inches above the sawdust covered floor. His eyes widened as he stopped moving his ineffective feet, then he turned a nasty look on Sam, who favored him with a bemused shrug.

“Don’t glare at me,” she told him. “I can’t do anything like that.”

Earl looked helplessly at his cronies, who retuned the look in kind. He looked around the bar, hoping to see the source of his predicament, but stopped when he heard a high pitched voice from the area of his feet.

“Place your bets, Ladies and Gentlemen!” Tink cried. “Round and round he goes, where he stops, nobody knows! Heads or tails?”

Tink took a firm hold on each of Earl’s pant legs and gave a mighty yank. Earl began to spin in mid air, his ample belly the center point as his head exchanged places with his feet. Earl continued to spin head over heels as he flailed his arms wildly and spewed curses furiously.

“Hi, Sam,” Tink said, turning her back on the spinning innkeep. “Miss us?”

Bob sat down at Samantha’s vacated table and touched his fingertips together in front of his face.

“Interesting establishment,” he said as he surveyed his surroundings. “I love the décor.”

Sam reclaimed her chair and fell casually into it, propping one booted foot onto the table.

“The service is great,” she said with a grin, “But it seems to suffer from poor management. I was about to see what I could do to improve the situation. I think some staff cuts may be in order.”

Bob grimaced.

“That was horrible,” he whispered as Earl slowed to a stop.

Tink stood beneath Earls prostate form, looking straight up into his face as he hovered several feet above the floor. She flashed the sweaty man an evil grin before hopping onto the table.

“Who had horizontal?” she cried. “Anyone? Anyone? Nobody had horizontal? Then the pot doubles and we spin again!”

Tink jumped from her perch, grabbing two tiny handfuls of Earls hair on the way to the floor and yanking violently.

With a scream of pain, Earl once again began a rapid rotation.

He was beginning to look a little green.

Bob turned his attention away from the side show and directed his attention back to Sam.

“What did you intend to do to rectify this little problem?” he asked.

“These lovely ladies,” Sam gestured with her flagon of ale, “Gave the fat man a load of money to purchase this establishment quite some time ago. He seems to have forgotten the transaction, and I was going to prod his memory a bit.”

Earl’s rotation once again slowed to a halt, his head several inches from the floor.

“Tails!” Tink cried. “I had tails! I win! Gimme a drink!”

One of the barmaids filled a mug with ale and set it on a chair near Tink. The elf grabbed hold of the handle and slurped greedily at the mugs contents. She slammed it back down on the floor and wiped foam from her face with her sleeve. She heaved a great sigh of satisfaction and grabbed Earls sleeve.

“One! More! Time!” she cried.

Bob lifted a hand as he rose from his chair

“Hold, Tink,” he said. “I would speak with the inverted gentleman.”

Bob walked around the table and gently removed Tink’s hand from Earls arm. Gently, he turned the man upright and turned to face the crowd. He pulled a small round object from an inner pocket and held it aloft.

“Does anyone know what this is?” he asked.

“I seen me one of them once,” said a voice. “That there is a Truth Stone.”

“Correct.” Bob said. “For those that don’t know, a Truth Stone will glow bright red if a lie is told, and blue for a truth.”

Bob held the stone with his thumb and forefinger and gently held it over Earls head. Gingerly, he released it and it hovered in place.

“I’m going to ask you a few yes or no questions, Earl.” he said.

“I ain’t sayin’ nothin,” Earl retorted defiantly.

Sam hopped from her chair and strode quickly to Earl and gave Bob a glance. Bob gave a small nod and Sam gave Earl a quick shove. He spun backwards and Sam grabbed a foot and held him upside down once again. She held the leg with a firm grip and quickly shoved the barkeep towards the floor. A hollow thud arose from Earls head as it hit the floor.

“Yes, Earl,” Sam said as she bent forward to look him in the inverted eyes, “you are.”

Earls spinning eyes glared back at Sam.

“That hurt, you bitch!” he snarled.

“Oh, we cant have that,” Tink said with a scowl. She deftly produced a leather glove from her belt and put a tiny hand in it. The leather fingers jammed into Earl’s nostrils and Tink began a rapid lap around the bar, towing the fat man like a child’s wagon, occasionally bouncing his head against chairs, tables and floors. She returned him to his original spot, and Bob carefully adjusted the position of the Truth Stone.

“No more big boy words, Mister Latrine Mouth,” Tink said as she wiped her gloved fingers on Earl’s soiled garments.

“Well, if the high jinks are concluded,” Bob intoned, “would you please tell me your full name?”

Earl visibly tightened his lips and remained silent.

Sam strode forward and reached for a foot.

“Okay!” Earl cried before the clasp took hold. “It’s Earl Futzwaggle.”

“Futzwaggle?” Sam, Bob and Tink repeated in astonishment.

“Yeah, Futzwaggle.” Earl said defiantly. “It is an old and respected name!”

The Truth Stone glowed with a cool blue light.

“Do you own this establishment? Bob continued his interrogation.

“Yes.”

The blue glow paled for a moment, then strengthened to its original hue.

“Did you accept money from these women with the understanding that they were purchasing this, ahem, thriving enterprise from you?” Bob asked.

“No.”

The stone flared into bright red, casting an unhealthy hue across the crowd, who gasped.

“I’m sorry, Earl,” Bob said while looking at the glowing stone. “Would you care to restate your answer?”

“I said no, you pompous bastard!” Earl bellowed. “I never took no money from those whores!”

The stone grew brighter, a thin tendril of black smoke appearing and curling slowly towards the distant ceiling.

“What did I say about your potty mouth?” Tink asked. She put a boot on Earl’s chin and stepped up. She made a few carefully balanced hops, rapping Earls skull on the floor repeatedly.

Sam watched the strange interplay until Earl’s eyes began to cross, then pulled Tink from her new favorite game.

“You have one more chance to make that stone turn blue,” she told him. “Then I turn her loose and walk away.”

“Okay, okay.” Earl said with a resigned sigh. “I took money from them.”

The stone turned blue.

“What was the money for?” Bob asked.

“They were buying an interest in the bar.”

“How much of an interest?”

“Half,” Earl stated, his face red from the prolonged inversion. “Will you turn me up, please? My head is pounding.”

Sam turned to face Stella, who had been watching silently.

“What were the terms?” she asked

“We keep what we make, he keeps the take from the bar.” Stella answered.

“That sounds fair, Earl,” Sam offered as she faced the barkeep once again. “Why didn’t you follow through with the agreement?”

“Because my customers don’t come in here for the drinks,” Earl spluttered. “I couldn’t make any kind of a living from just that.”

“You could if you would quit giving the drinks away for free!” one of the assembled girls shouted.

“And us!” shouted another.

Sam rested a casual hand on Earl’s foot.

“Is that true?” she asked.

Earl did not answer, his lips pursing together once again. Sam began a slow push and Earl’s head began to creep towards the floor.

“Yes!” he blurted, and the truth stone flared once again to bright blue.

“How much did they give you?” Bob asked

“Five hundred gold pieces.”

Bob glanced at the stone and confirmed that its color remained blue.

Sam turned back towards Stella.

“How much have you saved up since then?”

Stella motioned to the other women and they all gathered into a quietly murmuring circle. After a few minutes, Stella emerged from the group.

“We have another two hundred and fifty.” She said

“WHAT?” roared Earl. “I knew you were holding out on me! That’s my money! You lied….”

He fell silent as Sam once again bounced his head against the floor. The voice trailed away as Earl faded from consciousness.

“Gods, the man is loud,” Sam said as she took a pouch from her belt and tossed it to Tink. “Count that up, would you Tink?”

“What are you doing?” Stella asked Sam in a whisper.

Sam held up a finger, but did not answer. Tink’s nimble fingers poured the coins onto the table and rapidly counted them into stacks.

“A little over two hundred,” Tink announced when all of the coins were in stacks.

“Damn,” muttered Sam with a scowl.

Bob strode to Sam’s side. She looked at him quizzically.

“Halves?” he asked.

Sam beamed a smile at him, eliciting a flush in the man’s face.

“Deal!” she said and held out a hand. Bob shook it with great ceremony, returning the smile shyly.

Sam released her clasp on the magicians hand and turned to Stella.

“Get your savings and bring it here,” She ordered. “Tink, count out a hundred and twenty-five gold.”

Bob took a pouch from his cloak and poured coins into his hand. He added stack after stack to Tink’s collection.

Stella returned to the table carrying a wooden box. She stopped in her tracks when she caught sight of the piles of coin on the table.

“What are you people doing?” she asked again.

“Tink, put our two-fifty in the box,” Sam said as she strode to the still inverted Earl. She grasped the Truth Stone from the air and handed it back to Bob. She slowly spun the barkeep back to an upright position. She slapped him awake, and his face paled as the blood rushed from his head.

“Earl,” Sam began in a formal tone, “We are buying out your remaining half of this bar.”

Earl forced his eyes open from a pained squint and glared at Sam.

“What if I’m not interested in selling my half?”

“Then we stay here and Tink gets to play ‘Spin the Barkeep’ for as long as she finds it funny.”

Tink took hold of a foot and gave it a few swings to get momentum.

“That could take a while, tubby,” Tink said. “It gets funnier every time I see it.”

“You know,” Earl mused, “I have always longed for the peaceful life of a farmer. A thousand in gold should get me a good piece of land some seed. Maybe some livestock.”

“You are a surprisingly wise man, Earl.” Bob said with a wave of his hand. Earl dropped suddenly to the ground. He staggered a moment before finding his balance. Bob strode rapidly to his side and placed a steadying arm about his shoulders.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he called, “I present to you Earl Futzwaggle: Farmer!”

A smattering of unenthusiastic clapping came from a dark corner , but it quickly died an embarrassed death.

Bob released Earl and gestured grandly towards the assembled ladies.

“And I also present the new owners of The Fanciful Filly!”

The applause was more enthusiastic from the ladies, punctuated by squeals of delight.

“Gentlemen,” Sam addressed the patrons of the bar, “Although this has been a fun evening, we are sorry to say that we will be closing early tonight. The new owners have much to discuss. So please finish your drinks and leave as soon as possible.”

The offer to finish the drinks went unheeded and a crowd gathered at the open door as they all tried to be the first ones out. The last one to leave was Earl, who stood in the doorway holding the wooden box. He cast a long look over his former business. His eyes finally rested on Sam, standing in the front of the gathered ladies.

“Earl, you can come back for anything of yours without fear.” Sam said. “But if you come back and try to make trouble, I’m going to end it one way or another.”

She tapped her palm on the hilt of her sword meaningfully.

Earl held her gaze for a long time, a curious expression on his face. He seemed to come to a resolution to some inner conflict, then spoke.

“You could have done this a lot different.” He said. “You were fair to me when I didn’t deserve it. I don’t quite understand it, but I am grateful.”

He looked to Bob and Tink.

“You’re good people.” His gaze took in the assembled ladies who were listening in astonishment. “You are all good people.”

Without another word, he turned and walked out the door. Stella moved forward and dropped a crossbeam into place locking the door, and turned to face them.

“You did it!” Stella cried, beaming. “I can’t believe you actually did it! I never thought we would be treated fairly, let alone own the place!”

A cheer went up from the ladies, followed by relieved laughter and tears of joy. One maiden went behind the bar and started filling tankards and lining them up on the bar. They were handed from person to person until everyone had a drink.

“A toast!” Stella called over the excited din. “A toast to our savior and new boss, Samantha!”

“Wait!” yelled Sam. “I’m not the…”

Her voice was drowned out by the renewed cheers from the ladies. When they all paused to take a drink, she tried again.

“I’m not your boss!”

There were gasps of surprise from the crowd.

“I’m only part owner,” she said. “You ladies have the largest share.”

“But you are the one that made this possible,” a voice called from the crowd.

“That doesn’t mean that I want to run a bar,” Sam said.

“Then why did you put your money in?” Stella asked, confusion creasing her brow.

“Mostly to help you ladies out,” Sam explained. “But also so I would always have a place to come to that has a good roof, a warm bed and good friends. And maybe a little spending money if things got tight.”

“Ahem,” Bob theatrically cleared his throat to get attention. “As for my part, I was hoping for a space that I could use as a laboratory, and place for my magical experiments. If I had that, and a good tavern with good company, I would feel my investment was paying off nicely.”

There were quiet murmurs amongst the ladies and they attempted to make sense of this new development.

“How were you planning to run the place before I showed up?” Sam asked.

“We were going to have a committee,” Stella explained. “We would elect a chairwoman to make the day to day operating decisions, with the major ones being voted on by the staff.”

“That sounds like a reasonable method,” Bob commented, nodding. “All those in favor, raise a hand.”

Bob scanned the sea of faces and raised hands and came to a swift judgment.

“Looks like a sizable majority, committee rule it is.” Bob announced. “Now, we need to elect the chairwoman. As my presence cannot be relied upon, I ask that I not be considered for the post.”

“Don’t consider me for the same reason,” Sam offered.

“Same here,” Tink chimed in.

A timid voice emerged from the congregation.

“I think Stella should do it.”

“Yeah, she’s the one that organized us into saving up the money in the first place,” agreed another.

“We have a nomination for Stella,” Bob intoned. “Any other nominations?”

Silence reigned for several minutes before Bob spoke again.

“In the absence of any other nominations, I proclaim Stella the Chairwoman!”

Silence gave way to an explosion of renewed cheers. Stella stood in the center of it all, blushing furiously.

After several minutes of congratulatory hugs and refilled tankards, Stella held up her hands for silence.

“First order of business,” She said. “Do we change the name or leave it as is?”

“Change it!” cried many women. One gruff female voice emerged from the confusion.

“I’ve never been all that fanciful, and I once knocked a man out for comparing me to a horse. I always hated the name Fanciful Filly.”

“We are now open for suggestions for a new name for our new bar!” Stella said with a smile.

A short blond near the front called out in a surprisingly high voice.

“The Handsome Mage!”

The girl turned red as all eyes focused on her. Bob smiled uncomfortably.

“The Feisty Fairy!” called another voice.

“Oh yeah!” Tink cried with delight. “I like that one… except make it The Feisty Elf!”

“I got one,” said another voice. “Our Barbarian Savior.”

“That sounds like a church, not a bar.” Sam said with a smile. “Keep trying.”

A collective “hmm” went up from the crowd as they all tried to come up with a suitable name.

“We need to find a name that fits, something that tells people what kind of place this is.” Stella said. “And maybe something that honors these three that made it possible.”

“The Chain Mail Bikini,” said Bob softly.

All faces turned to look at Sam. Instinct caused her to glance behind her. In uncharacteristic self consciousness, she blushed.

“THE CHAINMAIL BIKINI!” The crowd roared as one voice. Tankards were lifted high into the air in salute, then drained of their contents.

“That settles it!” Stella announced. “The name is decided, and from now on, we are the Ladies of the Chain Mail Bikini!”

“That one sounds like a convent,” Sam murmured to Bob.

“Perhaps I should find religion,” he returned. “Sorry. It was the only thing that I could think of at the moment.”

“You’ve been thinking about that particular chain mail bikini for quite a while now, I think,” Tink said with a smirk. Bob aimed a slow kick at her tiny backside, but she scurried away towards the bar for a refill.

Bob turned a red face towards Samantha.

“Yes, well…” he started.

“I’m honored,” Sam said and stood on tiptoe to place a kiss upon the magician’s cheek. “Thank you.”

“Well, yes…” Bob stammered. “You are quite welcome, milady. He bowed deeply.

Sam beamed another smile at him and walked to the bar for a refill. She was still smiling when she glanced back at the still staring mage.

Chapter 6

NOTE! This is an ongoing story. If this is your first visit, please read the About This Page link, and then use the archive links to go the first post and read backwards.

Bob and Tink entered the colorful shop. Pushing past the hanging bead curtain that constituted the doorway, Tink wrinkled her nose at the overabundance of flowery smells that permeated the store.

A tall man with dark hair emerged from a curtained doorway in the rear of the shop. He was dressed in shiny purple fabric from head to toe, the cuffs of his shirt and the open collar bordered with a delicate white lace. The very tight pants were covered in a pattern that hinted at a flowers. A purple beret was perched atop his head at a jaunty angle.

“Bonjour, my friends!” He called in a surprisingly high pitched voice. “Welcome! Welcome to the shop of Phillipe! How may I assist… Mon dieu! It is you again!”

“Yes, yes, Phillipe,” Bob said cautiously. “It is indeed I.”

“How I had hoped zat you would return!” Phillipe said with a wide smile. “I have been saving something just for you, something zat I found after you departed. I was hoping zat I would be able to talk you out of those dreadfully drab robes that you wear!”

Tink barely suppressed a snort of laughter, coughing deliberately to cover the sound.

“Oh!” cried Phillip, “I did not realize zat you had brought a friend! No matter, Phillipe is prepared for anything! I have just the item for your lovely companion.”

Before Bob or Tink could stop the excited man, he dashed around the shop, removing items from piles of clothing scattered on tables around the room, opening trunks and rummaging for several moments before emerging with a triumphant “Aha!” He practically ran towards Tink, shaking out a very small pink dress accented at every seam with an abundance of lace. The skirt flared out, even dangling from the mans hand, ruffles and lace peeking out.

“She’s an elf, not a doll Phillipe.” Sam asked from the doorwary, empasizing the name.

“Oh, Madame,” Phillipe said with a depreciating chuckle as he turned to face the doorway. “Zat is the beauty of zis garment, ze dress accentuates the youthfulness of the…” He broke off suddenly, “SAM!?”

“Hello, Phillip,” Sam said, dropping the exagerated accent. “How long have you been working here?”

“Since the fight with Mom,” he answered.

“You had a fight with Mom?” Sam asked, surprised. “What about?”

“She wanted to know when I would be giving her some grandchildren.”

“Ah,” Sam nodded with understanding. “She gave up on me, did she?”

“I don’t know that she gave up on you, exactly,” Phillip said cautiously. “I think it was more the thought of children raised in the wild by a mad barbarian woman running around her pristine house that made her focus on me as her last hope.”

“Last hope?” Sam asked in surprise. “Was about Rupert?”

Phillip favored his sister with a smile

“Come on, Sam,” he said. “Rupert? You know he’s dumb as a stump. Even if a woman could hold his attention for more than five minutes he wouldn’t know what he was supposed to put where. Apparently several of the women in town tried, but just wound up being very frustrated.”

Phillip dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Rumor has it that several of the women placed a ‘special order’ with the glass blower after being seen in the company of our brother.”

Sam smiled knowingly as Tink looked back and forth between the siblings, confused.

“Special order?” she asked.

“The town’s glass blower is very talented,” Sam explained. “Some of the most exquisite glasswork I have ever seen. Some say that his work sits on display in the castles of several kingdoms. His unadvertised work is what has gained him the most notoriety, however.”

“If he’s that good at it,” Tink asked, “then why is it unadvertised?”

“He makes very strong, very durable, and very realistic models of…” Sam looked slyly at Bob as she finished the sentence, “pickles.”

Tink let out a snort, followed by a muffled giggle as she clapped her hands over her mouth.

“Speaking of which,” Phillip said as he turned his gaze once again on Bob. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?”

“This is Tink, my traveling companion and very close friend.” Sam said with a gesture at the elf.

“Charmed,” Phillip said without so much as a glance. Bob was beginning to fidget slightly under the close scrutiny.

“And this,” Sam continued, “is Bobrogonzo, the magician.”

“Oh I knew he was magical the first time I laid eyes on him,” Phillip cooed as he took a step closer to Bob, who took a hesitant step back. “Another friend of yours, you say?”

“Yes, Phil,” Sam said warningly. “We helped each other out of a nasty jam in the last village we stopped at. Among other things, he was in danger of either being killed or relieved of his masculinity by the one of the local women.”

Phillip deflated visibly, and stepped close to his sister to whisper in her ear.

“Any chance that his sword is double edged?” he asked.

“NO!” Sam whispered back through clenched teeth. “Now keep it under your pantaloons, we need help.”

Phil stepped away and shot Sam a wounded look.

“These are NOT pantaloons,” he said in an offended tone. “These are the latest fashion from the west, a lot of the horsemen are wearing them to protect their legs while riding. I think they look absolutely fabulous! They’re called chaps.”

Tink had been wandering the shop while the others talked, and had made her way behind Phillip. She turned away from the table of silks she had been examining and her eyes went wide as she turned to examine the fashions under discussion.

“Horsemen wear those things?” She asked. “From back here, I can see what would be chapped if they wore these while riding.”

Phillip snapped his head around to look at Tink, his face turning a delicate shade of pink.

“You caught me while I was trying things on,” he said. “I didn’t have time to get back into more acceptable clothes. If you will excuse me?”

Phillip walked into the back room through the beaded doorway, showing the three of them his exposed buttocks.

Tink watched him as he passed, her head tilted to one side in speculation.

“Not bad,” she commented. “Good looks must run in your family, Sam.”

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up, Tink.” Sam told her friend. “Bob has a better shot at my brother than you do.”

“You mean he really is that way?” Tink asked, eyes wide. “I though that it was just an act to sell more of these clothes.”

Phillip entered the room several minutes later, much more conservatively dressed.

“So little sister,” he began. “What brings you to my little neck of the woods?”

“Mostly chance,” Sam answered. “We were wandering around the countryside trying to make a living when we ran into Bob here. He told us about your shop and we needed to find a village anyway. We have some business to take care of. You know anybody we can trust to give us a fair price on some merchandise?”

Sam removed a small satchel from her cloak and tossed it to Phillip. He flicked a supple wrist and snatched from the air. He opened the bag and peered inside.

“Oh, my!” he breathed. “Where on earth did you get these? They’re beautiful! Are they yours?”

“One of them belongs to Bob,” Sam said.

“I already told you Samantha,” Bob objected, “They both belong to you. I really have no need for the thing, and if it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t have any of the items that are truly valuable to me. Consider it a ‘recovery fee,” if you will.”

“Do you know anyone that might be interested in buying them?” Sam asked her brother, ignoring Bob completely. “Someone that will give us a fair price?”

“Yes, I believe I do.” Phillip said cautiously. “I know a man who has a habit of collecting such objects of beauty, and is always fair, if not a bit generous in his dealings.”

“Would you mind taking care of it for us?” Sam asked. “I think we could all use some rest, it’s been a pretty harrowing past few days.”

“Make yourselves at home,” he answered. “There are plenty of places in the back room. I’ll go and talk to my friend and be back later.”

The three companions went through the mysterious beaded curtain into the back of the shop and discovered a multitude of soft chairs and huge pillows arrayed around a low table covered with candles. Several of the candles burned in the dim light and emitted a flowery aroma. Wordlessly, they each picked a comfortable spot and collapsed. In moments, the room was full of the sounds of slumber. Samantha took in silent, but deep breaths, hand clasped around the hilt of her sword. Bob inhaled deeply through his nose, and exhaled through his mouth, occasionally muttering softly.

Tink snored extraordinarily loudly.

Chapter 5

NOTE! This is an ongoing story. If this is your first visit, please read the About This Page link, and then use the archive links to go the first post and read backwards.

Samantha and Tink walked along the road in silence, the donkey’s hooves the only sound as the sun rose high into the sky. “Where are we going?” Tink suddenly asked, breaking the silence.

Sam inhaled deeply and let out a great sigh. She stopped and stood in the center of the overgrown road and stared straight ahead for several moments before answering.

“I really don’t know.” She said. “Where do you think we should go?”

Tink led the donkey to the side of the road and draped its rope over a tree branch. She clambered atop a small boulder and plopped into a seated position and let out a great sigh of her own.

“I don’t know either,” she answered. “We should probably find someplace to sell off that pearl so we can buy more supplies. What we managed to talk those cheap elders out of wont last long.

“Ugh,” Sam groaned. “I don’t think I can handle another village right now. Those people just get too damn weird.”

“Well what do you expect?” Tink said with a smile. “All these villages have an annual orgy that they call a ‘village festival.’ A week later all the same people show up for a family reunion.”

“Good point,” Sam returned the smile. “Do you remember that village we were at month or so ago? I don’t think there were enough teeth in that village to make a complete mouth.”

“Don’t remind me,” Tink groaned. “I couldn’t get that damned hunchback to leave me alone. He followed me around all day, then waited outside the inn all night.”

“Oh, he was sweet,” Sam chastised. “He brought you fresh picked wildflowers every day.”

“He was a seven foot tall hunchback!” Tink blurted. “Even if I was interested in forming some kind of a relationship, what kind would it have been with him? I could have slept in his shoe!”

Sam laughed at her friend, but stopped abruptly when Tink asked, “What about Sven?”

Sam was silent as she shot a nasty look at the elf.

“Sven was a mistake.” She finally said. “I never should have gotten involved with him.”

“He was a good guy,” Tink said in a much softer tone. “Easy to look at, too. I know that he was very sincere in his marriage proposal.”

“Yes, Tink,” Sam said, her voice now laced with a touch of sadness. “But he wanted his kind of wife, a farm wife. Someone to have babies and make supper while he tended to the farm. I left home a long time ago because that wasn’t the life that I wanted. If I had accepted his proposal, neither of us would have been happy.”

By unspoken agreement, the two women let the subject drop. They sat in the woodland silence, each deep in their own thoughts. The chirping of insects and singing of birds was interrupted by a soft ‘pop,’ and Bobrogonzo appeared out of nowhere in front of them. Tink gave a little jump of surpise, and Sam raised her eyes in greeting.

“Hello, Ladies,” Bob said with a cheery smile and wave. “Mind if I join you for a brief respite?”

“Go ahead,” Sam said with a shrug.

“Oh, my,” Bob said lightheartedly. “You really must attempt to curb your enthusiasm lest you embarrass me.”

He casually strode to the boulder where Tink shuffled to one side to make room for the mage. Bob gathered his robes and sat down next to the elf, who was looking at him strangely.

“I thought you were going to get your stuff from the inn,” she said suspiciously.

“I did,” Bob responded, patting a medium sized belt pouch. “I’ve got it all right here.”

“You must not have had much stuff,” Tink told him. “All that effort of losing your head for that little thing?”

Bob gave a small chuckle.

“Things are not always as they seem, my friend. There is much more room on the inside than on the out.”

“So you have all of your stuff, your books, clothes, magical gizmos and…” she paused to smack her lips hungrily, “food in that little bitty bag?”

“Indeed,” Bob answered, removing the pouch from his belt. “A rather ingenious little spell of my own design. I can fit everything I own into this little bag. It all shrinks to fit inside, and even fully loaded it weighs practically nothing.”

Bob undid the drawstring on the pouch and reached his arm inside to the elbow. Tink’s eyes widened in surprise. Bob rummaged inside the bag for several minutes, his tongue sneaking out the corner of his mouth as he tried to locate something by touch. With a sound of triumph, he pulled another bag from inside the pouch, which swelled as it emerged until it was almost twice the size of the pouch it had come from. Bob undid a clasp and pulled out a large chunk of dried meat, which he offered to Tink.

“Hungry, my diminutive friend?” he asked.

“Gods, yes!” Tink yelled, snatching the meat from Bobs hand and stuffing it into her mouth in a flash. “I’m starving.”

Bob smiled warmly and proffered the bag to Sam, who gave her thanks as she removed a piece of meat. Bob reached into the pouch once more and removed a large bottle and three goblets.

“Would you care for a drink as well?” he asked Tink, who was making loud smacking noises as she chewed. She nodded vigorously and wordlessly.

Bob handed out the goblets and filled them from the bottle. He replaced the cork and settled into a more comfortable position on the boulder.

“Where did you get that bag?” Tink asked after a noisy swallow.

“Do you like it?” Bob asked, looking down at it. “I must say, it is astoundingly convenient, even without the spell I placed on it. Everything I need, right here at my waist. A shopkeeper talked me into buying it in a village a few days from here.”

“It looks kind of funny on you,” Tink commented.

Bob adjusted it so that the bulk of the pouch settled just below his navel.

“Funny in what way?” he asked.

“Funny like it doesn’t belong on a man,” Tink said. “Maybe its just the pattern, I don’t know.”

Bob looked at Sam who nodded an apologetic agreement.

“Well,” Bob began haughtily, “Perhaps the other items in the shop were a bit showy, perhaps even frilly, but this seemed the most masculine, as well as convenient.”

“We didn’t mean to offend you,” Sam offered.

“You haven’t offended me, Samantha,” he said. “The shopkeeper told me that it was rather fetching on me. He himself wore one of the same type, although his was dyed to match his clothing. I never did figure out what he used to dye leather that particular shade of lavender. He told me that a basic brown would go with anything.”

Bob paused, his brow furrowing in thought.

“He did seem a bit too enthusiastic in his appraisal of my attractiveness, now that I reflect upon the scene,” he said slowly, half to himself. “I never have seen a man wear that much lace and silk at one time in my life.”

Sam and Tink exchanged a glance and a chuckle.

“You don’t think that shopkeeper was…” Bob asked, pausing to find the right words, “interested in me, do you?”

Sam gave him a smile and a shrug, and then took a large drink from her goblet.

“What was the name of the shop?” Tink asked.

“Phillipe’s Clothing for the Fashionable Male,” Bob answered.

Sam spewed a large volume of wine across the clearing.

Chapter 4

NOTE! This is an ongoing story. If this is your first visit, please read the About This Page link, and then use the archive links to go the first post and read backwards.

 

Returning from her trip into the past, Sam looked out over the cemetery, back towards the village. Dim squares of light outlined the windows of the cottages where happy families ate dinner and laughed together.

Sam heaved a deep sigh.

“You never told me the whole story, Daddy.” She whispered softly into the night breeze. “You never told me how the noble warrior who refuses payment manages to eat.”

Hearing a leaf crackle behind her, she quickly wiped a slow moving tear from her cheek as she turned to face the Magician.

“Is everything OK out here?” he asked as he took an uninvited seat next to her.

“Fine,” Sam answered shortly. “I’m just getting a breath of fresh air.” She inhaled deeply to add some authenticity to her claim, then erupted into a horrible bit of coughing and gagging. Bob pounded on her back violently until she was breathing somewhat normally again.

“A bit of advice from someone who knows,” Bob began with a smile, “Its not a wise idea to do that when you are downwind from zombies.”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded between gasps, “No kiddin. Why do you drag them around with you anyway? They must slow you down, and can’t be very good conversationalists.”

“Oh, I don’t drag them around,” Bob answered. “I only raise the dead if I have a pressing need. In fact, I really don’t need them any longer. If you will excuse me?”

Bob stood and strode towards the gathering of zombies, raising his arms above his head as he did so. The shuffling undead gathered to him as he reached the center of the cemetery.

“Thank you all for your kind assistance,” he said in a loud voice. “It was most gracious of you to rouse yourselves from your peaceful slumber to assist me, and my gratitude knows no bounds.”

Several of the zombies gave ‘Aw, shucks’ looks and toed the ground sheepishly. At least one toe fell off.

“If you would return to your resting places, I will place you back into your eternal slumber,” Bob told the group. “One at a time, please.”

The zombies made their slow place to each of their gravesites and stood, patiently waiting, for Bob to approach them. Bob would raise a finger, and the corpse would slowly sink into the ground. Bob would then sprinkle a few drops from a small decanter over the loose earth and move on to the next.

When the last zombie had returned to the earth, Bob resumed his seat next to Samantha.

After several quiet minutes, Sam spoke up. “I have never seen anyone treat the undead with such respect and courtesy.”

“In my opinion, they are people, the same as you and me.” Bob said with a shrug. “They may be dead people, but most of them have some memories of their lives. They retain their personalities. They deserve the same respect we would give them were they alive, especially if they are helpful and don’t try to eat your brains.”

“They do that?” Sam asked, horrified.

“No,” Bob answered with a chuckle. “That’s just another stupid bit of folklore that has no basis in fact. The dead have no need to eat anything, least of all a human brain. Too chewy, and they don’t have very good teeth.”

Sam gave Bob a sidelong glance and was met with a mischievous smile. She returned her gaze forward and said nothing.

“So…” Bob said after a long silence. “What are you going to do now? I ask merely for information. I would prefer a clean pike if you intend placing my head upon it.”

“I’m not going to kill you,” Sam said. “That’s the problem.”

“It’s not a problem from my point of view,” Bob commented.

“Well, it is for me,” Sam told him. “Not killing you means me not getting paid.”

“Ah yes.” Bob nodded. “I could see where that would be a problem for you. As for me, I would certainly like to exact a small measure of revenge against that cheating Elder and obtain the rest of my gear from the Inn. If I was able to do that, I would have plenty of money, and I would have no problem paying your lost wages.”

“I can’t think of a way to do that, unless Tink could steal your gear back.” Sam said. “I would prefer to get my revenge as well, I don’t like being tricked. I’m sure that Tink would offer to steal our payment, but I don’t like to steal. Even from people that may deserve it.”

Bob’s brow was furrowed in thought.

“What were the precise terms of your agreement with the Council of Elders?” He asked.

“In return for the mages head, I will give you my prize pearl and a collection of valuables donated by the populace,” Sam quoted.

Bob smiled.

“I think I may have a solution to our mutual dilemma,” he said. “Have you any experience with the magical arts?”

“A little,” Sam answered with a curious look. “My father taught me a few minor healing spells before I left home. Why?”

“That’s good, it will make things a bit easier if you know the basics.”

“Make what easier?” Sam asked suspiciously.

“I am going to teach you a spell or two,” Bob answered, rubbing his palms together gleefully. “Lets get back to the crypt and gather my gear before Tink eats the candles. Oh, this is going to be FUN!”

* * *

The morning sun was warm and bright, blazing down on a transformed landscape. The mist had dissipated and left behind a sparkle of dew on the long grasses of the plain. Birds sang happily in the distant forest.

Samantha walked down the shoddy road alone, her sword in its scabbard across her back and a bag swinging heavily from her belt. She looked weary and battle worn, dirt and deep scratches covering her exposed flesh. A deep cut across her shoulder slowly oozed blood.

As she reached the outskirts of the village, a small boy looked up from the dirt and noticed her slow progression towards town. The boy ran into his house and and soon a man emerged and stared for several moments at Sam, then started running towards the next house along the road towards the center of town. Word passed in this manner from home to home, rapidly outdistancing Sam as she continued her walk.

By the time she arrived in the village square, it was full of townspeople. The crowd parted to allow her passage to where the Elders were standing at attention behind a long table, apparently drug from the tavern.

Samantha strode to within several paces of the table and stood silently, waiting.

“Hail woman warrior!” the leading elder cried, raising his hands into the air. “You have returned from the quest we had begged you to partake!”

“Yes.” Sam stated simply.

“The old blowhard,” she thought to herself. “His position must be an elected one, I can’t think of any other reason to be making this big of a scene.”

“But what of your small companion?” The elder asked, looking behind Sam.

“Yeah, I wanted to talk to you about that,” Sam said, her voice showing a hint of anger. “She didn’t make it. My price went up when she died.”

The elder looked around nervously for a moment before saying, “We are but a poor, humble village, all we have to offer is what you see on the table before you.”

Sam looked scornfully at the arrayed ‘treasures.’

“I don’t see any bags full of gold coins,” she noted.

“Not gold coins!” the elder said proudly, “But the finest of goods and treasures provided by our good and generous townspeople! Even the most destitute of our people have donated for the cause of ridding our town of the indescribable evil that plagued us.”

“This is your finest goods?” Sam asked with scorn.

She picked a tattered cloak from the pile on the table and held it in the air to examine it. It was threadbare, almost transparent in places and covered with an extraordinary amount of patches. She dropped the cloak unceremoniously on the ground and picked up a brass ewer, tarnished and with a large dent on one side. She dropped it was well with a load clank.

She looked at the Lead Elder.

“You promised me a pearl.”

“Ah, yes!” he answered loudly, so the crowd could hear his every word. “I myself have donated my grandmothers prize pearl! Wealth beyond most men’s imaginings, handed down from generation to generation, and now given to you, fair warrior, with thanks for ridding us of the evil magician!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sam said flatly. “Let’s see the damn thing.”

“Of course,” the elder answered with a nervous laugh, “I will, of course, need to see what you have brought me in exchange for the pearl and these treasures.”

Sam gave a small shrug and untied the bag from her waist. Reaching inside, she removed Bob’s head by the hair and strode forward to set it on the table with a sickening thud. Bob’s still open eyes stared at the elders, his mouth open in a silent scream of terror.

“Here is your head,” Sam intoned. “I didn’t have a pike. Now, if you don’t mind, give me my pearl, and a pack mule to haul off your so called ‘treasures.’”

The last word dripped with scorn.

“Alas,” the elder said, almost convincing in his sadness, “we have no spare pack mules. If you will give me but a few moments, I shall go and retrieve the pearl from my home.”

“You go and get that pearl,” Sam said, moving forward and beginning to gather the items from the table, “I am going to start loading my payment on that mule over there. It’s mine now.”

“But that mule belongs to…” the elder protested

“Me.” Sam finished his sentence. “His name is Fred, and he belongs to me. It is another generous donation made by your humble townsfolk. Hurry along now, and go get that pearl, which also belongs to me.”

“But…” the elder tried to protest again.

Sam reached over her shoulder and drew her sword in a flash. In one swift motion, she leaped to a nearby hitching post and severed a hanging rope. She snatched the rope as it fell and with several deft flicks of her wrist, coiled it neatly. Another flash of motion and the sword disappeared into its scabbard.

“The pearl, please,” she said calmly.

Without another word of protest, the elder moved at a pace too quick to be called dignified out of the square. Sam strode to the mule and began lashing her ‘reward’ to its back. Once the bundle was secure, Sam led the mule to a hitching post in front of the motel and tethered it there. She calmly walked to her previous position in front of the table and waited silently.

Presently, the elder returned carrying a small parcel. He gently laid it upon the table and untied the ribbon securing it. He reverently removed the cloth surrounding an ornate box, and then turned it towards Samantha. He reached around and undid a clasp, then raised the lid.

Sam gestured at the elder as he stood there, and he tilted the box so that Sam could see the contents. Nestled in a depression of black velvet rested an exquisite pearl, gleaming in the morning sun.

A collective ‘oooh’ rose from the audience, necks craning for a better look. The gasps of awe rapidly changed to shrieks of terror when Bob screamed from his resting place atop the table.

“Fake!!!” the dismembered head shouted. “Cheat! Fraud! Charlatan!”

The crowd had used its breath on the shriek of terror and now stood in frozen silence. Bob’s head continued its verbal abuse of the elder, and in shock, he allowed the box to slip from his hands. The pearl bounced from its resting place on the velvet cushion, made two small hops across the table and then dashed itself to pieces on the cobblestones of the square.

“See!” Bobs head shouted, “See the deception! The pearl is a fake!”

That seemed to be the cue the crowd was waiting for. Pandemonium reigned in the courtyard as villagers renewed their screaming as the scrambled over each other to get away from the screaming head.

The elders, however, remained calm. They were converging upon the lead elder, forming a semi circle around him. They wore expressions of anger, not fear.

“A fake pearl, Horace?” one asked icily.

“That’s very interesting, Horace.” Said another.

“The village bylaws state that the wealthiest of the village elders shall rule.” Intoned a bearded man. “And now we find that the wealth you have was nothing but a fake? Without it, you have nothing. You have only your lands, which are meager, and without the pearl, I lead the council, not you.”

“Wait!” Horace cried frantically. “Did you think I would give the real pearl to this barbarian woman?”

Horace glowered at Samantha, the friendly smile nowhere in sight. Sam glared back fiercely. By now, the square was empty, except for the elders, Sam and the head of Bobrogonzo.

“You were planning on cheating me?” Sam asked through clenched teeth, slowly removing her sword once again from its scabbard.

“Why not?” the head of Bob asked from the table. “He cheated me out of the same pearl. He paid me to make the village think his aunt was still alive so he could inherit her land. When I discovered the deception, he spread lies to run me out of town, and then hired you to kill me.”

The council stared at Bob’s head, then turned their gaze upon Samantha.

“Is this true?” the bearded one asked.

“How the hell should I know?” she answered hotly. “I get hired to bring a head, I bring a head. But I do know this: Heads don’t keep talking once separated from the body. Usually.”

She paused and looked each elder in the eye in turns. When her gaze fell upon Horace, she stopped and glared menacingly.

“I have heard of similar incidents before, in other lands.” She spoke softly. “It usually happens when people are wronged, then die before having a change to avenge themselves.”

“You have seen this happen before?” The bearded elder asked.

“No, I haven’t seen it myself,” she answered, “But I have heard of similar things. Ghosts and phantoms, spirits and poltergeists, that sort of thing. They usually died as a result of treachery, and refuse to leave this world until they have had their revenge.”

She paused and nodded towards Bob’s head.

“The fact that this head continues to speak is proof enough for me to believe that he shouldn’t have died. If it isn’t enough proof for you, the shattered ‘pearl’ should be.”

Sam leapt forward and placed the point of her sword at Horace’s throat.

“This man cheated you out of the leadership of the council,” she said, her sword point unwavering. “He cheated the head out of his payment when the deal went sour. He hired me to kill him to cover his tracks, then tried to cheat me out of payment for doing that nasty deed for him. Horace must pay the price for his actions.”

The elders, except Horace who stood frozen in place, sweat beading on his forehead, gathered into a circle and held a frantic, whispered conference. After what appeared to be a lively debate, the circle broke and the bearded one faced Sam formally.

“Horace will be tried according to the laws and customs of our village,” he said. “His peers will determine his fate.”

Sam’s sword didn’t move.

“He caused me to kill an innocent man,” she growled. “My friend was killed.”

“We cannot allow you to take his life,” The elder insisted. “We believe you to be an honorable person. Please honor our laws. I can assure you that your part in this shall not be ignored at his trial, nor will the loss of your friend.”

Sam sighed and placed her sword back into its scabbard. Horace deflated visibly.

“All right,” she said as she turned to face the bearded elder. “I’ll let you have your trial, but don’t count my friends death among the grievances.”

Sam placed two fingers into her mouth and gave a shrill whistle. Tink emerged from the shadows between two houses and moved into the square, laboring to drag a box behind her.

“That’s mine!” Horace shouted when he saw Tink. “That’s from my house, put it back!”

Tink and Sam both ignored him. Sam walked to her friend and relieved her of the burden.

“What’s this?” Sam asked.

“Oh, I could tell you, but that would ruin the surprise.” Tink said with a grin. “Besides, I think everyone here would like to see what’s inside.”

Sam placed the new box on the table next to the other and lifted the lid. Horace whimpered.

The elders all looked into the box, their faces hardening into masks of pure anger.

“What is it?” demanded the head of Bob. “Let me see!”

Tink grabbed the head and held it high over her own, turning it towards the open box.

“Those look familiar to me,” Bob said. “Anyone else?”

The bearded elder reached into the chest and withdrew a fistful of pearls. With slow deliberation, he dropped them one by one onto the ground where they each shattered.

“Have you ever had any real wealth, Horace?” he asked.

“Yes, I did.” Horace answered. “I owned the original pearl that was used as the pattern for these. But it was spent long ago paying for the materials and the work to make the copies.”

“Why don’t you tell the one about the three pigs and the wolf as long as you are telling stories,” Tink said snidely as she pulled a small pouch from her tunic and tossed it to Sam. “This was hidden pretty well, but not good enough to get past me.”

Sam deftly caught the pouch and removed the leather thong sealing it closed. She peered inside, and then emptied its contents into the palm of her hand. She held out her cupped hand to show the elders two pearls, one obviously the original from which the copies were made, and another, even larger.

“Well,” she said casually, “It appears that he was not, in fact, lying. He did have a great deal of wealth. “But no longer.”

The bearded elder looked at her in shock.

“What do you mean?” he cried. “You can’t intend on taking them from him! We thought you were honorable!”

Sam’s turned the full force of her glare on the man.

“I am honorable,” she snarled. “My life is honor. I honor my friends, I honor my family, and I honor your laws. These things are inviolable to me, and I expect others to abide by the same rules of conduct in dealing with me. I expect it, but I do not always receive it. Therefore, there are times when I must enforce those rules upon others. Horace promised me a pearl to bring back the head of the black mage. I did so, and I expect my payment.”

“I think that you will have to concede that she did bring back my head, old boy” said Bob the head.

“I did my job, therefore, I get one pearl,” Sam stated. “he also promised a pearl to the mage to re-animate his aunt. You all saw her walking around, you also cut her to bite size chunks when you found out she was undead. I think that is sufficient proof that the mage did his job. So the other pearl goes to him.”

“One of the other elders, who had remained quiet until now, spoke up.

“You are giving a pearl to a dead, talking head?”

“No,” Sam answered with a shake of her head, “In order to catch this cheating son-of-a-bitch we had to do a little deceiving ourselves. Unfortunately, it meant that we had to lie to you as well as Horace, and for that we apologize. The head is not dead.”

Tink gave a loud whistle and moved at a trot to the edge of the village to meet Bob’s headless body as it stumbled from the forest. Several of the elders paled, and a woman who had been watching the proceedings from the safety of her window screamed. The body took a nasty tumble over the cobblestones and Bob’s head winced.

“That is going to be painful when I get myself together again,” he said

Tink helped the body to its feet and led it by the hand to the square. Sam took hold of Bob’s head and gently placed it atop his neck. Carefully adjusting it so it wouldn’t topple, she took a handful of glittering powder from a pouch in Bob’s robes and held it in her palm near Bob’s neck. She muttered a brief incantation and blew the dust at the reconstructed man. A cloud wafted towards Bob, then congregated itself around the visible seam. The flesh flowed like warm wax, and the seam vanished.

Bob twisted his head from side to side, several vertebrae popping loudly, and then gave a satisfied sigh. He held up his hand in front of his face and wiggled his fingers appreciatively. He ran is fingers through his disheveled hair in an attempt to straighten it.

“Doesn’t anyone know a better way to carry a head than by the hair?” He complained.

“You should prepare a better bag next time,” Sam told him with a smile.

“He’s alive?” The bearded elder asked. “I thought he had been re-animated or something.”

“He’s very much alive,” Sam explained. “He was never dead. We just took his head off for a while.”

Screams erupted from the nearby tavern. Sam wheeled around in a flash, sword held at the ready, looking for signs of attack.

“He’s not dead?” a buxom young woman yelled as she burst from the swinging doors of the tavern. She was hotly pursued by an older woman who had caught hold of her arm and was attempting to drag her back inside.

“Let me go, damn it!” the young woman screamed. “I’ve got the pickle jar ready!”

“NO!” retorted the older woman, finally getting her feet planted and halting their progress.

“But, Mother!” the younger woman complained, “You know what he did! He has to pay for it!”

The older woman had a few pounds on her daughter and was managing to drag her backwards into the tavern.

“He didn’t do anything to you that he didn’t do to me,” she answered, “And I don’t want to pickle his privates!”

With a mighty heave, the two collapsed into the door and the sound of a heavy bar slamming into place sealed the tavern. The sounds of yelling and furniture breaking continued to emanate from the closed windows.

The elders exchanged glances with each other and the trio.

“We feel that you have fulfilled your terms of the agreements, and agree that you have earned the pearls.” The bearded man said. “You are free to leave our village with our gratitude.”

He leaned closer to Bob and lowered his voice.

“I suggest that you depart sooner rather than later,” he said. “Helga is a stout woman, but Ingrid has the energy of youth. She will get away eventually.”

Bob gave the man a wink.

“I agree,” he said. “But between you and me, I wouldn’t discount Helga’s stamina so readily. Do you happen to know the location of my gear?”

“They were placed into a closet at the inn; I will have them brought to you.”

“We will be leaving as well,” Sam told the group. “The villagers may keep their generous donations, but I am keeping the pearl and the donkey.”

The bearded man nodded.

“Agreed,” he said. “And well met, warrior woman, you are a friend of the village and we thank you.”

Tink hopped onto the little donkey and Sam took hold of its lead rope.

“Farewell,” Sam called over her shoulder as the two of them traveled out of the tiny town on the cobblestone road.

Chapter 3

NOTE! This is an ongoing story. If this is your first visit, please read the About This Page link, and then use the archive links to go the first post and read backwards.

Sam sat in the graveyard watching the zombies continue their work in the soil.

“Now what?” she thought. “I can’t kill this guy… he didn’t do anything wrong. But if I don’t, we still don’t have any money… or food.”

She sighed deeply. How did she get mixed up in all this? All she had wanted to do was be a warrior. Help people who couldn’t help themselves. It was never about money… all she cared about was having the essentials that she could carry on her back, or on a horse. She wasn’t out to make a fortune, just have enough money to take her to the next place to help another set of people. But it seemed lately that even the people she helped were unwilling to reciprocate with even an honest meal.

As a child, Sam had eagerly listened wide-eyed to the tales her father regaled her brothers with about great warriors who roamed the countryside slaying horrific beasts, rescuing beautiful maidens from evil tyrants and always doing the honorable thing by refusing the generous payments the villagers offered in gratitude. It had caused her mother no end of frustration, Sam’s knuckles still ached occasionally from her mothers form of scolding. Whenever she had found Sam hiding behind a door listening, she would rap Sam’s knuckles with a wooden rod that she kept handy for “educational purposes.” Any time that Sam’s interest seemed to be more on her fathers tale than the chore she was supposed to be doing… CRACK!

As Sam had grown older, she became less and less interested in learning the skills of cooking and embroidery that her mother was trying to teach her. She had often been punished severely by her mother when caught behind the stables practicing sword craft with a length of spare lumber. Her mothers rod failed to restrict itself to her knuckles on these occasions.

Her father would always give a chuckle when informed of Sam’s latest discretion by her mother.

“A girl should be able to defend herself against the not so suitable suitor!” he would say at the fire in the evening. “She isn’t hurting anyone, let the girl be.”

Her mother would always give a gasp of disgust and retreat to another room, ignoring her husband for several days after.

Years passed, and the stories continued be told over and over until Sam knew them each by heart. As Sam grew older, she became more and more disgusted at the fact that she was turning into a very beautiful young woman. She attempted to hide her figure behind loose fitting clothing, but it was obvious to all who saw her that she was a female, and a fairly voluptuous one at that. She began to get all manner of attention from the men of the village, young and old alike. Sam had sent many a hopeful suitor away with a number of bruises and swollen eyes.

One evening, Sam’s father had returned home from the fields late in the evening. As he put the horse into the stable, he had heard a stifled sob. A quick search revealed Sam, huddled in a corner and sobbing.

Her father had become instantly suspicious and protective.

“What’s wrong?” He demanded, pulling his daughter to her feet. “Who did what?”

Sam had pulled her father into a fierce embrace and buried her head in his chest. The sobbing gained intensity until Sam was gasping for air between wails of anguish.

Her father began stroking her hair absently, attempting to comfort his daughter, while at the same time scanning the small stable for a weapon to use. He had overheard the talk in the town about his beautiful daughter, and was ready to kill anyone who may have tried to force their affections on her.

Sam slowly regained her composure and the sobbing was replaced with sniffles.

“What happened, Sam?” her father repeated.

“I grew up, I guess.”

“I don’t understand, honey.”

“I walk down the street and can’t help but notice the stares of men.” She explained. “They all look, they all ogle. The brave ones come to talk to me, but get so nervous all they can do is stammer for a few minutes then make a hasty retreat.”

“And you want a particular one to come talk to you?” her father had asked, feeling his way in the unfamiliar and uncomfortable territory.

“God no, Daddy!” she yelled in horror. “I don’t want them coming up to me and treating me like another one of the frilly little girls that run around this town.”

“Then I don’t understand what the problem…”

“I DON’T WANNA BE A WOMAN,” Sam shouted. “I WANNA BE A WARRIOR!”

She calmed down after a moment, looking to her astonished father who stared back quietly.

“I mean,” Sam continued with an embarrassed smile, “Where am I going to find a decent set of armor to fit these things?”

She gave her breasts a couple of quick pats, then smoothed her tunic down her front.

Her father remained silent for several minutes, looking at his daughter with an unreadable expression. Sam began to shuffle nervously, and finally cleared her throat just to hear the noise. This seemed to break her father from his trance, and he draped an arm around her shoulders and led her to a small bench set in the wall. When they were both seated, he broke his silence.

“A warrior, huh?” He asked. “Are you sure that you want to be a warrior?”

Sam set her jaw in an expression that her father recognized. He knew she would not be talked out of this.

“Why do you want to be a warrior?”

“Honor.” Sam answered simply.

“What do you mean, ‘honor’?”

Sam sighed deeply, her thoughts racing. Her father gave her the time she needed to compile the mass of jumbled thoughts and emotions of the last several weeks into a coherent desire. She decided, sitting in that stable, that she may never again find the courage, or the opportunity to say what she wanted to say. She took a deep breath, and opened her heart to her father.

“Every night of my life,” she began, “I have sat in a chair by the fire. In one ear, I could hear you telling my brothers of valiant heroes, known far and wide for their heroic deeds, tales of their honor and courage. The bards still sing of them in the village festivals.

“In the other ear, I heard my mother. She told tales of fair peasant women who were beautiful and talented. Those stories told of how the beautiful young girl would have a chance meeting with a handsome man, whom she instantly fell in love with, who happened to be a prince. These all ended the same way. The prince married the peasant girl and they lived in a castle. Mother would say to me, ‘You are turning into a beautiful girl, Samantha. Someday, if you learn to stop fighting and maybe comb your hair once in a while, that could happen to you! Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

Samantha made a gagging noise to voice her opinion of her mothers dream. Her father smiled at her.

“I’m afraid that you haven’t answered my question yet sweetie,” her father prompted.

Sam sighed again.

“Daddy, what happens to the beautiful peasant girl after the ‘happily ever after?’”

“Well,” her father said slowly, “the stories never say. One would assume that the girl would marry the prince and then live their lives, you know… happily.”

“So what does the peasant girl become after she marries the prince?

“She would be a princess,” he answered, brows furrowed.

“And after she’s a princess?”

“When the reigning king dies, the prince would become king.” Her father answered. “That would make the princess the new queen.”

He had paused and looked sternly at his daughter.

“You know all of this, Sam. Quit playing around and get to the point.”

“Daddy,” Sam said as she looked into her fathers eyes, ”What is our queens name?”

Her father had frozen. He looked ahead into the empty space of the barn for a moment.

“Well, the King is Alphonse…” he started, hoping that would jog his memory. “Good King Alphonse, and his wife, Queen…”

“You don’t know, do you Daddy?”

Her father slumped.

“No, honey, I don’t. Every time there has been a proclamation or royal event, she is always referred to ‘the Queen,’ or King Alphonse and his Queen, or Queen of King Alphonse.”

Silence filled the stable for several minutes, neither father nor daughter speaking or looking at the other. Sam finally broke the silence.

“You see now, don’t you Daddy?” she asked. “If I am the fairest in the land, which I doubt, and if I get into a position to meet a prince, and if he isn’t too busy doing whatever princes do to notice me, the highest aspiration I can have to be a nameless queen.”

Sam paused and locked eyes with her father.

“I have a name, Daddy. And I want the Bards to sing it at the village festivals. I want to have honor, I want to help people, I want to fight the evil in the land! In order to do that, I need to train, I need to fight! And I have never, EVER, seen a breast plate that was made for BREASTS!”

She was standing again, her hands holding the offending breasts, looking at her father. After several moments, she realized that he wasn’t looking at her, but staring fixedly at the ground, deep in thought. Sam dropped her hands to her sides, then spoke again in a small voice.

“I’m sorry Daddy.” She said. “I know I’m not the daughter that you and mother want me to be. But I can’t live out mothers dream, I have to do what my heart tells me is right.”

Sam’s father raised his eyes from the ground and looked at his daughter. Without a word, he stood and took her gently by the arm. He led her to an empty stall and released her arm as we walked to the far wall. Using a heavy boot, he scraped a pile of dirty straw to the side. Kneeling, he hooked a calloused finger into a large hole in the floor and pulled. With a loud creak, a hidden door raised up to reveal a hole dug under the stable. He reached in and removed a large bundle of burlap, wrapped several times with a worn rope.. He set it on the ground with a metallic clank.

He replaced the door and deftly untied the burlap.

“These belonged to your Grandmother.” He said. “My mother.”

“You never talk about your mother.” Sam said in surprise. “I thought that she was dead.”

“She may very well be.” her father told her with a shrug. “She came here a very long time ago and stored these here. She said that she would be back for them. You were only a baby. She made a huge fuss over you. That was the last time I saw her.”

He reached into the bundle or burlap and began withdrawing items and placing them on the straw in front of Sam.

“I think that your grandmother would want you to have these.” He told her. “I think she would be very proud of you, Sam.”

Arrayed on the floor were several items: a tightly woven chain mail halter top, a stiff leather corset, a heavy battle helm that somehow portrayed both strength and femininity, short leather breaches that matched the corset and a chain mail skirt that matched the top.

There was also a very large, very wicked looking sword.

Sam looked at the carefully arranged gear for several moments before raising her glistening eyes to her father.

“Mother is going to be very upset,” she commented.

“She isn’t going to know,” her father told her sternly. “Every morning, before she wakes up, we will come out here and train. If you are going to do this, I don’t want you going out there unprepared and get killed on your first day.”

“She’ll find out eventually,” Sam continued her argument, “When I leave to go adventuring.”

“Then she will just have to deal with it when the time comes.” Her father said sternly. “There have been a lot of things I have had to deal with; she will have to take her turn. I am supporting you in this, Sam.”

“What have you had to deal with?” Sam asked, worried that she had somehow upset her father.

Her father gathered the warrior wear and bundled it carefully into the burlap before placing it back under the floor. He carefully replaced the hidden door and scattered the straw over it. He walked wordlessly to the wall and removed a loose plank and withdrew a smaller bundle and handed it to Sam.

“This is what I have had to deal with.”

Sam opened the bundle and found a beautifully embroidered tapestry. She unfolded it to reveal amazingly accurate renditions of loving couples. Some were walking along a path holding hands, another scene showed a couple in a passionate embrace before a stunning sunset. The theme repeated over and over, becoming more and more intimate and explicit as her eyes neared the bottom of the tapestry.

She looked to her father in horror. “Mother isn’t…”

“No, Sam.” Her father answered her unfinished question. “You mother has been seeing another man. Look closer.”

Sam looked at the tapestry again, angling it so that the light from the window shone more fully upon it. None of the figures on the tapestry had a female form. Sam’s eyes grew wide as she looked questioningly at her father.

“It’s your brothers.” He explained with a sigh. “I caught him working on about a month ago when he was supposed to be in here cleaning. I don’t think I will be getting any grandkids from him.”

Chapter 2, Part Two

NOTE! This is an ongoing story. If this is your first visit, please read the About This Page link, and then use the archive links to go the first post and read backwards.  

 

 

Another of the undead entered the crypt and handed Bob a handful of dirty roots. Bob turned to the coffin and retrieved a small bowl and filled it with water from a flask.

“Give me a few minutes and I will have our dinner ready,” he told the women.

Bob carefully washed the roots in the bowl and set them aside. He dumped the water into a disused corner, and then rinsed the bowl with more water from the flask. He placed the roots into the bowl and started to grind them with a worn pestle.

Bob grinned at them as he worked at the roots. “I just know that one of these days I am going to have a potion go seriously wrong because I failed to clean my mortar and pestle adequately.”

“I’d be more worried about your food going seriously wrong because you failed to clean properly after making a potion,” Tink muttered.

Bob took the paste from the bowl and began rubbing it vigorously onto a large slab of red meat. He continued to rub the paste into the meat as he walked to the stone coffin. His books and other various items shuffled themselves out of the way as he approached. Bob shifted the meat to one hand and held out the free one towards the coffin. Flames issued forth from the outstretched hand, bathing the stone until it glowed. Bob lowered his hand and slapped the meat onto the coffin, where it began to sizzle.

Tink began to drool as she watched.

Bob removed a small dagger from somewhere within his robes and flipped the meat over. After several more minutes of sizzling, Bob began to slice the meat into long, thin strips. He held his hand out again and bathed the meat in fire. He left the meat and grabbed a large cauldron, already filled with water and assorted vegetables and placed it on the coffin next to the meat. The thoroughly cooked venison lifted itself into the pot. Placing a lid on the cauldron, he raised both hands to either side of it and a blue flame issued forth until the cauldron was no longer visible. In moments, the cauldron lid began to dance and rattle as steam escaped.

“How hot do you like your stew?” He asked. “Spicy or mild?”

“However you like yours is fine with me,” Samantha told him courteously. “We’re the guests after all.”

“Tink? Any opinion?” Bob asked

“I like mine on my plate,” the elf stated as she used an arm to wipe her still drooling mouth.

Bob chuckled and retrieved several worn and chipped bowls from a small bag in the corner. He also took out a large loaf of bread wrapped in sackcloth. He handed the bread to Samantha and began filling bowls with the bubbling stew. He handed the first to Tink, who began to drink from the bowl, ignoring the niceties of any kind of utensil.

“Oh, my Gods,” she muttered around a large piece of meat. “Sam, this is so good. Can we keep him?”

“I don’t think I have ever seen anyone prepare a meal so quickly,” Sam said to Bob as she accepted her own bowl. She tore a large piece of bread from the loaf and handed it to Bob.

“A mild use of my powers,” Bob said absently as he watched Tink drain her bowl into her small mouth and begin chewing loudly. “It saves time on gathering firewood.”

“Miff if so DOOD!” Tink exclaimed, spraying small particles of chewed carrot into the air.

“What did she say?” Bob asked.

“She likes it.” Sam answered as she lifted a spoon to her mouth. Her eyes widened as she chewed. “She’s right, this is good.”

Bob had the good manners to blush at the compliment, in spite of Tinks smacking and slurping. Alfred was watching Tink in awe, turning a little greener than usual.

“You were going to tell us about the villagers?” Sam prompted as Bob sat down with his own bowl.

“Ahh, yes. The villagers.” Bob began. “Therein lies the tale. I came to the village several weeks ago, just passing through, as it were, and the Elders approached me one evening at the inn where I was staying. I had imbibed a rather large amount of what passes for ale in these parts, and had been touting my skills as a mage. Perhaps I was bit overzealous in relating tales of my numerous adventures, it’s a bit difficult to remember, actually. In any case, the village matriarch had fallen deathly ill, and they entreated me for assistance. Feeling extraordinarily generous, due no doubt to the ale, I agreed although I have no skills in the healing arts.

“The chief Elder, who was in fact the nephew of the matriarch, offered me an exquisite pearl as payment for my services. I wasn’t feeling so generous as to refuse a fee, especially not after I had seen the pearl being offered. I had never seen so lovely a pearl, it was flawless.

“The elder led me to his home, after pocketing the pearl of course. ‘Payment after services rendered,’ he said. He showed me to the small bedroom where the woman lay. It was obvious to me that she had been dead for several days. The family, including the children, looked on me expectantly.

“Not wanting to upset the children, nor the women, I looked to the Elder, who had a trace of fear and pleading in his eyes. I asked the family to leave the room, excepting the Elder, so that I could work in peace. They reluctantly obeyed.

“I told the Elder that there was nothing I could do for his aunt, as she was already deceased. The deceitful man told me that he had known this, but had been telling the family and the village that she was merely ill! His reasoning was that the aunt had left to him a sizable piece of property, changing her will to reflect this merely days before, but village law only recognized such legal documents if there was a week or more between the time of the will being created or changed, and the actual death. They felt it was fair to give the person making the will that much time to change their mind.

“The dilemma was this: She had changed the will, but had died before the week was up, so the previous will was still in effect. That will had left the land to the village. The man asked me to stay in his home for two more days, under the pretense that I was working my magic to heal the poor woman, then state that nothing could be done and she was dead. That would allow the required week to expire, and he would get his land, and I would get the pearl.

“Naturally, I refused. I have never been fond of dishonesty, and would not play so intimate a role in his deception. We held a whispered argument in the deathly silent room, and eventually reached a compromise. I still wasn’t very happy with the arrangement, but, I am sad to say, the lure of the pearl was too great.”

Bob paused his oration, took a spoonful of the stew and made a face.

“It’s cold,” he told the women as he cupped his hands beneath the bowl. His hands glowed and soon steam began rising from the surface. He took another spoonful and nodded, smiling.

“What was the compromise?” Sam asked.

Bob finished chewing his mouthful of venison and continued.

“I would re-animate the aunt.” He said. “The fee for the service was the pearl. The elder could walk her around the village so that all could see her being alive until the new will went into effect. Then, he would sprinkle her with a potion I would provide to him to cancel the re-animation spell. I justified this to myself in that I was no longer implicitly involved in the ruse, only in its execution. In retrospect, I should have valued my principles more than the pearl.

“I re-animated the woman, and the Elder withheld the pearl until after the ruse was complete. He promised payment when the property became his. I remained at the inn for several days, biding my time until he brought me my payment. When he never arrived, I sought him out.

“He tried to avoid me, turning into shops when he saw me approaching, but it is difficult to avoid a talented mage. I finally cornered him and demanded the pearl. He refused! He explained that the aunt had not, in fact changed the will as he expected, and he did not receive the land. Since our agreement had been that I would receive payment when he received the land, he did not feel he owed me anything.

“I used my powers of persuasion to convince the man that I had done my part, and payment should be made. I extracted an agreement by threatening to make public our deal. He grudgingly took me to his home, where he made me wait outside, and paid me the pearl.

“Satisfied, I returned to the inn, where I began to pack my belongings. While transferring the pearl from my pocket to a safer container, I dropped the pearl to the stone floor, where it shattered.”

“He cheated you,” Sam commented.

“Yes! He did. He had given me a glass replica. I summoned the still animated corpse of the mans aunt, a side effect of the reanimation spell is extreme loyalty to the caster, and questioned her. She was able to tell me, through simple yes or no questions that there was, in fact, a real pearl, and that she knew where it was. I waited for nightfall, and sent her to retrieve the real pearl from her nephews’ house.

“Zombies, not being known for their stealth abilities, was caught mid heist. Her nephew pursued her out of the house crying ‘Thief! Thief!’ until the entire village was awake. There was mass confusion as the villagers were understandably reluctant to believe their honored matriarch would stoop so low as to common thievery. The dastardly Elder yelled out that I had allowed her to die, and then reanimated the corpse to do my evil bidding! The rest of the villagers still showed reluctance, as the body was still fresh and showed no signs of decay, so the Elder grabbed a nearby pitchfork and hurled it violently into the chest of his ‘dear’ aunt. Of course, she continued moving and acting as if nothing had happened, so the villagers were convinced of my evil.”

Bob sighed and concluded his story.

“They hacked the poor woman to pieces in the road in front of the inn and built a bonfire. They burned the matriarch, then came for me. They chased me here, and I reanimated enough corpses to keep them at bay. Eventually they all got tired and went home, but are apparently still bent on revenge. And I still didn’t even get the pearl.”

Sam looked at the man as he once again heated his stew in his hands and began silently chewing.

“So why are you still here?” She asked. “It seems you could leave at any time.”

“My things.” Bob answered. “What you see before you is what I had in my cloak and one small bag. I hadn’t finished packing when the door burst open and I was braced by a group of men with axes and torches. I jumped through the window and managed to escape. But the rest of my things are still at the inn, a lifetime of collecting tomes and magical instruments, as well as my means of making a living. To put it quite bluntly, I can’t afford to leave.”

“Welcome to our world,” Tink said, followed by a loud gulp as she downed the last of her stew.

Sam remained silent, brows furrowed in thought. The silence was broken only by Tinks loud smacking as she sucked the last of the stew from her spoon, bowl and finally fingertips.

“If it’s not to bold to inquire,” Bob began, “What exactly did the villagers want you to do to me?”

Sam did not look at him, but answered the question distractedly.

“The usual, ‘Kill the black mage, bring back his severed head, bring peace and justice to our humble village,’ blah blah blah.”

“There was that bar wench that wanted something else severed and brought back.” Tink commented.

“Ah, yes. Ahem.” Bob stammered. “Did she seem to be angry with me, or did you get the impression that perhaps she was looking for a souvenir?”

Sam glanced at him sharply. “She seemed pretty pissed off.”

“What color was her hair?” Bob asked.

“Red.” Tink answered.

“Yes,” Bob commented thoughtfully, “I suppose that she would have a great deal to be upset about.”

Tink seemed reluctant to drop the subject. She continued with a wry grin.

“Her mother seemed to be a lot more forgiving. She kept shushing her daughter every time she started screaming ‘Bring me his manhood in a pickle jar!’”

“An appropriate,” Bob said with a shy grin directed at Samantha, “if somewhat crowded vessel.”

“Funny, that’s basically what the mother said.” Tink said with a leer towards Bob.

“Ahem, yes.” Bob straightened his frame and attempted to change the subject. “Perhaps it would be better not to dwell upon the negativity of the past, and focus our attention on the hope of the future.”

Sam arose from her seat on her cloak and walked outside without a word.

“Are you gonna finish eating your stew?” Tink called out, but received no response. Tink shrugged and purloined Sams bowl and began hungrily slurping. In moments, the bowl was empty and Tink was licking the inside. Bob rose to follow Sam, but Tink stopped him with a gesture.

“She does this all the time,” Tink explained. “She likes to think a lot, and she does it alone.”

Bob sat back down, looking a long time at the dark doorway. With a visible effort, he pried his eyes away and addressed Tink.

“So, Samantha is obviously a warrior woman,” He began, “But what is your area of expertise?”

“Thief.” Tink said, drawing herself up proudly. “A damn good one too.”

Bob thought a moment, then cautiously ventured, “Then I fail to see how the two of you came to your current financial status. One would think that an accomplished thief would never lack for anything that they might desire.”

“Before I met Sam,” Tink began, her eyes misting over. “Anything I wanted, I took. The problem was, never got to keep anything. “

Tink paused. Bob encouraged with his eyes, but failed to bring more information.

“Why were you unable to keep anything?” he finally asked.

“Because I was too small to take the things that I stole!” Tink blurted, almost shouting. “All of the items that I could take we so damn recognizable that I couldn’t sell them in the town that I stole them. And they were all too big to carry with me. Half of the statues I took were almost as big as me.”

“Why not get a mule?” Bob asked, “Or a cart of some kind?”

“Mules are hard to steal, and they usually have a death sentence if you get caught.” Tink explained. “And any carts that I could pull myself belonged to little kids. I couldn’t steal from a little kid. If I could have sold anything, I could have bought either of those things, but…”

“So how did you and Sam wind up traveling together?”

“She came into the town where I was trying to steal some stuff, and I saw her come into the tavern. She didn’t have the look of a settler, so I figured that she would be moving on soon. So I approached her about helping get some loot to the next village where I could sell it, and offered her half of the money as payment. She refused.”

“Really?”

“She said that the most she could do was not turn me in.” Tink continued. “That night, a merchant drunkenly stumbled into my hiding spot behind the stables and found me sleeping on a tapestry I had liberated from his shop earlier that day. He was so drunk that he didn’t recognize his own missing merchandise, and I found myself running empty handed from a large number of merchants who all wanted to blame all their missing stuff on me. Let me tell ya, staying ahead of a dozen merchants with legs this short ain’t easy.”

“But you obviously escaped their clutches,” Bob said, intrigued by the elfs story.

“Yeah,” Tink answered, looking out of the crypts doorway. “I was running down a dark alley and suddenly a hand reached out of a doorway and dragged me inside. A hand clapped over my mouth and I watched as the mob ran past. It was Sam. She saved my life that night, and I have pledged my life to her until that debt is repaid.”

“That seems a very noble thing to do.” Bob said. “I’m impressed, Tink.”

“Don’t be.” She snapped. “I didn’t really do it by choice. Elves have rules about that sort of thing. Don’t get me wrong, I was grateful, but not enough to pledge my life to a complete stranger.”

“Then why did you do it?”

“I told you. Elves have rules about that.”

“But you aren’t among your people, who would have enforced the rule?”

“It’s some kind of magical elf thing.” Tink shrugged. “It’s not so much a rule as it is a part of our magical existence. It is written that: ‘If an elf forgoes a life debt, they will have no end of misery, a cloud of doom will follow them evermore, their bums will rot off and have really bad dandruff and ears wont be pointed anymore blah blah blah’”

Tink glanced shyly at Bob. “Or something to that effect. I don’t remember the whole thing, just that it’s bad.”

The two of them sat in silence for a long while, staring at the rivulets of wax running down the candles sides. They took turns looking to the doorway, wondering if they should go make sure Samantha was all right, and each deciding to leave the warrior to her thoughts. Finally, Tink broke the awkward silence.

“So,” she began with a cough, “that crowded pickle jar thing. Is that really true?”

Chapter 2, Part One

NOTE! This is an ongoing story. If this is your first visit, please use the archive links to go the first post and read backwards.

Samantha, the woman warrior, craned her neck to peer up at the mage. She knew death was coming in the form of a powerful spell, and she wanted to look her death in the eye as it arrived. She saw the mage towering over her prone form, looking down upon her with a jeweled hand stretched forth.

“Do you need a hand?” the mage asked.

Samantha scrambled backwards, using her free hand to propel her into a defensive crouch, sword held at the ready in front of her.

“I guess not,” the mage commented, dropping his hand calmly. “My name is Bob. Bob the Magician,” he concluded with a smile.

“You’re kidding,” She couldn’t help it, it just burst out of her mouth.

The mage continued his friendly smile as he explained.

“Well, perhaps I should make a proper introduction. My full name is Bobroganzo, Son of Bobrogan, Son of Bobro the High and All Powerful, Shaper of Worlds, Master of Earth and Water, Keeper of the Air and Servant to the Gods. But, on the occasions that I had a page to assist me in my adventures, every time they had to call for help they only got as far as ‘Bobro’ before they met a gruesome death. I lost more pages that way, and now it is frightfully difficult to find a new one. News travels faster than you would think possible when you have a long string of dead pages.”

Samantha relaxed her defensive position and cautiously told the mage “I’m Sam. Uh, Samantha.”

“And the lovely young pixie peering anxiously from behind the gate is?” Bob asked with one eyebrow arched high on his forehead.

“I am NOT a pixie, dammit!” came the shrill high pitched cry from the vicinity of the gate. “I’m an ELF! A short elf doesn’t make a damn pixie!”

Bob bowed at the waist towards the gate. “My apologies, I intended no offense.” he called. “Would your elfish companion care to join us?” Bob asked Samantha.

“Join us?” Samantha asked suspiciously, sword twitching back into readiness. “For what?”

“Why, dinner, of course.”

Samantha looked to the zombies, who had resumed their work at the loose earth of the grave.

“If we were to accept your gracious offer,” Samantha asked carefully, slowly returning her suspicious gaze to the magician, “What would we be dining on?”

Bob began to laugh. “I have some venison in the crypt back there,” he told her. “They are collecting some roots that I use for seasoning in venison stew. The grave diggers do most of the chopping for me with their spades. All I need to do is find and clean them.”

“So we wouldn’t be eating the dead?” Samantha asked. “Mobile or otherwise?”

“By the Gods, no!” Bob blurted in shock, and then grinned slyly at the woman. “Humans are too fattening.”

Samantha’s sword leapt once again into the ready position until she saw the grin that Bob was attempting to hide with little success, then relaxed and sheathed her sword. She turned towards the gate and waved to the elf to join them.

The small woman raced between the scattered headstones and quickly joined the duo.

“Hello,” Bob said to the newcomer. “My name is Bob. I apologize for the unintentional insult earlier.”

Taken aback by the mages unexpected politeness, the elf stammered out her own name in a small voice.

“I’m Tink.”

“Excuse me?” Bob asked, leaning forward.

“TINK!” the elf yelled in a challenging tone.

“Tink?” Bob repeated. “Is that short for…”

“NO!” Tink cut him off with a yell before he could finish the question. “It’s not short for any name that you may be thinking of, it is short for ‘The Tinkling Sound of Bones as they hit the ground when I kill you for calling me a damn pixie!”

Bob took an involuntary step back with the force of the elf’s tirade.

“I believe that I shall call you Tink. It is a good strong name; it rolls off of the tongue easily. It is reminiscent of the sound of a hammer as it strikes the anvil.”

Tink drew herself up to her full height, almost, but not quite reaching the mages waist.

“Damn right it’s a strong name.” She said with a sniff and a swipe at her nose with a dirty hand. “Just ask any of the corpses that used it as their last breath.”

“So,” Samantha interrupted. “I believe you said something about food?”

Tink looked from Samantha to Bob, and then her gaze fell on the digging zombies.”

“Omigod omigod omigod omigod…” she stammered, backing her way towards the gate.

“No, no, NO!” Bob corrected hurriedly. “We’re having venison stew! Where the hell do you people come from that cannibalism is so commonplace?”

“Well,” Samantha started to explain. “We were told that you… Well, that you were a… that is…”

“The villagers told us that you are a very bad man that has been stealing corpses and making them into zombies and stealing all their stuff. They said you did some other things, but thinking about what they said still makes my skin crawl, so I’m not going to bring them up.” Tink offered by way of explanation.

“Ah, yes,” Bob said with a sigh. “The villagers. That would explain much. Come inside, I can relate the tale over dinner.”

The trio left the zombies to their task and strode as a group towards the mausoleum. Bob spoke to them as they walked the short distance.

“Awfully decent of you to give me a chance to explain myself,” he said. “Most warriors don’t have that kind of restraint. They get into the ‘kill kill kill’ rhythm and nothing will sway them. Ah, here we are.”

Samantha and Tink stood in the doorway in shock as Bob hurriedly began to clean up.

“Ewwwww,” Tink commented.

“Oh, come now, my diminutive friend.” Bob chastised. “I know that it isn’t up to your average inn for niceties and cleanliness, but what can you expect from one man in an abandoned crypt?”

What little amount of gear Bob had was strewn haphazardly about the crypt. A small gathering of books, all open, lay atop a crumbling sarcophagus, with the discarded remnants of previous meals alongside. A few short candles spluttered in the draft and cast dancing shadows upon the walls.

“You eat your dinner from the top of a coffin?” Samantha asked in surprise.

“Sure,” Bob answered, slapping a palm down upon the surface several times. “He doesn’t mind at all.”

“Oh, yeah?” Tink challenged. “How do you know that the dead guy in that box doesn’t mind you desecrating his final resting place with your half eaten food and chicken bones?”

“Well, because I asked him.”

“You have the power to speak to the dead?” Samantha asked in shock. She had heard of this power, and it had always filled her with a sense of awe and fear.

“Of course! Anyone can communicate with the dead once they have been re-animated. Though few ever take the trouble. Ah, here comes the former occupant of this particular tomb now. Hello Alfred.”

A zombie had shuffled into the crypt carrying a small bag. He raised one hand, missing two fingers, in greeting.

“Alfred, out guests are concerned for your well being. They seem to fear that you would feel that your resting place has been desecrated by my using it as a dinner table and workplace. Do you mind?”

The zombie shook its head slowly, as if fearful that sharp movement would cause his neck to snap and his head to roll to the ground.

“Would you mind if these two lovely ladies occupied your crypt for a time, possibly using your sarcophagus as a table?

The zombie issued another slow head shake, accompanied by a slow smile that issued forth a tooth that fell to the ground with a clink.

“There, you see?” Bob said to Tink. “No problem.”

“I wasn’t aware that zombies remained coherent.” Sam commented. “I always thought that they were mindless, only doing the magicians bidding with no will of their own.”

“Many of my contemporaries cast their re-animation spells to just that purpose. But I never could get over the feeling that I was usurping their rights. I like them to have some say in the matter. So my spells cause them to retain a certain amount of free will, and also as many of the memories of their previous life as their decaying bodies will allow.”

“So they remember what it was like to be alive?” Tink asked. “And they know that they are dead and are zombies?”

“It’s a very iffy thing,” Bob explained. “Animation under my spells does bring back a certain semblance of life, but without sophisticated spells to halt or reverse the decaying process, the sands of time will eventually bring them to the dust. So as their bodies continue to decay, their physical abilities also dwindle. They may not be able to carry a bucket of water because the tendons in their wrist are too weak to handle the weight. The brain rots, and the ability to think independently or retain memories from life dwindles. I only animate them temporarily, and allow them to return to their slumber when the task is complete.”

Samantha turned and awkwardly addressed the zombie Alfred. “Umm…. Alfred?”

The man slowly turned in place in a shuffling dance to face her.

“You don’t mind being brought back to life? Or doing Bobs work for him?” Samantha asked.

Alfred once again shook his head slowly. His milky eyes fell to Samantha’s ample cleavage showing under her chain mail, and another grin split his face, literally. Two more blackened teeth fell from the zombies mouth to clatter briefly on the stone floor.

“Oh. My. Gods.” Tink said in horror and disgust.

“My apologies, Miss Tink.” Bob said. “You were absolutely correct in your statement that bones go ‘tink’ when they hit the ground.”

Samantha ignored the other two and continued to question Alfred. “And you don’t mind us being here? Camping in your final resting place? We could find another spot if it offends you.”

Alfred again shook his head, a bit more forcefully this time and Sam could hear the bones creak. Fearful that continued questioning would decapitate the man, she merely gave him a formal ‘thank you’ and removed her cloak and began folding it.

Samantha, now clad in her chain mail with its soft fabric lining bent over and placed her cloak in the ground. She then stood and faced the assemblage and arched her back in a huge stretch, popping several vertebrae back into place after her tumble over the headstone. Bob seemed to choke on something invisible and quickly looked towards his books on the coffin before him. Alfred peered intently at the statuesque woman, his eyes growing wider until one fell from his skull and landed on the stone floor with a squishy thump. The liberated orb rolled erratically towards Tink, who quickly hopped out of its path.

“Ew ew ew!!!” Tink cried as she scrambled atop the coffin.

Alfred grinned and collapsed to the floor and began feeling for the lost eye, not taking the remaining one from Samantha’s scantily clad form.

“Alfred,” Bob said in a chastising tone, “You remember what happened the last time…”

Alfred’s good eye snapped forward, and the zombie quickly found and replaced the adventurous eyeball, which he shoved into his skull with a pop. He slowly pulled himself back to his feet and stood against the wall, out the way.

“What happened to him last time?” Samantha asked, curious.

“His wife killed him with a blow to the back of his head with a huge frying pan. The humor of the moment is vastly ironic.”

“Why is it so ironic? Or funny?”

“His wife caught him staring at one of the more buxom of the village maids. She told him she was sick and tired of his roaming eye and clobbered him.”

“Roaming eye.” Tink chuckled. “That’s a good one.”

Samantha and Alfred shared a groan.