CHAPTER 13 - RESTART

The barstool was hard, but that was the least of Julian’s problems. His injured thigh hurt like no one’s business from the afternoon’s ride, but that wasn’t his biggest problem either. His ears rang from the laughter of several burly fellows off of one of the fishing boats down at the docks, and his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. But that, too, wasn’t his big problem.

A glass on the bar in front of him lay on its side, its dark contents spreading slowly across the top of the bar as they drained out. It was almost enough to make him cry.

“The winner!” shouted Horace as he raised the arm of the man next to Julian up over his head.

Julian should have known Horace was a fishing man from his attire the first time they met. And being a fishing man, Julian also should have figured he could more than hold his liquor. And so could all of his fishing friends.

The winner grinned and shook his raised hand in a clenched fist of victory, then turned toward Julian. “Pay up,” he demanded in a slightly slurred voice.

Julian nodded and reached for his belt pouch. Or rather, he tried too. It took three attempts to get the laces untied, then another two to get the proper number of coins out. At least, he hoped they were the proper number; it was hard to remember what their bet actually had been.

“Here y’go,” he said and held out the coins, which the winner snatched away quickly. What was that fellow’s name again?

“You alright, boy?” Horace asked.

Julian waved him off. “Fine, jus’ fine. I’m…” He wanted to say something else, but all that came out was a loud belch.

The fishing men around him burst out laughing again.

“Bugger me,” he muttered and pushed himself away from the bar.

He must have pushed harder than he intended because he found himself stumbling backwards. The taproom swayed and spun around him, and he began to get a queasy sensation in the pit of his stomach. That wasn’t good.

His grasping hands found the back of a chair, and he smiled in relief. He managed to maneuver himself around the chair and collapse down onto the unpadded seat with a sigh. The room instantly slowed down, and he was able to at least somewhat regain his equilibrium.

Water. He needed some water.

“Right here,” Horace said, pushing a cup into his hand. How had he known what Julian needed?

That was a worry for another time. Right then, all Julian cared about was getting that water down his gullet. When he finally came up for air, he let out a great sigh. His head still spun and he was still a trifle queasy, but that was fading quickly and at least he was less thirsty.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Pleasure’s mine.” Horace pulled a second chair around and sat down. “What’s got you so wound up, boy?”

“Whacha talkin bout?”

“You don’t normally tie one on this way.”

Julian spluttered. “Hey now.. You don’t know me tha well…”

Horace chuckled. “I know when a man can hold his liquor and when he’s gone well past his limit.”

Julian waved off his words with a dismissive gesture. “I’m fine.”

“You can barely stand. Really. What’s the problem?”

Julian looked away from the old fishing man and toward one of the fireplaces. Pushing down a surge of queasiness from the suddenness of the change in his field of view, he swallowed hard before replying. “My friend an’ me… Wer helpin Malory with the attacks.”

Horace’s eyes narrowed. “That so?”

Nodding, Julian replied, “Ya. Thing is… There’s what, fifty of um? If we knew where they were based, that’d be one thing, but…” He threw his hands out in an overly exaggerated gesture of helplessness that sent the last of his water flinging out of his cup and into the face of a passing waitress.

“HEY!” she exclaimed.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Julian stammered as he stumbled to his feet. He had a handkerchief somewhere… Ah there it was. “Here…let me help.”

Julian held the handkerchief out and tried to help sop up the water on her shirt. She screeched and pushed him away. He found himself stumbling backwards until he struck something solid. Looking back over his shoulder, his spirits sank as he realized that the something solid was a large man with an unruly black beard who had just stumbled forward into his equally large friend, spilling both their drinks.

“Gents, I’m real sorry…” was all Julian was able to get out.

The bearded fellow growled as he spun around. Then, from out of nowhere, a very large fist struck Julian in the cheek and he saw stars. He didn’t stumble; he toppled to the floor in a heap. There he lay for a long moment, tasting blood as he tried to figure out what the gaping hole he was staring into was. Finally it came to him: he was staring into his now empty cup, which lay on the floor beside his head.

“Stay down.” The deep gravelly voice could only belong to the bearded fellow.

It probably would have been smarter to do what the large man said. But Julian wasn’t in the mood to listen to the smart thing. Anger and a bruised ego demanded he get up and trounce the man.

That was easier said than done, however. Julian got his hands below his torso and pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. But there he stopped as another wave of nausea swept over him. He swallowed again to avoid losing his dinner and took a deep breath. Then, equilibrium restored, he forced himself erect.

Or rather, he tried to. But as soon as his hands left the floor, he collapsed again. Undaunted, he tried a second time, with the same result.

Somewhere above himself, he heard voices but he could not make out the words. Then suddenly he felt hands on his upper arms and someone hauled him to his feet. Two someones, in fact. Looking slowly left and right, Julian saw that he was being supported by two of his new drinking buddies, one of them the fishing man who won the bet.

The two men guided him to a table and helped him into a chair, then set another cup of water in front of him. As he sat down, he looked back over his shoulder and saw Horace talking with the two large men. A waitress, a different one, came by and delivered drinks, which the men accepted. Then Horace clapped the bearded one on the shoulder and, with a friendly grin, turned and walked away from them toward Julian’s table.

Horace’s smile faded as he sat down across from Julian. “Those boys are touchy, and they drink top shelf liquor. You just cost me a fair amount of money.”

“I didn’t ask you to help.”

Horace snorted. “Didn’t need to did you?” Drawing a deep breath, he paused for a moment. Then, making a dismissive gesture, he said, “Don’t think anything of it. Now,” he leaned forward and clasped his hands together on top of the table, “you were sayin’?”

“Bad day today is all.”

Horace did not reply; he just fixed Julian with a flat stare.

With a sigh, Julian explained what happened, how they failed in their pursuit of the prisoner. He almost found himself telling Horace about Melanie’s role, but caught himself at the last moment and instead took a drink of water.

“Long story short, we’re back to square one, except that now they know who we are. And they’ll come looking for us. We’re screwed.”

“Hmmph. Your buddy agree with you on this?”

Julian shook his head. “No. Rae’s never one to accept reality, even when it slaps him in the face.”

“Funny thing about reality, boy. How you look at it changes what it is.”

Maybe it was just the alcohol, but Julian couldn’t make sense of what that was supposed to mean. Reality was, well, reality. It didn’t change.

Horace chuckled softly. “From the look on your face, I just lost you.” He stood up suddenly. Walking around the table, he clapped Julian on the shoulder and said, “I’ll explain in the morning. When your head’s not full of mud.”

Horace walked over to the bar and spoke with the bartender for a short time, making some gestures in Julian’s direction. Then he left the inn. His fishing men friends left with him.

* * *

Julian awoke to sunlight streaming in through the window in his and Raedrick’s room and instantly wished he hadn’t opened his eyes. His head pounded and his mouth was so dry as to feel gravelly on his tongue. He felt more than a little queasy as well, and the bright light did not help matters one bit.

Pressing his palms to his forehead, Julian groaned softly and lay still for a long moment. This was not going to be a good day.

He glanced aside to the other bed and was not surprised to find it empty. Raedrick almost never slept in. But then, they couldn’t really afford to be late risers.

Knowing that didn’t make it any easier to sit up and swing his feet over the side of the bed. Or to stand, grab a towel, and shuffle across the hall to the privy and the baths for his morning routine.

A bath left him feeling slightly more human. And as he tromped down the stairs, the ache in his head helped him ignore the twinges of protest from his wounded thigh. Maybe a hangover was good for something, after all.

The taproom had more patrons than usual in the morning. Maybe it was just that it was later than he normally came down. He limped over to a table near the bar, scanning the crowd as he went. Raedrick was nowhere to be seen, but Julian recognized several men who stood in a cluster at the bar: the fishing men from last night.

He ordered tea and the standard fish breakfast, then slouched forward at the table and rubbed at his temples with his fingertips, wishing he could rub the ache out.

Sooner than he expected, he heard footsteps approaching his table and looked up. But instead of the waitress with his tea, Horace stood there. His weathered features were rested and alert as though he hadn’t been up well past midnight drinking with the younger men at the bar.

“Morning, boy. Looks like you could use some help.”

Julian winced. “Not so loud, please.”

Horace chuckled and sat down in the chair across from him. The old man reached inside his coat and pulled out a small vial. He set it on the table and pushed it across to Julian, saying, “When that tea gets here, put some of this into it. It’ll do wonders for your head.”

“Is that right.” He picked up the vial and held it up to the light from the nearby window. Within was an orange-red fluid of some sort. “I’ve heard of plenty of hangover cures. Tried them all.” He raised an eyebrow at Horace. “None of them work.”

Horace leaned back in his chair and scratched at his chin. “You this cynical about everything?”

“I’m not cynical. I’m realistic.”

“Sure,” Horace replied with a snort. “Well, how’s this for realistic.” Leaning forward, he tapped at the top of the table with his index finger. “Me and my boys are going to help you and yer friend. Just call and we’ll be there to put the fear of the gods into those thugs.”

Julian blinked in surprise and looked from Horace to the other fishing men. They numbered a dozen in all, all weathered from days out on the lake, all solid and strong. And every one of them was watching him and Horace from across the room, wearing the resolved expressions of men ready for a hard day’s work.

“I don’t understand. Malory told us you were leery about lending a hand.”

“That’s just the management.” Horace spat to one side as he said the word. “I’m head of the Guild, though. If I say we don’t work so we can help you defend the town,” he grinned and spread his hands, “we don’t work. And ain’t a damn thing management can do about it, unless they think they can man the boats themselves. Cause they sure won’t find anyone else in these parts to do it. We’ll see to that.”

Julian’s jaw dropped. “How…”

“‘Course, if I were to do that, management might just decide running a fishing company is too much trouble, close up shop, take their money, and run.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he continued, “Me and my boys can run the boats, but we don’t have the money or the contacts with the merchants outside the Vale to make it worth a damn. So it’s a balancing act. Management knows I can shut them down, but they know I’m buggered if I do.”

“So you’re saying…?”

“I’m saying, boy, that those men there,” he jerked his thumb in the direction of his men at the bar, "volunteered to help you two out, and I got management to keep paying them while they do it.”

Julian looked from the men at the bar to Horace in disbelief, and found himself speechless for a moment. Finally, he managed to say, “Horace, I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

The old fishing man grinned. “Reality looks a bit different in the morning, don’t it?”

Glimmer Vale is the first book of the Glimmer Vale Chronicles, an ongoing heroic fantasy series set in a world of valor and magic. It will be published here, one chapter per week, on Tuesday.

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Thanks for reading! See you in the next chapter!