“I’m pretty good at fake magic.” Somehow he was neither smug nor proud. It was a simple statement of fact.
“Noted. And, agreed.” I was genuinely impressed; I hadn’t even suspected he was going for my purse. He might not have an ass, but he sure had balls. “But no, you can’t keep them.”
Rummy shrugged and slid the coins across the table. “Worth a shot.”
“The reason I asked why you decided to start adventuring,” I said, “is because, other than the risk of possible death, hunting this dragon in Skendrick is pretty much everything you could hope for—adventure, excitement, a chance to make a name, heaps of treasure, helping people…whatever your motivation—and I don’t buy for a second that you chose to become an adventurer because you’re getting old, because that’s just ridiculous and absurdly counterintuitive. This has to appeal to you on some level.”
“Except for the risk of possible death,” said Rummy.
“Right. But, isn’t that a risk regardless of what you do as an adventurer?” I looked at Nadi. “You don’t have anything else lined up, right?”
“Well,” said Nadi, “there is actually something else that we need to take care of, something that happened because we—”
“Nadi!” said Rummy, cutting her off. “I don’t think Heloise is all that interested in our heretofore mundane adventures.”
I shrugged. “Probably not. I am a storyteller however, so I’m always on the lookout for new material.”
“Dragons have…lots of treasure. But they are…big,” said Borg.
“There is something we need to do.” Nadi looked at Rummy and shook her head before he could interrupt again. “It’s our responsibility.” She blew out a deep breath. “But, maybe we’re not ready to tackle that just yet.”
“So?” I prompted.
“What do you guys think? Should we go slay a dragon?” asked Nadinta.
“I’m not particularly inclined to get eaten or burned beyond recognition, but I’m also not sure what our next step would be otherwise, because I agree that we’re not ready to…go back and deal with that, ah, thing we need to do. So…why not?” offered Rummy.
Nadi nodded. “Borg?”
We sat in silence for two minutes while Borg took a sip of his drink, looked around the room, scratched his nose, stretched, let out a soft belch, and cracked his knuckles. “Sure.”
“What about Whiska?” asked Rummy.
“Who?” I replied.
“Our erstwhile wizard,” said Nadi.
“Are we writing her off?” said Rummy.
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Nadi sighed and looked at me. “Whiska is…challenging. She stormed out of here just before your performance, and I’m not sure if she’s coming back.”
“Having a wizard at your side when fighting a dragon would be helpful,” I suggested (helpfully).
“I’m not sure we can do this without her. She’s got more juice than any of us,” said Rummy. “If she’s not coming back…”
Just at that moment, the door of the tavern burst open and in walked a giant rat holding a staff with a crystal on the end. (In truth, she didn’t actually come in until about ten minutes later when we were in the middle of a conversation about the bathroom habits of rock giants, but I’ve chosen to slightly edit the timeline of the story for dramatic purposes. And, believe me, if you’d heard Borg rambling on about which foods have adverse effects on rock giants’ digestive systems, you’d thank me.)
“Elf. My seat. Move. Now,” said the rat.
“Half-elf, actually,” I replied. “Whiska, I presume?”
She gave me a once over, which was one of the more uncomfortable moments of my life. Between her beady eyes, the disdainful sniff she gave, and the stink of stale ale hanging on her like a wet fur cloak, she knew how to make a girl feel unpleasant. And that’s not even counting the fact that her staff was crackling with energy, and I had the distinct impression that she could have turned me into a cackleroach, a disgusting (and disgustingly giant) bug that, when stepped on, emits a shrill burst of laughter before exploding into a puddle of green goo. I hate cackleroaches.
“Who’s the new wench? Are you trying to replace me already? With this?” She shook her head. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t turn her into a cackleroach.”
“Cackleroaches are disgusting, she’s not a wizard, she’s not a replacement, she might have a job for us, and she bought us ale.” Rummy ticked off each point on his fingers. “That’s at least four good reasons.”
“Five,” I corrected.
“Well, I’m not sure ‘cackleroaches are disgusting’ is all that good of a reason. I mean, they’re gross, but that doesn’t really give Whiska any incentive not to turn you into one.”
“Neither does the fact that she bought all of you drinks,” replied Whiska.
“Okay, so, three good reasons,” said Rummy.
I signaled the server to bring Whiska a drink. “Four.”
Whiska nodded and sat down. She took Borg’s drink, which was still a quarter of the way full, and drained it in one swallow. She wiped a sleeve across her foamy whiskers and looked at me. “What’s this about a job?”
“Well,” I responded as the server delivered a drink to Whiska. “How do you feel about the idea of killing a dragon?”
“How much does it pay?”
“As much treasure as you can carry.”
“Nothing upfront?”
“If you knew how much treasure this dragon was sitting on, you wouldn’t be worried about upfront payment. Besides, even if you do get paid something upfront, what good does it do you if the dragon kills you anyway?”
“Hmmm…fair point, I guess. Though we could use some capital for supplies and equipment.”
“I wasn’t…finished,” said Borg. “With my…drink.”
I signaled the server for another drink for Borg. This was really starting to eat into my profits. “Well, I can think of one way you could pick up a little cash on the road to Skendrick.”
“How’s that?” asked Nadi, who stared at me a little too intently. I couldn’t figure out if she was just intense, had a vision problem, was sort of drunk and trying to pretend to be sober, or some combination of all three.
“There’s an orc encampment just off the road to Skendrick, maybe a half day’s ride out of the way. Granted, orcs aren’t exactly known for their legendary wealth—nor for being clean, literate, or pleasant, for that matter—but if you clean that place out, you should at least be able to cover expenses, and you were just saying that you could use a little more seasoning before you take on a dragon…”
I was going to need to ask the Skendrickians for a bonus; they hadn’t mentioned the encampment, but I knew it was a problem for several of the surrounding towns, and I couldn’t imagine that they’d be too upset to see a reduction in the number of bands of marauding (and very handsy) orcs roaming the countryside.
“Orcs?” Nadi set her jaw. Definitely intense. Probably drunk. Unclear about the eye problem.