The Muddy Slingshot

In our little town of Oakbridge there stood the Chalice Inn. According to local stories, the inn stood on the banks of the river long before the town existed. The inn was built just across the river from an Everburn. The magical flame floated in the air high over the hills, its warmth radiating downward and driving darklings away from that area. What better place to build an inn for weary travelers looking to take shelter before night falls?

People came from far and wide to listen to the music of the bard who performed there; Ross Chalice. Those on the opposite side of the riverbank grew jealous of their neighbors, and so they built a bridge so they could more easily reach the inn.

That bridge became the reason why the rest of the town was built, for it attracted traveling merchants, and eventually shop-keepers looking to put down roots.

Ten years after Oakbridge had officially become a town with its own sheriff and local guards, Ross Chalice, the bard, vanished without a trace.

So, the inn passed on to a philosopher named Romulus Mist, a gray elf with whom people would come from far and wide to discuss wisdom, God, and morality.

When Romulus Mist passed on, the inn fell into the hands of a monster-hunter named Sir Hamnet the Wild, and people came to see the heads of various beasts he’d slain, which were displayed on the walls.

By the time I moved in to town, the inn was owned by my best friend, Benjamin Strato, who was believed to be the strongest man in the world. The man my son knew as “Mr. Benji.” I worked for Mr. Benji, and Zac and I lived in his inn.

After rescuing Zac from the Lonely Room, we returned to the Chalice Inn.

A fire already burned in the fireplace, under the heads of manticores, barghests, and basilisks. Since it was still both the middle of the day and the middle of the week, only a few patrons sat at the tables, hunched over their soups and their drinks. A group of men sat at the table nearest the fireplace, engaged in a game of dice to pass the time and lose their money in a manner which seemed at least a little more meaningful than taxes.

Benji stood behind the bar, drying a wooden mug with a white cloth.

He towered over most men I knew, and his forearms alone were bigger around than my waist. (At least, they were before I started putting on weight). His hair was oily and black as night, as was his thick mustache, which curled up on the ends just under his pronounced cheekbones. I always found it difficult to tell when his eyes were open or closed as he had a habit of constantly squinting. The collar of his shirt was open, allowing curls of black hair to peek out from his barrel-chest.

“Ah. You’re back,” came his deep, kind voice as we entered the inn. He set down the wooden mug on the shelf behind him and leaned on the counter with both hands, his palms as big as dinner plates. “What did Miss Keren have to say?”

The sparkle in Zac’s eyes turned to guilt at the sound of Benji’s question, and he turned to me with his silent plea, hoping he’d not have to disappoint his hero with the news that he’d gotten in trouble again.

But I wasn’t about to bail him out this time. “Zac, Mr. Benji asked you a question. Aren’t you going to answer?”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Zac stammered for a moment, then shrugged.

Benji patted the counter in front of him and turned to take hold of a cup from the shelves. “Have a seat, Mr. Zac. I’ll fix you a muddy slingshot and you can tell me what happened.”

The muddy slingshot was a drink Benji made for children who came into the inn. It was one of a long list of drinks he’d invented which were fun and unique, but contained no alcohol. I’d had one once. As far as I can tell, the flavoring was a combination of chocolate and mint, with cookie crumbs ground up on top.

Zac’s eyes lit up at the name of his favored treat, and he bounded up to the counter while Benji got to work preparing it. Truth be told, with all his experience as a bartender, he could have whipped up the drink in seconds, but he always made sure to take extra time when he was trying to coax Zac into talking.

The boy sat on one of the stools, watching with delicious anticipation as Benji prepared the muddy slingshot. A treat he knew he wouldn’t taste until he told the story of what had happened that day.

“I beat a boy up, Mr. Benji,” Zac said, his eyes watching as Benji stirred the chocolate powder into milk.

Benji’s brow conveyed such deep disappointment that even I felt its sting. “Well, that doesn’t sound very gentlemanly at all. What do I always say, Mr. Zac?”

Zac groaned and pouted. “In all things, be a gentleman.”

“That’s right,” said Benji, giving a brief, proud smile, which immediately faded. “So, why did you hurt this boy?”

“He said Daddy killed my mama,” said Zac.

Benji snorted. “Such a ridiculous lie! Sounds like the boy deserved to be punished. Just not by you. Are you going to apologize to him?” He ground up mint leaves and added them to the mix, stirring far more thoroughly than necessary.

Zac nodded vigorously, desperate to win back some of Mr. Benji’s approval.

“Good,” said Benji. “I’m disappointed that you got into a fight, but proud that you’re trying to make things right.” He ground up a cinnamon cookie in his hands, letting the crumbs fall on top of the drink, which he set on the counter in front of Zac. “Since I let you drink here for free, I have some rules, and one of them is that you behave like a gentleman.” Benji leaned forward, opening his eyes a little wider so Zac could see his dark irises. He pointed one of his callous-covered fingers at Zac’s chest. “So, here’s the deal, Mr. Zac. You can have this muddy slingshot now and it will be your last one for a week.”

“Noooo!” Zac whined.

“Or!” Benji interrupted. “Or… you can have this muddy slingshot now and have your next one after you’ve both apologized to that boy and washed all the dishes in the kitchen.”

“That’s not fair!” Zac cried.

“I know,” Benji said, flatly. “But this is my inn, so it’s my rules. Besides, all the drinks I’ve made for you are worth at least one time of you taking care of those dishes for me.”

Zac cast his eyes down at the counter, but they quickly wandered to the muddy slingshot, which was just outside his reach, unless he were to climb on the counter after it.

Benji continued. “The only other option is that I drink this muddy slingshot myself and you don’t get one until I feel like giving one to you. That’s up to you, Mr. Zac.”

Zac did his best not to throw an absolute fit, having learned time and again that tantrums earned him time alone in his room, which was only slightly more pleasant than the Lonely Room. His attempts to restrain himself manifested as a face like he was straining hard with constipation and a slight wriggling of both his fists. His teeth were gritted tightly together as he said, “Fine! I’ll do the dishes.”

“Good!” Benji nudged the muddy slingshot into Zac’s easy reach. “Proud of you, Mr. Zac.”

Zac scooped up the drink in both hands and tipped the cup back, pouring the contents into his mouth. A happy humming sound rose from his throat as the treat touched his taste buds. The chocolate mess formed a faux-mustache over his lip, one almost as impressive as Benji’s real one.