The sun was setting, and Benj, Priest, Pots, and Jafa walked down Castle Road, kicking up dust in a trail behind them. They went through alleys and across a bridge over a dry trench until they reached a shanty-looking building with no sign out front. It had a snake on the door that seemed to be mid-strike.
"This is the Spitting Serpent?" Benj asked.
"There's the serpent, and there…" Draiden spat on the door, "is the spit."
He banged on the door twice and then once more. It opened into the most high-quality tavern Benj had ever seen. Thick candles cased in red glass domes lit rows upon rows of glass bottles filled with spirits, casks, and wine bottles. Similar candle domes lit gambling tables that were surrounded by men and women dressed like nobility, clattering coins and cards on table tops.
Beautiful barmaids dressed in scandalously little walked around with trays holding food and drinks. The barmaids were talking and accepting tips from patrons in places that made Benj blush. Smoke in the air mixed with the scents of perfumes mingled with the sound of stringed instruments, talking, and laughter.
Draiden had given Benj black trousers with a matching black jacket. The jacket came with buttons, but no button holes, and no undershirt. Draiden wore a loose-fitting white silk tunic with a grey diamond pattern untucked from loose light brown pants. The others wore rich but casual garments, making the group look the part of the rogues they were.
They sat at the bar, and a different drink was served to each of them except for Benj. The Barkeep looked at Benj with a slightly raised eyebrow.
"He's drinking on Reese tonight," Priest said, sizing up his violet drink that looked black from a nearby candle.
"Which Reese?" The Barkeep asked.
Priest cautiously looked left and right before leaning in close and whispering, "Larkin."
"Did you say Larkin Reese?" The Barkeep asked in an obnoxiously loud voice, assumedly on purpose.
The other Crownsmiths shared uncomfortable glances.
"Yes, you big oaf," Priest said, mildly irritated. "You're lucky he's not here tonight."
"Alright, alright, don't get your unders in a twist," The Barkeep laughed, "What'll you have?"
"I'll have the house ale, please," Benj requested.
"Get him a Big Bertha," Draiden ordered from across Priest.
Benj looked at Draiden, but he just smiled and sipped his drink.
The Barkeep put a giant glass bowl filled with a red concoction in front of Benj and watched him until he took a sip.
"It's good," Benj said, "Is there alcohol in this?"
The Barkeep smiled, nodded, and moved down the bar to help other patrons.
A man stood up, four chairs down, and yelled, "A curse and a cuss!"
On stage, a bard responded to the outburst with a shake of his head and continued twisting the tuning pegs on his lute. There was a unanimous agreement throughout the tavern, and more people repeated the shout.
"Alright," the bard relented before tuning the rest of his lute strings. "A curse and a cuss." He continued and began plucking the strings for a while before he abruptly started.
A cuss isn't much, but it could always get worse, so beware.
A curse is worse than a cuss. But a curse and a cuss is worse.
A swear is worse than a curse and a cuss, but it could always get worse with the more that you curse and you swear.
Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.
A stab is worse than a swear and a frown and a stare.
A stab and a smile beats a stab and a glare.
A stab and a glare is worse than a swear and a curse and a cuss, so take care.
A stab and a curse is worse than a stab and a kiss.
A stab and a kick is worse than a stab and a curse and a cuss and a glare,
but a stab and a punch is as bad as a stab and a kick… But it could always be worse, so beware!
A kick in the crotch is about as bad as it gets.
You'd give a curse and a cuss and wish for a stab and a kiss.
A kick in the crotch is not worse than a stab, but on a list of what hurts, a stab is not worse.
Baring a stab, and a kick in the crotch, and a curse and a cuss and a swear and glare,
It could always get worse, so beware!
The bard strummed his lute one last time, and the room erupted in applause and laughter.
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"Get him another!" Draiden yelled at the Barkeep.
A moment later, another large, red drink sloshed in front of Benj.
"So let me get this straight," Benj said, forcing his eyes to focus on the dice before him. "If you roll a five, six, seven, eight, or nine, I take a drink. But if I roll a one, two, three, four-" Benj silently counted the next numbers, "nine, ten, eleven or a twelve, then we all have to take a drink?"
"That's what I'm saying, It's a win, win!" Jafa said rolling the dice on the table, it was an eight and Benj took another long pull from his drink.
"Wait!" Benj said with absolute clarity, "There's two dice so you can't roll a one!"
"But think of all the other numbers!" Draiden said with a big drunk smile.
"Roll again!" Benj said.
It was a seven. Benj drank.
"I think you guys sare cheating," Benj slurred his words together.
"Then you roll the dice," Draiden said slapping the dice in his hands.
Benj rolled; it was an eight. He drank.
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"Finish your drink," Draiden said, "It's time to go."
Benj looked over at his Big Bertha and noticed it was full again. When did that happen? He took as many drinks of it as he could and then stood up.
He found himself on the ground, lying on top of a toppled bar stool. Four hands hefted him up and led him out of the door.
“What happened bachthere?” Benj asked sloppily as his vision spun.
"When you got out of your chair, or when you joined the table down there and started telling them about your dog back home?" Priest asked helping him outside.
"Remember when you rolled snake eyes all those times in a row?" Draiden asked, encouraged helping.
"I rolled snake eyes in'th spitting snake three times!" He yelled as they walked across a small bridge. "If'thas not luck, there'snosuch thing."
"You're a pretty lucky guy, mate," Jafa said. "Do you think you can walk without help?"
"I can fly w'thout help!" Benj tossed off their hands and started jumping. The ring prevented him from gliding, but no one looked.
Benj slowly lagged behind as the three men walked in front.
"Wait up y'guys!" He yelled.
"Well, come on then!" One of them shouted behind his shoulder.
They walked around a corner ahead. Benj took the time to relieve himself in a bush. By the time he rounded the corner, they were gone.
He stumbled and walked in the dark, singing what lyrics he remembered from the "a curse and a cuss" to himself, determined to find his way back home when he heard footsteps.
"Isabout time," He said as he walked toward the sound. When he got there he looked up to find three dark figures glaring at him with rope in one hand and a black bag in the other. One man threw the sack over Benj's head, tied him up in spite of his protests, and dragged him away.
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Benj found himself shirtless, strapped to a table, and blindfolded. He could hear the sound of indistinct voices, feet shuffling on the floor, and the squeak of a door hinge.
"We know you work for the Crownsmiths. We have some questions for you. If you answer our questions, we'll let you go. If you don't give us the answers we want, we'll start with your toes and work our way up."
"I don't know anything!" Benj pleaded, "I'm a baker! Let me go!"
"Who is Larkin Reese?" The man asked with a calm voice.
"I don't know, but if you call him Larkin, he won't like it."
Benj was slapped in the face. The effects of the alcohol absorbed most of the blow.
"Ow!"
"Let's try this again. What do you do with the Crownsmiths?"
"I don't do anything. I'm a baker. I bake bread. I invented sausage bread. If you tried it, you would be kissing me on the face right now and not slapping me." Benj said, sobering up. "What do you want from me?"
He was slapped again. "Where are they located?"
"If I knew that, I would be in bed right now, not talking to you lardheads."
Before they were able to slap him again, Benj threw up red juice all over the floor.
"I'm not cleaning that up," One of them said. "I've got my own job to do."
The room got quiet.
"All right, put him under. Let's get to work."
"Put me under what?" He asked trying to move his arms. Someone pinched his nose. When he opened his mouth to breathe, they dumped a warm, bitter solution inside. He was forced to swallow it. He heard them talking about birds when his vision blurred. He saw a bird land on his chest. It sang to him as the room darkened and he drifted off to sleep.