Installment 43 [https://squirrel.dogphilosophy.net/Installment043.png]
On the one hand, an entire ale-mug full of "grump" is actually strong enough to make even a gnoll feel sleepy. On the other, the collection of flesh-rending teeth visible in a gnollish yawn is kind of horrifying. Al collected the empty mugs from the passed-out donkey and drowsy monster, and Gruntle followed him back to the Biggest Coop.
They left Bote and Wikwocket to socialize with the locals. Gruntle curled up to sleep, and Al finally sat down to look over the books they'd brought back.
There was a good selection of introductory texts that had taken up most of the bottom shelves, several of which Al had read at one time or another in his studies. From what had been on the higher shelves Al found some potentially more useful materials. His eyes caught on a cover with a title in dwarven runic script, which said "Am die Auswelte Sachen und die Wände Dazwischen". Dwarven culture tended more towards material crafts and their wizards tended to be alchemists and makers of tools. A dwarven text regarding something as esoteric as the interrelationship between the waking world and the strange realities where demons, angels, faeries, primordial beings of the raw elements and such exist was a rare and unexpected find. Al grabbed it quickly and set it aside to be the second book he would read. Being a dwarven work, he expected it would be very practical in its approach, which was exactly what he felt he needed. Besides, it would be good practice with the dwarven language for him.
There were a total of seven codices and three scrolls of writing in the incomprehensible script that Al was increasingly certain originated in the Infernal realms. Whatever knowledge was hidden in there would probably be even more useful in understanding and defending against demons, but Al wondered if he'd have to find a demon who could be convinced to teach him to understand it. Al hoped not, considering what that path to knowledge could end up costing.
As he thought he'd remembered, there actually was a copy of Do Not Consent that had been on the bottom shelf. This would actually be the third time Al had read it. Do Not Consent was one of the books his parents had insisted that he read when he first began studying the practice of wizardry, and then it had come up again in the formal curriculum years later. It was not a terribly long book compared to a lot of writings Al had read through in his studies, nor was it exceptionally arcane. Although a substantial portion of it discussed magically-binding oaths and studies of historically-known deals with otherworldly beings, it also touched on ordinary contract laws, bargaining and haggling, and even a bit of psychology. The lessons of the text could fundamentally be summarized as: "Words matter", "Understand what is being agreed to","Be aware of penalties for deviation from the agreement and the enforcement mechanisms for those penalties", and "When in doubt, shut up."
The way this copy creaked open stiffly suggested its previous owner should have spent more time reading it.
Al took off his boots and got out of his robe and chainmail shirt with a sense of relief, and settled down on what passed for a bed on the floor of this rustic place to read the short book from cover to cover. He paid dutiful attention to the text, so he barely noticed when Bote and then, rather later, Wikwocket came in to sleep as well. He finished Do Not Consent and quietly left the book next to the sleeping head of the occasionally-reckless Wikwocket in hopes that she might read it. Then he yawned and eagerly opened the dwarven text, which seemed to be everything he'd hoped and then some. Such was the lateness, though, that he only got a short way into it before he had to give up. He blew out his candle and drifted off to sleep, disturbed only by gentle, fatigue-induced hallucinations of whispering voices.
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Al awoke the next morning to the disappearing memories of strange dreams of patterns and colors, and the sounds of birdsong from outside. He felt stiff from sleeping on the minimal bedding but otherwise refreshed. He sat up and felt a pang of concern to notice that he was the only one in the room. Bote's pack was still where they had left it, and it appeared most of the contents of Wikwocket's pack had been left behind next to the lead-lined chest. Al groaned a little and got to his feet. He put on his boots and robe, wrinkling his nose at the smell, and resolved to find some water to wash in after he'd found out where everyone went. He retrieved a washing-cloth from his pack and tucked it in his belt before heading out of the room.
"Good morning!" Rose greeted Al as he emerged. "Your dwarfish friend said we shouldn't disturb you. Anything you need?"
"Good morning," Al replied with a yawn, "Let's see, finding out where everybody went, the privy, some water for washing, and maybe some food and water if that's all right. More or less in that order."
"The dwarfish person - Bote, was it? - said they were going to get a look around Henhaven. Your beast and the little lady said they were going hunting," Rose said, then chuckled. "She was lugging one of those crossbows you brought with you. It looks almost as big as she is."
Rose ducked behind the bar and came back up with a wooden bucket.
"You can get water from the well. I'll have some food for you when you're ready."
Al thanked her and took the bucket. He went to the well to fill it, then headed back to the privy behind the Biggest Coop. He set the latch for privacy, removed his clothing, and used the privy for its intended purpose. Then, he got to work on getting cleaned up. It was time to use some magic to help him do chores.
The clothing was easy to clean using a simple trick of magic. He wadded his stained robe up, made a magic gesture over them while reciting the appropriate magic words, and then un-wadded the robe, now clean. He repeated this trick with his stockings, pants, and shirt.
Unfortunately, he couldn't simply wad himself up and magic himself clean, but that was okay. Another simple trick transmuted the bucket of cold water into a bucket of warm water. Al dipped the washing-cloth into the bucket and began scrubbing himself one part at a time, starting with the places that smelled the worst. After each bit of scrubbing he wadded the cloth up, wrung the dirty water out of it into the toilet-hole with a vigorous splash, repeated the make-it-clean magic trick, and dipped the cloth back into the bucket of warm water. It didn't take long to finish cleaning himself up. Not for the first time, he found himself annoyed that the collection of little magic tricks he knew didn't include one to dry things, as he waved his arms and jumped up and down for a few minutes inside the privy to dry off. This made more noise and made the privy rock a little alarmingly but it thankfully held together. At least the exercise got the blood flowing, and Al unconsciously began making "Hup, hup, hup" sounds in time with each leap. Once he was reasonably dried-off and somewhat out of breath, he put his newly-cleaned clothes back on over his now-clean body, and dumped the remaining contents of the bucket down the hole where everything else was normally dumped with a loud, definitive SPLOOSH.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
He opened the door to find a crowd villagers gathered around, watching the door and looking concerned.
"Everything okay in there?" one of them asked.
Al didn't feel like explaining.
"Much better now, thank you for asking," he answered, and started back into the inn.
"If you're feeling better now, I've got a wash-basin you can use!" Rose called out from the back of the crowd.
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Al took the plate of bread and chicken-meat and a mug of small-ale that Rose offered him back to the party's room at the inn and settled down to eat, and to decide which of the growing list of obligations he'd start on first. He decided to try out the concept he'd had for improving what Wikwocket insisted on calling the "magic invisible cart". He'd effectively promised his father he'd be working on it for publication, and he didn't want to risk the ongoing distractions making him forget any of the ideas involved. He got out his book of arcane notes and writing materials and set to work.
It took several tries to get the pattern right, but in the end he felt he had gotten things to work the way he'd hoped. It was late in the afternoon when got his first successful conjuration of his improved design, and he triumphantly set his pack atop the shimmering disk to see how long it would stay there. He then turned to a fresh page of his book of notes to inscribe the final version of the procedure onto it. Happy to see the pack still floating atop the spell's manifestation when he finished, he picked up the dwarven text he'd started the night before and resumed reading. The practical insight presented in Auswelte Sachen helped Al bring together some of the abstract knowledge he'd gotten in his previous studies, added to it, and provided a great deal of constructive enlightenment. The chapters he read through concerned the theory and practice of how one might weaken or strengthen the metaphysical barriers between the waking world and the others, in order to make contact with otherworldly beings...or protect oneself from them.
Al went back to re-examine some of the diagrams but then marked his place and closed the book to let the fresh knowledge settle into his mind. He might just be able to make things difficult for demons, though he'd probably need to leverage some alchemical properties. Of course, there was no way he was going to find unicorn horn or hide around here, but perhaps some well-purified silver...
A commotion out in the tavern distracted Al from his thoughts. Nobody was shouting but there was a sudden mix of loud talking with a few laughs, as well as one or two sounds of disgust. Al looked out the window. The sun low in the sky indicated early evening, and he realized how hungry and thirsty he was feeling. He got up and went out to see what the noise was. He smiled in satisfaction as his pack floated along behind him out the door.
Drops of blood made a trail from the front door of the inn to Gruntle. The blood wasn't his, though, it was dripping from the mauled neck of the deer he was carrying over his back. Judging by how little blood was still dripping from the dead deer, he'd probably been carrying it for a while. Wikwocket, following behind him with the crossbow over her shoulder, gave Al a wry smile as Gruntle strode to the kitchen door without paying any attention to a few of the patrons trying to complain or the others laughing at the spectacle. Gruntle shifted the carcass to free up a hand to open the kitchen door.
"Cook it," he said to whoever was in there.
"Why don't you..." an angry voice began, but cut off suddenly. Al rushed to try to calm the situation. Peeking into the kitchen, he saw the red-faced cook standing next to a large stewpot holding a ladle. He stood there open-mouthed looking at Gruntle, with annoyance and fear fighting for territory on his face.
"Is everything okay?" Al asked him, trying to convey some sympathy. The cook pulled his gaze away from the bestial thing that had invaded his kitchen and tightened his grip on the ladle as though he intended to use it as a club. He repressed an angry outburst, turning it into a strained groan.
"Out back with the other one," he finally said, pointing towards the back wall of the kitchen with the ladle. "Please," he added through clenched teeth.
Al nodded and gave the irritable man a friendly smile. "Come on, Gruntle, let's hang your prize up so they can prepare it for cooking."
With a perfunctory grunt, Gruntle followed Al and Wikwocket back out through the front door of the tavern, leaving another trail of blood-drops along the floor.
"Grakthor wasn't kidding," Wikwocket said to Al, "he's definitely an effective hunter." She grinned mischievously as she noticed the invisible cart carrying Al's pack behind him and jumped up to sit on it. She floated for only a fraction of a second before there was a crackling, snapping sound and she and the pack were dropped to the ground. Al sighed and went to pick the pack up.
"Well, at least my estimate looks about right about how much the change in how long it lasts affects how much it can hold up," he said. "How was the hunting today?" he then asked as they resumed their walk around to the back of the building.
"Well, we found a game trail to follow in the woods, and when Gruntle said he could smell deer, we found a place to hide and wait. When the deer went by close enough, I got it in the side with the crossbow. When it tried to run away, Gruntle chased it until it was too weak to keep away from him and then...RAWR!" she answered, finishing by baring her teeth and biting a very small imaginary deer to death in front of her.
Reaching the yard behind the inn, they found Gertrude, butchering a large buck that was hanging from a tree by its hind legs.
"Looks like I've got some competition for the hunting, eh?" she said, pride in her craft outweighing her wariness about Gruntle. "Looks like I win today, mine's bigger! But, that one's a good size too," she added hastily.
Gruntle huffed.
"Tomorrow," he growled.