If the townspeople are bewildered to see us in one piece, we couldn’t possibly know. It’s way too damned dark. I never thought to wonder when streetlights were invented, but I guess the 1400s weren’t it. Most of the market square has cleared. Those who are left carry small twinkling lanterns and candles as they clean their stalls and shuffle home.

However, the dark of early evening makes the inn easy to spot. A single torch marks the door of a small stone building. Above the doorframe hangs a small sign simply stating “Public House.”

Elias, relentless gentleman that he is, holds the door for us as we file inside. The warmth of a blazing hearth consumes the room. Similar to the lord’s hall, there are several long tables and a chandelier. At the far end is a bar with a kitchen behind it. Creaky wooden stairs lead to another floor where I assume we’ll find our rooms. Rooms plural. Please, rooms plural. I need alone time. I’ve had about enough social proximity to last the month.

As we settle in, two notifications appear.

1.

New Status!

Safe: You have entered a safe zone. Enemies, NPCs, provided food and items, as well as participants outside of your party cannot harm you or your equipment for the duration of your stay.

2.

Title(s) Earned:

Sound Sleeper: Discover your first safe zone.

Reward: 50g

“Sweet, sweet rest!” Luci exclaims. She dumps her bow and slides across one of the benches until she’s fully reclined. “Yeah, that’s the stuff.”

As Ron pretends to sit on her head, I knock her legs to the side and make some room. The second I take a seat, I realize I may never get back up again. I’m not sore now, but it’s in those stages where I know I’ll be sore tomorrow. Tomorrow, when we have to fight through a tower. And confront a sorcerer. Ugh, I need sleep. Twenty hours seems about right.

A few local patrons side-eye us. A burly, bearded man raises a pint of ale in cheers before his less boisterous friend hushes him and mutters something loud about “tax collectors.”

Elias takes the parchment we got from Lord Cathal and approaches the bar.

Did you know?

While Catholics were allowed to put aside their Lent to eat and drink on St. Patrick’s, drunkenness was heavily frowned upon. As such, Irish law prohibited pubs to be open on St. Patrick’s Day.

“Okay, seriously, is anyone else getting that?” I ask, shuffling the notification aside.

Luci pops up. “Getting what?”

“They only have two rooms,” Elias says, sliding in beside us.

“Uh-huh.” I look at Luci and inwardly groan. I can’t believe I’m doing this. “We can share if you want, Luce.”

“Sure,” she replies. “You’re kinda old for a sleepover, but it’ll be fun.”

“Okay, ouch.”

The innkeeper drops down four bowls of stew accompanied by four pints of ale. One whiff is all it takes to tell me that the drink is mostly water. I glance at Elias, expecting him to say something to his niece. Instead, his shoulders slouch, eyes drooping.

For the next while, we eat our stew in silence. It’s not as chunky or creamy as one would hope. Or well-spiced. Or salted. But the beef melts in my mouth, so I can’t complain. You know, anymore than I just did.

Halfway through her stew, Luci taps her spoon in thought against the side of her bowl. “So who here thinks Lord Cathal was a skeeve?”

“He seemed off to me,” I reply.

“I mean, he was so… weaselly,” she continues. “Like my principal, Mr. Zimmerman. He measured the girl’s skirts. It was so ick.”

I wrinkle my nose. “They still do that?”

“Yes! And it was totally unfair because Mykenzie like legit had her mom hem her skirt so high you could see her butt, but she was hot so he pretended not to notice. She even tanned in a booth with nothing but a thong. The guys were always talking about it. It was so wrong.”

Ron squirms. “This is way uncomfortable.” Ditching the spoon, Ron hides his face behind his bowl and slurps it down straight.

“I don’t trust him,” Elias agrees. “A man like that will send people within his confidence to do his dirty work. Not strangers.”

“It could just be because it’s a game again,” I say. “That’s what they do in games. ‘Hey, I just met you. Can you save my entire village?’ It’s pretty common.”

“Hmm, perhaps.” Elias thinks for a moment. “That is a valid point. What we see could represent a lapse in the designer’s logic or a lapse in the lord’s character. It’s difficult to judge the integrity of the world based only on what we’ve seen in a day.”

“True that.” I swallow another bite. “For instance, they say they hate magic, but the whole town is enchanted. Lapse in logic or a rich guy’s hypocrisy?”

“Agreed,” replies Elias.

Warning! An unmet party has received a quest. (1) quest is in progress by your party. (4) quests remain.

“There goes another one,” I say. “Wait, did we get that notification for the visa quest?”

Elias shakes his head.

With both his bowl and pint already empty, Ron whips out his gittern and starts absent-mindedly plucking at the strings. “Dudes, we got a quest to kill a freaking wizard, man. I’m super pumped.”

I yawn. “Really? Just sounds exhausting.”

“Yeah, man! It’s a wizard. In a wizard tower. They have magic here. Magic! Where’s the love? You were the one talking about how this was gonna be an adventure. You forget already?”

“No…” I did say that, didn’t I? My face reddens. “Maybe...”

“It’s been a long day,” Elias comments.

“Long day, schmlong day. Dudes, we’re in medium-evil times. It’s sick! We fought wolves, man!”

Luci grins. “That was awesome.”

“I’m just sayin’, I’m 42, and my stepdad was paying half my rent. My stepdad. Now a lord’s putting me up so I can go dungeon diving and kill a wizard. I never wanna go back. And I think I’m getting abs now,” he says, poking his belly.

“It still doesn’t feel totally right to me,” says Luci. “Like, yeah I can kinda shoot, but I’m still, I don’t know. I’m still just me.”

“Maybe we did the wrong thing not doing magic,” I say. “We have to at least up our wits attribute or get some serious gear if we’re going to fight a sorcerer. I don’t think Ron’s fortitude will cut it.”

“And level up,” Luci sleepily agrees. “Oh, I still have three points. I think maybe I should put it in dexterity again just to get me to 30. You know, another +3 buff.”

“Good idea. But then we need to stop putting everything in dexterity. Min-maxing is all well and good, but I’m pretty sure a couple fangs will kill me.”

“Not if you can dodge them.” She yawns. “We can figure it out tomorrow.”

“A lullaby for the lady?” says Ron as he plucks the first few notes of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Luci chuckles.

Elias glances at the table nearby. “I’m not sure that’s wise.”

“Aw.”

“Come on, Tío,” Luci begs. “He promised he’d play me something. I wanna hear.”

Before Elias can protest further, Ron stands, props a knee on the bench, and begins to play in earnest. It starts slow as he figures out the chords. Then, after a few notes, the tune falls into place. It’s actually pretty good. Really good. Soon his fingers are dancing across the strings like a natural. He hiccups a couple of times as he searches for the right chord. But I recognize it all the same: Nothing Else Matters. Sounds damn fine on a lute, actually.

Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

As the innkeeper shuffles over to clean up our dinner, he gives Ron a subtle nod of approval. I even spot Elias mouthing the words.

“Metallica fan?” I whisper.

He shrugs sheepishly.

New Status!

Serenaded: All emotional statuses [entranced, confused, terrified, enraged, surprised] are nullified.

Ron strums the final notes, his fingers hanging on the fret for a moment before he rests. Luci bursts into applause. As we clap, he bows. “Thank you, thank you very much.”

The bearded patron at the next table over raises his pint, sloshing ale over the side. “Another!”

“Rory,” warns one of his more sober friends.

“Ah, come off it. I wanna hear the man play.” He swings his legs over the bench and waddles over. “From where’d you come, fellas? Not here, I wager!”

“You’d wager right,” I say. I throw him some awkward finger guns that I’m sure don’t translate.

“My friends thought you were taxmen from the mainland, but I don’t think you look like taxmen.” He slides in next to Ron and throws back another swig, ale foaming on his beard.

Did you know?

“Bent” mustaches, like biker, handlebar, and horseshoe mustaches, were banned in Dublin in 1457. That’s correct! Mustaches above the lip: legal! Mustaches below the lip: illegal! Why? Perhaps due to mistaken identity. Perhaps due to hygiene. Sadly, the reasons have been lost to history. Saffron-dyed tunics were similarly banned, as well as mullets, which we can all understand.

“Seriously?” I gasp. “How do I unsubscribe? Unsubscribe.”

“What’re you goin’ off about?” the man says. My party throws me equally quizzical looks.

“Nothing. Um, taxmen?”

“Mm, that’s right. But I don’t think you’re taxmen. I think you look more like those other folk that came through. Weird bunch, they were. All armed up like they were keen for a fight.”

Elias stiffens, his attention darting straight to his axe.

Luci’s eyes light up. “There’s another party here? What do they look like? Who are they?”

“Not sure. Only caught a glimpse. Aidan talked to ‘em for a brief spell, but they said they had other business. Haven’t seen ‘em since. Must’ve gone away out of town soon after.”

He downs another gulp of ale. “Usually, our wee isle’s a quiet spot. No foreigners nor mainlanders since the fog rolled in a decade or so back. ‘Side from Lord Cathal of course. Swear that fog were a good thing back then. Nice havin’ a wizard to protect us. But that was ‘fore the fair folk twisted him. No offense, no offense!” he says to no one in particular. “‘Course the monsters are worse than any old wizard. But not by much of a margin! Har har har.”

“What kind of monsters?” asks Luci. “We’ve only seen wolves.”

“Hmm, well, that’s half the issue right there. All the beasts been gettin’ a little over-feisty. Bears, wolves, snakes, and the like. Bigger. More feral-like. Fair folk still aren’t all that much trouble. Just a poxy nuisance is all. No offense! Gotta watch the river kelpies too, though I hear they’re more exhibitionist than they are dangerous. Bit mad though.” He turns back to his friends. “Aidan, Aidan, what was that monster you all wrestled with the eve of that Lughnasadh? A banshee?”

“No, no, that were a bánánach,” his friend calls back. He waves an arm in the air - an arm that stops right at the wrist.

“Jesus.”

Warning! The quest A FARMER’S REVENGE has already been taken. If the associated party dies or leaves the region, the quest will become available.

So another party was definitely here then.

“How do you fight a banana-chs?” asks Luci.

“Fight it? Aren’t you a wee bit young for that?”

Luci’s face hardens. “Ugh. If I hear that one more time.”

Throwing his hands up in defeat, the bearded man whistles. “Oof. Right, lass. Apologies. Just don’t see many kids around these days.”

“Huh. Now that you say it.” I glance warily at Luci who just rolls her eyes. “Why’s that?”

“Why’s what?” the man asks.

“You said you don’t see many kids these days.”

“Huh, now that you say it.” He blinks, then rubs his eyes. “What was I… Right. Best thing to do about monsters like the bánánach is to not go tramplin’ haunted battlefields in the first place.”

“Don’t need to go wanderin’ outside anyhow,” he continues. “Lord Cathal’s been a right fella. Buyin’ up farms and movin’ folk to town. Most folk aren’t livin’ in the fields anymore. And those that are aren’t, well, livin’. Lucky you don’t have the taint a’ magic on you. Good Lord Cathal’s been havin’ to jail ‘em left and right just to keep us good folk safe. Right shame.”

“Shh, now, Rory,” his friend says. “Leave ‘em taxmen alone.”

“They aren’t taxmen! Don’t be a dryshite!” The man gulps down the rest of his ale and pounds the pint on the table. “Anyhow, if you’re lookin’ to avoid a fight, just skirt ‘round the fog and don’t stay out at night. And avoid any ancient battlefields. Caves and lakes are right out too. And deep parts of the river. Crypts, tombs, graveyards, ruins… Oh, in fact, there’s a crypt you’ll definitely want to avoid. Dungeon of the... dungeon of the somethin' or other.”

I perk up. “A dungeon? Where is that exactly?”

“Dorren’s bound to have a map down at her stall come the mornin’. So you know where not to go, of course. What else, what else. Oh, avoid abandoned farms. Abandoned anything, like. Let’s see. Mounds, circles, anythin’ the fair folk might live in. Fancy trees and the like…”

“So don’t go anywhere is what you’re saying.”

“That’d be my advice. Especially anywhere underground,” he answers.

“Why’s that? The fair folk?”

“Who?” the man says, fighting back a yawn. “Well, I need to crack on now. The bellman says the town’s movin’, so don’t go traipsin’ outside the border ‘til sun-up. Have a good ‘un!” And he scuttles back to his table.

New Status!

Well Fed: Gain 25% Stamina Regen for the next 3 hours.

Unhelpful now but definitely a perk to keep in mind.

Ron plays another few songs, earning him a complimentary drink from the innkeeper due to his musical talents. Another perk we’ll have to keep in mind. Unlike our previous ales, this one has a higher alcohol content, and after a long day of exercise, it goes to Ron’s head immediately. His songs grow worse. I think the innkeeper regrets it.

For a while longer, we mill about, listening to Ron’s progressively helpless renditions of 90s metal songs and talking sleepily about what lies ahead. It’s hard to say what time it is. Somewhere around 7pm, maybe 8? Despite the relatively early hour, it feels late, our exhaustion exacerbated by the cozy hearth, the lack of light, and the lack of any entertainment beyond what we can provide ourselves. So we head upstairs. Well, three of us do anyhow. I think Ron’s still playing his weird lute.

The medieval bedtime routine is not my usual go-to, gotta say. Usually I’m a night-shower girl - if I can manage it -, followed by some half-assed teeth brushing, doom scrolling in bed for an hour, then peacefully drifting off to thoughts of all the dumb decisions I’ve made over the course of my existence.

Instead, I get to use the privy. Oh boy! I knew there wouldn’t be modern-day plumbing, and I’ve used campground outhouses before, but this somehow feels worse. Like I’m shitting in someone’s cupboard. We’re also given a small basin of water, a rough linen cloth, and a tub of paste that’s like a mix of salt, mint, and rosemary that we’re supposed to just rub into our teeth.

Before we met, my fiance stayed with his parents at a castle in Salzburg, Austria. Did I mention his family was loaded? Oh, but he went on and on about how authentic the experience felt. Drafty stone rooms, food cooked over a crackling fire, beds laden in furs. But you didn’t have salt toothpaste, did you, Ethan? Did you? Here’s hoping the alien hospital in Pharos does cavity fillings.

Anyway. The beds aren’t half bad though. They’re furnished with feather mattresses, thick quilts, and soft pillows. Stripping down to my underwear, I slip into bed and pull the quilt up to my chin. It’s cozy. Maybe a little pokey. The feathers are perhaps a little too real. But it’s better than the straw floor I was beginning to expect.

I miss my phone.

But all it takes is a little switch in perspective to see how utterly lucky we are. Sure, the toothpaste is rocky and tastes like salt, and I may never get to watch another episode of Invincible again. But I’m fed. I’ve got a bed. A roof over my head. And for the second night in a row, I don’t feel like crying. I almost feel alive.

On the other side of the room, Luci’s linens rustle. A cloudy sliver of moonlight casts the barest glow from the window, enough that I can catch the thinnest, grainiest outline of her figure nestled beneath her quilt.

“You awake?” she asks, her voice muffled.

“Uh-huh. Why, what’s wrong?”

“Why’s something have to be wrong?” she groans. “You so don’t know how to do sleepovers.”

“Sure I do. I’m over it, so I sleep.”

“Psh.” It’s silent for a moment. Then Luci sighs. “Look. I see what you guys are doing.”

“Hmm?”

“You and Tío Elias! I mean, Tío Elias is worse. Way worse. Just, you don’t have to hover over me all the time. I can take care of myself.”

I roll over to face her. “I know. Believe me. You’re scarily put together.”

“Thank you,” she says, with more than just a little hint of sass.

“Your uncle just feels responsible. And I guess I just… feel. It’s been a while.”

“Okay.” She pauses. Then she sits up, crossing her legs. “But like, you know that’s not fair right? You guys feeling all parent-y over me means I have to be okay which like… It’s the end of the world. That’s way more to ask of me than it is to ask of you.”

“We’re just worried about you, Luce. You’re 13. You weigh, like, 90 pounds.”

“So? We’re all the same level.”

“But you’re still…” Ugh, how do I put this? “We just want to protect you.”

“Well. What if I want to protect you too?”

I sigh, too tired to argue. “How ‘bout this. If I’m being too parent-y, you tell me to stop.”

“I guess that works,” she grumbles as she flops back down into bed. “What about Tío Elias? Can you talk to him? He listens to you.”

“Does he though?”

“Pleeeeease. I’m legit losing my mind here.”

“Alright. I’ll try. But that’s all I can promise.” I tug the quilt over my face. “Now. Me sleepy. Less talk. More snooze.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she scoffs. She flips over her pillow, beating the feathers into submission, before lying down again. “I knew you were too old for sleepovers.”