My feet ache and my legs scream at me to stop walking. The sun is halfway to it’s peak at this point, and I’m starting to regret our decision to leave. I’m thinking fond thoughts about my bed at home, a warm fire, or even just a wooden chair to sit and relieve the burning that traces up and down both sides of my legs. Vern is walking alongside me, humming a song that I don’t know, and right now I can think of nothing else but throttling him, or at least knocking that stupid hat from atop his head.

“Vern, shut up.” He stops humming, muttering an apology. “How much longer do we have to walk?” I ask a few minutes later.

“I dunno. Let me check.” We stop and he pulls a folded piece of paper from his bag. Opening it, he twists it around a few times, looking it over. Eventually, he stops and stares intently at it.

“Well, can you figure it out?” I ask, slightly irritated.

He looks at me with a timid smile. “How committed are you to this adventure?” I scrunch my eyebrows and tilt my head.

“Fairly committed, I guess. I mean we’ve been walking all night and half a day. There isn’t much going back now. Why do you ask?” I can’t think of a reason he would question my dedication now, unless…. “Let me see that map.” I demand and raise my hand to him. He sheepishly hands over the paper.

“Yeah, you see that’s the issue. I wrote a letter that I was going to leave for my parents, explaining where we went, and I may have accidentally switched the two before we left…..Sorry.” Vern says meekly. I stare at the paper. True to his word, it’s a letter in his oddly elegant handwriting. I can do nothing but stare at it for several minutes. I hear birds chirping in the trees near us, and Vern keeps sneaking glances at me like a child who knows they’re about to be punished. Gently, meticulously, I fold the paper and hand it back to him. He takes it and looks at me, surprised at the lack of outburst from me. Then, I turn my back to him and start walking in the opposite direction, from where we came.

“Hey, wait up! What are you doing?” He slings his bag on, and jogs to catch up to me. I keep walking without saying anything. “Are you going back home?” He asks. I nod my head sharply, clenching my jaw shut. We make it to the top of a hill, when Vern steps in front of me. I try to walk around him, but he grabs me by the shoulders. “You’re just going to give up already? We just left. There are going to be obstacles in our way, if you give up now, then you’ll never achieve your dream.” He means it to sound inspirational, but all it does is piss me off.

“Vern, how in the hell are we supposed to make it anywhere if we’re just heading in a random direction with no idea where the closest town is? We could end up lost and starving in the woods, or we could stumble across bandits and be killed. I came with you because you said we were prepared to make the trip. If we don’t have a map, then we obviously aren’t prepared.” I say everything in a reasonable tone of voice. I’m angry, but I’ve never been one to be vocally vivid, though my head is in the process of constructing a poem. I’m having some difficulty rhyming ‘maim, throttle, and beat into the ground’. Vern looks at me with wide eyes, and darts a glance over my shoulder.

“Hey, there’s smoke! How about we head there and see if we can get directions or a map?” I hesitate, the lines falling apart in my head. He can sense my weakness, and capitalizes. “Come on Ren, the town isn’t that far away. If we can’t get useful information, then we can still rest there overnight and walk home in the morning.” I look back and see the smoke, estimating it to be a couple hours more of a walk. Compared with the eight hour walk to get back home, a bed at an inn sounds amazing. Knowing I don’t have a reason to disagree, I relent.

“Fine, we’ll go to that town for the night. If we don’t get directions or a map, though, I’m going to leave first thing in the morning.” Vern lets all the air out of his lungs at once, and the perpetual grin reappears on his face.

“Come on. Our adventure still awaits.” I look at him and sigh, before I smile back.

“Since when did adventures involve the main characters forgetting a map, and having their legs feel like rubber when they walk?” We both laugh and turn to head towards the town.

The ‘town’ turns out to be a singular inn, on a side path diverging from the main road. The building is in a state of disrepair, with the sign being faded and the siding stained with age. I hesitate, my imagination running wild with everything fictional I know about dilapidated buildings.

“See, it’s perfect. We can rest here, then be on our way in the morning.” Vern says, with all the innocence of the young...or the dumb. Regardless, I know our options are limited, and anyways, how often does reality actually reflect stories?

“After you,” I say, ushering him in front. Better to be safe than sorry, and Vern has a knack to make it out of dangerous situations, so I’m not that bad of a friend...am I?

We enter through the door to a long mahogany bar, with stools lining it. Tables and chairs are strewn about, looking like they were left from the last busy night, and a large hearth dominates the left side of the room.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

“Huh, it is a normal inn.” I state, smiling with relief. I glance over at Vern and see him frozen, staring at a place on the bar. I drop my smile, and follow his gaze. A dark red stain of what I can only assume is blood sits on the bar.

“No no no no!” I exclaim. “This is exactly what I was afraid of.” I put one hand to my forehead and begin backing away.

“Do you have a sixth sense or something?” Vern asks, backing away beside me.

“No, It’s just that the building was so decrepit, I thought it might be dangerous. Vern looks at me suddenly, his face indignant.

“You let me go first. No, you wanted me to go first, you traitor!” Vern says loudly, pointing an accusatory finger at me.

“That’s because I trust you to get out of situations with your unmatched charisma.” I say, raising my hands in a gesture of appeasement. Vern eyes me skeptically, before sighing.

“Of course, I can’t deny that you’re right to have faith in me.” He smiles brightly, “I am unreasonably charming.” I nod once, then gesture back to the blood stain in front of us.

“Now, what should we do about the whole murder that apparently took place here?” I ask, masking my fear with a reasonable tone.

“The answer is obvious. We steel our nerves and investigate. Every great hero needs to solve a crime or two, to be considered a legend. And besides, it would look really good on our resume when we get to King Yodel’s court.” Vern says, and honestly his reasoning is fair. I shrug.

“I suppose you’re right.” I say, then add, “Also, his name is King Yudeli, not Yodel. Keep that in mind so you don’t make a fool of yourself in his court.” Vern breaks out laughing.

“I see what you did there. Fool. I’m a jester. You know, sometimes you’re pretty funny.” Vern says, placing a hand on my shoulder. Puns are the lowest form of comedy in my mind, and require the least amount of effort, but I keep my opinion to myself and just smile. After Vern composes himself, we head further into the building, and I take the lead out of a sense of guilt.

The doorway behind the bar, leads into a kitchen, with pots and pans hanging from metal hooks on the ceiling. Barrels are lined neatly in one corner, and a shut door on the back wall leads outside. There is a small fire pit, with a kettle hanging over it, and beside it sits a large table with a knife standing upright in the center. The wood is stained darker, and I assume it’s the cutting board.

“What do you think that is used for?” Vern asks, staring at the table.

“Cutting things, I would assume.” I say bluntly, with a half-smile. Vern slaps his forehead.

“Wow! Why didn’t I think of that?” He exclaims, then looks at me with dead eyes. Suddenly, we hear footsteps approaching the back door. Both of us look around frantically, and spot a door to our right, which we rush into. It’s the door to the basement, and I have to catch my balance so I don’t topple over the ledge of the stairs, in the pitch black. We quietly head downstairs, as the person above us wrestles the kitchen door open. Even when my eyes adjust, I can barely see anything.

“Try to find a lantern.” I whisper to Vern. We rummage around, trying to be quiet, when...

Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!

The loud, rhythmic sound of a cleaver slamming into meat, echoes down to us. Vern whimpers quietly, and I refrain from making a comment. Instead, redoubling my search for some light. I hear a weird crunching noise near me, and I instinctively draw my sword, though I recognize the futility in the darkness. I return to running my hands along the ground. I find fabric, something wooden, and mercifully, a glass object. Tracing it confirms that it’s a lantern. I turn the knob and rustle in my bag for a tinderbox.

I hear another crunch beside me, as I fumble with the tinderbox, lighting it on the second try. I make out some random blankets, some barrels, a chest, and Vern. With a large apple in his hand, two big bites taken out of it. This time my anger gets the best of me.

“That was you?” I say, louder than I intended to be. The knife stops, and I hear the person stepping around for a moment, then it goes silent.

I look towards Vern, and he shrugs. Then he points up the stairs and does a walking motion with his arms and legs. I nod. We slowly make our way up the wooden steps, and I’m thankful that these are the sturdiest steps I’ve been on, as they don’t creak at all. When we reach the door, I pass the lantern to Vern and grip the handle tightly. I open it a crack, and peek through. I can only see the wall opposite, and some of the barrels in the corner of the room. I wait a few moments, and still hear nothing, so I open the door fully.

“They must have left.” I say, looking at Vern. I look back to head out the door, when I’m met by a round, metal object hurtling into my face. It smacks me solidly in the nose, and I immediately fall backwards into Vern, where we both tumble down the stairs into the basement.

“Gotcha, ya’ numbskulls.” A man’s voice calls down the stairs. I’m too distracted by the searing pain in my nose and forehead to come up with an explanation of what we’re doing here. Vern stands slowly and raises his hands in a motion of appeasement.

“I’m sorry sir, we happened to wander into your wonderful inn when no one was around.” Vern says, his voice buttery smooth. “Then, as we saw blood stains on the bar, we worried for the safety of anyone in here, so we rushed inside to help. However, when we heard you come in, we feared that you could be the cause of the blood.” My eyes widen at his words. What is this idiot saying to a potentially dangerous man?

“Are ya’ stupid son?” The man says, then shakes his head. “It ain’t blood on the bar, it’s red wine.” He eyes us speculatively, then sighs. “You look pretty young tho, so I ain’t mad.” I carefully get to my feet and smile at Vern. Our luck is turning.

“You din’t touch anything other than that lantern, did ya’?” He asks, crossing his arms. Out of the corner of my eye, but out of sight of the innkeeper, I see Vern gently kick the half-eaten apple to a darker corner of the room.

“No sir. We wouldn’t even think about stealing from you.” Vern says, with a friendly smile.

“Alright, come on up, and buy a room while yer at it.”