Franklan and Robard made their way back towards the inn, trying to stay as close to the Everlasting Log as they could without catching their jackets afire. Robard now carried the Everlasting Log in his tongs, and held the damp log Agnes had donated in his other.
As they entered the inn, the patrons looked at them with utter confusion. Both for the fact that they had somehow made it out of Ignatius’ Manse alive and also for carrying a log that somehow managed to stay fully alight despite the weather outside.
“Put that damn thing in the damn fire before you burn my Inn down!” Harbeld hollered at them.
“Hah, you wish! This log is ours and it’s fuckin’ magical!” Franklan replied proudly. “This here is an everlasting log that we’ve managed to extract from that fool Ignatius. We’ll be leaving shortly, but first we’d like two growlers of your finest ale. We have quite the celebration ahead of us, full of sausage, ale and warm fire. If you weren’t such dicks you might be invited.”
Franklan slammed down the coins he’d taken from Oswin’s house onto the counter. Harbeld promptly returned with two growlers and said “Now, get the hell out!”
Mira, the tavern wench at this point had made herself comfortable on one of the out-of-towner’s laps who had passed out. “Would you all be quiet?” she whisper-shouted. I intend to part this gentleman of his coins without putting my legs into the air for a change. If you wake him, that would be impossible now wouldn’t it?”
“Mira, you’re fuckin’ gross. Come on Robard, let’s go get drunk and celebrate.”
Robard smiled back with his most wide grin. “By Ralfie, I’ll be back to pet you another time when my hands aren’t occupied.”
They left the Inn, slamming the door as one last ‘fuck you’ to the patrons of the Inn and headed back towards their shack.
As they passed Agnes’ house Franklan looked at the damp log Robard still carried in his off-hand. “Why are you still carrying that Robard? She gave it to us to mock us. Give me that thing!”
“It’s become a bit sentimental at this point Frank, I mean, it was all we had only a couple hours ago.” Robard said as he looked down at the log with appreciation.
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Franklan promptly snatched the damp log out his hand and tossed towards Anges’ house as if he was delivering the daily paper. “Have it back you mean old bitch!” he yelled as it smashed through her front window.
“Was that really necessary?” Robard asked.
“I did it mostly for you, Robard. She tried to humiliate you, and if you’re not going to defend your honor then as your friend I shall.”
Robard gave an appreciative smile back and patted Franklan on the back with his now free offhand “Thanks, buddy.”
As they made it back to their shack, Franklan set the growlers down and looked to Robard “Home, sweet home, buddy! Toss that sucker in the fireplace and I’ll grab the sausages.”
Over the next 2 hours, the shack warmed to a cozy temperature, and they devoured sausages glutinously – each having devoured 5 of them. As they sat, proud of their achievement, warm, and with full bellies, they drank the remainder of their growlers and plotted their next move.
“Robard, we could probably retire from this magical log. Our rat-catching days may very-well be behind us now, my friend!”
“How so Frank? The log is great and all, but it doesn’t generate coins for us.”
“Lucky for you, I’ve been thinking and I’ve got it all covered. We could take this sucker to the city and sell it to the highest bidder, or even rent it out. Imagine what the Bathhouses or Blacksmiths might pay for such a log?”
Robard’s face lit up. “Wow, that’d be great! Maybe we could retire on it!”
Franklan continued to ponder quietly while sipping his ale. “We could even start a cult. The Cult of the Flame or something like that. Then we could get any of the members to do our bidding and we could extort the log forever and yet maintain the ability to sell it off later if we wanted. Also, I’ve heard that cult leaders don’t often go to bed lonely – can you imagine Robard?”
“Gee Frank, that sounds great and all but isn’t that a little mean? Tricking people into joining a cult for our pleasure?”
Franklan emptied the last of his growler into his mouth. “Well, what’s the point of a cult if not to abuse the followers for gain? But I do see your point, and perhaps we may be cast with misfortune if we use our great log to such ends. In any case, we can decide in the morning. I don’t think I’ve ever been so tired, and now that my ale is gone I plan to sleep for perhaps a full day.”
“Sounds good, Frank. Good night old pal.”
The two stumbled back to their cots and quickly fell asleep, failing to notice the two beady eyes resembling Glimmon’s, staring inside their shack from outside the window.