The Greatest Pub in the Multiverse, page 6
part #1 of Greatest in the Multiverse Series
The door to the storage room sat within a recess behind the bar. He hadn’t thought much of entering it in the past—any cleaning supplies were found in a broom closet across the room. If James or Kathy had helped clean the pub in their youth, that was where they got the supplies they needed.
The door was, not surprisingly, locked. But it only took James a few minutes of scrounging around drawers and cupboards to find a very old-looking key that fit perfectly in the door’s keyhole. James turned the key with a satisfying click and pushed through, past the “Employees Only” sign that hung on the front of it. The wooden door squeaked on its hinges, the result of years of neglect, and his hand fumbled against the wall for a few moments to find a light switch.
A small dial controlled the lighting on a dimmer. A quiet hum filled the space as half a dozen lights illuminated. One or two flickered and popped before burning out completely.
Despite there being numerous bulbs, their yellow iridescent hue left much of the room in shadow and gave the items resting on the shelves a more sickly look than they likely deserved. The smell of dust, old cardboard, and sawdust wafted from the space, and James wondered how long it had been since anyone had entered.
“It’s more spacious than I was expecting,” he thought out loud.
“It’s huge!” Liam agreed.
He had assumed he’d be entering a closet. What lay before him was a substantial room. He wondered if the space had at one point been a bedroom or perhaps a reading room.
Shelving lined three walls, and a stack of large boxes practically covered the back. All but a small stretch of brickwork had been covered by boxes, trinkets, and crates. A desk, a few old tables and a couple of old barstools had been scattered around the room.
James couldn’t help but wonder how many centuries of crap had been piled into this room only to be forgotten over time. Many of the boxes were constructed of faded and sagging cardboard, stacked on top of and alongside rustic wood crates.
“Any luck?” Kathy called from the other room, but her curiosity must have gotten the better of her as within a moment she was at James’ side peering in.
“That’s far more stuff than I was expecting.” Her voice lowered in defeat. “We’ve got a lot of work to do if we want to know what’s in all of those.”
James nodded. He wondered if his parents knew what was back here. The layer of dust over top of them suggested they hadn’t been opened in an exceptionally long time.
He supposed that, no matter what, they’d have to clear out this storage room eventually. Whether they sold the pub tomorrow or a year from now they couldn’t have a buttload of crap hanging about.
“Well, no doubt there are glasses packed away in here somewhere. We may as well get to work.”
Silence filled the room as the three of them stopped and stared at the mess for a solid minute.
“Does this need to be done right now?” Kathy asked.
“I’m not even sure how to get started,” said Liam. “Are you sure we shouldn’t do the beer tasting first?”
James could still feel the buzz of the Hemingway Breakfast, and he suddenly found a renewed energy. What sort of secrets were locked away within these piles? It would at least be something to take his mind off things.
“I’d really like to know if we’re buying new glasses or not. Let’s spend a couple of hours digging through this stuff first. Later this afternoon, we’ll head down to the brewery and see our old friend.”
“We’ve got more than one, you know.” Liam crossed his arms. “I don’t think we should rule any of them out.”
James rolled his eyes. Liam wasn’t going to be satisfied unless he saw him shitfaced by the end of the day.
“One stop is probably enough for now. But it would do the pub well to have some options.”
“Glasses, beer options . . .” Kathy smirked. “For someone who doesn’t plan on sticking around, you suddenly have a lot of opinions on making things better around here.”
James frowned. “I already told you, if I’m going to be forced to make a go of it, then I’m going to do it right. If nothing else, it will be easier to sell a pub that’s making money than one that’s losing it. But don’t goad me about it or I’ll throw my hands up and just leave you to deal with the mess. We both know I don’t want to be here, no need to make a show out of it.”
Kathy humphed but nodded. She knew when to quit pushing his buttons. What he needed right now was a distraction from how his life had seemingly fallen apart overnight.
“Liam, why don’t you start on the back wall. Make a pile that is obvious junk. Old flyers, old cords, aprons, stuff that we’d never foreseeably use again. Set a second pile for things that might be collectibles, maybe things we can use as decor. Old photos or posters. There’s a lot of history to this place. Maybe we can use some of it to attract tourists.”
There weren’t a lot of tourists that came to this part of the country, remote as it was. But James had seen how out of the way locations could gain popularity because they were charming or eccentric enough to garner attention on social media. Anything that stood out as unique might be of interest. Their pub was old, even by Ireland’s standards. It had mostly flown under the radar, but if they managed to capture the right element, perhaps they could use it to their advantage.
James gave his head a shake. Opinions indeed. Kathy was right. But if they could turn this old pub around maybe it could run without him being here physically to manage it. It would take more than a few weeks, but with Liam and Kathy’s help, it might be doable.
“Kathy, take this wall here.” He pointed to the left. “I’ll take the one on the right.”
They all got to work in their respective spaces. James brushed off his hands, eyeing the mountain of boxes in front of him. “I guess we tackle this one box at a time.”
He grabbed a box closest to him and grunted. It was heavy and it jangled as he moved it. Straining, he pulled it over to an old desk. He flipped open the lid, revealing a mess of old cutlery. Some pieces were bent, none of it appeared to match. If it were silver, he maybe could have understood, but at least the bulk of it had been crafted out of a dull gray metal.
“Great,” he muttered. If this was any indication of what was stored, they were going to spend a lot of time tossing things.
The afternoon wore on. A lot of what James encountered was the same: tangled extension cords that looked older than he was, rusty bar equipment—bottle openers, corkscrews, and the like. He thought he’d found something when he pulled out a box that was filled with stacks of plates, but upon closer inspection they were all chipped and scratched.
So far, he had a large throw away pile and only a few items in the stack of things to keep.
He had also started a third pile of things that were mysterious and . . . odd. Though they were probably no less useless than his first pile. There was a small case of jars filled with something. They appeared to be pickled, but he couldn’t begin to explain what they contained. He probably should have tossed them, but a rainbow of colors, almost iridescent in the dim storage room lighting, swirled within them, piquing his interest. There was a heavy padlocked chest but no visible keyhole. That could prove interesting. Then there was a short staff made of a dark wood that was almost black that held carvings of mesmerizing geometric patterns.
James was starting to wonder if this endeavor was worth the effort. The boxes loomed over top of him, seeming never ending. At this rate they’d be doing this for weeks.
“Take a look at this,” Kathy called from her side of the room.
For the first time in over an hour, James looked over at her. His sister had crafted similar piles, though she hadn’t made as much progress. One pile appeared to consist mostly of old moth-eaten tablecloths. From the look of things, Kathy had taken each one out to inspect before deciding to discard it. Knowing his sister, James imagined she was hoping there would be at least one that was salvageable.
He groaned inwardly. She was as bad as his parents. He was going to have to resift through her piles to make sure she wasn’t hanging onto any trash.
Kathy had a box propped open on the floor and was sifting through its contents. “What do you make of all this?”
James peered over her shoulder. The box seemed to be filled with documents, some yellowed with age while others appeared to be made of something other than paper. Old parchment maybe? Vellum?
“What are those? Old maps?” It was hard to see in the dim light of the storage room, and he wasn’t familiar with the materials cartographers used, but one thing he did know was that some of the items in that box had to be very, very old.
“They are, but . . .” Kathy carefully leafed through a few then pulled a stack out before setting them carefully on a coffee table next to her.
Liam had found an old lamp somewhere and turned it on. The light coming from it was no less yellow than the rest of the room, but it allowed him to direct some of the light so they could see what they were looking at.
“It’s the strangest thing. They’re maps of made-up places,” Kathy said.
James looked at the parchment she was holding. It looked like an old, albeit rough, map of Ireland to him. “What do you mean? It’s just old.”
“No, it looks that way, but this parchment feels new. It’s soft and flexible. Not rough and dry like I’d expect. But that’s not even the strangest bit.” She unrolled the map a bit more. “This looks like Ireland, but look at the names.”
James crouched to get closer, squinting to read the scripted text. “Hibernia,” he read aloud. “Didn’t some of the Greek and Roman maps call Ireland that?”
Kathy nodded. “I think so, but what about this?” She pointed to a larger piece of text that James had missed. It outlined much of the northern coast of Europe and included England, Ireland, and stretched as far east as Denmark (which the map had named Kalmar). The large text read “Lancastria.”
That wasn’t one James had heard before, though he wasn’t a geography scholar.
“That is a new one to me, but kings were rewriting boundaries all the time back in the day. Maybe someone at the museum could help us.”
Kathy shook her head. “I’m pretty sure I would have heard some of these names before, but this isn’t the only one.”
She pulled out more maps from the stack and laid them out on the coffee table. “These maps don’t even have consistent land masses. Look at this one! It has Ireland connected to the UK in one solid block. Others look like they’re of completely different territories, but I don’t recognize any of them. Some are written in languages I’ve never seen!”
James studied the examples Kathy had laid out, and it was only a small sample of what was in the box.
What stories did these maps hold? He could imagine a day in his family’s past where sea travelers would stop in Cuanmore and rest when the building also served as an inn. He could see the appeal of collecting maps from faraway lands. Maybe one of his ancestors had as much of a bug for traveling as he did.
Maybe they too had felt stuck in this pub at the edge of the world. Perhaps they dreamed of faraway lands, living vicariously through travelers’ tales. Hell, who knew if all the maps were real? There was every possibility that someone made up maps for the sole purpose of telling tales and selling dreams of exotic places.
“I say we bring them down to the museum. I’m pretty sure back in the day a lot of those traders would make up stuff—books, maps, paintings, anything to sell to some gullible dreamer. It appears we had a map collector in the family.”
“I’ve found something over here as well.” Liam didn’t appear to have any interest in the maps. His back was turned to them, his arms crossed over his chest, and he leaned back, looking up at something. “Wasn’t that the name of the place the fellow at the front door was asking about?”
James followed his friend’s gaze. Liam had whittled his stack down, revealing a piece of the wall just beneath the ceiling. A stack of discarded boxes sat beside him. Based on the logos stamped on the cardboard, these were put here much more recently, maybe packed away by his father.
That wasn’t what caught Liam’s attention, though. Visible above the stack was a wooden sign, with engraved lettering surrounded by a decorative design.
Pint and Portal.
James
“Let’s get the rest of these boxes out of the way.” James didn’t wait for the other two to move—he got straight to work. Starting at the top, he grabbed a box and handed it to Liam, who set it down on the floor. Then James grabbed the next and the next.
His heart pounded ferociously. He didn’t know what exactly the sign meant, but he couldn’t believe it was a coincidence that they uncovered it right after Michael appeared on their doorstep. The two events had to be related. Another box moved and James noticed a horizontal seam marked in the stone wall.
“I think there might be a door frame here,” he said.
“I hate to burst your bubble,” said Kathy, “but it’s not like there’s going to be something else behind a door! Frankly, I’m surprised there’s enough room here for this storage room. If anything, it’s going to lead out back.”
Rationally, James knew that, but something within him screamed that there was more going on here. There was a secret something called Pint and Portal, and now he had to know what it was.
What exactly was this secret? Why had their father gone to such lengths to hide it? Maybe it had been a meeting room for the town leaders. Or perhaps a speakeasy for wealthy out-of-towners.
“It’s probably just a fire exit,” James admitted, pausing to catch his breath. He wasn’t used to moving boxes all day. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. “But do you remember when we were kids? Mom and Dad used to actually have fun with the pub! The Pint and Portal might not be anything, but whatever it is, it’s a piece of who they used to be.” James shook his head. “I miss the magic this place had when Mom was around.”
Kathy let out a breath. A sad smile formed on her face, and she rested a hand on James’ shoulder. “They did have a lot of fun back then, didn’t they? They were always the life of the party.”
Pint and Portal.
Suddenly some of what Michael Flick had said returned to him. “‘Your father never wanted to be the gatekeeper’ . . . What do you think that meant?”
“Maybe your folks were part of a DnD group.” Liam laughed. “Maybe this was like their secret clubhouse.”
James nodded. That would make what Michael had said make sense. The strange orb that he claimed was a key could have been some sort of prop. He stepped to his pile of oddities and picked up the black staff he’d found. Did they dress up for their campaigns as well?
“You might be on to something,” he said.
Kathy laughed. “Did we just never realize what massive nerds our parents were?”
“Of course! That would explain a lot.” James’ eyes lit up, his excitement building. “The stories Mom told us! They were filled with elves, quests, and dark worlds. She must have been telling us kid friendly versions of their campaigns! Michael must have been one of their players. Dad was never the storyteller that Mom was, so once she was gone, Dad had no interest.”
“It would also explain the maps.” Liam stroked his chin as he put the pieces together. “And some of the clothes Kathy found. James, I think you’re onto something.”
As James wondered if there might be any evidence of their campaigns, a small book resting on a nearby shelf caught his eye.
It was a leatherbound journal, its surface worn smooth by time and touch. A slender leather cord wrapped around it, securing its secrets with a simple knot.
He reached over, picked it up, and unbound the tie.
“You’re getting distracted.” Kathy smirked. “Just like when we were kids. Can we deal with one mystery at a time, please?”
James ignored her and leafed through the pages, skimming fragments of the handwritten text inside. It was definitely his mother’s handwriting—he’d recognize it anywhere. There were pages missing. Jagged edges remained where some had been torn out.
James was a slow reader, and he knew he’d have to study the words it contained later, but his excitement was reaching a new fervor. There was a single phrase written on the front page in large, printed text that was hard to miss.
Before realizing it, he was reading the text out loud. “The Pint and Portal: A haven for the lost. A home for the found.”
Kathy and Liam both stared at him wordlessly.
“What are you on about?” Kathy asked.
He shut the book and held it up in one hand emphatically. “This is Mom’s journal! I bet this holds details of their campaigns.”
Kathy pinched the bridge of her nose with her forefinger and thumb. “Are we going to move these boxes? Or are we going to read old books?”
James nodded. Kathy was right, of course, he was getting distracted. He’d have to unravel this mystery one clue at a time and not all at once. He tucked it into the back pocket of his trousers.
“I’m going to grab the orb. If we do find more of their game equipment, I’d like to get the whole set together. Later, I’ll go through Mom’s notes and see if we can learn anything else about their campaigns.”
For the first time since he arrived, he was excited. He had dedicated his adult life to developing games. His mother’s stories had inspired the characters he created, and to think they might have been the byproduct of games she had played, of stories his parents and their friends might have told. For whatever it was worth, he was learning things about his parents he’d never been privy to before. Things they had passed on to him without him realizing it.
He had only been gone a minute, but by the time James returned, Liam and Kathy had already cleared away the bulk of the boxes beneath the sign, pushing them out of the way.
“You’re not going to believe this,” said Liam.
James studied the wall behind his friend. It was made of the same stonework as the outside of the pub. Large, smooth, flat stones had been arranged to form the outline of a massive door, creating a distinct frame. The space within the frame was filled with the same type of stone as the surrounding wall with no deviation in color or style. It was as though the door had been deliberately sealed, yet the craftsmanship made it appear almost indistinguishable from the rest of the structure.
