Witches Be Crazy, page 4
As he lamented the state of his state, he heard the doors to the inn open. He rose from his chair expecting to see the familiar face of Jitters, only to lock eyes with none other than Rainchild Earthumper.
FIVE
Time to Get a Partner in Crime
Dungar stood, eyes transfixed on his unwelcome guest.
“Hello, blacksmith.” Rainchild greeted sweetly, his smooth and confident voice filling the room.
He remained immune to the infectious charm of the prattle.
“What are you doing here?”
“This is a lovely quaint little establishment you have here.” Rainchild mused as his eyes traced the inside of the bar. “I quite like the artwork.” Glancing back around, he could see that the perpetual look of agitation on the innkeeper’s face had not waned.
“Look, blacksmith,” the wizard continued. “I just came over here because I wanted to say I think what you did at the meeting today was very brave. And I couldn’t help but be a little curious as to what motivated you to do it.”
Dungar was slightly taken aback by this explanation, but left his guard up and brow furled.
“It’s a shot at being king, why wouldn’t I try?”
“Oh come now.” Rainchild scoffed, resuming his pacing. “You are clearly a man of simple means. What allure could the extravagance of royalty possibly have to you?”
Dungar found himself made rather uncomfortable by these questions. Clearly his guest had to have some ulterior motive. A man like Rainchild who had never before given him the time of day wouldn’t pay a simple social visit out of nowhere.
“Maybe the simple life has gotten too dull for my tastes.” He reasoned.
Rainchild halted mid-pace.
“Is that so?”
Dungar was positive he could hear blatant disbelief in his voice, but Rainchild seemed to accept his reasoning.
The wizard leaned back, a slight frown on his face. “Well, my friend, it causes me great sorrow to be put in a position which will result in the deprivation of your dreams.” He spread his arms wide, motioning for a hug. “But I have much faith in your ability to make the best of your circumstances.”
Dungar shuddered at the idea of hugging him, but he was a guest in his inn and he was at least being polite. So, begrudgingly, Dungar opted not to put the wizard through the wall when he moved in for the embrace. As he tried to pull away he felt Rainchild’s grip tighten and head raise to speak into his ear.
“So enjoy your pathetic life of squalor because you are going to die alone in this desert.” With that, Rainchild ended the hug with a shove backwards.
Dungar gaped at the long-haired man that stood grinning before him.
“What did you just say to me?” he tried to growl through his surprise.
Rainchild maintained his cocky smile. “I honestly don’t know what you thought would happen at the meeting today, as if the town would consent to sending a lowly disheveled blacksmith like yourself to represent them.”
His voice still bore its usual charm and charisma, but there was palpable malice exuding from every word. Dungar swiped to grab at him but the wizard was too quick, gracefully stepping backwards.
“I don’t know if you have shared your true intentions with me or not, blacksmith; but if you interfere with my play for the queen then I will not hesitate to destroy you. I would hope that you are not too stupid to know you should fear me.” With that he darted out the door, the innkeeper hot on his heels brandishing an iron mug.
“Come back here and say that to my face, you gutless coward!” He bellowed as he gave chase into the forest surrounding the inn. “I’ll grind you up and make you truly one with nature!”
As Rainchild disappeared into the forest ahead of him, he paused to listen and locate the wizard’s footsteps. The frantic rustling of bushes being crushed underfoot was unmistakable, and soon he was back on the trail. However another sound began to interfere with the rustling, slowly growing louder and louder. This was no natural sound of the forest, it was high pitched and rhythmic, the unmistakable notes of a song being played. As the noise grew louder the rustling of Rainchild making his escape became more and more difficult to track. Frustrated and still angry, Dungar began to slow to a stop. Opting to turn his agitation on whatever was producing that racket, he began to scan around wildly for the culprit. He didn’t have to look long.
He watched with mild trepidation as the bushes a few paces in front of him began to rustle briefly until a tall disheveled looking man came bounding out of them. At his mouth he held a wooden flute from which he produced the distracting melody.
Every aspect of the man was about as unkempt as possible. From his long, bushy black hair to his matching furry eyebrows and patchy goatee to his tattered green tunic to his filthy faded trousers, this man clearly was not looking to impress anyone. If anything, he looked like a homeless jester.
“Oh hello there, mate!” He greeted with the utmost enthusiasm.
His voice was rather high and optimistic sounding. There was also a distinct accent present; it was uncharacteristically posh and articulate for what one would have expected from him.
“It’s such lovely weather I figured I fancied me a stroll through the wood with me flute!”
Dungar studied the skinny man with mild amusement before he calmly walked up to him, snatched the flute from his hand, and snapped it in half before walking away.
The man froze briefly, trying to process what just happened. “Hey, me flute!” He called after him.
Ignoring him, Dungar continued trekking back towards home whilst considering possible means of vengeance against Rainchild. His to-do list was really starting to load up.
Suddenly the shaggy man came bounding into his path.
“Excuse me, good sir, but I can’t help but notice you appear to have obliterated my method of making melodies.”
Dungar stopped and considered the statement for a moment. “Hm. I suppose I did …” He said as he looked back at the fellow. Then he shrugged and pushed past the man to continue on his way.
“Oh so that’s how it’s gonna be, is it?” Dungar heard the man call again, but he couldn’t be bothered to deal with him. As he previously established, there are many more important matters to attend to.
By the time he’d returned to the bar, his mindset had shifted from legitimate brainstorming to fantasizing about exotic ways in which to murder Rainchild. Shaking his head, he mentally wrangled himself back on track. Even Rainchild had to be put on hold. Dealing with the new queen was the central matter, and if he couldn’t gain access as a suitor, he would need another way into the castle.
It was at that point that Dungar remembered he had a chauffeur staying in his very inn. A chauffeur specifically offering rides to Jenair. The answer had been under his nose the entire time. Quickly, he made his way up the stairs and knocked on the gentleman’s door. No answer.
“No no no” Dungar muttered to himself as he knocked again, hoping against hope that he hadn’t taken off. Still no answer. Dungar decided to try the handle and found the door to be unlocked. As he stepped into the room he found it empty, all trace of inhabitant having been removed. All that remained was a scrap of paper with the words “I’d ask for a refund, but you’re probably crazy” written on it.
Just his luck, he thought. He hadn’t considered the idea that terrorizing his guests may have consequences. Defeated, he headed back for the door. As he opened it he was greeted with the sound of music for the second time that day. This time it was no instrumental melody, but rather excruciatingly off-key singing from a very familiar, very annoying voice. As he rounded the corner and peered down the stairs Dungar was met with the unfortunate sight of the musician from the woods belting out a song with everything he had; all the while slamming his palm against the bar to the beat.
Way hey and away we go
A long hard trek, through the snow
When can we stop? We don’t know
A way hey and away we go!
EVERYBODY!
He seemed to be unaware that the bar area was completely empty except for himself. When he heard the creak of the stairs, the man turned and beamed at the sight of Dungar.
“Oh why hello there, mate! Fancy seeing you again today. This here is me favorite pub in all the land!”
Grumbling to himself, he walked down the stairs and made his way behind the bar. As he did, the gentleman’s facial expression changed from his big grin to a feigned look of immense surprise.
“Whaaaaaat? You work here? No way, mate!”
Dungar furled his brow. “If you’ve come here to rob me for money to replace your flute you’re welcome to try, but it probably won’t end well for you.” He stated, putting his fists on the counter.
“Rob you? Wot do you take me for!” The incredulous man bellowed into the bar, every word leaving his mouth roughly three times as loud as it needed to be. “I am merely a weary traveler who has come seeking a hospitality provider such as yourself, in order to obtain some water!”
Upon saying those words, he produced a large water skin from his pack.
“Fill up me cup if you would, kind sir!”
Dungar glanced contemptuously at the skin, pondering for a moment if the man knew what a cup was. Beneath the whimsy and childishness, he was sure this fellow was no stranger to pulling cons. Also he did break the man’s flute after all. So, eager to be rid of his unwelcome guest as quickly as possible, he took the skin and began to fill it with water without complaint.
“As for the funds required to replace my beloved instrument …” The man began, waiting for Dungar to turn towards him before he finished. “I am certain that you’ll be providing me with adequate reparations by your own free will. No robbing required.”
He grinned and winked at the end of his prediction. Dungar handed him his now full water skin.
“No dice. Enjoy your water, and off with you.”
As Dungar began ushering him towards the door, the man stopped in the doorway.
“So just so we’re clear, you are refusing to reimburse me?”
“Correct.” The blacksmith grunted before closing the door.
Turning back towards the bar, he made it maybe 5 paces before the singing piped up again, louder and shriller than before.
Way hey and away I sit
Lovely music I do emit
Sooner or later he’ll submit
A way hey and away I sit
EVERYBODY!
Dungar came flying out of the inn brandishing a blacksmith hammer and looking for someone to swing it at. Only there were no targets in sight. Bewildered, he lowered his hammer and began scanning the tree line.
“Oh hey look who it is!” A familiar voice called from the top of a nearby palm tree. “Fancy seeing you yet again, mate! This here is me favorite singing spot in all the land!”
“Get outta that tree right now!” Dungar bellowed.
The man cocked his head to the side as he looked at Dungar quizzically.
“Does that really work for you that often? Just ordering people to do stuff?”
“Yes.”
“Oh really? Well in that case:” He began bouncing up and down waving his arms parodying Dungar. “Give me me money right now!”
Growling to himself, Dungar headed around the back of the inn to his workshop where he then swapped out his hammer for an axe. By the time he made it back out front though, his new friend was nowhere to be found. His frustration reaching its peak, he drove the axe into a nearby tree so it would be ready if needed before stomping back inside.
Slowly and carefully Dungar made his way back to the bar, keeping his eyes and ears perked so as to detect any movement. Reaching the counter, he proceeded to pull out a cloth and began polishing it.
“I spy with my little eye …”
Enraged, but with one smooth movement, Dungar turned, grabbed a nearby bottle and flung it across the room towards the noise. The intruder had to duck to avoid being hit and the bottle instead shattered against the wall.
“Blimey, mate. Good shot!” The grinning man complimented. “You didn’t even look first!”
Shoulders rising and falling with every heaving breath, Dungar glared at the man with a seething hatred. The stranger, on the other hand, continued to beam at Dungar.
“I spy with my little eye …” He began again.
“If I guess correctly… . Will you leave and never, ever, come back?” Dungar asked.
Clapping his hands, the man became rather giddy. “Now you’re getting into the swing of things, mate! Ten guesses! If you’re wrong you give me a new flute!”
Dungar knew the inside of his bar better than a parent knew its own child. Nothing could get past him.
“Deal.”
Clapping his hands again, the man began studying the room. “Oh how fun! Now let’s see here … I spy with my little eye … Something that begins with an ‘S’!”
Shrugging, Dungar gestured towards his seat. “Stool.”
“Incorrect!” The man exclaimed eagerly.
Dungar began looking around his bar. He studied his wall carvings, kinds of alcohol, his glassware, cups, pitchers, every adornment his bar had acquired over the years. He came to the realization there weren’t actually many things in there that began with an ‘S’.
“… Sword?” He finally inquired, gesturing towards his carving of a knight.
“Incorrect again! Uh oh. Methinks someone is having a spot of trouble.” The shaggy man taunted.
Dungar shook his head. No, he won’t lose at this in his own bar. Hastily he scanned around the room, listing any ‘S’ items that came to mind.
“Shield.”
“Nope.”
“Sack.”
“Wrong.”
“Shirts, shoes, socks.”
“Wrong, wrong wrong!”
“Scissors.”
“Really?”
“Stones.”
“Oh come on mate, you’re not even trying!”
“Strings!”
“You have strings in here?”
“Spices.”
“Nuh uh.”
“Soap.”
“You’re outta guesses, mate.”
“Gaaaaaaahhhh!!!!”
Dungar slammed his fists against the counter. His opponent looked at him with mild concern.
“You okay, mate?”
“What was it?”
“What?”
Dungar raised his head and stared his confused guest in the face. “What was it? The thing you were looking at, what in the blazes were you possibly looking at!?”
The man started laughing. “Circle!” He guffawed, picking up his coaster and brandishing it triumphantly.
Dungar was struck dumb. He had to review that statement in his head several times just to establish that he wasn’t going crazy.
“THAT DOESN’T EVEN BEGIN WITH AN ‘S’!!”
“Really? You sure about that, mate?”
“GAAAAAHHHH!”
Dungar screamed a guttural war cry before he leapt across the counter, hands outstretched for the man’s neck. They rolled around on the floor, Dungar’s screams of rage harmonizing with the other fellow’s girlish shrieks of fear. They traded blows, Dungar’s massive fists leaving holes in the floor while his victim writhed around slapping him in the face repeatedly. Finally one of Dungar’s swings connected right in the side of his head and the man went limp beneath him. Exhausted, the blacksmith lifted himself off of his opponent and dragged himself to the counter to grab a drink and slump into a stool.
Within a moment his adversary had pried himself off of the floor and collapsed into the stool beside him, upper body draped over the counter.
“Ah…” He began, between labored breathing. “Blimey, that kinda hurt.”
The two men eyed each other as they worked to regain their breath. There was nothing quite like a physical altercation as a method for bringing a relationship to a head. Finally the man opened his mouth. Before he could speak the booming rumble of Dungar’s growl cut him off.
Eyes remaining facing forward, he sternly, but articulately spoke. “I swear by all that is just, if you say another word I’m going to hit you again.” At that the man closed his mouth and returned his eyes facing forward.
But after a brief moment he defiantly turned back and said “You’re one of them guys that just always gotta be mista gruff all the time, ain’t ya?”
At the sound of his voice, Dungar immediately tensed up and turned towards him but the man did not budge, his composure did not break, and his trusting smile did not fade. Dungar couldn’t help it, his body relaxed and he began to just chuckle to himself as he turned back to his drink. His visitor joined him in his chuckling too, and after a brief moment of that he casually reached over, grabbed the blacksmith’s beverage, and shamelessly took a long drink out of it. As he did so, Dungar stared at him incredulously, but still took no action towards him. Taking his time, calm as ever, the man finished the drink, put it on the counter, and exhaled with an audible “ahh.”
He remained staring at the bizarre individual unblinkingly. He had no words, no idea how to react and no notion what to make of this bizarrely brash musician. Not that it mattered of course, for when this odd newcomer made his mind up about something he would clearly stick to it with an unbeatable, undying enthusiasm. So whether or not the blacksmith realized it, his fate became sealed when the man looked thoughtfully into the distance wearing his cheeky smile and said “I think you and me are gonna be good friends, mate.”
SIX
If You Can’t Beat ’Em, or Did and It Didn’t Work
It was a dark and stormy night. Somewhere. However back at the bar the day was still bright and the sky cloudless. Dungar remained where he sat, nursing his brew between sideways glances at the intriguing interloper. He still could not decide what to make of the man. This silly stranger who had called him friend so brazenly now sat wordlessly sharing his company. He had always heard the best of friends often meet in odd circumstances, but if this man was to be his best friend then he shed an internal tear for his future. Savage beat-downs on the first day did not usually bode well for relationship longevity. Although, perhaps the burden fell on himself to stop issuing them so readily.
