Eight

''I travel. It's pretty much all I do really.''

She avoided eye contact in the hope that he wouldn't realise she was skimming the issue somewhat and returned to the subject of his eyes.

''You know, where I come from they would have caused quite a stir.

Speaking of stir, what do you have to do to get a drink in this place?''

She leaned over behind the bar again, noticing to her relief that Izzy and Micah had gone and to her dismay that there was a decisive lack of alcohol.

''Where's all the rum gone?'' She sulked, and shot an accusing look at the dozing Jaina.

"It wasn't me," Baskerville shot back groggily, observing the interesting movements of Agueda's rump. "I'm happy just drinking in the view, but if you're in the mood for a liquor, I'll see what I can do..."

He ducked behind the bar again and swabbed the dirt off a few more ancient bottles.

One seemed to have a rolled-up message in it. Well, it beat the usual dead worm or fruit salad, but wasn't as flashy as a sprizter he'd once seen that included a pickled PDA.

They were all out of palm wine, though.

She slid a little closer to Basky's ear.

''Oh, that's not all I'm in the mood for.'' she whispered.


Somewhere at a computer in Hartford, a doctor tutted disapprovingly at the forwardness of it all. Don't you have some sanding to do first? Oh, and if Basky thought it was just coincidence that Agueda's butt was twirling enticingly in front of him... HA!

"I see." Baskerville's reply was soft but had overtones of avuncular sternness. One hand disappeared surreptitiously behind him. "You're after..."

A little paper packet flew into the air between them, forcing Agueda to catch it or let it drop.

"...Peanuts," Baskerville pronounced precisely. He definitely said peanuts. Er, almost definitely. Just like he'd definitely said liquor earlier and not lic... well, quite.

His smile was a little odd around the canine teeth as he sat back on his haunches.


The wounds in Weft's pride were ready salted, so he did what any monk worth his salt would do. No, he didn't lick them; he ignored them.

More precisely, he slouched on the tiles atop inn the unnamed, a modest distance from Suitov.

"'Atone in private?' I could hardly read that out with a straight face."
"I'm so glad you approve."
"I didn't say I approved. You're really very evil and I'm almost certain I'm not meant to be associating with you."
"And yet, irritatingly, you're still here."
"Wellll." Weft scratched his chin. "There isn't much else to do of an evening in this neck of the woods. The night culture around here is dead."
"That was the attraction, I believe."

A bat chittered, somewhere far off.

"Was your use of 'neck' deliberate?"
"I hadn't even considered it. Are there undead close by?"
"You think I'd mind, as long as they pay their tabs?"
"I'd mind. I'd probably have to kill them."
"You will do no such thing on my land."
"I'd be obliged to. If reasonably practical."
"It is never practical to get on my evil side, Weft, so think at least once before upping the stakes."

A pause, with what could, in the dark, have been a smile. "Now that was a half-hearted threat."
"If I lack conviction, it's only because I've never been caught."
"I pray I'm the one that gets to kill you."
"You're so sweet."
"You're evil."
"I try."
"Evil."
"Yes?"
"You'll associate with anything, won't you? Celestials, brutish idiots, animals, undead..."
"Monks..."
"Exactly my point. No class, no class at all."
"If you mean no arrogant prejudices, dear fellow, I regret to disabuse you. I don't associate much with bores, I find the grand majority of nobles bigoted and frightfully dull, and I'm commonly believed to have it in for politicians."
"See, this is why you're evil." Weft leaned on one elbow. "Dark lordlings are meant to be moustachio-twirling flouncers with no dress sense and a taste for genocide. They're not meant to be charismatic. They're meant to gloat, follow personal vendettas, something. And solve arguments with guns or axes, not by letting their opponents talk until they end up looking stupid."
"I most sincerely apologise for being a real person."
"There you go again."
"Rather than some idealised caricature of a focus for your righteous antagonism."
"Oh, I don't need any more reason to dislike you. It's just - not right, somehow."
"I shall endeavour to be more stereotypical. Would an evil laugh help?"
"Let's hear it."
"Ahahaha."
"That was pathetic."
"You're very kind."

Agueda's reactions were not brilliant. She let the bag drop, but not before she'd flailed her arms around wildly to ward off whatever was flying straight for her, causing her to lose her balance and tip over onto her backside. It hurt.

''Oooooooow!'', she moaned loudly, ''What the heck was... peanuts?''

Great. She'd built up that whole mysterious-temptress thing going on and the whole effect had been ruined by A PACKET OF PEANUTS?! Gah!

Pasht watched Agueda with admiration. The vampiress was notorious for leading men and women on and failing to deliver the goods, but she appreciated another who could play the game.

Mai tumbled off the table and took a flying leap at (rather, beyond) Pasht, who mumbled incoherently until identifying her assailant. "Bast ever toys with me, I see. Thank you for the reminder, little one."

The dusky woman marched to Jaina's side. "If you will please excuse us?" she asked Lucifer, and hoisted the sot upon her slim shoulder without waiting for a response.

"Who is in charge here?" she asked loudly, careful to grunt faintly as though unduly burdened. "I need to borrow a private room for a moment. A storage shed or cellar will do, given the state of this -- establishment."

Mai got to her padded feet once more and stared at Mr. "Mwah", her inclined head showing her feline curiosity.

"Ah, we're sitting on the floor?" Ever amenable, Basky seated himself on the uneven underfoot and reached for a couple of bottles, holding one out (more carefully this time) to the propheteer. He'd already rescued the nuts; well, waste not, hunger not, after all.

The reddish-brown ringtail blinked gorgeously back at Mai. How he had moved from the departed Weft's shoulders to sitting on the floor wasn't quite clear, but he seemed supremely unruffled.

His tail was still, but he seemed to give out an air of willingness to play. Or cuddle. Bede was something if not pliable.

A spike-haired head appeared momentarily over the bartop. "I'm not sure of the state of the attic," Baskerville said in reply to - who had asked for rooms? he hadn't been paying attention. "If you're planning something strenuous, though, it might be a bad move. Rest of the place is still locked up, 'cause we're basically not open." Nobody seemed to care about that, though; least of all Basky. Duty done, he vanished once more into the realm of forgotten bottles.

"Clinkies?" he said, tapping his unidentified alkyhol against Agueda's.

Ooh, essence of eggplant and sulphur moss. Fun for belching.

---

"See, that laugh sounded far more sinister."
"And I wasn't even trying."
"Oh, trust me, you're very trying. What's amusing?"
"Baskerville is being Baskerville. He's having fun."
"Not the incendiary kind, I hope."
"Give him time."
"I don't know how you can stand being connected to tha- well, to a demon."
"Is it so different from your masters' connection to you?"
"They're not my - it's completely different! - oh, stop winding me up."
"Stop winding yourself up. What's different? I'm serious."
"Ha. Well, I don't feel like wrangling with semantics now. It's too pleasant out here."
"Little creature of the night."
"Well, it is pleasant."
"Oh, I agree."

The monk turned over lazily and listened to the few sounds filter up from below.

"Did you think about my suggestion?"
"That we collaborate more often?"
"Mmh."
"Well, it's out of the question."
"You haven't convinced me of any rule to that effect."
"I... nothing's absolutely framed off, but I just feel uneasy. And okay, I - you might as well know, there are no orders about you either way, safe or enemy. In which case I'm meant to trust my instincts, not be swayed or distracted, you understand."
"Perhaps I'm beginning to. Your superiors sound like people I'd enjoy speaking with."

Weft squeaked nervously.

She smiled at Baskerville, sitting on the floor next to her.

''You're a darling.'' She said, taking the bottle from his hand and sniffing it's contents dubiously. She wrinkled her nose, shrugged and took a long gulp. Her eyes began to water a little.

''Good stuff.'' She spluttered.

Basky looked slightly panicked at the first pronouncement. "Don't tell anyone, for turf's sake!"

Inside, of course, he was boasting I am de sexiest dawg in de Cross Roads, an de girls louv me, an I shall never grow ol'...

And that is because Baskerville is very silly. We can't even blame the alcohol, because he hasn't had that much... yet.

Agueda coughed again as she took another swig.

''Damn! It's goooood!''

Another swig.

''Aawww..'', she pouted at Basky's last remark and took another swig.

''You'll have to think of interesting ways of keeping me quiet, sweetie.''

She gulped.

''This is so... strong!''

Agueda could hold her liquor. Unfortunately, there was none left in the bottle to hold.

"Perhaps... you seem like a difficult person to keep occupied," observed Mr Compact, Dark and Reasonably Good-Looking in a Certain Light.

"How, I wonder, would one go about getting the attention of such a specimen of womanhood?"

Of course, if his eyes had been bloodshot from liquor, you wouldn't be able to tell anyway. With Baskerville, however, intoxication and belief of one's ability to sing (and duty to demonstrate this to the world) usually came in direct proportion.

''Who says you haven't already got my attention?''

She slid a little closer to Basky, carefully avoiding pieces of floor that looked likely to splinter. She reached past him and picked out another bottle. This one smelled of something between pickled grass cuttings and sickly sweet fruit.

''But you might have to work very hard to keep it.'' she teased.

Through the rolling fogs in her mind came a moment of divine clarity. This didn't happen too often, so Agueda deicided to try to tease out Basky's mind a little. Unfortunately, she was automatically forwarded to the noise of somebody reading... something about accountants.

She shrugged, and as she took another gulp, her brain returned to damp-cotton-wool mode.

''Maybe I'm just out of practice...'' she thought aloud, resting her head on Basky's shoulder without seeming to be aware of doing so.

Suitov paused, strengthened his mental shielding, slapped the psionic equivalent of an "Ask me about the glorious opportunities in the Dark Army" sticker on the outside, and then rolled the two d17s he held.

"Okay, I miss," he said. "Which means you can counter, stock split or any of the other actions you can normally take in a turn."

"I offer up a prayer to Oberac," Weft said, "and cast second-level Amortise."

"Good move! Sneaky." Suitov sounded pleased, and probably was.

---

"Anything I can help you... brush up on?" Baskerville asked, one arm snaking around the woman oh-so-casually.

''My dear Basky, I'm quite sure I don't know what you mean.'' Agueda mocked, lifting her head off his shoulder to take another drink from the bottle she held.

''I'm a perfectly reput... reptib.. repputta... I'm good.''

Her head resumed its previous position on his shoulder.

''...Sometimes.''

"That's forgivable," said Basky magnanimously. "If it'ss only ssometimes."

Oho, he was starting to slur his Ss. This was an early step on the slippery slope that ultimately led to air guitar and karaoke microphone. Luckily, Agueda wasn't to know the horror-comedy that might be in store.

---

Up on the roof, Suitov quickly explained to a bristling Weft what an intangible asset really meant.

"Oh," said Weft, calming down.

''Oh, hardly sometimes. Hardly ever. Nearly never. Well, not at all really.

Ummm, we're on the floor?''

Was that another empty bottle by her side? She couldn't tell. It was spinning too quickly.

Spinning bottle... Ooh. She wondered if Basky knew that game. With only two players, the odds were always in her favour.

Basky thought about this.

"Yess we are," he said, blinking sagely.

Just then, up went a cry of "RWOOAAAAAAAGGGHHH!" and in came trollen. Okay, two trolls. They had to clamber round the beam, which was still blocking the door's diagonal, but overall the effect was impressive.

"WWWOOOAAAARRRHHH!" the rwooaaghing troll added, then "Körl nokk trollis Töd!¹"

"Jetty," said the second troll.

"TÖD OIK - vas?²"

"Jetty," said the second troll, "this isn't the Forest Hart."

"Wha'?" glottal-stopped the one called Jetty.

"We're in the wrong place," the troll insisted. "These look like elves ta you?"

"That one sort of might..."

"Jet, come on!"

"Bugger." Jetty squinted at the room's occupants. "All right, we going now and if you turn into elves, come and find us."

"Sorry to disturb," the other added, trollhandling Jetty back outside.

---

¹ roughly "Eat excrement and die, enemies of trollkind"

² "[the stench of] death [will take hold] upon you - what?"

The sound of crickets was prominent for a moment.

"Hey!" bellowed Serp after the two had gone, a vein pulsing on his forehead. "That's bloody discrimination!"

"Go affer 'em!" came a voice from behind (beneath) the bar. "They're not going far. Not with those ackkksents."

---

"Suburbanites," said Iceheart, peering over the edge of the roof at the slowly retreating figures. "Stolen dad's hammer and got drunk on cooking sherry. Never seen a barrow in their lives, probably. Even I'd be ashamed of that trollish."

"Enough stalling," Weft said, toying with his dice. "We playing or what?"

"Oh, allow a chap to mock the common stock," Suitov responded innocently.