Rancid Chronicles: part 7

[Lo Ki]

Winter Solstice is celebrated indoors. Every tavern in the city had been packed throughout the day as actors and minstrels entertained crowds who were merry with drink. I, too, spent the day listening to soliloquies, sagas, and songs. I, too, had drunk too much and was unsteady of hand and pace when I returned to my shop in the wee hours of the morning. I didn't notice that the door was unlocked when I entered. However; I did notice the halfling in the chair by the fire. I went to my desk and started trying to ready pen and paper.

As I was trying to open a bottle of ink, I was startled by a hearty burst of laughter from my small guest. I stood staring stupidly at him; the ink bottle in my hand was forgotten as I tried to figure out what brought on this unusual outburst. Rancid took the bottle from my hand and steered me toward my small bedroom in the back of the shop.

“Get some sleep,” he said. “No one would be able to decipher any notes you made right now. I can wait.”

I went into my room and managed to at least get my boots off before sleep claimed me.

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I awoke to the pain of an ice pick piercing my ears; or so it seemed. A few disoriented seconds passed before I was able to determine that the pain was caused by a severe hangover responding to a sustained shrill whistle emanating from the next room. I drug myself out of bed and towards the source of my agony.\

In the next room Rancid had a tea kettle whistling over the fire. I made it to the overstuffed chair by the hearth but could go no further. Rancid mercifully removed the kettle from the heat and the piercing noise died away. I slumped back into the chair in relief. A few moments later a warm cup was pressed into my hand. “Drink this,” I heard, “it will get rid of your hangover.” I unquestioningly did as I was told.

Fortunately Rancid had cooled the tea with milk or I would have unthinkingly scalded my mouth. The taste was unfamiliar but not unpleasant; and, soon the throbbing in my head faded.

“I have often found this recipe useful,” Rancid said. “Sometimes it was the only thing which allowed me to tolerate some of my more sadistic traveling companions. Here, have something to eat.”

A tray of scones had appeared on the small table I had bought to compliment the chair. Mercifully, the butter was omitted. The tea had ridden me of the cottony feel in my mouth and was settling my stomach. I tasted one of the scones; even to my numbed senses, it was excellent. The fog was lifting from my mind and I remembered why my guest was here. I clambered up out of the chair and went to my desk. Pen and paper were ready and the inkwell was filled. I turned to apologize to my small patron; but, before I could, he began to speak.

“Sometimes even a hangover can be good,” he said from the comfort of the chair I had just vacated. I quickly sat at my desk and began to write.

“My traveling companions and I had stopped at a country mansion where a celebration of some sort was taking place. We were welcomed and drink and food and more drink was pressed into our hands. My companions were always the suspicious, worrying types and refrained from drinking too much. On the other hand, I enjoy a good party and the drink was excellent. My friends turned in early while I ate, drank, sang, danced, and drank into the early hours.
When I finally turned in, I slept the sleep of the dead. As it turned out, that was an apt phrase. I awoke to screams of terror and the clang of weaponry. I pulled the pillow over my head to shut out the noise which was causing me great pain. My head felt ready to explode. When it became obvious that the ruckus was not ending, I drug myself out of bed. I could hardly see through eyes often squinted against the pain.

In the hall I found one of my companions cowering in a corner. I was not able to get any coherent answer from him and was not inclined to try very hard. My mind was still clouded by pain so it was not til later that I noticed the new streaks of gray in his hair. The noise was coming from the ballroom and I went to see about putting a stop to it.

In the main hall, the front doors had been broken open. The bodies of several of the previous night revelers were scattered down the hall. I halted at the doorway to the ballroom; inside was carnage. A handful of armed and armored men were hacking at some poorly armed and desperate partiers. One of the bandits had just pulled a silver chain and key from the body of our dead host.

In my muddied mental state I failed to notice more of my fellow travelers cowering at the far side of the room. The head brigand was headed towards me but his eyes were on the key in his hand. He did not even notice me until my dagger was deep in his chest. Suddenly all noise ceased. Both brigands and their victims disappeared. I barely noticed. The bright and gaily decorated hall suddenly became dim and dusty. I barely noticed. All I cared about was that the noise had stopped and I could go back to bed.

I would later learn that I had broken a haunting which re-enacted an event which occurred many years before. Others had fallen victim to the haunting and were literally scared to death. Their unmarked bodies were recovered by the local farmers. My sober companions had succumbed to the unnatural fear which was generated by the ghosts reliving the time of their greatest terror. I, on the other hand, was too befuddled and pained to notice or care; and that is what saved us.”

Rancid pulled out his earthenware bottle and downed several gulps of the strong ale it contained. With a grin he turned to me and said, “I always knew spirits were good for you.”

I stifled a groan as he rose and headed out the door.