Blood and Chipmunks

I hate villages.  The scattered mix of backwards thinking and good-natured rural ignorance you’ll find in such places offends my delicate sensibilities. I’m a city man, always have been. Occasionally, though, my line of work leaves me little choice but to venture outside the comfortable city confines in search of one thing or another.  That’s what I do; find things.  People, objects, rumors.  Someone pays me well enough and there’s a very good chance I can find what they’re looking for, whatever that may be.  Now, what I do when I find the item in question is completely dependent on the terms of the contract, and as such, entirely confidential.  Sorry.

It was just such contract that brought me into this dusty dead-end village.  Only a few days before, I'd received a message from one of my agents.  Apparently, he had a lead on one the more expensive items I’d had on the watch list, and requested I pay a little visit.  Though I loathe villages, I really, really like money.  And the contract promised a whole lot of it if I delivered.

I’d have to verify the item, of course, and since it was a magical artifact, it’d take someone with magical talent to make proper identification.  Which is why I had to go personally.  Magic is rare, and folks who can use it rarer still - but I’m one of them.  Oh, I can't use much, but I’m capable of sparking a fire, or a little light telepathy.  And of course, I can sense the presence magic, which is by far my most useful trick from a business sense.  I can manage another spell or two, on demand.  As a matter of fact, I even have myself a familiar. 

This might seem strange, since many people consider familiars to be the exclusive province of wizards.  They believe that only at the height of magical ability can one acquire the talent for charming the majestic beasts of the wild.  This, in actuality, is total rubbish.  As it turns out, it takes very little in terms of magical talent to entice some wild animal to serve you as a familiar.  It takes a bit more to convince such a creature not to rip you limb from limb as soon as you fall asleep, but still, you don't need be a master wizard to accomplish such a feat. 

Now, I didn't exactly set out looking for any magical companionship.  Actually, come to think of it, it might be more accurate to say the critter found me.  Even so, the fact remains that I have a familiar.  And he’s great. Really.  Oh, I suppose it’s possible that had the decision been entirely up to me, I might have been a bit more...selective in my choice of companion.  That’s not to say I'm not fond of my familiar. But at times I can't help thinking something a bit more in line with my own personality would have been more appropriate.  A lion, maybe, or a wolf.  Or a noble Eagle to perch upon my shoulder, ready to fly into the face of my enemies.  Anything, I think, but a fat, lazy chipmunk with a drinking problem.  In his defense, I am convinced that he is the absolute fiercest chipmunk in existence.  The difficulty lies in keeping his ferocity focused on someone who isn't me.

I gave the object of my musings an affectionate pat as I continued down the dirt road.  My familiar, Erdin, ignored me.  He sat on my shoulder, as he often did, wide eyed and fixated on any and everything we chanced to pass, the very picture of an inquisitive chipmunk.  The wide eyed innocence was complete rubbish, of course-–Erdin is one of the most cynical creatures I have ever met-– but he's convinced it makes him look cute. He's a vain little creature.

The village road we traveled was nearly abandoned as twilight descended, but our destination for the evening was only a few minutes away. 

“Hurry up. I'm thirsty,” came Erdin's voice in my head.  The mental impression of his voice was, as always, a deep baritone that seemed completely at odds with his tiny form.

“There’s water right there,” I responded, pointing at a nearby water trough.

“Not that kind of thirsty, dimwit.”

The curse of the familiared.  While the ability to communicate psionically with your familiar is very handy in a tight spot, it can be damned inconvenient to have a wild animal burrowing through your vocabulary and experiences any time he chooses.  Particularly when the creature in question has a taste for bad jokes.  Certain things are simply beyond their primitive minds, as I often remind Erdin, generally seconds before falling victim to a vicious chipmunk bite.

Finally, we arrived at our destination; a worn-down, shoddy excuse for a tavern, even by village standards. I could tell at a glance its reputation as a den of depravity was well earned.  The paint was either peeling or covered in filth, the door showed clear signs of being kicked in more than once, and there was significantly more traffic in cockroaches than people.  The smell drifting from beneath the door was less than compelling. Now I'm no blushing dandy, but I still couldn't help but feel a certain reluctance to enter such a place.  “I wonder if they're hiring,” came the wistful thought from the chipmunk on my shoulder. I sighed and pushed open the door.

As the door slammed to a close behind me I took a moment to scan the place.  It was a poorly lit, poorly furnished, dirty little tavern, and the patronage seemed to fit it well.  A sparse few determined drunks were staring fixedly into their drinks at the bar, and a somewhat rowdier group was in the back, playing cards.  I noted an ideal table in the corner, half in shadow, well out of the path of traffic, and with a clear view of the door.  Perfect, I thought to myself - this was not to be a social calling.

The barkeeper, a slender, shifty looking fellow with a sly set of eyes, met me after I was scarcely seated. 
“Let’s see your coin, then,” he said. 

I dropped a few coppers on the table.  “A mug of ale and an empty bowl.”

The man nodded.  “You can't have that in here, you know,” he said, gesturing towards Erdin, who now sat up in plain sight.

As if one more rodent in a place like this would matter.  I rolled my eyes.  “Yes, I can,” I replied, letting a few more coins bounce onto the table.

“I suppose you can at that,” said the man, flashing a yellow toothed grin and quickly collecting the coinage off the tabletop.  A few minutes later he returned with a wooden mug and a bowl. 

I poured half the ale into the bowl, and watched with amusement as Erdin practically dove in head first.  The stuff looked and smelled horrible, but the furry fiend didn't seem to care.  While I still had business to attend to, I had a suspicion my familiar intended to get sopping drunk.  And when I say sopping I mean sopping; he's generally not happy until he's dripping ale.

I took another minute to gauge my surroundings as I pretended to sip my drink.  The table at which we sat was a rickety affair, littered with holes and barely standing on wobbly legs.  From what I could see, it was one of the nicer pieces of furniture in the room. 

After an hour or so I ordered another ale. Bad as the stuff was, trying to make myself drink it gave me something to do.  I had little choice but to settle in for what might turn out to be a very long wait.  As I sat, watching, I noted the bartender holding a whispered conversation with a large, brutish looking man.  The pair shot several darting glances in my direction.  I sighed to myself, and nonchalantly slipped a dagger from my sleeve, covering the movement with another sip of ale.  Someone was about to do something stupid.
I had to admit, I didn’t make a bad target for a shakedown.  I was clearly alone, and while my dress was uniformly drab, it was a cut above the norm for a place like this.  And the bartender had likely heard a few coins clinking together when I paid for my drinks.  All they had to do was get me in a fight, rough me up some, and then convince me I had to pay for any damages.  Stupid of me not to have expected it, really.  But then again, I thought, as I mentally prepared myself for a bit of action, I was bored anyways.

Sure enough, only a few minutes later the brute approached my table.  I noticed he seemed both larger and less intelligent than he had appeared from across the room, and was clearly suffering the effects of too much cheap beer.  He looked me up and down, smirking.  “You're at my table, little man,” he said, stepping closer, in a manner I assume was meant to be threatening.

I smirked.  “Ah, how foolish of me.  Clearly, I should have known. You've even left your date here.” I said, gesturing toward Erdin. I ignored the mental growl my familiar shot at me. “You might as well have written your name on it.  You be careful, though. He looks like a feisty one.” 

He looked at the chipmunk, looked at me, and I had the satisfaction of watching his eyes go squinty as he slowly realized he had just been insulted.  “You're gonna pay for that, little man.”

The man's eyes were glued now on Erdin, and a stupid little smile spread across his face.  I could see his intent plainly. With a flash of thought towards Erdin, who had been watching the scene in between sips of ale, I prepared him for the inevitable.  The big man spread wide his fingers and moved to smash Erdin flat, but in doing so he very foolishly assumed that he was somehow, in his drunken state, faster than a creature known for scurrying out of harm’s way near instantaneously.  Even after half a bowl, Erdin had no difficulty dodging the descending hand. Tragically, his drink was not so lucky. The man's hand hit the side of the bowl and set it flying. Seeing good (to the unrefined palate of a chipmunk, anyway) ale go slopping to the ground, I'm afraid my little chipmunk lost himself for a moment. In a fit of fury, he lunged forward with open jaws and sank his sharp little teeth into the side of the man's hand.

The drunk jerked his hand back in alarm and glared at the offending creature. Seeing the look of rage that passed over the man's face, and the matching look of rage on Erdin's, I decided it might be best to intervene now, before one of them killed the other. As the drunk moved to have another go at smashing my familiar into furry paste, I made good use of the poor condition of our table.  I found a hole near Erdin and poked the tip of my knife through it, easily in the path of the descending hand. The drunk brought his hand down once more to squash Erdin, who again dodged easily, but the man roared in pain as he found my little surprise.  He reeled back as his palm was pierced clean through by the point of the blade.  He brought his hand to his face and stared in wonder at the gaping hole, his eyes still partially glazed with drink. Then he peered down at the table, where Erdin sat glaring back at him, his oversized front teeth still dripping with blood, his face the image of chipmunk ferocity.

“Devil creature!” the drunk yelled as he stumbled back, tripping over a chair in his haste to reach the door.  A religious man, I noted, as he made a ward against evil in the air before him with his uninjured hand.  Moments later he fled the tavern, still screaming of killer squirrels.

Such a scene would have surely seen us escorted out of any respectable establishment.  As it was, half the patrons hadn't even bothered to look up from their drinks, and it certainly hadn't been enough to earn any comment from those who had. Erdin licked the blood from his front teeth, and stared at me until I ordered him another bowl of ale, which he seemed bound and determined to finish by the end of the evening. No small feat for such a tiny creature.  Once more, I settled in to wait.

The tavern was slow to empty, but eventually the last and most intoxicated dragged themselves out the rickety front door.  Erdin lay curled up in his bowl, sleeping contently, the only ale left in evidence glistening wetly on his fur.  I gave him an affectionate scratch.  At least one of us had achieved something this evening.  It seemed my night had been wasted.  I finally stood, dropped another coin on the table, and reached for my incapacitated chipmunk. 

“You Varsis?” asked a voice behind me.

My hand paused in midair.  I turned, finding the shifty eyed bartender addressing me.  “It's possible.” I replied.  The bartender nodded.  “He said you'd be a stranger, and the last to leave. Got something for you.”  He said, motioning toward a small door behind the bar. “It's in the back.”

I raised an eyebrow.  I didn’t hold any particular malice towards the man for trying to have me beaten and robbed – it was more or less the standard in such places - but still, I was cautious.  In the end, I simply shrugged.  “You couldn't have asked me my name three hours ago?” I asked, moving towards the small back door.  I spared another glance for Erdin, who was still sleeping peacefully in the wooden bowl.  I let him sleep, but I couldn't resist a smile. My noble companion and protector, passed out drunk as I moved into danger.  Typical.

We entered a small storage room, littered with empty ale casks.  The bartender walked to a shelf and pulled out a poorly sealed letter.  “Here.  Ugly fella left this for you this morning.”

That sounded like the right man.  I took the letter and opened it, quickly skimming the contents.  It seemed my business associate had a pressing concern with some people trying to kill him, and was reluctant to stay in one spot.  Not surprising, as I was pursuing a very similar trail of thought myself.  I finished the letter and folded it back up.  “It says here he left something, a cheap piece of jewelry,  In the envelope.  It's not here.  Any idea where that might have gone?”

“Haven't a clue,” said the bartender, his eyes refusing to stay in one place. “He said you'd pay me for seeing you got that letter.”  I noticed him reach a long finger up and scratch his nose, a finger quite obviously wearing a gaudy, cheap ring with a huge fake stone in it, exactly as described in the letter. Was the man truly stupid enough to be wearing a freshly stolen piece of jewelry in front of the man he was stealing it from? Yeah, probably.

I took a step towards the man.  “I want you to look down at that ugly ring on your finger and take a moment to consider, very carefully, whether or not it's really worth dying for.” I put as much ice into my voice as I could manage. 

The barkeeper looked at me for a long moment, then glanced down at his finger.  “I guess it's not worth it after all,” he said, reaching his left hand over to pull off the ring. 

Really?  Lines like that never work.  Perhaps I was more intimidating than I gave myself credit for.  I allowed myself a moment of self satisfaction while the man removed the ring.  It almost cost me my life.
Instead of pulling off his ring, the man reached into his sleeve, pulled out a nasty little dagger from a hidden sheath, and charged me.  I'll give him credit, he was a lot quicker than I would have expected.  The move caught me by surprise.  Unfortunately for him, while he was fast, I was much, much faster.  Despite being surprised, finely trained reflexes took over.  My right hand drew the dagger at my belt almost before I realized there was danger, and his longer reach counted for nothing as I stepped toward him and to the side, evading his stab, and buried six inches of steel in his chest.  He stumbled back, gurgling on his own blood, and collapsed to the floor. 

I retrieved my dagger and ring as the man lay dying on the floor, and considered my situation.  It wasn’t good.  Why had the idiot jumped me over something so trivial?  Never mind that the ring was actually layered with powerful enchantments, making it a potent magical artifact worth several times the cost of the tavern I stood in; the man had no way of knowing that.  He'd tried to kill me over a truly ugly piece of jewelry, worth a few copper at best.  Pathetic.  And now my difficulties were compounded. Not only did I hate killing people, but half a tavern could place me at the scene of the crime.  This death was a completely senseless and unnecessary problem.  And I hadn't even gotten paid for it.

I took a moment to lament my woes and give in to general self pity, when I was disturbed from my revelry by the distinct sound of shattering glass.  I drew my dagger once more, and stepped warily into the main room of the tavern.  I was greeted by the sight of my faithful familiar, standing on uncertain legs.  He was poised on the bar behind a bottle of distilled spirits, drunken eyes scrunched up in concentration, and with a mighty heave he sent it hurtling toward the floor, where it joined its other fallen comrades.  From the impressive display of broken glass and liquid saturating the floor, I could see he'd been at it for some time.  It was then that I noticed the oil lantern perched precariously behind Erdin, inches from falling square into the middle of a puddle of highly flammable alcohol.

Then it clicked.  “Genius creature!” I said aloud.  “And here I thought you were passed out in a drunken stupor!  Of course we torch the place. It's the perfect way to cover up the corpse in the back.  I should have thought of that. Remind me to have a little more faith in you, Erdin.”

It was then, I think, that he noticed me for the first time.  He turned up into my face, his unfocused eyes barely recognizing me.  And I came to the sinking realization that there was no way he could have come up with any plan at all in his present state. My familiar was stupid drunk. He was just smashing things.  Oh well, at least he'd given me the idea.  He pushed another bottle onto the floor, watching it shatter with obvious satisfaction.

“Corpse?  You killed a guy!?” came his disjointed voice in my head, confirming my fears.  “Did you check his pockets for change?”  I sighed and scooped him up, tucking him into my pocket.
“Go to sleep,” I sent back, fastening the flap on the pocket.  I peered at the puddle of alcohol on the floor, and shrugged.  It should be enough.  I stepped out of the front door of the tavern, and with a snap of my fingers, I let what little magic I possessed spark a flame behind us.  Moments later, the tavern was a flaming inferno.  Good riddance.