Chapter 29 or Chapter 1 or…. Chapter 31
Through careful nurturing, Bogdan could now take great pride in the quality of stickiness his tavern tables had acquired.
Over time, the cultivated adhesiveness had captured many a coin, loose button, and occasional gold cufflink, all of which had quickly disappeared into the depths of Bogdan’s till.
Well… it was more of a pocket under his barkeeper’s white apron…
Well, very off-white-ish…
Well…
Let’s just leave it at that because you don’t want to listen to a diatribe all about the new bacterial life forms Bogdan’s apron sustained because ignorance is bliss. Especially when you’ve just watched Bogan wipe his hands on his apron before and after preparing your meal.
The bald, porcine, and rotund barkeeper had made sure that over the years, if he was forced to clean a tabletop due to loud complaints or threats of a visitation from the rare and magical health inspectors, he would dislodge the rag used for cleaning everything else, (mugs, wooden plates, and dull knives) from under the bar, and wave it above the table surface, helping him smudge another layer into the table’s pentene of grime.
The celebrated gumminess of Bogdan’s life had come to an abrupt ending on the afternoon the old witch had arrived.
At first, she had seemed to be an easy customer, asking quietly if she and her girl companion could have one pot of tea, one milk and two rounds of sandwiches, one with the crusts cut off.
When Bogdan had supplied two beers and half a leg of lamb bone, her attitude of easiness seemed to dry up like a snail under a blowtorch.
As the young blond-headed, blue-eyed child poked the bone with a finger that had most recently resided up her nose, the old witch questioned under an arched and withering grey eyebrow, “What do you call this?”
“Is ya orda, isn it!” Bogdan began to trundle himself back behind his wooden aged-packing pallet bar.
It must be pointed out that Bogdan had one leg and one wheel. In actual fact, it was a second-hand wooden leg with a wooden wheel attached to the end – let wallaby arms never be the master of invention! The barkeeper had found it much more reliable than a stiff wooden foot. His trundle wheel allowed him to roll quickly around his bar, ensuring his customers’ needs were ignored.
But as the echoes of the witches’ questions died in the dark corners of his inn, Bogdan’s wheel stopped turning and seemed to be stuck. The barkeeper bent over low to check his wheel, making sure he hadn’t got stuck in a sticky puddle and that there wasn’t a stray finger wedged in it like last time.
“This, Mister Barperson, is not my order,” the grey-haired witch announced curtly. “ I clearly asked for one cup of tea, one glass of milk, and two rounds of sandwiches, preferably with recognisable meat or cucumbers, with one of those rounds to be presented with the crust cut off.”
Bogdan banged at his wheel with his left fist before replying, “Yeah, dats what ya got ay!”
The little blond girl’s blue eyes widened in anticipation as her broad, excited leer lit up her face. Her whispered, “Are you going to set him on fire?”, which was clearly and joyfully announced in the same volume most children use when they are in a public toilet and commenting on the funny noises they can hear in the stall next door, had no impact upon Bogdan’s rabid patriarchal beliefs.
Ignoring the small girl, the witch continued addressing the petulant tavern king. “Listen here, Mr Barperson, I’m not sure what amount of intelligence quota you may possess, but both you and my foot, which shall be planted right upon your backside, know this is not what I ordered.” The witch pushed the child’s inquisitive finger to the girl’s lap and then poked the bone herself with an arthritic finger. “This is like a used dog’s bone!”
“Women’s should na be in a pub. Women’s should stay at ‘ome and duz as their husbands tells ‘em.” And because Bogdan didn’t quite realise, he was literally pulling his pants down and painting a big red bullseye on his bottom, he added, “Silly old’s baggage, should’a kept her mouves shut. ‘urry up baggage, an eats ya dinnies and get back to ya stove.”
Hidden behind her chubby hand, a little thrilled giggle escaped the little girl’s mouth before she politely enquired, “Grand, can I please get my colouring book and pencils off the broom? I want to show people what happens.”
“Oh, I see!” were the last words Bogdan remembered hearing before his wheel spun up and skidded him out of his bar headed to the local market with a deep desire, in the shape of a burning foot print on his posterior, to buy locally sourced fresh cucumbers, butter, bread and milk along with tea bags from the land of pouncing hungry tigers.
It should be noted here for public safety reasons that crossing a witch, no matter how sticky your tables are, is simply a recipe for you to learn a very hard and fast lesson, which you will not, if you know what’s good for you, forget in a hurry!
*
“Torren, are you sure this is a good idea?” asked Jo quietly as he eyed the rough and dirty tavern.
“It’s me bum, it ‘urts from this ‘ere wooden board us elder folks haz been forced to sit on all day.” Mr Geezer complained from within his cocooned duvet.
Sighing escaped Torrens tired body, which Jo understood as an indicator of a weary soul. “Probably not, Jo! But hey, lifes just far too dull and boring if just keep travel around a dark and dangerous forest with little to no idea of where we’re going with a band of highly socially anxious, overly friendly, underly friendly, weird, normal-ish, strange, bald, hairy, young, old, magical, time travelling, agoraphobic, hemophobic, erythrophic, scopophobic, and downright bloody rude, incompetent, scarily competent, witch slash dragon, spy slash copper, werewolf slash Labrador, old lady slash sooth sayer, vampire slash vegan, knight slash pillock, teenagers slash moody gits, old git slash old git, horse slash witch slash dragon and you and me?”
Jo looked deeply into Torren’s eyes, then announced to everyone, “We’ll stop here, Torren needs a driver’s reviver break!”
It took a little time for everyone to dismount or have their coffins slid onto trollies and then ignore Sir Richard’s complaints and requests that it really was below his social standing not have a rich and luxurious coffin made from walnut, lined with purple crushed velvet and that the old travel trunk they had found in a ditch by the side of the road had a very weird smell to it and was very cramped and uncomfortable.
But walk, saunter, hobble and trundle toward the dimly lit pub they did with Lucy in the lead, and every other able-bodied person not including Mrs Tipsy, Mrs Geezer, or Ruby, who were too busy complaining, hauling a coffin with their occupants complaining they couldn’t see clearly.
The tavern’s heavy, worn, wooden door swung open wide, revealing a shimmering wooden floor, clean enough for any non-discriminating person to eat off. Behind a freshly painted bar stood a sparkling barkeeper of bald and rotund proportions, smiling like a person whose life depended on it. “Good even’ns, fine travellers, mays I’s provide ya all wiv’s a cuppa tea, milk, mead or u-va bev-ver-ages of ya’s choice? Wees also provides a menus of free choices: stew wiv bread, cold meat wiv bread or a round of cucumber sandwiches, optional wiv crust removal?”
The crew stood silently, not quite sure how to deal with this unfamiliar, pleasant professionalism.
“Ahhh…” Lucy spoke up, “We were heading to the Caves of Don’t Go There when we were attacked in the forest by an unknown assailant.”
“Did vay ‘aves a poi-ty hat, grey hair ‘n’ a very mean eyebrow?” quivered the Barkeeper.
Lucy’s mind engaged into a higher gear as she squinted her questioning blue eyes, trying to size up the landlord’s intentions, “No… we didn’t get a very good look at them, but they left a silver arrow buried in the side of one of our companions.”
“Oh, so’s not a li-l blond girl whos has a very unpleasant giggle?” The barkeeper’s shoulders began to relax a little.
Lucy felt an uncomfortable wave of unease surge behind her from her fellow travelling companions, who all seemed to be living, breathing magnets for the strange, occult, and downright weird to occur to them. ‘No.’ was enunciated in a long, drawn-out manner, which to everyone behind her said, “Oi, Oi, me lads, this fella is setting off my radar, be ready to run, fight, scratch, bite or complain our way out of here.”
“Is ya’s com-pan-onion alright?” The barkeeper broke out in a little sweat, went to wipe it off with his apron, stopped, picked up a brand-new rag from under the bar, wiped his face, and then made a show of putting it in a laundry basket marked with a card above it, ‘To be cleaned’.
“Sadley, he died, but now he’s feeling much better and is back to his old self. I think we’ll go for 8 stews with bread and 4 rounds of cucumber sandwiches.”
“Tha’s nice ta hears. Is tha’ dines-in or takes-away?” enquired the nervous owner.
“Ahh. It will be dine in, thank you.” Lucy looked at the tables and was pleasantly surprised that her fingerprints weren’t ripped off as she patted the nearest table.
‘The Crew’ shuffled their way around a few tables with the oldies and Ruby closest to the fire, stating that their old bones and sparsity of clothing gave them preference. Sangre sat with Sir Richard, who was nervously holding the chef’s hand under the table for support and comfort, but as worried that someone might see and question him about his manliness, by which he was going to tell them to go to hell, slap them over te face, challenge them to a duel and then have a good cry about them being so mean.
Dementia and Nigel sat with Zorro, who announced to everyone multiple times that Dementia was holding his hand and that she was his first real girlfriend and wasn’t everyone really jealous that she was so pretty? Dementia lapped it up with girlish giggles whilst her brother fake gagged on a regular basis.
This left Beatrix, Torren, Lucy and Jo sitting around the smallest table, just enjoying the lack of weirdness.
Torrens questioned his companions, “So Mrs Brown knows you’re a dragon then?”
Beatrix nodded as her lips drew into a thin line of concern.
“She’s rumoured to be the matriarch of one of the most dangerous gangs in Bone Valley! What was she doing all the way out here?” continued Torren.
“The soroptimist sent her to put a bounty on Mother Heggerty’s head.” The young witch replied.
“Great,” moaned Torren, “all we need now is the C.W.A and the Masons, and we’ll be under threat by every powerful faction in the city.”
“But why come all the way out here? Why not wait until we head back to the city and tell Zorro to attack Mother Heggerty then?” Jo looked around the tavern and noticed a lone table with a tablecloth, a small vase of flowers, and two dishes neatly set. A white card on a stick was stuck into the small vase with ‘reserved’ scrawled on it. The sign appeared to be placed by someone new to dining etiquette, as it was misspelled as ‘don bloddy sits ‘ere.’
Lucy whispered, “This is part of the reason why Lieutenant Sam … sent me out here. He’s pretty sure more clandestine business is happening outside the city gates than inside, and he wants to know when, who, where, why and what.”
Beatrix’s eyebrow rose, “Why, so he can stop Mother Heggerty being overthrown?”
Lucy held the witch’s gaze for just a tad too long, making it uncomfortable for Jo and Torren, but having no visible effect upon Beatrix until the copper announced slowly, “No, so we can look after the people of Bone Valley during an overthrow, which is going to happen sooner or later.”
Beatrix blinked and looked away, whilst Lucy still watched her intently, a tiny smile cracking her grimace.
“All I know is it’s been a week now since Heggerty took my daughter, and day by day I’m losing hope of ever seeing her again.” Jo took a deep breath, pushing his anxiety back under control.
“Well,” replied Lucy quietly, “If we get going early tomorrow morning, we should reach the village of ‘Turn Around Point’ by lunch time and then by late afternoon, we should get to the town of ‘Why Didn’t You Read the Last Sign and Turn Around, You Fool?”
Torren whispered even quieter, “Yes, but now we’ve got a silver arrow shooting maniac who’s hiding out in the forest and taking pot shots at us. How are we going to avoid one of us dying? I’m not sure I want vampire first aid!”
Beatrix took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I suggest you all stay here, and I fly to the Caves of ‘Don’t Go There’ and talk to the Grand Dame, rescue your daughter, then fly her back here, and we go home as fast as possible, and then we can worry about Heggerty. I need to talk to Mother Harper and Merryweather before we decide to do anything.”
“How will you carry her back?” Jo’s mind was already constructing a basket of some sort to tie around Beatrix’s neck.
Beatrix shrugged, “I don’t know, I guess I’ll just put her in my mouth and carry her back!”
“You what now?” Jo’s eyebrows shot up his forehead in shock. “What if you hiccup or decide to get a bit hungry or accidentally swallow her!”
“I’ll go too, I’m pretty sure I can ride Beatrix.” Whispered Torren, “That way she can have some backup when she ‘talks’ to the Grand Dame.”
“You ’se four, keeps ya dirty talk to ya sevles, were in public. Theres be no talking of riding each other. I dunno the youth of today and their low morals!” Mrs Tipsy sniffed her disapproval as Mr Geezer and Ruby looked over with smutty comments running through their minds.
Ruby thought about telling Torren how much she loved being ridden, but by the way Beatrix looked directly at her with a threat of death, she decided to keep her mouth closed.
Mrs Tipsy took a sip of tea, placed her cup down and then her head vibrated as if her brain was having its own private earthquake.
An old, worn, and gnarled hand reached out and patted her cold, shivering hand, “You’se all right, petal?”
“Oh, yes, thanks Mr Geezer. Bu’, I’d get a good night’s rest ta-night ‘cause we’re heading home ta-morrow! Thank goodness.” Her head buzzed again. “Hmmm, interesting. I think we might ‘aves a li’ll chat before we do though.” The old soothsayer smiled the smile she always smiled when she knew something that nobody else did, which was quite often, and that’s probably why she’s quite a smug person.
*
The barkeeper trundled in with his one leg and one wheel, bowing and scraping towards two guests who followed him.
“I hopes Madam that you’se are very happy with yours accom-mo-dation, and tha’ it was to you’se liking and standards.
“Yes, well…” answered a quiet, posh lady’s unhappy voice. “It’s better than sleeping in a ditch, I suppose.”
Then a younger voice enquired loudly and not that innocently, “What are those magazines under your bed Mr Barkeeper?”
“That is enough, Connie, as I explained to you, you are too young to look at booby magazines.”
“Yes, I know, Grand, but why did he have a pile of booby magazines under his bed?” The young child’s voice inquired insistently.
Nervously clearing his throat, the barkeeper spoke up, “Well, I likes birds, ‘n’ I like Tits ‘cause of their size and especially I like competition Cocks because of alls theirs colours and sizes they come in. But in, in particular,” the barkeeper stuttered, “Is ‘ave a real fancy for Boobies. I loves ‘em to pieces. It’s just a shame I has ta travel so far to see ‘em.” Then dreamily mumbled, “What I wouldn’t give to have a Booby in my backyard.”
The old lady’s voice cleared as she enunciated coldly, “Mr Barkeeper, I do not have any concerns with you being an ornithologist. In fact, I’m a bit of a bird nerd myself. It wasn’t so much the content of the magazines that was the problem; it was the quantity. I think when you have a spare moment, you’ll need to go through your collection and cull at least half of it; otherwise, I suspect if you add any more of your Booby books, your bedroom floor will be coming through your dining room’s roof!
Mr Geezer questions loudly, “What is she telling us that hes a horny thologist for? That’s rude talk, that is!”
Jo stood and bellowed with parental love, “Constance!”
Which was responded to with a rushing child who threw her arms around his neck and began to cry.
The old lady sighed, “Thank the good goddesses that weight has lifted!” And then spoke in general to anyone who was listening. “I can’t stand children. I mean, I don’t hate them, and I could probably manage to eat half of one if push came to shove, but I can’t say I’m overly fond of them.” The Grand Dam then looked around the room at all the wide-eyed and open-mouthed people in the dining room. “What? If you had a daughter like mine, you’d feel the same way, I can guarantee it!
Her words had not yet done a lap of the room when a short-statured dwarf fell down the chimney, covering everyone in soot as he yelled, “Put your hands up, doggy! I’m here to claim your tail!” He then realised doing so might not have been such a wise choice as three of the women’s eyes began to glow coal red, as a young, enraged vampireress stood and bellowed, “Over my dead body!”
The sooty-covered interlopers’ only response of “Oh shit!” was somewhat drowned out by Connie’s giggling and excited clapping.
Thank you for reading my madness!
“If we get going early tomorrow morning, we should reach the village of ‘Turn Around Point’ by lunch time and then by late afternoon, we should get to the town of ‘Why Didn’t You Read the Last Sign and Turn Around, You Fool?”
Sounds like Bone Valley is located somewhere on the Canadian island of Newfoundland, between the metropoli of Dildo, Gander, Heart's Desire, and Heart's Delight....
P.S. I really hope you will consider publishing this stuff as books if you haven't already....
Thank you, V! Love your madness!🩶