Chapter 7
Barock
“It looks like their money is starting to dry up.” Lord Moe Denero, one of the village elders of Barock, said. “It’s great that we are making so much from the sisters and the taverns, but we need to start selling more food and they just don’t have the money left for it. “
“It’s always like this.” Sister Betty, the Sisters of Questionable virtue’s representative on the council, said. “First the booze then the girls and then more booze, it take a few days for them to realize just how hungry they are.”
“Yes we all know that, Sister.” Jake Cookslot, head of food supply said. “It’s just that these guys have no money left. I do not think it is right to always ask the food department to take weapons.”
“The city always buys the weapons from you.” Denero said.
“I know.” replied Cookslot. “It is just that our profit margin is so low, not much more than a thousand precent, that carting the weapons from some of the outlying areas eats up what profit we do make. I mean it is not like the sisters and things, they come to you, but we have to ride out to the camp.”
“I see. “ Denero said, pulling on his goatee. “Is there any way you could help out Sister? Something like service and coin for weapons?”
“I don’t see any problems with that.” she answered. “If you could get word out to the soldiers, they should bring the weapons to us, but why don’t you just buy the weapons directly from the men?”
“Didn’t I explain this last year? Of course that was your predecessor.” Denero said. “It’s simply a matter of not showing that the city is arming. If word spread that we were taking on arms, one of our more violent neighbours might think we are preparing for war.”
“Okay, we’ll do the service and coin thing, maybe the taverns could also do beer and coin?”
“I’m willing,” Smiley Sot, head of breweries, said. “But don’t we already have a full arsenal?”
“Yes.” Denero replied. “The good news is that I have just received word that Knocksvil is arming again. I think they are probably going to try take on Heldslong, again.”
They all chuckled.
“I’ll send word that we have what they want. On a different note, I bumped into Mrs Smith this morning. Apparently she and her husband have opened up the Hardpassvil Inn. I must say I have been missing her rat pie.” Everyone’s eyes glazed over with happy memories. “She said that they will be serving Sunday lunch pie, but you must bring your own rats. She also suggests that her Bat pie might be even nicer, but again bring your own bats. On that note let’s close the meeting with the vote. All those in favour of implementing the discussed issues say ‘yes’. Carried unanimously. Let’s get on with it.”
The new plan of service/beer and coin was a roaring success. Quite soon the once well-armed army of General Killem was reduced to a group of men camping around a lake. Killem hardly noticed he was too busy planning his dream castle overlooking all of Marshland. The Gods had promised him that they would create a mountain right in the middle of the land, from where he could see it all. The only thing he would have to do is kill three adventures heading for the Horn Mountain. With his army at his back, that would be no problem.
Somewhere in the Horn mountains
Large Greg Copper sat in his cave recounting his fingers. He had been doing it for the past week, but couldn’t come to the right answers.
“Let’s try it again.” he said to his best friend, Rock (Which surprisingly was an actual rock but it only spoke to Greg, one of the metal bothers. He hadn’t followed in his oldest brother’s footsteps and become a pirate school dropout, nor did he drink. He found the natural high of being completely insane was enough of a rush for him.)
“One, two, three … eight, nine, ten. Right so I have ten.”
“Good,” Rock said, “Now count your right hand, good, write down five in the sand. Okay. Remember we had ten earlier, so count backwards from ten on you left hand. Good, now write down six next to the five and add them. Take your time, we have all year.”
“Eleven.” Greg said after a few minutes.
“See,” Rock said, “I told you that you’re deformed.”
“What do you mean?”
“Normal people only have ten fingers and you have eleven.”
“How do you know normal people only have ten fingers?”
“I met one once, he stayed right here in this cave.” Rock replied with his impassive face showing none of the laughter that was boiling up inside of him. He had been playing this trick on Large Greg Copper for the last week, but still wasn’t tired of it yet.
“How do you know he wasn’t deformed or a figment of your imagination, like the loonies?”
This was something new, normally they broke down into ‘is’, ‘isn’t’ at this point.
“’cos.” Rock replied stalling for time.
“’cos why?”
“Just ‘cos.”
The conversation finally broke down into more familiar territory of ‘cos’, ‘cosn’t’. (Don’t ask, he’s nuts remember. You might be thinking that Rock is just a figment of Greg’s imagination, the only problem with that is that Rock is smarter than Greg.)
“You know Rock,” Greg said after he woke up, “there are a lot more bats and rats in the cave than usual.”
“I noticed, I think it’s because people have moved into the inn at the bottom of the pass.” Rock replied, straight-faced.
“Oh, wait a second. How do you know people have moved into the inn?”
“I can smell the cooking.”
“Oh, wait a second. How can you smell?”
“I just can.”
“Can’t”
“Can.” You get the picture. Greg and Rock spend their days arguing.
“Looks like snow.” Greg said after he woke up. (Greg spends a lot of time cat napping, by that I don’t mean he steals cats, although he also does that sometimes.)
“No it doesn’t.” I’ll spare you the does, doesn’t thing.
It did snow. Not the happy snow of the lowland, no pretty snowflakes that gently settle to the ground. This was the Horn Mountains after all. A cloud of snow gets very heavy, so heavy it can’t, can, can’t (leave me alone damn it.) go party with its friends, so it just lets it go all at once. I mean there is hardly anyone to catch the snowflakes on their tongue, so what’s the point of making it pretty. Greg ran out and tried to catch a few, but after he dug himself out of the ten feet of instant snow his heart wasn’t (was) in it. He sat around the imaginary fire with Rock and sang unprintable songs instead.