Chapter Three of Gathering Lead

Ferren is told to collect his winnings and leave but they were so great he has to wait for the bar to close. While waiting he tries a new elixir and is nearly burned to death.

Chapter Three

Ferren watched as the beautiful woman and her backside slowly made their way through the horde of hardened criminals and gamblers. He stood gingerly attempting to cradle his bruised ego and the testicles that housed it.

“She seemed nice” he murmured into his collar as he slowly continued his voyage to the confessional, now sporting a rather substantial limp.

The Nilalang let out a reprimanding squeak.

“Don’t talk to me like that!” Retorted Ferren. “You didn’t even see her!”

Ferren felt the slow disappointed shake of a tiny head brush against his chest where Altera clung.

The little creature let out a questioning peep.

“I don’t know I couldn't see them very well but they looked like a healthy handful”

This time there was an agitated squeak, accompanied by the sinking of tiny teeth into the skin of his chest to the right of his left n****e.

“OW!” Ferren shouted as he pounded his chest crushing the little creature.

The Nilalangs reincarnation was less ostentatious this time, barely a whiff of the pungent aroma and the flash and smoke that did present went unnoticed by the taverns many patrons. A small colorful bird tumbled out of the bottom of Ferrens coat, fell unceremoniously to the ground, and squawked at him before flapping its wings to rise and alight on his shoulder.

Altera glared at him till he turned his head to meet the little creature's eyes.  

“Why?” screeched the bird.

“There was a baby's head in the way.”

The parrot's head pulled back and canted to the right then shook itself.

“Why?” squawked the bird again slowly mimicking the motion of a kick.

“Oh” exclaimed Ferrin in a dawning of comprehension.

“I was staring at her tits.”

Altera closed its eyes and shook its head again.

“F**k you Tera” he said to his shoulder. “Don't judge me.”

The pair had reached the confessionals and Ferren knocked on the door of the third box in where he had made his original bets.

A gambling confessional is a small box with a partition in the center. Ran by clerics of either Onnea, or Vinakata the gambling confessionals were intended to provide a modicum of anonymity to the sinners. Although open confessionals were available if one did not care about one's anonymity, or had a requested cleric. Anonymous gamblers or sinners as they were colloquially called would enter the confessional from the casino and make their wagers. The bookkeepers or clerics would take bets and give the sinners an alchemical tether bracelet which could only be removed by the clerics. The tether bracelets prevented anonymous gamblers who had yet to pay from leaving the premises and would identify them if they attempted to do so.

Confessional three was an open box and tonight Thomas Anderson was the presiding cleric.

“Enter my child” invited the cleric.

“Fraza, wrawk!” screeched Altera.

“Shut up” said Ferren as he pulled the confessional door open and opened his arms in an entreating gesture.

“Tommy!”

Thomas looked up from his books and took off his glasses as he began shaking a finger in Ferrens direction.

“By the savior’s bleeding nutsack!” He shouted. “Whose Gods damned balls did you borrow to work up the brass to do that? Cause I know the stones you got are half the size and not half as hairy.”

Ferren smiled at his friend.

“Thomas you wound me.”

“Don’t give me that seademon s**t! And to bet on yourself too.”

“I was just feeling lucky.”

“My f*****g pickled a*****e!”

Ferren laughed.

“Hey tommy, not to be rude or anything but I need to be going. Le Marteau told me I need to get my winnings and get out.”

Thomas nodded sympathetically.

“Yeah he looked a wee bit upset when he saw your beggar's prayer. . .” He broke off and shook his head.

“. . The f*****g balls. . . But don’t worry Martin knows his business. He may be pissed but he won’t let you get cheated once the cards are on the table.”

“Well that's good to know. . . Can I get my money now?”

“Nope.”

“The f**k I can’t! You just said the Righello wouldn't let me get cheated.”

“I know what I f*****g said boy, and you Ain't getting cheated, it's just so many people bet against you I’m not gonna have enough till the bar starts to empty out.”

Ferren stood there in a stunned silence for a moment.

“Are you serious?”

“Do I look like the kind of f****r to joke about something like that? There's a reason they hire clerics for this job, some things are sacred.”

“So I just sit in here all night?” inquired Ferren

“Yes, no, hang on.” The priest ducked his head down below Ferrens line of sight and began rummaging through various unseen odds and ends. After a moment his head popped back into view.

“Here we go.” He handed over a large wooden tankard with a heartbone handle.

Ferren took the flagon in a reluctant hand and examined it with distaste. He blew into the hollow and was greeted by a plume of dust that exploded upwards into his eyes.

“Um. . . yeah we haven't needed to use one of those in a while.” Thomas said sheepishly.

“It's a little dirty but it’le get you free drinks at the bar, till your money comes in. or if you'd prefer I can send you upstairs with this if you'd like a round with some of the girls.” The cleric produced a large carved wooden penis and brandished it at Ferren like a saber.

“. . . I think I’ll forgo the feelings of inadequacy tonight” farren said as he eyed large phallus which above all things but one resembled a table leg.

“By the Gods. . .” The priest said as he reappraised the long shaft in his hand.

“I just figured out how to get my c**k to be this big. . .” He said in an almost reverent tone.

Ferren looked at the bookkeeper with an arched eyebrow.

“Fold it in half” Cleric Thomas said as he said with a grin that split his face from ear to ear. “I’m kidding it's only about 5 inches. . .From the ground!”

Ferrens face flushed as he grabbed the dusty tankard and pushed his way out of the confessional to the sound of the clerics booming laughter. The nilalang on his shoulder was rocking as it let its out shrieks of mirth which were only exacerbated by the glowing hue of ferrens cheeks.  .

“Shut up.” he muttered aggressively at the little creature, as he sidled up to a corner table near the bar. He waved his wooden tankard at one of the more attentive serving girls. The young woman immediately recognised the flaring antlers of the cup and swooped in to take his order.

“Good evening sir. My name is Olivia what can I get you tonight?” The woman said.

Do you have anything by Sahra Marlow?”

“You’ll have to be a bit more specific.”

“There's more than one Marlow?”

“Yup, She’s been flooding the market for about six months. We've got Dragon’s Blood, Hellion Spit, Holy Water, a few alchemical wines, one she calls the Elixir of Life. . .” She trailed off giving Ferren an opportunity to place an order.

“Wow. . . um what do you recommend?”

“Dragons Blood.” Olivia said

“Great, let's start with a Dragon's Blood, and could you bring me and my friend something from the kitchens?”

“Sure thing.” She grabbed Ferrens mug and began to turn towards the bar.

“Oh! Wait Ferren nearly shouted . . . I’ve been working on this trick. Would you like to see it?”

“. . . No” Olivia stated after a moment of consideration.

“Oh come on! It's good! Watch!” Ferren picked up a small butter knife, holding it between to hands and flattening it to the table making it appear to bend. Then with a flourish he snapped it up showing the knife to be completely unbent.

“wow.” said Olivia in what was possibly the most un-awe-inspired tone that had ever graced the Callistian continent.

Ferren narrowed his eyes, determined to win a smile from the attractive waitress.

“Here, this ones better.”

“what? how could it be?”

He snatched up a napkin from the table and made a few ostentatious flourishes with it. He then placed the knife one the table and tossed the napkin over the top so it bunched in the middle. He then took his right hand and brought it down in a forceful blow with his palm down and fingers splayed outwards as if to smash the blade to dust. With his left hand he quickly palmed the knife and slipped it into his pocket as he pulled the napkin away with his right and revealed that the knife had disappeared. This was a trick that Ferren was quite proud of as he had been working on it for years.

“Dragons blood right? I’ll be right back” Olivia turned and stepped over to the bar to exchange a few quick words with the barman. While Ferren was left to pout about his ill received trick. Moments later she returned with a full tankard.

“One Dragon’s Blood, since you haven't had it before I would strongly advise you drink it slowly. It hits everybody a little differently.”

“Much Thank’s” he said waiting for her to turn away, and when she did so he quickly drained the tankard in an act of heroic defiance.

“Oh, I’ve got the cook back there working on a bit of supper for you.” The barmaid said turning back and addressing Ferren who was holding his flagon upside down catching the last few few drops of the amber liquid on his tongue. Eyes wide and jaw slacked she managed to let out a few incoherent stammers.

“I. . .Um. . .Let me get you some bread. . .”

She spun back around to address the crowd.

“OY! Pigfuckers and Goatrapists!” A swift and dangerous lull fell over the casinos many patrons. “This s**t gargler just took his first Marlow. . . He smashed it. So if he says anything stupid or . . . untoward, let him off with a light boxing will ya? He just can’t handle his lixer.”

Olivia then resumed her sprint back to the kitchens as the rowdy customers began to laugh.

“Huh. . . that was weird. . .” Ferren said to the bird humming gently to itself on his coat shoulder. Altera hopped down his shoulder slowly to sniff what remained of the Dragon’s Blood. The bird turned its head away quickly and let out a miniscule sneeze. Then with renewed interest it returned to sniff the concoction again this time taking a quick lick of what was left of the sticky amber liquid. Ferren watched as Altera froze for a moment then began twitching, spinning its head back and forth jumping backwards in circles in quick paranoid motions.

“What the F. . .” Feren said before he was cut off by a booming crash.

He was overwhelmed by sounds. A thunderous waterfall crashing down around him, a stampede of stomping feet, and the roar of a crowds multitude of conversations.

“WHAT IN THE HOLY NAME OF VEIMOCERI’S GREAT SAGGING TITS?” He screamed into the quiet corner of his bar as the amplified noises in his head assaulted him from every angle. There was a quick lull in the cacophony and then his ears were assaulted again by a deafening blair of clamor. Ferren had clapped his hands over his ears to ward away the brutal onslaught of barely recognisable noise though to little avail. Laughter. Laughter like the Gods must make. Colossal, gargantuan, leviathans of laughter. Ferren was sure it would shake the nails out of the wood and bring the Fallen Hammer down upon everyone.

He felt a grasping hand on his shoulder and let out a startled yelp, as the barmaid spun him around and shoved a small loaf of bread forcefully into his mouth.

“ARGH-UFFFfff!”

“I told you to drink it slowly till it hit didn't I? That's not just liquor you know it's an Elixir.” Olivia said emphasising the word.

“That means it's a glass of f*****g alchemy! Even the s**t-for-brains regulars know to drink their Marlow with a f*****g drop of sweat!”  The last she said in a harsh whisper that sounded like a shout. Ferren nodded and put his head on the table as she walked away.

Tap. tap. tap. Scratch. Tap tap tap.

“Tera, Shut the f**k up! That's so Gods damned loud.”

The nilalang shrieked barely a hand's width from his sensitive ears.

“Ah F**k” he swore as he lashed out with a hand to crush the tiny creature into a more pleasing shape.

A swishing sound resonated through the air as the tiny creature reincarnated. Suddenly a sharp pain shot through Ferrens hand as the nilalang sprouted a quiver of sharp spines directly into his outstretched palm.

“F**k it all” He barked, pulling his hand back to the relative safety of his lap, and looking up at the smug nilalang on the table which had morphed into something Ferren had never seen befor. A blueish muscular quadruped with a thick armor of spines sticking up from the creatures large flat back. Altera let out a nasally snigger as Ferren gingerly pulled the spikes out of his palm and let his head rock back to rest against the wall.  

“. . . bring that thing into my house?” Ferren snapped up and to attention as Le Marteau voice boomed into his ear for the second time that night. The voice faded to a quiet murmur and was eclipsed by the sounds of the bar once again. Ferren slowly placed his ear flat against the wall and the voices became clear again.

“. . . other choice frère! You’ve seen his eyes! I have to hide him and I had no one else to turn to.”

Is that the Chalussi woman who kicked me? Wondered Ferren.

“Annette, Soeur, you left the business and the family years ago. Alain and I needed you. We had to bring the city back under control after the putain Vorran incursion, Alain died trying to fight off those pigfuckers. You and I are were all that was left of la famille and you ran away. I’ve rebuilt this empire and now you need me to go up against the putain Église? Pour l'un des maudits?”

“He’s not maudit! C'est mon enfant! He’s your flesh and blood too frère.

There was a long pregnant silence punctuated by the sounds of the Righellos furious pacing.

“Baiser!” Martin Swore. “D'accord. . . d'accord, I’ll find you somewhere to take him.”

“Thank y. . .”

“FIRE!”

Ferren jerked his head away from the wall, and from Martin and Annettes fascinating conversation. He looked around and watched the bar patrons and gangsters as panic washed over them. The majority of the crowd made for the main entrance, but something had happened to the doors and they were refusing to open, which added rapidly to the chaos, confusion and panic.

“Onneas s**t stained a*****e!” Ferren swore as he smashed Altera with his empty tankard. Waving the smoke away before grabbing the newly formed salamander.

“Thanks” he said to the small lizard as he stuffed it in his pocket.

“I really don't need those spikes distracting me now.”

Ferren leapt out from behind his table and started sprinting for the closest window. He watched as another man who had been taken by a similar thought lifted a chair and threw it through the window, but as the man attempted to crawl over the broken glass a black sniper's quarrel took him through the chest.

Ferren looked on in horror as the men attempting to escape via the obvious routes were being thwarted in ways that seemed merely unlucky but that bolt told Ferren this was more than an act of the Gods it was massacre. He looked back to the table he had been sitting at and scanned the wall for doors or window. There was no obvious exit.

“F**k f**k f**k f**k f**k” muttered Ferren as he veered away from the window and towards the bar. He lept up and over the chest high counter knocking off various drinks and meals the panicking patrons had abandoned. He aimed his right shoulder at the kitchen door, ducking his head and barreled into it with all his might. The door held, his shoulder did not fare so well, and he screamed as with a sickening pop his shoulder was jolted out of place and he fell to the ground. Ferren screamed again as his fall subsequently knocked his dislocated shoulder back into place although this scream was decidedly less impressive as he had expended the majority of his lung power on its predecessor.

“Onnea, you pigfucker.” groaned Ferren as he pushed himself up to his knees gently with his remaining good hand. He stood and quickly examined the door taking in the outward facing hinges and subtle handles. He reached out with his left hand and gingerly pulled the door open.

“Pigs and goats, and shitting horses Onnea, may they f**k you into a coma.” Ferren shouted as he sprinted through the kitchen looking for an exit.

Ferren tried to create a mental map of the most likely routes of escape as he ran through the abandoned kitchen. There was a door in the back of the kitchen that opened to a hallway diverging left and right.

Ferren looked down either hallway trying to decide on the best route of escape. Deciding that he was here to gamble anyways he took the hallway right sprinting down the corridor to a door at the end. He opened it and came face to face with the red visage of fury that was Martin Charbonneau. Martin reached out with his monstrous hands and took Ferren by the throat.

“How dare you!” The Righello boomed into Ferrens face. “How f*****g dare you?”

Ferren gulped suddenly thinking fondly of the fire and assassins he had been running from.

“Fire.” he managed to mouth as he clawed at the gangsters massive fingers.

“What?” Queried Martin slowly relinquishing his grip on Ferrens throat.

“Fire. . . in the bar.” He rasped. “And archers at the windows”.

There was a gasp from behind the Righello and Ferren looked up to see a woman holding a child tightly to her chest.

“Martin, they found me, it has to be the Sicarius. We have to leave.”

The large man looked at Ferren. “You came here to warn us?”

Ferren not one to bite a gold coin, jumped at this fortunate opportunity.

“I saw the lady and her child come back here and I couldn't bare the thought of leaving them to the fire.”

Martin starred at Ferren for a moment before turning and striding purposefully towards the large desk in the back corner of the room, then lifting it by one corner till it stood on its side exposing the spiral staircase below.

“Oh!” Said Ferren in a surprise. “I thought. . .” he waved meekly toward the bookcase. “Never mind.”

Martin smiled as Annette and Ferren proceed down the coiled staircase.

“Bookshelf passages are so Cliche.