Tavern Excerpt
The smell of Tales and Ales would turn away any sane person that wondered by the place, but over the last 241 years, Van had grown accustomed to it. Van Thorne sat in a small wooden booth in the corner of the tavern which rested at the docks of Foronor. The rain tapped the roof of the tavern and patrons were ducking in the door dripping wet. The place buzzed with small talk and laughter and was lit by dim kerosene lanterns that hung on every other log support beam that ran across the ceiling.
A burly man, probably 230 pounds, sat down a quart of gin with juniper. Van nodded and the man huffed his was back behind the bar. Van didn’t drink much anymore, there wasn’t really a point to it; the stale taste was losing its luster and the buzz no longer affected him, yet here he sat. He had frequented this particular tavern when he was in his early 20s up until about 100 years ago. This was his first time back.
He didn’t know why he came back. He had seen the tavern as he passed through that day and decided to see if it had changed much, and it hadn’t. Men still came and drank away their workday and the barman still gave squinted looks at someone who stared at him for too long.
But here it stood. He picked up one of the two small mugs that sat upside down on the corner of the table and filled it with the gin from the pitcher. He sat the pitcher down and brought the mug to his nose and inhaled deeply. The rich smell of juniper rushed out and he closed his eyes.
He thought it amazing how smell alone could take a man back in time.
He took a drag on his gin when a woman sat in his booth across from him. She wore a dark hooded cloak and wore a green emerald around her neck. He sat down the mug and cocked an eyebrow.
A women in a tavern?
“Dining alone?” She asked. Her voice was as smooth as velvet.
Where had she come from?
“Not anymore,” he answered with a smile, “Gin?”
He raised his glass and her thin smile widened slightly.
“Very kind of you, but I must decline.”
“Very well,” he said and set the half empty glass down, “I must say, not used to seeing many women in a place like this.”
“Well, when all the seats are taken by the men, where are the women to sit?”
“Didn’t take you long to find a seat.”
“I know a lonely man when I see one, figured you needed some company.”
She was quick. He tried to hide a smile.
“Well, what brings a woman to a tavern this late at night?”
She paused.
“Business.”
The booth squeaked as he leaned back against the tattered upholstery.
“I see, and am I keeping you company until this business arrives?”
Their eyes met and for a second, she had three eyes. The emerald around her neck matched her glowing eyes perfectly.
“You could say that,” she said.
Van smirked and picked up his gin.
“Well then,” he said, “does my company have a name?”
“Enchantress,” she said and her smile crept back. Van chuckled.
“Oh, the Mistress of Mystery herself? How fortunate I am.”
She laughed. A real, genuine laugh that surprised him. It didn’t last long, but it lingered in his mind. He found his way back to her eyes, those never ending eyes. He couldn’t tell if it was a trick of the light but the deep emerald seemed to swirl to an even deeper black.
“Careful, good sir. A witch isn’t the most popular kind to have as company,” her tone still light but only a little.
“I’ve been around long enough to know a witch when I see one and you don’t quite fit the bill,” Van said and sipped his gin. Something in her face faltered, but it might have been his imagination.
“And what makes you certain that I am not a witch?”
There was that grin again.
“Although there are some exceptions, beauty is not something I would associate with a witch, Enchantress and given the hour of your visit, your evening would be filled with other matters.”
“You seem quite informed with the supernatural.”
“I’ve seen my fair share.”
“Then you should know that a witch could alter her appearance to look like someone else and those around would never know.”
“Very true,” he said.
The door to the tavern opened and curses rang out for the door to be shut. A tall thin man ducked under the threshold and took off his black top hat. He scanned the room in search of someone. His face was still and hard. He walked over to the barman and said something soft to him. Van watched as they spoke.
He leaned across the table and kept his voice down.
“This here your ‘business’?”
The lady didn’t turn to look.
“Yes, looks like he found his way here just fine.”
“Well, Enchantress, there shall only be one way to prove that you are what you say you are.”
“I never said I was, but you seem to think that you haven’t a doubt about it good sir.”
“Humor me. I’ll leave you two to your business, seeing that it looks rather important. I come to this tavern at the turn of every century, the first day of it in fact. I’ll see you then?”
She raised her eyebrow and held his gaze. Then, with quickness that surprised him, she took his mug and drank it clean.
“Don’t be late,” she said and sat the mug at the end of the table.
He stood and patted down his leather coat and grinned. He gave her a gentle bow of the head and turned around to the thin man that had walked over to the table. He was at least a hand taller than Van but wasn’t the least bit muscular, at least Van couldn’t tell. The man wore a long black coat that dusted the floor and the lantern light glistened off his slicked back hair.
“She’s all yours,” Van said and moved passed the dark man. He nodded to the barman and pushed open the door into the rainy night and left behind the curses of the patrons and Miss Peculiar who was now minding her business.
