Another Place at the Table by J.B. Jones (e novels to read .TXT) 📕

The dogs headed for their favorite haunt beneath a table in the far corner, passing Woodja, who crossed his arms over his chest to protect his treasure.  I laughed along with the rest of the drinkers and diners that noticed and made my way back to the bar, followed by a lumbering bear cub.

"Hal, Nightmare, Nightmare, this is Hal, the greediest barkeep you'll ever meet."

The bruin stood on his hind feet and looked at Halloran, then grabbed my mug in his paws and slurped his tongue into it. I rolled my eyes and signalled Hal to bring me some more.

Handing over another mug of the Tabard's finest and making the 'gimme', Hal took my coin and commented, "Bears get big, ya know."

I shot an acerbic glance at the beast tipping the tankard up to lick out the final few drops of beer and answered, "Only if they live long enough, partner."

Things settled down. Nightmare wandered off to beg from tables here and there, the dogs snoozed, Woodja flirted with Amity, I drank. Typical Tabard Inn end-of-workday.

As the evening wore on, customers came and left.  Amity, with her 'come hither' smile and pleasant wiggle worked the room, food was served and mugs emptied.  When the door opened next, I glanced over and saw my best friend walk in.  I hadn't seen her since Lost Party Mountain was just a mole hill.

"Soli? Soliloquy!" I bounded toward the door and engulfed the red-haired, buckskin clad woman in a crushing hug.

"What are you doing in Hawkville? I thought you were...," which was all I got out before two more hulbors sprinted past us and squared off with Nightmare in the middle of the room.

The hounds spread out, lowered their sleek bodies closer to the floor, the hair at their shoulders bristled into stiffened tufts and tails stuck straight out behind them as they gave voice to low-pitched growls.

Nightmare, by now more than a little loaded from amused diners feeding him beers, bawled a confused, very unbearlike bleat and ran for the corner table where Whiskey and Karma had taken up residence.

Before the hulbors could take up the chase, Soliloquy snarled, "Alloy! Spring!" The dogs heeled at once and sat at her side.

"Impressive.  How's a metal-working wench learn to handle canines like that?"

Soli laughed, "Ah, you know, the wilds are wild and a couple of sharp-toothed friends make a girl feel safe. Miners and the other rough-and-tumble foundry and forging types may not respect me, but the hulbors?" She winked. "That bear yours?"

I whistled for Karma and her mate and Nightmare followed, with obvious hesitance, behind them. I glanced over my shoulder at Halloran. He had his 'why me?' look on. I touched my coin purse and his demeanor changed to something much brighter.

With an air of patience, Karma sort of strolled toward the two strange hulbors that had come into her territory. Soli touched my elbow to get my attention and motioned me back a few steps. Whiskey and Nightmare trailed Karma.

Alloy and Spring glanced at Soliloquy, then stood and faced Bad Karma.

Now this ought to put a shine on the evening.  Nothing like a room full of almost-wild animals getting acquainted to stir things up.

Karma circled the two strangers, who, in turn, pivoted to watch her. Amity had come up behind Soli and me bearing two tankards with a smile. We took them and resumed watching while we sipped the cool ale. Every eye in the room was riveted to the dominance display taking shape before us. 

The four outsized hounds presented aggressive postures.  Hair at their shoulders and along their backbones stood in rigid fans, lips curled back to expose dagger-sharp teeth. They lowered their bellies closer to the floor and bunched powerfully muscled legs beneath them.  Their tails wagged in tight, controlled swings as they anticipated action. Karma emitted a growl of her own - which was all Nightmare, in his drunken, 10 feet tall and arrow-proof state needed. He launched.

With the most ferocious growl a not-yet-juvenile, and quite inebriated, bear could muster, Nightmare charged the dogs. Caught between Bad Karma and a charging, drunken bear, Alloy and Spring bolted, triggering the pursuit instinct of the other three predators. In short order, chaos reigned.

To the delight of all the patrons close enough to witness it, Amity was the first casualty.  She had been taking a tray of mugs to one of the tables when a sudden tsunami of fur-bearing critters swamped her. The tray of tankards went one way, the attractive waitress went the other; both decorated the polished oak floor in disarray.  Amity's was, by far, the more interesting.

Whiskey and Bad Karma chased the other dogs followed by Nightmare the staggering Bear. The baby bruin bashed and bumped customers and tables, tripped over his own paws and floundered. He drifted sideways more often than straight ahead. Tabard diners laughed and tried to herd him toward the fray.

Soli and I waded into this mess calling our companions to heel. After some growls and snarls of our own, we got control of our animals.

Throughout the whole event, Halloran had looked on with a calmness and serenity that unnerved me, forearms resting on the lustrous bartop. He had a pleasant, cat-eating-the-canary look on his face.

Damn.  At least this time I had someone to split the damages with.

I sat alone on the stairs at the scullery's rear entrance. Too alone. The Faded Tabard had yet to open and I had still not stopped weeping.

Bell-like laughter tinkled from the pathway leading to the Tabard's back door as Amity, former scullery trull, current waitress and resident fantasy arrived.  The laughter stemmed from the flirtatious efforts of another smitten male to get her attention. She drew up with a start when she saw me there on the steps.

"Ari? You scared me, girl. Gods and Trogs, are you crying?" She rushed over and held out a dainty hand. "C'mon, Baby."  Opening the door, she led me inside.

Amity drew a tankard of ale and handed it to me, then made herself scarce and readied the Faded Tabard Inn for the day's business.  She stoked the cook-fire, wiped the evening's dust from the bartop, restoring its jewel-like glitter,  placed spitoons in strategic spots, occasionally sent a worried glance my way.  She did not intrude.

 My mind wandered stray paths as I daydreamed scenes which stung my eyes with the fire nettle bite of unshed tears.  I stood, mug in hand, in the midst of a lifeless pall which hung over the all but deserted room. The Tabard felt, was, different without the mutts darting between tables snatching scraps or casting "Please feed me, she doesn't" woeful looks at patrons. I could imagine with pristine clarity the laughter of the customers when they saw Woodsie reach to protect his coin pouch whenever the larcenous hulbors came near him. There was no 'scritch, scritch, scritch' of dog claws as they scrabbled for purchase on the polished oak-planked floor and chased one another.

I didn't take my usual spot at the bar. Instead, after taking a long pull of the bitter ale, I moved to the table set into the far corner of the room that used to be the favored territory of Bad Karma and Whiskey. Amity was good. There wasn't a single stray hair from one of the mutts under that table. It was as if they'd never ever been there. I sat and quietly sobbed. 

 Gloomy,  invested in a misery felt only by those who have lost, I flinched when Halloran plunked down a fresh mug with a crisp thunk.

"Drink this and stop staining my furniture with your crying and snot-slinging, wench."  With a sly wink, he added, "Not that havin' ya make me some new stuff wouldn't make my coin-pinching carcass smile a bit." His greedy leer was comical.

I smiled back, in spite of myself, stuck my tongue out at him and drained the grog in one long swallow, returned the tankard to the table with a thunk of my own.

"Hal, I sold the dogs."

He nodded sagely, as if every day someone told him they'd cut off one of their arms and it didn't faze him in the least.

"Because it was good for you? Or the best thing for them?"

I blinked a time or two. Leave it to Hal, crusty old curmudgeon of a tavern owner, to cut to the chase with the fewest words possible.

"Ah, Gods, Hal. They got mauled in Lanfar. I took'em across the river, just to see something new, you know?"

A single tear beaded at the corner of one eye.

"We were ambushed; Ogron refugees," I told him.  I drew circles in the moisture puddled on the table near my mug. "I went down first blow. As I faded out I could hear Karma and Whiskey, snarlin' and growling like demons from some nightmare.  The mutts saved my life, Hal. When I woke up, they were just laying there. I could only tell they were alive by their ragged gasps. I couldn't even carry'em.  I just dragged them both 'til we got back home to Beaver's Bight."

Looking away, I hitched a heartbroken sob, then wiped at my tear-tracked cheeks and went on.

"I had potions and love and patience and...and it didn't do any good, Hal. Their injuries were just too severe.  It was dangerous for them to leave the Bight; besides, they sure couldn't hunt and I couldn't always be with them.

"My friend Soliloquy told me that Strong Gryphon Farm took in companion animals, in any condition. Fed them, cared for'em, and taught the animals to watch over their farms and flocks." With an anguished gaze, I faced Halloran and concluded my story,  "So I took my Bad Karma and Whiskey there and left them, Hal."

Amity had brought her boss and me another round in time to hear my tale. The waitress's doe eyes glistened with sympathetic tears of her own but there was a small smile of triumph on her face at the same time.

"Uhmmm, Ari? Don't go away, ok?  I'm coming right back, just stay here, alright?"

Before I could answer, she scurried out the door. Her clogs clicked a rapid tatoo on the oaken planks and the exaggerated swish of her skirt left a titillating glimpse of something that made Halloran smile with lecherous glee.

I looked at the Tabard's owner and he shrugged. "Don't know, girl. Drink your beer."

When the door opened again, a parade of creatures entered. It looked as if a circus had come to town. First through the door was my forester pal, Woodja, leading Nightmare the Bear. They'd been prowling the Yew forests out East and had only recently returned.

"Ho, Ari," he called out. "Wait'll you see the haul old 'Mare the Bear drug back here for us!"

They cleared the door and Nightmare shuffled over to where I sat in the corner and tried his bruin best to give me a few sloppy licks.

I fended the amorous beast off with a sharp, "Scat, you furry, stinky thing!  Go on, scoot."  I smiled as I wiped bear slurps from my cheek.

He followed his nose and wandered away to hunt scraps and tidbits over near the scullery.

 Woodsie grabbed a table and occasionally glanced at the door; anticipating Amity's return, I imagined. Now and then, he