Chương 32: Last-Minute Preparations

It was a warm coastal day. The morning sun steamed away the previous night's weather, and the clouds had long since retreated behind the safety of the mountains. Seagulls swooped greedily, fighting over fish guts down by the docks. Their screeches traveled all the way to the Breakwater Inn. We had the windows open, and I was doing prep work. Wynnie was in the kitchen, slicing up fish and keeping it chilled. Tonight was the night to enact my plan.

Unfortunately, I couldn't shake the feeling that everything felt like a disaster unfolding in slow motion. Big-time train wreck vibes. It wasn't just that we were about to foil evildoers to save a small town. No, I was an internal wreck of contradicting emotions as well. Over the last several months, I'd been doing my best to cut down on drinking. My physique had changed, my cardiovascular fitness had improved, and I'd been sleeping better.

More than anything, I was just glad to no longer feel beholden to the siren's song of a delicious cocktail. Since arriving in this new world, I'd stumbled a few times. That was okay, though. Adjustments are difficult. Still, I'd been feeling as though I wasn't being pulled to drink anymore. At least, not to a dangerous degree. And here I was, planning to get absolutely rip-roaring drunk. My entire scheme relied on rampant overindulgence. Everything I'd worked for—all my goals and values—tossed aside in an instant.

At least it was for a noble cause. I really needed a drink to calm my nerves. One couldn't hurt, right? I ladled some punch into a glass and added some ice cubes on top. The sour tang spread across my tongue, refreshing and cool. I'd added the perfect amount of sugar. Now, the effect was what a certain cocktail aficionado referred to as "moreish." That is, each sip had just enough sugar to balance out the tartness lingering from the previous sip, but the tartness dominated.

The only way to quench the lingering sour finish was by taking another sip, letting the sweetness give a momentary reprieve. Each sip made you want more. Moreish. Faintly, just on the back palate, I could taste the subtle notes of chamomile and mint syrup I'd created. It had taken some time, but I'd made a potent brew by boiling down the herbal tisane until it was practically a tincture. Making simple syrup with that was my secret weapon. The bar would open in the late afternoon as usual.

I had no idea when the pirates would emerge from their rooms and begin their troublemaking. It was possible I'd need to scramble and get things started sooner rather than later. I took another sip.

"Drinking on the job?" I startled, not expecting to hear anybody. Fortunately, it was just Wynnie. She came out of the kitchen with a tray full of fresh-baked goods. Steam rose off of buns, and I could smell the rich, savory aroma of greasy sausage.

"What do we have here?"

"Sausage rolls. You said you wanted something greasy to line your stomach?"

"That sounds perfect. What did you put in them?" She looked at me as if I'd just asked her what the ingredients of water were. She blinked.

"Sausage. They're sausage rolls." I chuckled.

"It's just bread and sausage?"

"Well, what did you expect? Zucchini and potato? I don't know how they do things back on Earth, but here we make our sausage out of ground-up meat bits with some salt and spices. Not only that, but I'm pretty sure that half of the meat bits that go into sausage aren't even meat. I've been told I shouldn't ask what actually goes in there." I shrugged. I'd been curious about what kind of meat. And which parts. And which spices. Yet so long as they were greasy and delicious, it didn't much matter what was in them.

And it was nice to know that no matter which world I was in, it was best not to know how the sausage was made. If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it. I grabbed a roll off the tray. It was still hot enough in my hand to burn. Not that I was going to let that stop me. If my drinking started now, then so did my prophylactic measures. My teeth bit through the pliant dough until they hit the sausage inside. It was way too hot. I yelped in surprise as I un-bit.

Steam came out of my bite holes.

"Well, what did you expect?"

"I don't know. Honestly, I thought I could tough it out."

"Just give them a couple of minutes and it'll be fine." I pouted.

"I don't want to wait a couple of minutes. I want them now."

"Fine. You're so impatient." She grumbled as she touched a finger to the sausage roll. A faint shimmer of blue swirled around it, and the steam disappeared. It even looked visibly cooler. This time, it didn't hurt to take a bite. Somehow, she had the delicate control to make sure it was still warm inside, too. A greasy, enticing explosion of flavors came from within the fluffy breaded shell. Hints of sage, rosemary, and thyme mixed together, all creating a beautiful background to salt and pepper.

The balance of meat to bread was perfect, too.

"This is delicious!"

"Do you like it?"

"Like it? I love it! And it's going to do the trick, too. I'm almost sure of it." She clapped her hands.

"Yay! That makes me so happy. I was really worried I'd ruined them. I've never made these without burning them before." Wynnie's newfound command over cooking and fire was becoming our ace in the hole. Sure, we could get known for our raw food, but the fact that she was less likely to ruin a simple stew boded well for our future. That is, if we had a future. Our success today might change that. I took two more bites and finished it. My hand reached for another before I even knew what I was doing.

Just as I was bringing the still-steaming treat to my mouth, I heard another voice coming from the hallway.

"Are you going to save any of those for us?" Wynnie and I turned to see our guests. All four of the pirates emerged into the main room. Each of them held a large leather pouch by their side. I didn't want to share any of my greasy food with them. The last thing I needed was for them to line their stomachs with fats, slowing the absorption of alcohol. My plan wouldn't work as well that way. Still, it appeared I needed to kick things off sooner rather than later.

"We'll definitely save these for you. Wynnie needed me to do a taste test. These are for dinner."

"So, what's the verdict? Good enough to serve to your guests?" Buckshank asked. I braved the pain and took a bite. Blisters coated the inside of my mouth, but I didn't even care. It was still delicious. Steam blew out from my lips as I replied.

"They're amazing. You're going to love them."

"Great. Nothing quite like a warm and tasty meal after a day of collections." Strider jingled the few coins in his pouch, patting it almost affectionately.

"If they're good enough, we might even knock a few copper off what we charge you."

"And what amount is that?" Wynnie inquired.

"The usual rate. One silver per month. We collect every six months or so. We'll expect you to pay in advance, so six silver should cover it. You should have it ready for us when we get back."

"And do you collect from the bank, too?" Strider gave Buckshank a quick shake of his head. The stocky brute either didn't notice the signal or he didn't care.

"That's the Crown's coffers. We don't touch that unless they owe us." He shrugged off a lanky, questing hand from Strider, which appeared to be trying to cover his mouth.

"With the rumrunners giving us the slip, they owe us."

"Only question is, will they cough it up? Or will they make us use force?" Strider's carefully neutral facade cracked. One of his eyelids twitched, and his fists balled up until the knuckles cracked.

"You utter nincompoops," he growled.

"You complete and irredeemable nitwits."

"Well, I'm sure it's all good and legal." I did my best to make my sarcasm sound friendly and conspiratorial.

"We do our best," Buckshank grunted.

"But if they break the rules, I don't mind breaking the law." Strider cleared his throat, shooting a warning glare at Buckshank.

"I think you've said enough." The short, hairy pirate bristled.

"What? You don't have to get your hands dirty. This town needs to know that crossing the Black Ship Raiders comes with consequences, even if it's just the collections crew."

"We'll do nothing that gets us into legal trouble," Strider assured us all loudly. Buckshank continued blithely on.

"He won't. The rest of us? If we get in trouble, we'll just join the main crew and recruit new collectors. Let that be a warning to you." So, it sounded as though Strider might be the leader of the effort, but he wasn't so completely in charge that others couldn't do what they wanted. Likely, they all reported to someone else. A captain or an admiral. Whoever ran the Black Ship Raiders armada. Moreover, it sounded as though Buckshank and the other two collectors weren't so concerned about their clean rap sheet.

If they committed a few crimes, they still had jobs with the main fleet. Maybe this was the pipeline. Pirates started as collectors and enforcers, then joined the larger raider crew once they could no longer walk around the towns freely as they did before. And it sounded as though they were getting ready to cause trouble sooner rather than later. While the pirates talked amongst themselves, I pulled Wynnie close to me. She looked surprised, then concerned.

Her eyes searched mine, brow furrowing in concern as realization dawned on her. She knew what I was about to do. I kissed her.

"Don't worry, Wynnie. I'm going to make sure you're safe and protected, no matter what."

"What about you? Don't do anything to endanger yourself."

"Unfortunately, I have to."

"Do you think the pirates will hurt you?"

"If they don't, then this hangover sure will. You're about to see a little bartender magic. We're all going to get outrageously drunk." A couple years' work in a themed pirate bar taught me just how to handle overconfident rabble. The only thing they liked more than causing trouble was getting in it. I'd have them singing sea shanties and taking shots in no time. All I needed to do was get them to start drinking.