So Mr. Bishop was connected to this unfortunate sequence of events. I was not surprised by this in the least, although the fact was terribly upsetting. This, coupled with my already distraught state, did nothing to ease my mind. I began to believe that Mr.Winquist was perhaps not plotting against my employer, but rather myself. The watch has caused me no small amount of grief, after all, and Miss/Sir McKale seemed genuinely unaffected by its negative aspects. Nothing wrong had happened to him/her thus so far in the tale. Whereas I have been contending with the likes of Bress, the danger my employer was putting him/herself through, the disappearance of Shar and Cy, and the mysterious nature of this Wilbur Winquist.
I couldn't deal with any of this new information during this point. I simply could not. I had already assaulted my employer, lost my bonds, and been informed I was 'merely a valet'. (Which shouldn't have upset me as much as it did, but now is not the time to explain my feelings concerning those matters).
I believe I was on the brink of a very serious emotional breakdown, and there was only one thing for me to do. Ordinarily, I prefer to keep to myself when such matters occur, but never before had they taken on such an extreme form. I was in need of a good whiskey, perhaps something a bit stronger, and a pleasant ear to listen to my woes.
Therefore, dear reader, I believed it was about time I committed my first trip to a bar since the start of my employment under Miss/Mister McKale.
I do not ordinarily enjoy bars, finding them much too garish and crowded, but I remembered one face quite clearly in my mind, and the owner of said visage seemed like the proper sort to go to. Burnig, I believe his name was. I would consult McKale on the matter, but he/she is not present at the moment.
.:.:.::.:.:.
"I can't go back to Earth!" McKale rose off the bed, absent mindedly straightening out his clothes before turning on heel and pacing across the floor,” I have to bond! This Bishop fellow is just going to have to wait. Why does he keep doing this to me!" McKale flung his arms in the air and plopped himself back on the bed. He groaned, slapping his face into the palms of his hands.
His chin stung a little, when he did so. He pulled back, rubbing said hurt a little, and stood, inching across the room toward the bedside mirror. A quick glance in it showed a myriad of purple bruises over his chin and neck.
"Dash it all,” he said, wrinkling his nose,” How did I get rummy-" He snapped his jaw shut and glanced of his shoulder.
Jeffrey had picked himself up off the floor and was standing stiffly on the other side of the room. He had an elastic band in hand and was gathering back his hair to return it to its proper state, however haphazardly.
McKale's lips twisted into a grimace. He stood and stalked around the bed until he was standing before Jeffrey - a good few feet between them, but the thought was there - "You!"
Jeffrey glanced up at him, brow cocked. He wasn't looking botchy any more, but he was still unusually pale,” Yes...sir?" Each syllable was drawn out, laced with something that sounded distinctly malicious.
McKale swallowed and shook his head, reaching up to rub his neck,” Right-ho, Jeffrey. Nothing at all."
Jeffrey nodded and moved toward the door.
McKale shot upward again,” Jeffrey!"
He glanced over his shoulder,” Yes, sir?" Barely audible, were the words, but so familiar that McKale needn't bother to hear them properly.
"Are you, umm, going out, what?"
Jeffrey nodded,” Yes, sir, I am. I do not plan on returning for several hours." He didn't offer services before he left, nor ask for permission. He merely raised his gaze to McKale's and held it there. Finally, McKale gave a bit of a nod, and a squeak, and slumped over on the mattress. He waved a hand dismissible and Jeffrey shimmered out of sight.
.:.:.::.:.:.
Shar blinked his eyes open and found himself greeted with darkness. Which, considering the fact he could make out various shapes, was probably not as dark as it seemed, but due to the nature of his goggles he couldn't see anything more than varying shades of black. He groaned a little and sat up, immediately regretting the action when a jolt of pain surged through his head. He bit back a second moan and forced himself properly upright. He was still in the unrecognizable form of a human boy.
Good. Whoever had...taken him didn't know who he really was, or what he really looked like.
The figure, for there was only one Shar could make out, stirred, standing up from where it had been sitting and striding across the room. He squinted through the blurriness of his goggles, but couldn't make out a face or identify feature.
"Ah, good. I see you're awake,” said the figure. The voice was distinctly male, although not particularly deep or abnormally masculine. A sort of, light-hearted tenor, really. Shar committed the sound to memory.
"Not too talkative, I see? No worries, no worries, I hadn't expected otherwise." The figure moved away again, pulling out a chair and seating himself on it,” You remember how it goes, of course?"
Remember how it...what? Shar frowned, brow furrowing. Had he met this person before? He reached a hand toward his goggles-
"Whoa! No, no, no. You keep those on! That's part of the deal, remember? If I wanted you to see me I'd turn on the lights."
Shar dropped his hand back to his lap.
"I suppose I should apologize for knocking you out like that. You seem to be a bit...something-or-other. Not right. You don't remember how it goes do you?"
Shar shook his head. Best to play along.
"That's fine then, no worries, no worries. I'll explain it. See, you're supposed to tell me what's going on with that Winquist fellow. Keep tabs on McKale's findings and all that. I believe you acquired, what, nine fellows since last we met, was it?"
Shar didn't know what to say. Nine? After a year? He pressed his lips together. Had he failed to remove the watch after all this time?
"Ah, I see....well, that's fine then. You never were a talkative one anyway. You don't have anything to tell me?"
Shar shook his head.
The figure sighed,” Yes, yes, well, I suppose that's my fault, isn't it? You just run along and get better then. I'm rather dreading that number twelve. You make sure to tell me when McKale gets to it, right?"
Shar nodded. Twelve? Yes...that made sense. How many names had been on McKale's note? Eleven. Was this...person he was speaking to supposed to be number 'twelve'? Why wasn't he listed? Shar's brow furrowed and he offered a second nod.
"Right then,” the figure crossed the room and pulled Shar to his feet,” Really sorry about hitting you like that, but you know how it is. Good choice, by the way, the kid. Gotta keep 'em guessing, after all. Where should I let you off?"
"The...hotel."
"The hotel? That old thing?" the figure shook his head, but shrugged,"Alright then, the hotel it is. Same room, I suppose?"
Shar nodded. Good enough guess as any that he was talking about their 'previous' lodging. If not, at least he would be back in public. He could always ask for directions if he was in unfamiliar territory.
"Right,” the figure laid a hand on Shar's shoulder, and in an instant, he was gone.
Shar reappeared moments later, feeling more than a little disoriented, in McKale and Jeffrey's by now abandoned hotel room. Cy was instantly up out of the couch and bounding toward him.
"Where were you? Why didn't you come back? And, for lord's sake, why didn't you answer me when I called you?" she narrowed her eyes, leaping up on her forepaws and dragging Shar down a few inches,” And what happened to your head? Are you all right?"
Shar rubbed his head where it smarted and nodded,” We should go back."
"Back!" Cyilume fluffed her mane,” I haven't even left the apartment yet! I'm not going back!"
Shar ignored her and dug the watch out of the aloe, replacing it with his goggles. The light stung his eyes, but he blinked the vision back into them while twisting the knobs into their proper places.
Cyilume let out a huff of breath and trotted across the floor to Shar's side,"Fine,"she growled,” But I get to use it again before you manage to get rid of it."
Shar smiled and nodded his head, pressing the button. It didn't matter, after all, he wasn't getting rid of the watch.
.:.:.::.:.:.
" 'ello there sir, what can I do ye for?
Jeffrey slid into a booth and slapped a few pounds from his pocket,” Do you have vodka?"
"Vodka? Nah, we don't carry much earth stuff. We do have some Amarian liquor that might suit ye, though..." the creature turned around and began sifting through various bottles.
Jeffrey leaned back on his stool, hands curled loosely into fists, and tipped his head back until the fluorescent lights burned his eyes with their brightness. He squeezed them shut and took a shaky breath.
What had he done?
McKale had bruises, bruises that would not be easy to hide. Bruises on his (or perhaps her) face. He'd assaulted him (or her). He'd...he'd sworn, at his employer! He was going to have to resign, or wait until he was fired. A valet could not commit such horrendous acts upon his/her employer.
The four-armed man-thing turned back to him with a bottle of pale red liquid. He dug a shot glass out from under the counter and proceeded to fill it with the unusual looking liquor. He nudged the glass across the counter toward Jeffrey.
Jeffrey took it, eyeing it suspiciously. But what was he worried about? He'd already lost Shar, lost Cy, was going to lose McKale. Who bloody well gave a damn if alien-ale did something horrid to him. He grimaced and tipped the contents of the glass down his throat. The liquid burned, not with the same acidity that alcohol normally did, but rather as if he had swallowed a mouthful of smoldering ashes. He coughed, clutching his throat, and bent over the counter.
The man-thing hissed and immediately swiped the bottle away,"Yeah, it does that. Should ‘a warned you." He produced a second bottle, this one of plum-colored liquid, and poured a shot of it into Jeffrey's glass,” This should 'elp."
Jeffrey, still coughing, nodded his head in thanks and downed that too. It did. The liquid was cool and pleasant, full of flavor (what sorts Jeffrey couldn't fathom, but it was...nice).
"How did yer bonding work out, got'cher self a dragon?"
Jeffrey was taken aback. He hadn't expected the man to remember him, or the circumstances of their meeting.
The bartender gave a chuckle at his expression and refilled the glass,"Ye never forget anything, if yer a...well, when yer the same species as me. So, how about the dragon?"
Jeffrey nursed his drink,"Shar'voras Tah. A dragontaur."
"Ah, that clutch,” the man stroked his chin,” Good one, that. Interesting' little buggers, aren't they? Did you happen to see the others? The spirits?"
Jeffrey nodded,"Sponsored one." But he didn't want to talk about it. He sucked the rest of the liquor from his glass and nudged it back toward the man. He refilled it wordlessly.
The man-thing seemed to understand Jeffrey's reluctance and switched topics,” How did ye make out with Yaidom, find him all right?"
Jeffrey sneered and sipped his liquor,” Indeed."
The man-thing looked a bit taken aback. After a moment he let out a sigh and leaned across the counter,” Look, sir, yer obviously not feelin' so hot right now, don't look it either. What's troublin' you?"
Jeffrey frowned. He really didn't want to talk about it. He just wanted to drink. The plum stuff was wonderful, very sweet, very strong, rather...relaxing, really. Although not nearly as much as he'd like it to be. Very good stuff. He'd have to find out what it was before he left. Plum. Such a nice color. Deep purple. Plum. Jeffrey grinned around the brim of his glass. He swallowed his second cupful and slapped it back on the counter with something akin to a giggle. Which couldn't actually have been a giggle, of course, because Jeffrey simply did not giggle. It was improper.
As was abusing one's employer.
"I've done something regrettable, "he said, watching the man-thing pour the plum liquid from the bottle to the glass. It sparkled prettily in the light.
"Nothin' too regrettable, I hope?"
Jeffrey swayed and shook his head, stopped, and nodded instead. He could remember. He regretted it, anyway. That's all that matter. That, and this plum stuff. Very nice.
"I've allowed a watch."
"A watch?"
"Yes,” said Jeffrey, sipping his drink,” And now I've lost Shar'voras and Cyilume, and I've assaulted my employer."
The man-thing grinned, letting out a chortle,” Well, we all want to give our bosses a bit 'o a lesson now and again, don't we?"
"My employer is not my boss,” he said around the rim of his glass - this was very good stuff - "She...he....they...."he paused. What had he been talking about? He couldn't remember.
"Ah,"the man-thing let out a knowing sigh,” Office romance?"
Jeffrey spat out his mouthful of liquor. A shame really, to waste such a wonderful drink.
"What?"
"Ye got something goin' on with yer employer?"
Jeffrey straightened in his seat, puffing out his chest,” Certainly not, that would be most improper, most indecent; I would have to resign immediately if I attempted that again."
"Ah," very knowing this time,” So it's unrequited, is that it? Ye poor bugger."
"Yes. No,” Jeffrey frowned. Why was it so hard to think,"I am his...her...valet."
"Is that so? How long ye work for 'em?"
"Eight years,” he finished the third drink, or was it the fourth? Either way, the man-thing refilled it for him.
"He...she...has a watch,” Jeffrey continued, frowning,” It is causes unwelcome situations."
"The watch?"
"Yes. It is a time traveling device. My employer is being forced to collect persons, such as Yaidom, in return for its use."
"That's an interestin' watch."
Jeffrey frowned,” I don't like it."
"Get rid of it."
"I can't."
"Oh?"
"My employer would be most distraught."
The man-thing grinned,” Aye?"
"Yes. And my bonds have it. I don't know where they are."
"That's no good, is it? What's your name?"
"J- George,” said Jeffrey. One needed a false identity for such cases as this.
"I'm Burnig. How did ye lose yer bonds?"
"They used the watch."
"Ah,"the m- Burning nodded knowlingly,"Only one thing t' do, then."
"Oh?"
"Get another one. Go after 'em."
Jeffrey frowned. Perhaps. But only as a last resort. He downed the rest of his glass.
"Jeffrey!"
Jeffrey jumped back, holding his glass out at arms length. Had it just talked to him? Wonderful stuff, this plum, but really. One did not want his liquor to speak to him.
"Jeffrey!" the voice came again, this time distinctly that of McKale's.
"Sir?" Jeffrey squinted at the glass. How did McKale get in his wonderful plum drink?
He felt something grip his arm, and jumped again. McKale was there, at his arm, gloved hands pressed lightly into his elbow.
"Jeffrey! Dashed wonderful news, Jeffrey, Shar and Cy - Are you drunk?"
Jeffrey stirred, sitting upright and easing his arm out from under McKale's grip,” Certainly not, sir."
"Oh, well, it's just...you're all flushed and-" he blinked and glanced over at the rest of the koisk,"Is this a bar? Is that...oh, what-ho Burnig!"
...
"Burnig!"
Burnig's frog-like mouth spread into a toothy grin,” Tierney McKale! Do ye know this poor fellow?"
"Oh, certainly. He's my valet!"
"Mmm,"Burnig nodded.
Jeffrey blinked, bringing his glass back against his chest, and frowned at the pair of them,” Sir?"
"Oh...oh! Right-ho!" he gripped Jeffrey's arm and eased him off the barstool,” Come along, Jeffrey. Shar and Cy are back!"
Jeffrey grinned (grinned! McKale reeled as he saw it, but quickly collected himself) and slapped his glass down on the counter.
"Tinkerty-tonk, Burnig!" shouted McKale over his shoulder, dragging Jeffrey out of the bar and back into the main street.
Burnig picked up a cloth, and the glass, and began washing it,” Good-bye Tierney." Everything was clear to him now. That poor, poor butler fellow. Burnig let out a little chuckle and turned to help another patron.