Bloodsticks: A brief history & practical application

Chapter 13:
Pee in a Bottle

It’s several minutes before I realize I’ve thrown caution to the wind, dashing through crowded paths and streets. But all I can think of is getting away from the wicked witch of lust. Sprinting through the center of the Market I slip back into the Roadkill Tavern.

My lungs feel as if they’re about to burst by the time I jump up onto a stool—wheezing and tomato red faced, which turn a few heads.

“You look like you’ve danced with an evil spirit and lived to tell the tale!” Wood teases me from behind the counter. He stifles a chuckle and sets a mug in front of me. With a steady hand, he pours me a drink. “You alright?”

“You’re not far off,” I grimace, “Barely escaped with my…uh,” but the thought is too revolting. “I just fled from Inimitable Essentials.”

Wood winces and splashes the drink all over the counter. “Now what’d you go and tell me that for, Höbin? Put that sick woman’s face in m’mind…now I’m gonna have nightmares.” He shutters violently.

“Sorry,” I mumble, pulling out the last of my coins. I slide them across the counter. “Here, I think I have my money problems figured out,” I lie. “I’ll get the rest to you soon.” Better a good man get the last of my coins, than the thugs who’ll probably bury me once they catch me.

Wood takes the coins, but his sickened expression remains. “What in the gods names did you want to visit Dodie for?” It’s a question I’m not sure I can answer fully.

She’s not going to let this infraction go, either—not when she’s been after me for the past two years. Before I know it, she’ll reorder any products I’ve mentioned and come looking for me. I taste bile again as I look pleadingly at Wood. “I was desperate,” I choke.

“Romancing a fate worse than death, if you ask me,” he says, clearing the dirty mugs from the counter. The large circles he’s rubbing into the wood get smaller and smaller until he finally stops and stares at me. “Is there something I can do to help, Höbin? You…in some kind of trouble?”

As big and gruff as Wood is, it always surprises me when he speaks gently.

“There’s many things I’d do for a friend,” then he leans in so only I can hear him. “Especially to keep them clear of that monster. I wouldn’t wish her attention to fall on any living soul!”

It’s difficult not to laugh—my imagination weaves thoughts of the tavern owner in mortal combat against the harpy of the Black Market. I bite my lip to keep from smiling. “The only way you could possibly help is if you had connections to get a vial of dragons urine.”

Woods concerned look contorts. His cheeks rise to meet his eye and eye-patch. His lips quiver and tremble until his mouth drops open, releasing a guffaw that nearly knocks me off my stool.

“Urine!?” he blurts out. “You…want…pee?! From…a dragon? BWAHAHAHA!!!”

I let my forehead hit the counter. “Someone just shoot me.”

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