Chapter 29: Ch. 25: The Clan Part III

"To the West is the continent of Occidania; a pride of griffins, nay a sack of stryxffin. Once we treated them as a pedestal to be reached…but now? They let the power get into their heads. That is why they are always fighting over territory as if their land is not already big enough. I digress….to the west, the continent of Occidania, separated from our dear Alkerd by Oceania Hesperia as it was known. The only way to cross over to that side is through the land bridge; the Straits of  Y’rcinthe which arise from the depths once every Blue Moon or by aership. Unlike the seven fell kings of yore, no one is foolish enough to sail over sea because the Hesperian sea is no stranger to all manner of unexplained things. –Oceans and Land Masses by [Geographical Sage] Keanu Silvertongue.

---

Arthur didn’t realise he’d run out of the room. He’d scaled spiral stairs heedless of precarious footing and tears blurring his vision and found himself on the roof of the fortress keep. He didn’t want whoever those strangers were to see him in a pathetic state as he found a corner to huddle on the roof and stared at nothing beyond the desert.

Someone had come after him. They spoke, sounds reaching him from the fringes of his awareness; Arthur could not make out what they were saying while he heaved. Arguing or just plain speaking, he cared not. It almost sounded as though they were angry all the time.

Maybe if he'd paid attention he’d have realised that the Djy'velian syllables required a more aggressive movement of the rear tongue. Arguably, the rolling syllables were also hard to parse because of the way they put stress on their words.

Under different circumstances, he would have tried to learn it, to see if he could understand it just as well as he'd understood a bit of Dwar, Aeslyvani and Volgaric. Part of it was only possible because of [Eidetic Memory]. However, he couldn't bring himself to care because the skill was nothing but a curse.

How'd the people of this world live with having a cache of nightmare fuel in crystal clarity at a moment's thought ? His mind might have glazed over the scene at the crater but his senses had already recorded everything in his short term memory. It was his brain that had been playing catch up after his delirium. Having some of the dire things out of the way must have given his mind the go ahead to shove the smell , the sights, and the whole shebang to the front of the queue.

Arthur heaved again. The pain in his ribs was part muscle spasms and hunger; he hadn’t eaten since however long he’d been knocked out. He had nothing left to chuck into his Bottomless Bag of Burf, but the memories still haunted him. Hollow eye sockets, cheeks sunken and burnt away to reveal blackened teeth, skin charred to the bone and flaking off where glass sand had flash-scorched it.

The smell of singed hair and roast, the rictus of death embodied in skeletal caricatures of people that had been and were no longer. He didn’t give a jack about the bandits, occupational hazards, and all that. But the girl, someone’s little sister, was innocent. Guilt wracked him in waves, scouring his guts until the taste of bile clung to his tongue. And then he stopped caring and let the ache wash over him.

Cold was setting in, the sky was purple. Sun was setting. Someone murmured in exasperation as they approached from behind and peered into his face. He didn’t blink as they gingerly pried his Bottomless Bag of Burf from his death grip.

They tried and failed to squeeze a wooden cup that might or might not have been medicinal tea into his hand. Seeing no give with his fingers, they put it right under his nose. It had an aroma of roasted berry and menthol stung his nose like peppermint oil. He suddenly hacked and tried to bat their hand away, but a cold vice grip caught his hand.

Arthur whirled, snapping out of his daze to find the young woman with the crimson eyes right in his face. Had she been that young? Her upturned eyes gave her the gaze of a cat as she stared down at him as if wanting to charm him. Arthur felt an ethereal force lock into his own eyes. It felt fragile, like glass, as if he could just break it by looking away. He didn’t want to―

“ You need to drink something ,” her voice echoed, almost a whisper, hypnotic and sultry. It drew him in and grasped his psyche like a paralysis demon and he knew he was in some kind of lucid trance.

“I…I need to drink something,” Arthur rasped. He was so thirsty that his throat was raw. He shakily brought the drink to his lips, not taking his gaze off her eyes as though there was something sacred in her pupils. The hands guiding his wrist were dainty, delicate and cool to the touch, but the strength in them was a match for his own. Her hood was off, revealing the platinum-blonde tresses held up by a pony tail.

The concoction, too thick to be tea but no lighter than syrup, poured down his lips, melting the taste of bile from his tongue before sinking into his taste buds. It hit his throat, slaking off the thirst like a cold balm soothing dehydrated skin. The fog in his mind cleared like sinuses before steaming menthol crystals. It was warm when it settled in his stomach and every ache in his ribs and joints faded away like mist.

The girl blinked, the connection broke. Arthur felt himself return as if from a trance. The young woman let out a sigh that was part exhaustion and relief. None of them so much as said a word as Arthur continued to sip away. Maybe that would become a good substitute for coffee.

---

By the time Arthur slurped up the last sip of the drink and stared forlornly at the bottom of the cup, the sun had truly gone down. The oasis was cool, palms and cycads rustled in the breeze, fires were breaking out as braziers were lit in the camp. The first stars were already twinkling away, outshone only by the two moons in the sky.

One was the old dusty ball of ashy grey that lightened into an off white towards the periphery, and the other was much farther, but not so far that he could still see the craters on its surface. It was a mauve colour. Galaxies, constellations, and purple-blue nebulae spread out like a splatter of glitter paint against the night.

The Humpbeast Ridges loomed on the horizon, a hoodoo rock forming the beast’s bony horn-plate on the furthest left, sloping up gently then steeply where a zeugen formed the saddle hump before sloping down again. It was a hundred kilia away. It would have been quite a sight to see the giant boulder perched on a pillar of weathered rock up close.

The sounds of more clanspeople returning from elsewhere went up in the outer camp. The congenial silence between the two occupants on the keep’s roof was interrupted as one shifted, dusting off their pants. Standing up to her full height, the woman was only about 5 foot 6 with a petite build.

“ Thank you for the drink…” Arthur said. “ And sorry about you know―earlier,”

“Its called Xazhu,” the woman replied, taking the cup from his hand. Her voice was flat, breathy and monotone. It sounded nothing like what he’d been enthralled with but it was no less enchanting. “ It’s nothing, it has already been paid for.”

“ With what?” Arthur asked in confusion. He didn’t recall pulling out any coins.

“ The [Artificer] took it,” she blushed.

“ Took what?” Arthur asked again. He wondered what was missing as he looked into the inside of his [Inventory Chest]. His engine, knapsack, coin pouch, duffel bag, refilling flask, food supplies and plane seat were there. As was his chromastone lamp, his tomes, maps, travel journals, three bottles of Dragonbreath liqueur, four of Vyssini wine, his tool chest, all his changes of clothes, boots, leather cuirass vest, longsword, dagger, and dry leaves from moonleaf he’d collected back at the oasis.

Apart from his hoverboard and dwarven goggles, nothing else was missing. Then he realise it was one of his unstable specimens of enchanting practice now a Bottomless Bag of Burf.

‘Oh no―’ Arthur thought.

“ Not to worry, she only took it to study,” she said, seeing his expression.

“ That is not what I am worried about,” Arthur said, suddenly on his feet. He shivered as a gust of wind hit him. He willed his cloak, boots and a short sleeved shirt and got dressed . His face grew hot as he felt her eyes on him.

“ You need to take me to them now before that bag’s spatial enchantments―” he hobbled trying to get his boots in without unfastening the greaves. “ ―collapse on themselves,” he added, finally managing to cover himself up.

The woman blanched, managing to show a hint of green. She shook her head and managed to smile wryly. “ It’s not the first time something like that has happened,”

“ Is your [Artificer] some sort of [Mad Wizard]?” Arthur baulked, frowning as he realised there was such a class.

“ She can be a little unhinged yes, but she’s survived worse,”

“ Oh,” Arthur murmured. “ If you say so,” his stomach grumbled.

“ Do you need something to eat?”

“ Er,” Arthur said, casting his eyes about the rooftop. “ I think I am good. I’ll set up camp up here,”

“ Pleasant aven tides to you then,” she said, nodding to him as she bustled past him.

“ Wait…” Arthur called out. The young woman paused before she entered the stairwell. “ What’s your name?” he asked almost in a whisper.

“ Nora,” she blurted out, voice almost carrying an octave. “Nora Iseline Angustifolia,” she said, disappearing before Arthur could get another word in edgewise.

‘How can a vamp be shy?The irony,’ Arthur mused shaking his head. Something dawned on him as he was retrieving his mageflask for a drink of water.

‘Wait, she charmed me,' he sputtered, spraying water on the front of his tunic.

‘ Gah, now, what to do?’ He thought. Then his face fell at the thought of nightmares in the night.

---

Amazingly, the nightmares did not come that night. Nonetheless, the guilt was an ever-present lurker at the back of his mind. He kept recalling the girl’s face over and over, as he awoke. He did not get to stew over it for long because there was someone waiting outside his tent. She was none other than the Clan’s Djy'velian [Artificer], Livierre.

At least that is what Arthur thought from her get-up. That is, if you ignored the macrame halter top― the leather apron was par the course, laden with tools arcane and mundane in the many pockets just below her bosom. She wore the side-slitted pants, but in leather, and seemed to favour boots instead of the braided sandals other womenfolk wore. She was purple, silver eyed with black hair in a pixie cut. Her front sweeping bangs were intertwined with copper windings. Goggles sat atop her head just behind her horns―Arthur knew those goggles.

“ What do you want?” Arthur mumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The Dust’s mornings were not gentle on those who woke up after the sun.

“ Payment of course,” the woman grinned, rubbing two gloved fingers together. There was a large spanner holstered across her back like a sword, as her tail flicked to and fro like a cat ready to pounce.

“What for?” Arthur frowned, as he languidly extricated himself from the domed tent. The woman stayed, peeking into his tent before the tent flaps closed off. “ I don’t recall owing you anything; you owe me things,”

“ Hohooh,” she crowed. “ Big un aintcha?” she said, peering upwards at him from her hooded eyes as she pulled her hands back. At his full height, he could see how his 6 foot 2 against her 5 foot 5 might have seemed big.

“ I don’t know what you’re getting at, but I am not falling for that,” Arthur said, swiping his goggles from her head.

“Ay!” she blustered. “ Give them, I just cleaned ‘em!” she whined, moving as if to stomp his bare foot. Arthur held her at arms length by the top of her head.

“ Hooo! My horns―you are touching my horns!” she crooned, wiggling her body.

‘What in the blue?!’ Arthur cursed, jerking back on reflex.

“ Hahaa, you’re no fun human,” she guffawed. “ Dekara, I might have better luck filching secrets out of you than those damn dwarves,” she said, twisting one of her locks with a shit-eating grin. One of her teeth was silver.

“ That’s enough out of you Livierre,” said another. Livierre flinched, a guilty expression crossing her face like a child caught hand-deep in a cookie jar. Arthur turned to look at the speaker.

“ Morn greetings outsider,” said the woman from the day before. Her hands were folded over her bosom as her golden orbs sized him up from a respectful distance.

“ Morn greetings…” Arthur replied frostily, also folding his hands as he stared at her down. He hadn’t forgotten the impulses that had wrangled some things out of him. The air between them grew thick, Livierre edged away trying to slink off unnoticed.

“ Stay where you are Livierre.”

Livierre squeaked, all the bravado gone from her.

“ I need my items returned to me…all of them. Except for the BBB of course,” He said. Something about the woman just seemed to rub him the wrong way,“ I trust that is payment enough?”

“ BBB?” she asked with a one-arched brow as she looked towards Livierre.

“ I swear by Vesper I don’t know this BBB he speaks of,” Livierre said guiltily.

“ Livierre, what.did.you.take?”

“ The bag of holding is all I took, I swear,” Livierre said. “ You said it didn’t have obfuscation enchantments, so I told Nora to get it for me in return for my ration of Xazhu,”

“ Haaah,” Arthur exhaled, rubbing the back of his head. ‘It’s too early for this,’ he thought. “ Just forget about it,” Arthur said. “ Tell me how much I owe you and I’ll get out of your hair.”

“ Your craft is damaged and my [Artificer] says she has the materials you need,”

“ Is that a threat?” Arthur scowled.

“ My my,” the pink Djy'veli said, giving him a listless wave. “ No such thing,I assure you. Do your people still think us barbaric?”

Arthur shrugged, “ What would I know? I am not my people.”

“ See,” the Djy'veli woman said. “ Everything that happened was in bad faith― misunderstandings so to speak. Even a [Psychic] like me knows not the intentions of everyone who passes through our desert. We take precautions with unknown quantities, you understand,”

‘ Sophistry,’ Arthur snorted, ‘so chaining people to stakes is normal? Or have people been absconding with payment. And she just outed herself as a [Psychic]’ he left unsaid. Arthur worried his lip as he thought about it. ‘What’s your game woman? ’

“Fine, I'll bite,” Arthur said, mussing his hair. “ Read my tab then. What do you want in exchange for your services and goods?” Glaggis mentioned that whenever possible, the Clans would try to barter. Their use of money was seasonal and besides, all that cloak and skulduggery was not his forte.

If he could just get his hoverboard patched up in exchange for whatever they needed he’d be on his way. He wasn’t really hurting for money either,unless, of course, there was a catch. Or was he the catch being reeled in with sweet words? He had to watch himself around that woman―

“ Splendid,” she said, clapping her arms in affirmation. Before she turned to go back the way she came, she called out, “ Then let us acquaint ourselves, shall we? Livierre, can you get the inventory?”

“ Yes Mastresse Venera,” Livierre chimed. “ Come with me, Master Handsome, let’s see what we have to work with.”

“ Give me a minute to put away my things at least,” Arthur said grudgingly.

“ Oh…sure sure. Take your time Master?”

“ Arthur, I am no Master,”

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“ No, you short sell yourself Master Arthur. That flying craft of yours is like nothing I’ve seen yet,” Livierre insisted, starting to walk towards the roof exit as well. “ Only a master crafter can do such things. I’ll be up to pick you in say, one quartz from now should be enough hmm?” she added, the last of the words echoing through the stairwell.

‘Why do I have a feeling like I signed up for a mortgage?’ Arthur thought.’ What I would give for that Xazhu,’ he groaned.

---

Arthur had gone through breakfast and managed to get some work done by the time the Djy'veli [Artificer] came around. He did not practise his swordcraft because the less his watchers knew the better. Just across from the roof where one of the towers of the fortress was intact, were a trio of Dyj’veli watching him. He was just a prisoner with a longer leash.

‘Just what have I gotten myself into?’ He grumbled, cleansing the sweat with a cantrip. He could not even take out his enchanting tomes lest they report to the golden-eyed pink skinned woman. She seemed to be someone of repute within the clan, but he wasn’t sure if she was the head honcho. Which was no less aggravating because he did not know from where they would strike. ‘ At least they are a step above the bandits,’ he thought deprecatingly.

They’d pulled his class out of him somehow. While the obfuscation ring protected against scrying and inspection skills, mind reading seemed to be another matter. An oversight on his part.

But all was not lost. They knew he was a magitech crafter but did not specifically mention that he was an aercrafter. He would keep it that way. Also, he needed to learn some of those inspection skills himself, and one that could inspect more than just the workings of artefacts. [Diagnostics] was proving to be inadequate for his needs.

Thus far, he was going to have to go along with the clan’s demands. There was a precautionary tale that crossing one was crossing the rest of them. Despite the distance in the Dust, word got around fast and Djy'veli knew how to hold a grudge. They made great assassins who you wouldn't want coming after your neck. Though flowery in his diction, Glaggis' Wundersteel did not mince words when it came to that fact.

And there was the fact that Glaggis' dealings had been rather distant, only mentioning a resupply and the Djy'veli being covered head to toe with desert garb. There was a great disconnect with what Arthur was seeing. Speaking of getting the word around fast, he needed to get that [Message] to a Guild.

“ Miss Livierre, is there some way I can send a [Message]?”

“ Where to?” the Djy'veli woman asked as they went down the spiral staircase. The torches were unlit, and the passageway was gloomy. It must have been a racial trait to be so unbothered by the darkness.

“ The Guild—something to do with a chimaera spider infestation. I wanted to confirm if an [Urgent Message] reached whoever it was supposed to.”

Arthur did not miss the half-step before the woman caught herself. Her chipper countenance suddenly became serious.

“ The head healer is no [Relay Mage] but she knows a spell to send [Message].”

“And ?” Arthur asked as the woman picked up the pace. They passed the landing with Venera's office. It was locked, and someone was lounging right beside the door in a wicker chair. The fortress was truly crawling with sentries,

“ As you can see, she’s not around...” Livierre said. Her tail was restless; it was odd to see that on a humanoid when he’d seen it on animals.

Both of them blazed through the dim passageways, and saw the two red hulks playing a game of cards. A warhammer and wurmtooth falchion rested against the wall. Livierre nodded at them wordlessly as they passed. The two males watched him like a hawk. With all the height and muscle on him, Arthur did not fancy his chances with them in a fight.

From the fortress, they did not go far. Not even out of the inner camp. As expected, there was a tail watching him. They didn’t even make a point of making themselves inconspicuous.

‘Oh joy,’ Arthur mused as they walked around the inner camp of yurts, cooking fires and a myriad of other chores. There were children playing among the shrubbery , brickwork, and fallen walls of other buildings past the moat where the humpbeasts watered. The greenery of the inner camp was a far cry from the sandy dunes of the desert.

Arthur realised that most of the women stayed in the inner camp, only going outwards to prepare meals or work. The men stayed outside the perimeter of the oasis because they had to go out into Dust to eke out a living.

The youth was immediately became a spectacle of the women washing down hump beasts or doing laundry near the artesian springs. A few called out to Livierre in their language, laughing all the while they pointed at him. Livierre was flustered about something as they hurried past.

For the first time, Arthur saw their giant wagons up close. The wheels were all hammered down with stakes and secured with rocks to anchor them in place.

Getting in through the back door was through ladder stairs that extended with the pull of a rope. They were all well-oiled, Livierre's own work no doubt.

When they ducked into the wagon proper, Arthur saw an orderly mess. It was like a small workshop in there with shelves and cabinets packed with paraphernalia, chests and artefacts on the left. Most of the artefacts seemed like salvage from the desert.

There were pin-ups of miscellaneous artifices attached to a mockup of a wagon and random machinery on the walls. Old tomes with chipped and flaking leather held down piles of scrolls and parchment, some of which were already falling to the floor.

The right had a workbench, mirrors suspended on stands. There were fine tools arrayed in a partitioned tool chest, a sink, what might have been a mobile forge where one would have had a cooker if it had been a kitchen, and two stools. A familiar bag of holding was right there held by a clamp stand—it hadn't destabilised yet.

'Better get rid of that before accidents happen,’ Arthur thought, but then he shook his head, ‘No, on second thought, let her have it.’

An island table that could be folded into the floor was in the middle. And chromastone fixtures were recessed into the arched ceiling and right below the workspace.

There was a walkway halfway around the walls of space large enough to have made up an attic. They were accessible via a step ladder to the front, where bunks and a small living space were sectioned off by curtains. The room felt warm and smelt of metal and oils like a grease monkey’s workshop.

However, Arthur did not see his hover board or its sail anywhere—

‘But, damn, this makes me nervous just trying to picture how my aership will turn out,’ he thought.

“Come now Master Arthur, I am sure you must have had a grander workshop no? This is just a humble tinkerer’s wagon,” Livierre said, nervous about her residence.

Whatever misconception they had, he was not going to disabuse them of it.

“Why did we come here?”

“To send a [Message] of course,”

“How?” Arthur asked. Livierre was rooting around in one of the bottom cabinets. She pulled out a heavy iron chest with a dwarven lock and pulled the key dangling from her cleavage. The key and the keyhole both had matching crystals. With a blink of the crystal and a click of the key and the chest opened.

“This―” The Djy'veli said, pulled out an artefact and a mageslate like the one he’d used when testing the Mark II engine. Arthur did not know what the artefact was at all. It looked like some kind of bracer that clipped around the wrist. There was a modestly sized oblong gem like a pearlescent opal surrounded by an elaborate rune-etched setting. Arthur would have paid to have a skill like [Appraisal]—

“An old dwarven arcansygnum. Pawned it off some dwarf a couple years back. Old generation but still works like a charm, “she carried the items to the island table. The chest was pushed back into the cabinet with her foot.

‘Like that explains anything…my knowledge is at least a century old at this rate,’ Arthur thought exasperatedly. The woman fumbled with the artefact.

“ Depending on how far Mastresse Venera is, she can send the [Message] on our behalf, I reckon the mana source on this thing is almost depleted. ”She breathed in and powered up the mageslate.

“Wait, just stop,”

“Wha―?” she dispelled the working.

“Save it for when you truly need it,” ‘Damn, I should have known better than to drop it on her,’ Arthur thought as he pulled out a map from [Inventory Chest].

“I’ve been meaning to ask about that magic too. What sort of Mage are you? [Aeromancer]? [Dimensiomancer]? [Spatial Enchanter]?”

“Too many questions, Miss Livierre, “Arthur deflected. ‘Keep them guessing. I guess [Inventory] skills are rare too. Better be careful about that.' “Here, this is where I encountered the chimaera spiders,”

“That’s…the No Man’s Sky, in the bum end of the Dust,” Livierre shrieked, scrunching her eyes in confusion. The frantic motions of her barbed tail stopped. “What in the Pits were you doing out there?”

“Translocation accident,” Arthur said. Since truth crystals and truth skills were a thing it was close to the truth. If anyone asked, Arthur could say he did not remember; amnesia was a good fallback.

“ I knew it! The dwarves have working translocation relays! “ Livierre chuckled as she slumped in relief. “ And you frightened me for nothing!” Her barbed tail lashed out to slap him on the arm. Arthur flinched.

“ I bet there’s a geas there stopping you from saying where and how they work too. Anyway I’ll let Venera know when she returns.”

‘Scat, that’s the truth but if Venera yaps to the dwarves about it,’ Arthur winced.’ Scat’s Creek, I should be long gone before another dwarven aership comes this way. What do they even come this way for?’

“In the meantime,” she opened another cabinet and got out two smoky-looking steins, and a tall bottle of alcohol. She popped the cork with her teeth. Djy’veli had a prominent pair of canines.

‘Day drinking? Really?’ Arthur frowned, looking around the workspace, “And where is my hoverboard?”

“So that’s what it’s called,” Livierre said, becoming animated.

“You should tell me the principles of its workings,” she said, pouring the drink into the shot glass. “Assuming you’re not under geas to reveal which Mastresse Venera mentioned you as having, but the specifics were not clear.”

‘ They still think I am working for the Dwarves, under a geas which I do not know of.’ Arthur was worried about one more thing entrenched inside of his mind that he did not know about. He shut it out; there was no harm done if it was a literal firewall against Venera’s probing. The fact that she could tell if he was lying unnerved him. He really wanted out of the clan’s camp like yesterday.

“Say do you have knowledge of steam engines and their inner workings?” she chirped, taking off the communication artefact. She placed it in the chest before locking up.

“Only the fundamentals,” Arthur answered, narrowing his brow as he grabbed a stool to sit.

‘The age of steam has begun, huh? If that is so, then let’s see how far things have gone.’ He thought, looking interested in some of the apparatus in the workshop. There were more harpoon heads, which further begged the question of what kind of fishing was to be had out there.

“ Oh do tell?” Livierre gasped, pushing one of the glasses towards him. It was a malty-smelling drink. “You would willingly give away such information?”

Arthur snorted, eyeing the drink with narrowed eyes,“ No Miss Livierre, everything has a cost.”

“Awh... you had me right there,” Livierre pouted, her voice trailing off. She eyed her stein filled with the golden liquid and hesitated, as though second-guessing her decision to pour a drink. An awkward silence punctuated by bubbles popping in the malty ale pervaded the air between the two.

‘Wow…How am I the one who ends up feeling like a jerk?’ Arthur cringed as he took a tentative sip. He had to stop himself from wrinkling up his face. It tasted flat. How could something flat have bubbles?

“ So that inventory you were asked to get?

“ Oh,” she said, “ Of course Master Arthur... a moment,” she added in a subdued voice. She chugged the ale in three gulps before wiping off the foam with the back of her gloves. Then she walked to the end of the wagon and threw open a cabinet, revealing an old safe within. A knock at the door interrupted her before she could start turning the tumbler lock.

“ Who is it?” she called back.

Someone answered in Djy’veli. Arthur did not catch what was said.

“ Dekara! I just fixed that thing yesterday,” the woman swore as she stomped to the door. She threw the door open to reveal two Djy’veli women. They were pink and wore sarongs knotted at the hip, and their trademarks were tops with fringes that formed an inverted triangle towards their navels. Their hair was braided and hung around their heads, weighed down by beads.

“ Xhezw! Sorry we didn’t know you had a guest,” one of them said, a bit too loudly as they caught sight of Arthur.

“ Of course you didn’t. So what is this about the water Dalaia?” Livierre said, to the taller of the two.

She looked at her friend and then said, “ It started spitting out mud and then it stopped. See?” She showed her muddy leg.

“ Fine, I’ll be right with you then,” she said, slamming the door in their faces.

“ Friends of yours?” Arthur asked.

“ Are you going to drink that?” Livierre asked.

“ Have at it,” Arthur said, pushing it towards the woman. She drank it in three gulps.

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