Chapter 23.3: Hangover

Try as he might, though, Minkus didn’t sleep. He couldn’t. With so much having happened in the course of the day, so much that had cast dark shadows across seasons and years of his past, he kept himself up with his efforts to not think about it. Long past sunset he was still wide awake, exhausted but awake, until sleep finally overtook him just after the commons' bell tolled the first watch. For a few, brief hours he slept.

That rest ended when the thoughts and feelings roused him once more. He tried in vain to return to sleep, but it didn't come.

Minkus sighed. Resigning himself to wakefulness, he waited in the dark for sounds of life from the kitchen below, and when he heard that distant din of stoking fires and clanging pots, he quietly snuck out, returning just as stealthily with a large plate of food. For himself he returned with several slabs of bacon and a hearty bowl of  porridge. For Penny it was a small pitcher of water and a quarter loaf of bread. If she could keep even that down, he reasoned, it would be the plan of the Alchemy. He settled back into the pillow against the wall and slowly ate his food without sound or smile, letting a stream of emotion flush through him with every bite. It wasn't worth avoiding.

Several more hours passed, and sometime just before noon, Penny finally woke, marking the event with the wailing moan of the Orrian undead. Minkus shifted the plate to avoid disrupting it and moved toward the edge of his bed, stopping just shy of sliding off. His friend continued to twist and moan, slowly tying herself in the blanket.

A final, defeated thrust flopped her over toward the asura. “Oh gods.” She opened one eye just enough to quickly scan the room. “Where in Grenth’s green— Minkus? What are you— where are we?”

Rising only a few inches, Penny winced sharply and fell back onto the mattress again, pressing hands to her forehead. “Oh, gods. What the hell happened?”

Minkus slid off the bed and slipped across the room. “I wouldn’t move too fast. You’re very—”

“Hung over?” she groaned, closing her eyes tightly. “I can tell. Where the hell are we?”

“This is—”

Penny grimaced, gripping her head. “Gods. You don’t have to yell.” She still sounded drunk. Minkus knew she wasn't, but her words were still slow, pained.

“This is room eight,” Minkus whispered, “at The Shining Inn.”

“The Shining— what are you talking about?” She opened one bloodshot eye again. “And what are you doing here?”

“I— I came for you. Don't you remember yesterday?”

“No,” she said. “I don’t think I remember the last decade.”

“Hronsson's?” Minkus asked, hoping the word would jog her memory. “The blood whiskey? Throwing up in the street? Then— throwing up again?”

“I remember Hronsson,” she said, still wincing as she lay on her back, her eyes shut tight once more. “I remember him being an ass. And yes, I remember—” She gagged. “Yeah—throwing up. Gods, I can still taste it.”

Minkus ran a hand over one ear. “Hronsonn wasn’t really— I mean, he was actually quite kind—” He fell short when Penny glowered at him. He changed the subject. “You should eat something.”

She groaned. “Not unless you want to go for projectile-vomit round three. What I need— Minkus, what I need is a— big glass of vinegar. And a shot of blood whiskey.”

“Vinegar?” Minkus had very little experience with this sort of thing.

“Yes,” Penny growled. “Vinegar, and a shot.”

He scratched his head. “I don’t know, Penny. You drank an awful lot of whiskey yesterday.”

“I know. And did I have a hangover?”

“No, I guess not,” he conceded. “But you were very drunk. Very, very drunk.”

Penny raised a shaky finger “Exactly. If you’re smashed—” she halted, looking sick.

It passed.

“If you’re smashed,” she continued, “you can’t be hungover.”

“I’m really not sure that’s—”

She shushed him, gesturing to lower his voice again. “Oh forget it. Where the hell are w—” Eyes widening, the woman lurched forward, hands grasping quickly at everything in reach. She grabbed a handle on the bedside table, yanked, and vomited.

Twice more she heaved into the wooden drawer, now producing nothing but stomach-wrenching sounds that made Minkus turn away. He gave her some time.

When the wave had seemed to pass, Minkus took the drawer and walked it across the room, holding it as far from his body as possible. “This is the Shining Inn,” he said, leaving the drawer beside the door. “It’s the inn where I stayed before we left Divinity’s Reach.” He returned with a washing cloth in hand, offering it with a gesture at Penny’s mouth. She took it, nodding something like thanks, though she avoided his eyes.

For a few minutes the two sat in silence. One, elbows to knees, sat hunched with her head in her hands, while the other looked absently around the room, scratching at his head and tugging his ear. On the wall here was a painting of what Minkus could only guess was the Queensdale countryside. He’d acknowledged it earlier in the morning as he ate on his bed, but scanned everything from foreground to background again.

“So, why exactly are you here, Minkus?” she asked again, calling his attention back. His hand didn’t leave his ear.

“You left so fast,” he said, “so— suddenly. Everyone was worried.”

“Oh yeah? Well, thanks,” Penny muttered sardonically. “So, where’s the rest of the epic traveling party? All outside, waiting with muffins?”

Minkus sighed, letting his hand fall from his ear. “No,” he muttered. “That’s kind of the issue. I came here, I came after you, to— to clear your name.” For a second Minkus thought his friend looked bothered, perhaps even disgusted, by something, but before he even had words for it, it had passed.

“You don’t say,” Penny sneered, sweeping wild hair behind her ear and letting her hands fall from her face.

“I do,” Minkus confirmed, frowning in intense thought. Despite all else that had happened recently, he was focused on delivering this well. “The others— well they said— after you left, I mean, they said you stole Ventyr's jade pieces. I tried to tell them— to tell them you couldn’t, you wouldn’t do something like that, but they— well, they—” He stopped. Something struck him for the first time. “You don’t know, do you? I mean, how would you, unless you really had— well, never mind that. Someone stole Sergeant Ventyr’s jade shards.”

“You don’t say,” Penny sighed. Her eyes strayed from his again, and she put her head back in her hands.

“I do,” he said again, starting to get excited by her seeming lack of knowledge on the matter. “The same day you left, we found someone had—”

“Minkus, stop and just get me the whiskey already. You can even skip the vinegar. My head is pounding.”

“Oh— I— yes,” Minkus mumbled, looking around for what his friend had requested before her words had really struck him. Then he caught himself. “No, Penny. We— we just went over— I don’t think it’s a wise decision to keep drink—”

“Gods. Fine,” she groaned. “I’ll do it myself.” Reaching for the one boot still on her foot, she pried it loose and shook. Out slid a small flask. It couldn’t have been more than two shots worth of liquor, and Penny had it in hand, uncorked, and perched at her lip before Minkus had processed what it was. It was down just as quickly, leaving Minkus staring at her stupidly. “There,” she said, tossing the flask aside. “Was that so damn hard?”

Minkus blinked. Externally he was unmoved, but inside something churned. It moved, roiling.

“Penny, what are you doing?” The question was straightforward, but at the same time it wasn’t, and Minkus couldn’t say he really understood what he was asking. Still, indignant concern bubbled inside and the words came up and out instinctually.

She snorted. “I thought it was clear, Minkus. I’m drinking. To get rid of this headache, to pass the time, to celebrate—for all the things, I’m drinking. What of it?”

Minkus scowled in thought. There was an odd word in that response. “Celebrate?” he asked her. “What are you celebrating?”

In mock enthusiasm, she threw her arms wide. “All my wildest dreams coming true.”

Minkus’ face continued to contort. He had to think hard about that one. “Wildest dreams?” he asked. “Is this to do with your shop?”

“My shop?” she said, rising from the bed. Her strength seemed to return, though Minkus wasn’t sure why. “Oh, no, Minkus. It’s so much more than my shop.” A mirthless smile inched across her face, and her words took on an increasing measure of condescension. “When this is all said and done, I’ll have multiple shops. Dozens of shops. My own, whole damn town of shops!”

Minkus took a step back. “How would that be?” he inquired timidly.

With a wobble, she leaned forward, bending slowly at the hips. Midway she took hold of her stomach again, which stole some of the imposition from her posture. But when she got to eye-level with Minkus, her haunting tone made up for it. “From the unseemly amounts of money I’m going to make off that jade,” she hissed.

Minkus gasped, wishing immediately that he hadn’t. Her face still pallid, she held his gaze for a moment.

There was confidence in that stare, but it was thin. Weak. False. Yes, Minkus thought as he returned her gaze, this confidence was false, veiling something else. In the same way other virtues would often fill him, truth seemed to do so now: the truth of his friend and the truth of her situation. He had no definite knowledge here—which certainly would have driven Jinkke up the wall—but he had a sense of what was real. And there was a feeling of something else as well, something solid, something firm.

“You’re lying,” he said. It was quite uncomfortable to say it so plainly, but he knew no other way.

“Excuse me?” she snapped, reeling back to full height. The speed of her movement almost threatened to throw her over, but she caught her balance. “And why in Grenth’s green ass would I lie about that?”

“I— don’t know,” he admitted. “But you did. Jinkke said she did something wrong, and she was telling the truth. I knew it—I don’t know how, but I knew it.” He shrugged, scratching his head as he swam in disconnected thoughts spurred by this strange intuition. “You said you did something wrong and you lied. I don't— I don’t understand it.”

"Look, it’s an easy formula,” she rasped back in frustration, reaching for the smartpack Minkus had rested beside her bed. “I knocked out Vent and stole his gods-damned rocks for the money, for the shit-tons of money. Now I'm going to be so rich I can buy my own centaur-loving town with a dozen machine shops and an endless supply of gear. What about that is hard to understand?”

Penny paused for a reply, but when he had none, she simply nodded her strange satisfaction, hoisted the smartpack to her shoulder, and made for the door like a seasick traveler stumbling across a ship’s deck. “You know what, Minkus? If you don’t want to accept the truth, fine. Thanks for the room, but I’m out of here. When I’m lordship-wealthy, I’ll send you some coins to square things—"

The next word never came out of her mouth. Instead Penny bounced back from the door with a stunned yelp and landed flatly on her butt, the weight of the smartpack slamming into the floor and clanging all the tools and objects together inside it.

“What the hell was that?” Penny barked, collecting herself. She reached out and pressed her hand against what looked like air but returned her pressure like a solid object. Balling a fist, she pounded it a few times.

Minkus felt a twinge of pressure inside him with each strike, but it was matched and overcome by a feeling of determination. Yes, that solidness he’d felt, determination was a good word for it.

“What the hell is—” Penny snapped her head around at the asura, shaking away a quick rush of dizziness. “Is this you, Minkus?”

He nodded. “I— I think so.”

“Well, knock it off,” she ordered.

“No.”

Glowering, she spun around on the floor to face him. “What do you mean ‘no’?”

Minkus shrugged, feeling strangely confident. “I don’t know how to. I’ve never done this before. But— even if I could, I— don’t think I would. Something is very wrong with you, Penny.”

Penny’s eyes widened, but for perhaps the first time since they'd struck their deal with the Vigil, he heard her give no response. The two remained there, still, silent, and staring at each other for several minutes. Minkus could still smell the drawer of vomit.

---

The better part of an hour went by, and very little changed. Penny had slipped out of her smartpack’s straps, and Minkus sat back down on his bed, crossing his legs and leaning against the wall. The magical ward remained, keeping Penny from reaching the door, and the two stayed in a quiet, determined stalemate, until Minkus finally broke it.

A thought struck him, and his doggedness melted away. “Where is Eddie?” he asked.

She looked up from the wrench she’d been flipping for the last few minutes. “What?”

“Eddie,” Minkus repeated. “He wasn’t at your shop yesterday, and he wasn't with you. With your— well, with your new landlord keeping you out and all— well, I’m just wondering what happened to Eddie?”

Penny blinked, continuing to dance the wrench from one knuckle to the next and back again. Minkus couldn’t tell if she was thinking hard or not thinking at all.

“Penny,” he pressed again, sliding forward to the edge of the bed. “Where is Eddie?”

“I don’t know,” she said. The words came out just above a whisper, and her eyes widened as they did. Sobriety seemed to hit her in more ways than one.

Minkus slid off the bed and slowly moved toward her. His feet barely left the floor which each step. “You haven’t seen him either?”

“No. I— didn’t think about it. I found the note on the door, and I just—” the words trailed as she stared off at nothing.

Minkus felt his eyes widen a touch. Penny had been back in town for two days, and she hadn’t thought about Eddie once? Not once? He was her apprentice and left in charge of her shop. Minkus shook the question away, stepping past the woman seated on the ground and up to the cabinet where he'd left her landlord’s note. Taking it, he turned and extended the torn pieces of paper to Penny. “I guess you mean this note?”

Letting the wrench fall to the floor, she took what he handed her and examined it darkly. “Yes,” she groaned, “that note.” Her eyes rose to Minkus, who stood little more than a foot above her. “How did you get this?”

He looked away for a moment. “I took your coat to be washed, and it— well, it fell out.”

Penny spun around, looking for the coat she hadn’t previously noticed was missing. “My coat? Why'd you take my coat?”

“You vomited all over it, Penny.” Minkus shuddered slightly at the memory. “It smelled— awful.”

“Oh,” she huffed, letting her eyes drift back to the note. “I assume you read this,” she said, waving the papers at him.

Minkus shook his head, wrapping an arm protectively around his midsection. “No— well yes. I read far enough to see what it was. But then I put it down. It's your letter, not mine.”

Silence hung for a moment again. Holding the scraps of note in one hand, she picked up the wrench again in her other and began flipping it between her knuckles. “Good, because I— it—”

Minkus dropped to a knee directly in front of her, bringing the woman’s search for words to a halt. At first he had to work to gain and keep eye contact with her. He very much wanted to look anywhere else, but his care, and some strange form of curiosity, won out, and he maintained his gaze on her. Even she seemed unable to look away.

“Why lie?” he asked gently. “Why lie about stealing the jade?”

Penny tossed the wrench aside again, pressing a tense hand through her tangled hair. “Gods,” she groaned. “When did you become such a stubborn pain in the ass?” She extended the torn note right back toward him. “Just read the damn message.”

Slowly and not a little unsurely, he reached to grip the small sheets of note between forefinger and thumb, pulling them in for a tighter inspection. He knew these were the same torn sheets he’d held in hand not a moment before, but between his fingers now, they felt entirely different. He flipped the one on top and began to read, once more from the very top.

Miss Arkayd,

I am quite excited to be establishing a working relationship with you. Our mutual friend assured me you would be cooperative, and if you’re reading this missive, cooperative you have been. We appreciate that.

I would have preferred to welcome you back to your establishment in person, the very moment you returned. However, as it is all but impossible to calculate when, precisely you would arrive in the city, let alone at this specific building, I am forced instead to leave this letter for you antecedently. Of equal misfortune, our "mutual friend" hasn't come to fully trust you yet (at least as far as his most recent correspondence indicated), and so I haven't been given permission to grant you access to return to our employer’s new piece of property—Mr. Witten's old holding. If it were entirely my decision, I would have keys awaiting you here, but by our "mutual friend's" arrangement (as you well understand, no doubt) you must first provide me with the necessary passphrase to gain that access.

It is an excessive caution, I'm certain, as I'm confident you will prove to be a trustworthy and competent ally. He'll come to see it. (You know how our "mutual friend" can be.)

I look expectantly toward our ongoing endeavors together, and I trust you will continue to be as cooperative a tenant as you have been an associate.

With respect,

Wepp

“Wepp?” Minkus mused. “Is your new landlord asura?”

“Yes,” she groaned, “I have a sinking feeling the little imp’s another asura.”

Minkus eyed the note a final time before handing it back. He pondered on the words a moment, remembering everything he could. “So,” he said, “this is why you’re not in your shop right now.”

Still sitting on the floor, the dark-haired woman exhaled loudly and put a hand to her temple. “Yeah.”

“But I still don’t understand why—”

“And I don’t intend you to,” Penny interrupted, crossing her arms. Suddenly intent on something again, she got up to her feet, wobbling a little, and dropped the smartpack from her shoulders. It hit the floor hard. “That Wepp jerk says I have time to burn. And you— you’re right. I need to find the kid, make sure he’s OK.”

Minkus scratched his head. There were parts of that statement that made him very happy, but also parts that made him uneasy. “Why wouldn’t Eddie be—”

Penny looked a tad queasy again, but she was up and smacking the invisible barrier with her open palm. “Enough questions, Biggie. Would you just get rid of this thing already?”

“We’re really going to search for Eddie?” Minkus asked, hoping he’d find a sense of truth in this matter as well. “I don’t want to see you get—”

“Gods, yes, we’re really after Eddie,” she groaned, grabbing the asura by the shoulders and trying to turn him around. She didn’t, so Minkus turned toward the door on his own. “Now, if you don’t mind, we’ll go find the kid.” After a second’s thought, she added, “And my coat. I want my damn coat back.”