Rune of Oldfyre

Chapter Twenty-Three

"What?” We asked.

“The script, it doesn’t have a single written word in it.” He said, sipping from the flask, “What’s worse, I can’t get drunk.”

“Okay,” I said trying to calm him down.

“First, why can’t you get drunk. I think I know the answer.” I continued.

“I don’t know, ever since I got into the city I can’t even get tipsy.”

“Could it be that you’re dead.” I said, thinking he’d remember. Having died is something, you'd think, one doesn't forget.

"Shit, how could I forgot. That explains why this is formaldehyde."

I slammed my hand into my forehead.

"He's dead?" May asked.

"Oh, yeah. Shot in the chest by a crossbow. Very gruesome." I explained.

"But he's not dead." She observed.

"Right," I remembered, "he's undead."

"Oh, okay." She said, deciding not to delve deeper.

"Ard, I don't think you've introduced me to this lady you brought with you." He mentioned.

"Oh. May, Allister, Allister, May." I said.

"Hi, nice to meet you." She said, shaking his hand. He nodded and took another swig of formaldehyde.

"I should've added a hint of asbestos." He decided.

"Way are you drinking carcinogens?" Anya asked.

"Because; in life, they were dangerous. But in death, they protect. Formaldehyde is used as a preservative, I rot. It was an easy deduction to make." He explained.

"And the asbestos?" I said.

"Adds texture." He said.

"Okay, now back to the scripts," I switched topics, "no words."

“Yeah, thousands of pages. Not a single word.” He complained.

“How do you have a script, without words?” May asked.

“That’s exactly what I asked Varrick.” He said.

“Who’s Varrick?” The group asked.

“The regent.” He said.

“That stupid mustache guy?” I said.

“Yeah, him.” he confirmed, "He's actually quite a genius."

I doubt it, he's stupid.

"Don't get me wrong, he's a bit eccentric in his ways." Allister said. "But he knows what . He said, 'No words' they  mess with the interpretation.' So I said, 'if there are no words, how are the actors supposed to know what to do?' He said, 'why do they have to know what to say. Just push them on stage in a costume, tell them to dance.'"

"So if there are no words, what's with all the parchment?" Anya asked.

"The council that okayed the play said there needed to be a script. So we ordered a bunch a paper. It made it look like we were spending our budget on making a script." He explained.

"And the ink blots?" I asked.

"Well, you can't write a script without ink. So we bought a bunch of that too. I spent five months putting nonsense ink splotches on paper, and do you know what Varrick said? 'Brilliant love it!'"

"Why would you put up with that?" May asked. Allister drank more formaldehyde.

"Because honey," He gulped it down, "The pay was fucking amazing. Just with the upfront alone, I could buy my own island. Two more showings and I'd have more cash than the Bank of the Three Kingdoms."

"So what's to complain about?" I asked.

"He ruined my vision of the play." Can you even tell me what the plot was?"

"Wasn't it about a cranky aristocrat who found his softer side, and learned to love... cattle?" May asked.

"That's not what I got at all," Phil said, "I thought it was about a farmer who moonlighted as a police investigator... who was a bit too thorough when he searched his suspects."

"You're both wrong," Anya said, "It was about a school teacher's struggle with his sexuality. Expressed through the analogy of sheep."

"You're all wrong." Allister said, throwing his flask at the wall.

"So what was the plot?" I asked.

"There wasn't one. Varrick just rounded up a bunch of destitutes off the street, placed them in costumes, and ordered them to dance on stage for twelve hours." He said.

"Why would anyone do that?" I asked.

"Because he's insane," Al said, "he saw his popularity slipping, after word came that the king was MIA up north. So he put on a show for all the nobles in town."

"How will that raise his popularity?" I asked.

"I guarantee that about fifty-five percent of the nobles in there will be on Varrick's side during the next big political issue he has to deal with." He explained.

"How do you know that?" I asked, some what incredulous.

"That's about how many invitations were sent out laced with chemicals that have particular hypnotic effects." He said. The entire group recoiled in worry. "Don't worry, I personally handled the delivery of your invites, they're clean." The group relaxed.

"Well I have to get back to work. Ink splotches don't put themselves on paper." He said, knocking a bottle of ink off the table onto stack of papers.

We walked out into the main street. It was now early afternoon.

"Shit, what time is it?" May asked, worriedly.

"It's about noon." I answered.

"Dammit! I'm late for class."

"No, need to worry, I can give you a ride." I assured her.

"You have a boat?" She asked.

"No." I said.

"Then how do you expect to get me to the spire quickly. Going around the bay takes nearly all day." She said.

"Have you ever ridden a dire hell hound before?"