The Disjointed Tales Of Renryre Island

26-2: I Think You've Had Enough [continued]

 "I think you've had enough," said Deklow, wiping a mug that he quickly realised wasn't dirty.

"What? I haven't even had a drink yet!"

"What? Jollo? What are you doing here?"

"Where else would I be?" asked Jollo, his face screwed up in confusion. "This is the only half-decent tavern in Rhytheport."

"Right," said Deklow, glancing around at The Evergreen Stream, the only tavern he ran on the east coast, never mind Rhytheport.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm getting too old for this," said Deklow, shaking his head.

"Well, at least you're getting paid for this," mumbled the salt panner under his breath.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. Say, any news on Tally? It's been weeks, and I've heard nothing."

She had been dropped off in the middle of the desert, along with Madrik. Left for dead. Discreet hadn't worried much about what they would do when they made it back – he didn't think that he and Deklow would still be stuck on the island when the gangsters returned.

"Talyreina? No, sorry, Jolly. I haven't seen her since that foreigner schemed with her and took off with all our money. Maybe she went after him."

"Maybe," acknowledged Jollo, staring down at the empty mug.

"Right," said Deklow as he poured the ale, "it has been nice to catch up with you, but I have other guests to tend to."

*    *    *

"I think you've had enough," said Deklow, more out of habit than concern for his patrons.

"I can drink a hundred mugs of ale and still slay a hundred beasts!"

"Right, the ice raptors. I heard."

"And the hundred-tentacled, hundred-eyed, hundred... the ancient guardian of... of..."

"Of Goldryke Caves. Yes, I heard he put up quite a fight."

Irikhart stood proudly before the bar, arms on his hips, chin held high. A long grey cloak hung loosely from his shoulders – unbuttoned, revealing not only his perfectly shaped chest, but also his old dirty blue underwear. Ryleine would need to take him shopping before he returned to the desert.

"And now, as the hero of the table, I assume they sent you to collect the next round of ale?"

The god of fools glanced back at the table, visibly questioning the validity of his quest. Perhaps trying to calculate just how heroic it was.

"Irikhart, it's time for you lot to get some sleep and get started with the hangover. Tomorrow at lunchtime I will explain everything. You all have a role to play in this tale, you especially. I have a particularly heroic quest for you."

Irikhart appeared sceptical.

"More heroic than the hundred—?"

"There is only one man on this island that I can entrust this quest to. And Ryleine will be unable to resist you once it's complete. This... is your true destiny."

"Then I will answer my calling."

Deklow felt a little guilty as Irikhart puffed his chest.

"Good night, Irikhart."

The god of fools returned to his table empty-handed, and received a rather unfair booing as a result.

*    *    *