The Girl, The Rat, And The Five Whiskered Snow Dragon

Chapter 11

The Tattered Tavern

The Glass Rocking Horse, to which Cypress had been assigned, was a two storied tavern tucked away in the hills of Sherm between Three Bogs and Jorfrost Grotto, which was a small range of mountains that were glorified hills; they were rumored to have cold caves which bore treasures guarded by the blue and white dragons of Pale Fallows. Cypress's arm was bandaged and hung close to her side. Her face was wrapped in bloodied cloth up to her nose and a slit was made for her mouth so that she could speak, though she could only raise her voice loud enough to whisper, or else her lip and cheek would pain her greatly.

If the tavern had a face which could be capable of expression, it would be crestfallen. The red paint of the exterior was peeling like blistered flesh left too long in the sun. The windows were filmed with grime to the point that they had lost themselves as to their purpose.

The patio on the second floor which ran the length of the building once might have been impressive, but was now littered with overturned tables, spilled and broken mugs, and railing with nearly every other wooden bar broken. Cypress imagined the inside wouldn't be much more glorious. She wouldn't have to imagine it soon.

It had taken days to reach the tavern. The Centaur lowered himself to the ground. Cypress got off and he trotted away.

"It's about time they brought a new servant; the last boy took ill and passed nearly a week ago!" Hugo Orstigne burst through the doors of the tavern and hobbled down the steps as best he could with his cane. He was an elderly man with a mouth speckled of gold teeth and a permanent shadow across his face which passed as a beard. He wore tattered dress pants and a vest which matched his leggings in wear. "Your face better heal right because we don't need another ugly mug in here. Now, get inside and grab a washrag out of the bucket in the corner next to the broken mirror, not the corner with the dartboard and broken mirror; wash the tables, chair, bar—everything. Then I want you to sweep up and mop the floor, it's disgusting. We had a rowdy bunch last night and we'll have a rowdy bunch tonight."

Cypress nodded, at least she thought she nodded, she was still so scared from the pain Nimren had given her, she tried furiously to let the barman know that she understood.

"The name's Hugo—and don't tell me yours right now because I don't care. Work and work hard and you'll get to eat." Hugo then grumbled and walked briskly around the building to take care of something which seemed terribly important to him.

The interior of the tavern was not a distant cousin to the exterior. Ale soaked peanut shells were all over the floor with broken glass, spit, dirt, and many other things best left unsaid. Some of the tables were overturned and there were dirty mugs and pitchers all over the rest. The bar itself was covered with spilled logger, it was drip—drip—dripping to the floor from the far left corner. The windows were open, letting in sunlight and fresh air but it didn't help much—if at all. Cypress spotted the bucket in the corner. It wouldn't do to clean the floor until she had all the tables and chairs put up properly, but first she would have to clean the tables and chairs. She would play along as a servant here, but she would find a way to escape.

"I was wondering when the new help was coming. Looks like they did a number on you; hope you can clean with your hand like that. By the way the place looks, you wouldn't think he was so anal about cleaning."

Cypress searched for the small voice and found that it had come from a mouse drinking from a miniature mug standing on the bar. His furry coat was a very pretty burgundy color and he had ears so large they could be described as nothing other than cute. If she wasn't feeling like a corpse, she would have had to fight the urge to run over and pinch them between her fingers.