It was supposed to have been an easy job — sneak in to Bey Nakasoto’s mansion, grab a couple of jeweled necklaces from a cabinet in an unguarded room and then sneak out again, none the wiser. So Arturo Garcia had been extremely surprised to find someone had left an empty bucket in the middle of a darkened hallway … perfectly placed for him to accidentally kick and send tumbling down a flight of stairs. It was possible there were a couple of people sound asleep somewhere in the mansion who hadn’t heard the noise it made as it bounced around, descending, but he had no idea who those might have been.
Needless to say, Arturo had found himself needing to flee much earlier and faster than he’d intended, given that the entire guard had been alerted to the presence of an intruder and they’d quickly started searching the grounds. Unfortunately — for him — they were entirely too efficient in their task and one of the guards spotted him climbing a tree in preparation for vaulting himself over the exterior wall, similarly to how he had made his way inside in the first place.
Now he was stuck, running crazily through the city streets, constantly hearing the whistles and shouts of what might well have been all of the city guards being called up to chase down the peasant who had dared to enter the Bey’s grounds and even enter the mansion itself. Thankfully, the streets were narrow, and he’d lived on them all fourteen years of his life, so he knew them well.
The ultimate encouragement for not getting caught, of course, was the penalty. First offense for trespass on the Bey’s grounds was hard labor for 15 years. If he, somehow, was able to make it through that particular grueling hellhole, they’d dump him back onto the streets, about to turn 30, with no skills and no alternatives other than attempting to resume similar sorts of activities. A second offense of any sort after that would be the chopping block, with no one to mourn his passing.
During his flight, he’d found a way up to the rooftops, and had even managed to cross a couple of buildings over. But then one of the more sharp-eyed city guards had thought to look up, noticed the silhouette against the pale yellow moon and shouted. As soon as the first crossbow bolt thudded into a chimney behind him, he knew he was better off down on the street. That way, they were more likely to think they had a chance of taking him alive, and possibly less interested in pinning him to a wall with crossbows.
Then again, at this rate, he was quickly losing hope that he had any sort of chance at escape. It was clearly not a night for him to be lucky, and he began a silent prayer to the Gods of Knife and Coin that he might live to see the morning sun, and not be in captivity at the time.
He had been on the run now for at least a third of a glass and every labored breath hurt by now. He ducked down an alley and turned twice more, hoping to find a moment, somewhere, to catch his breath. Halfway down yet another alley, he noticed a door set into the back of a building. There didn’t seem to be anything special about it, but, somehow, he had a strange … feeling … he might find some sort of shelter on the other side of that door. Perhaps the Gods had heard his plea and smiled upon him for once this night.
Chancing a quick look behind to ensure no one was close enough to witness, he pulled the door open and hurled himself inside, closing it immediately after.
Somehow, the Bartender thought to himself, these two Regulars were able to keep meeting each other here. They had no way to communicate their intentions. Yet, somehow, they both had absolutely perfect timing, the second entering just as the first was sitting down. Their initial encounters had been tense, of course, given they tended to be on opposite sides of the scale, but after the usual cautions about how violence of any sort was not permitted inside the Pub, and the threat, once, of needing to call the Bouncer, they had finally settled down.
For that particular meeting, some of the others sitting close to them had shared stories of seeing encounters with the Bouncer which had caused visible shivering among everyone having a drink just then. As far as the Bartender could remember, some of those stories even bore a semblance of the truth, and he’d commented as to that. He hadn’t, however, suggested which ones, or what parts might be untrue, or whether the results were under- or over-stated, which caused another round of shivering and even some outright twitching.
Unbelievably, they had long since become … well, it wouldn’t be correct to call them “friends”, but they were certainly amicable enough with each other and always civil, which was all that was really required to have a few drinks here.
The Bartender grabbed another mug from his working counter and resumed his glass-polishing. When he was not needed to serve a beverage of any sort, this was his usual fall-back activity. He vaguely recalled one of the customers noting his repetitive motion, declaring, “Out … out, damned spot!”, followed by him apologizing about needing to leave so suddenly and in a hurry, but he had some additional writing he needed to do.
“Barkeep!”, he heard one of the men say, “I think we need another round here! Another whiskey, neat, and I still don’t care what kind it is — just pour the damn thing. And this … rapscallion … could use another of whatever he’s drinking.” The man who had just ordered was tall and imposing, with a perfectly groomed mustache. When he’d first entered the Pub, he’d casually dropped his wide-brimmed Stetson hat on the bar before ordering his first “Whiskey, neat!”, just as he’d ordered yet another one.
The man next to him, was just as tall, but much more slender. Compared with the dark jacket and vest over working pants of his drinking partner, he simply wore a single-piece outfit, dotted with pockets of various sizes. He never wore a hat and, in contrast to the first man’s mustache, his dark hair, while short, seemed to be completely uncontrollable — much like the man it was attached to. “I’ll take a …”, waving his empty mug, “… another one of whatever the heck this was.”
“Of course, gentlemen. That’s one whiskey and one more Stóencrūscher.” The Bartender grabbed a dark bottle with an unreadable label from behind him and refilled the man’s shot glass. Replacing it, he took the mug he’d been polishing and stepped over to a set of unlabeled taps, all of which possessed odd and mis-matched handles. With the mug under one of them, he pulled the handle, which in this case, appeared to be the horn of some animal neither man recognized. With the mug freshly poured and full, he carefully put it in front of the second man, sweeping his empty mug away immediately after.
These tasks accomplished, he lifted another spotless mug and began polishing it. His intuition told him they were about to receive another guest and, as always, he needed to be certain there was a perfectly polished vessel waiting to be filled. No sooner had he had the thought then the front door, the only one leading out of the Pub, was yanked open and a young man, wearing some sort of loose tunic and tights, hurled himself through the door, slamming it shut behind him. He was panting, almost gasping for breath.
“Praise to the Gods of Knife and Coin! Please! You’ve got to hide me! The city guards are chasing me!”
The Bartender smiled. After all, this was just another day at the Nowhere Pub.
What is the Nowhere Pub, you might wonder? It is a multi-dimensional, cross-time and space, pub. To visualize it, first attempt to conjure from the deepest recesses of your mind the darkest, seemingly most unfriendly, pub which exudes a sense that you do not belong here. Now magnify that several times. You might just begin to come close to the interior of the Pub. There are tables scattered across the floor and around the edges of the room — which is barely visible. Centered on each table is a small flickering light which, at a cursory glance, might seem to be a candle — but is not.
Similarly, there are lights suspended over the bar. Behind the bar are several taps for beer and ale — all unlabeled and having merely blank pull-levers, made of wood or some other odd material, attached to them. There’s a multitude of bottles against the back wall, either similarly unlabeled or with labels that are impossible to see or read. Of course, the Pub has a bartender. He’s usually a cheerful sort and, when not serving drinks, spends most of his time polishing the glasses and mugs.
What’s the allure of the Pub? It has quite a few.
For one thing, any drink that exists — somewhere or somewhen — is available to you. Name a beer, and they’ve not only got it, but it’s on tap. Care for some wine instead? There’s a multitude of bottles available — only the very best years, of course. Pick a vintage liquor, and they’ll have a bottle — open and waiting to serve you a shot. If you insist on a cocktail, hardly a favorite of the usual clientele, the bartender will have just the perfect ingredients for the absolutely best version of it you’ve ever tasted.
And the clientele — Ah, you’ll find all sorts here; ranging from vampires seeking shelter from the sun, to a galactic emperor who’s just suffered some sort of catastrophic defeat. This is where they go to have a drink, or five, and relax.
The Pub is where a wide variety of customers meet and stories are swapped. Just don’t try to start a fight. You’ll get one warning from the Bartender that behaving in such a manner will require him to call the Bouncer to put an end to it. That always settles the point.
Oh, and the other distinction about the Pub? It’s got two kinds of customers. The Regulars and the One-Timers. You don’t know which one you are until you try and find the Pub again. The Regulars can always find their way back. The door they open to leave the pub will always be the same door they used to enter it — returning them back to wherever, and whenever, they came from.
As for the One-Timers? Well — they get one chance. No one else goes out the front door? They’re headed back home and never finding it again. They go out through the front door after someone else has opened it, though, and who knows where they’re headed or if they’re ever coming back.
How do you figure out which type of customer you are? You walk out the door and see what happens. Or, you discover you can find the Pub again.
Somehow, though, the Pub is always good at bringing the right people together, some times over and over again. Because, after all, when what you really need is a safe haven with, perhaps, a chance at going down a different path in life — or getting better at following the one you’re on — there’s no better place for that than your favorite pub, right?
Having made his way through the door, panting, offering a shouted prayer to the Gods, and proclaiming his need to hide, Arturo Garcia was confronted with a extremely odd sight. He looked around in wonder, trying to understand what he was seeing. Who were these strange people, dressed in such outlandish fashion? He’d never encountered lights such as those flickering in the few scattered areas they existed. If he didn’t know for sure that capture lay on the other side of the door, he’d’ve yanked it back open and fled in fear and a growing sense of unease.
From behind the bar, the man who had been polishing a glass mug of some sort paused and smiled at him. “Come on in, lad. It’s a sure thing you’ll be safe in here. You look like you could use a drink and a bit to catch your breath. Come on up. Have a seat. These gentlemen, for all of how they look, won’t bite.”
Arturo carefully made his way closer to the bar. The man wearing some sort of strange clothing which appeared to be all connected moved aside by one space, clearing a stool between the two men. “It’s all right, son. We’re just simple fellows like yourself, in here for a drink and nothing more.”
The Bartender chimed in, “Trust me. I guarantee your safety in here. What happens when you leave … well, that will depend on a lot on which door you go through.” He chuckled after saying this. As the young man hopped on to the stool, he gave him a quick once-over. “Seems to me, a young man like yourself isn’t quite ready for a full pint. However, I think I’ve got just the thing for you.”
Arturo’s gaze shifted nervously, back and forth, at the two men sitting to either side of him and the Bartender, never quite sure where he should or could let his eyes linger. In just a moment, the mug, filled to the top with some sort of lightly-colored brew, was placed in front of him.
“One slightly watered-down Vent and Sewer Pipe Pilsner for you, lad. Don’t worry, though. I promise there were no actual vents or sewer pipes involved in the making of the brew. That’s more in … homage … to the inspiration for it.”
With that description, he looked at the beer in front of him dubiously, but he had to admit he was desperately thirsty and the drink did look cool and refreshing. As he grabbed it, he realized the glass was actually cold — an indication of the temperature of the contents. Rather than pause to question how it was possible for anything to be cold in the middle of the Season of Planting, he simply lifted it and took a sip.
The cool liquid poured into his mouth and he immediately felt more relaxed. He could feel his heart begin to calm and the concern of being chased subside.
“So, kid, what’s your name?”, the man to his left, some sort of hat on the bar next to him, asked brusquely. “What’s the deal and who’re you running from?”
“I … I am Arturo Garcia. And … I am a nobody. I was trying to steal something … of value … from the Bey — the local ruler. I thought I could sell it and use the coins for food and, maybe, to find a way to pay for some sort of apprenticeship somewhere.” He took another drink and then hung his head. “I’m alone in the world. And as I’m already fourteen, no crafter will take me on without being paid substantially up front.”
“Sounds like what you were doing didn’t work out, did it, son? What happened?” This from the man to his right.
Arturo’s voice caught for a second. “I’d planned it all out. I spoke quietly with maids and other servants from inside the mansion. I knew what it was like inside, and I’d figured out the perfect way in. If only it wasn’t for that stupid bucket!” He took a larger gulp from the mug. He knew it was supposed to be alcoholic, but could barely taste any in it. “I couldn’t see it, so I accidentally kicked it. The guards everywhere started searching for me and then chasing me through the city.”
Lifting his head again for a moment, he took another drink. He appeared to be absolutely dejected — broken — and the Bartender looked at the two other patrons meaningfully.
Catching the glance the Bartender had thrown him, the man to his right spoke up first. “Might as well introduce ourselves, since we’re happily sharing a drink together. The man on the other side of you is Erwin White. That’s Sheriff Erwin White, but don’t fret about that. He’s learned he has to leave the job outside when he steps in here.”
At this, the other man chimed in as well. “And the rapscallion on that side is the extremely notorious Hua VonGresto. He likes to pretend that he’s also known as the Aluminum Roach, ‘cause of all the ’starships’ and ’space stations’ … whatever those things are … that he’s managed to infest and snuck quietly through. And,” lifting his small glass to down it all, “… whoo… that’s good. It seems like, once again, the Pub has done its hocus-pocus and shamanism stuff on us again.” The Bartender paused his glass-polishing to pour another glass for him without being asked.
VonGresto chuckled. “Now that we’ve gotten the introductions out of the way, and taking into account the environment we’re in…” He lifted his mug in a semblance of a toast to the Pub itself. “You say that you were about to seek some sort of apprenticeship? As it happens, I’ve been contemplating taking someone under my wing and teaching them some of what I’ve learned over the years and lightyears.”
Arturo had no idea what a “lightyear” was, but ignored that part. “Wh-what do you do, sir?”
“Never mind the ‘sirs’. What Erwin over there said is rather close to the truth. I do style myself as the Aluminum Roach. Because, well – unless you look real hard for them, roaches like to hide away where you can’t see them. And while they’re hiding, they can get up to all sorts of sneaky stuff.
“As to specifics … let me just say that, as you have also seemed to notice, there are lots of people with lots of valuable items. And, very often, they don’t really put those items in locations that are perfectly safe and secure. So, I take it upon myself, in the interest of demonstrating how they might improve things, to relieve them of those items. I’m sure, once they discover them missing, they will go to much greater lengths to ensure they have the proper level of security after that.
“Of course, I check first that they’ve also arranged for some sort of replacement should anything happen to those items. I wouldn’t take a man’s last bauble or something truly irreplaceable. And, if it just so happens, after I’ve relieved them of such an item, I’m able to turn around and sell it to someone who also has an appreciation for its value, that’s all to the better, and the universe has improved for everyone, hasn’t it?”
Arturo looked confused by this extended description, so the man on his left attempted to clarify for him. “He’s a scoundrel thief, is what he is. Nothin’ but a no-good miscreant who, if he were ever anywhere near my town, I’d throw him in a cage and contemplate tossing away the key! Since I know if I didn’t throw the key away, he’d figure out some way to charm or beguile some lady into fetching it and giving it to him!”
VonGresto laughed. “Thank you so much, good Sheriff. I believe I am honored you think so highly of me.” Erwin scowled in response. “However, I assure you — were I ever in your town, you would not even be aware of my presence until long after I’d departed again.
“Returning to the matter at hand, though. I won’t say that it’s easy work and, realistically, you will be spending a lot of time learning and getting better at my … trade. But, on the other hand, it might be nice to have someone to do a little bit of back-watching and who I could eventually hand the title over to.”
That was when the man to his left felt he absolutely had to interject. His ire was up and he lapsed into a drawl. “Now wait just one gosh-darned second, you scamp! The boy said he was looking ta’ become a ‘prentice. That don’ mean he got’s to be one who’s a thief! Lots of folk back by me could use a strong boy to help them with work. Heck, I’d even offer to take him on me’self.”
“Wh-what does a … ‘sheriff’ — that was the word, wasn’t it?” White nodded. “What does a sheriff do?”
White smiled and took a moment to smooth his mustache with his fingers. “‘Round where I’m from, a sheriff is … well, we’re basically the lawmen of our towns and the areas around ‘em.” He saw the boy recoil slightly. “Don’t you bother ‘bout that. I ain’t seen a poster with your name on it, so I got’s no beef with you. I’m a believer in giving a man a second chance and, while you was fixin’ to commit a crime, it din’t happen, now did it?
“For me, being a lawman ain’t about tryna’ chase down every scamp I run ‘cross. It’s ‘bout defendin’ people — those around me I care for and those who trust me to protect ‘em. Sometimes, that can mean buyin’ a young rascal a piece o’ candy, or sittin’ and havin’ a chat with an old man who’s on his porch and ain’t seen a friend in days.
“And on those occasions when I do need to catch someone doin’ wrong, if’n I can, I make sure it’s justice that gets done. I’m not lookin’ for revenge or anythin’ like that. Just to make sure the scores are settled and ever’one’s done right by.”
“You’d train me to be one of these … sheriff … things?”
“Well, there’s only one Sheriff in a town. But we do get to have deputies — those are like … ‘prentice sheriffs. They work under our direction and learn how to keep the law. Come with me, and I promise I’ll train ya right. Seein’ as you seem to be in a bit of a hard spot, I’m sure I could ask someone to let you a room while you were learnin’ under me. I’d cover that until you start earning your keep. Don’ get me wrong. There’ll be lots o’ hard work, too. I got a ranch I own as well, and that can take work to keep going. ‘Course, I got some other hands working there, so that’s far from the only thing you’d be learning.
“But, end of the day, you’d be able to walk down a dusty street with your head held high, being greeted with a smile by everyone, since they’d all know you’re there to protect them and help ‘em out.”
Hua smiled as he heard Erwin’s offer to the young man.
“No matter what, though, he’s just saying you’d be spending a lot of time walking through dirt and horse crap in the middle of some small town, back-end of some place almost no one’s ever heard of, kid. Come with me, and you’ll see the stars, and find yourself quite well off along the way.”
“Don’t you listen to that rapscallion! Anywhere he’s been, he ain’t allowed back in, once they figger out it was him what stole something!” Erwin was almost shouting in response.
“Gentlemen… once again, please, calm yourselves?” The Bartender felt it necessary to speak up to restore the sense of peace which had been settling in up until a moment ago.
“Young man,” addressing Arturo directly now, “I can’t and won’t tell you whether to accept one of the offers these two gentlemen have made. All I will say, however, is how both of them, each in their own ways, is a man of honor — at least in whichever way they themselves define it. Also, it is safe to say that both of them will, as they offer, take you on as an apprentice and train you in what they do.
“Or, of course, if you’d like to head back out to where you came from, you’re more than welcome to. But, I will also say — whatever you were running from out there … it’ll still be waiting for you when you head back out. There’s no way to change that, except by taking one of them up on their respective offer.
“Be aware … if you do … you are very likely to never be able to return home ever again. That is, fortunately or otherwise, just another part of any deals being made here.” He took Arturo’s now-empty mug away. “Since I’m sure one of these men was happy to buy you that first one. I’m equally certain the other will buy you a second one while you take the time to consider your options.” Both men nodded slightly in agreement as he poured another mug and replaced it in front of Arturo.
“So … I get to choose …” He looked towards VonGresto, “continuing a life as a thief, but a much better one? Or,” turning towards White, “learning to be a lawman?”
“That sums it up. Now … which way will your path take you?”
[Banner image credit to Lucas Bunn (bunnnw@gmail.com). He did an awesome job on this!]
