From alt.pub.dragons-inn Mon Nov 29 19:08:19 1993
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From: cmeadows@nyx.cs.du.edu (Chris Meadows)
Subject: [AU] [Pitzar]  Morning; a Healing; a Desire Granted
Message-ID: <1993Nov29.025807.7156@mnemosyne.cs.du.edu>
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The following post should actually take place a few days ago,
Generican time.  It occurs the day after Jake was brought back
from the war, critically injured, and during the post in which
Jake is visited by several people.  I forget the post's name,
but if you've been keeping up with the thread, you know the one
I mean.
 
----------
 
    The next morning, when Andrea awoke, she was startled but not
TOO surprised to find Jay and Sheryl also sleeping in the room.
She smiled as she used all the stealthiness she possessed to
sneak out of the room without waking either of its other
occupants.
    As she was about to open the door back into the corridor,
Andrea noticed once again the two other doors in the room, doors
that had not been in the room in the Selactican Thieves' Guild
that this one was patterned after.  She wondered what was behind
them, and decided to find out.
    The first door led into a small, dark, cave-like area that
Andrea remembered quite well.  Jay's room, she thought.  Of
course.
    The other door opened onto a small room whose implements were
also quite familiar to Andrea--a lavatory.  "But we didn't have
one of those connected to our room in the Guild," she muttered.
She stepped in, let the door close behind her, glanced at the
full-length mirror on the inside of the door.  She looked rather
like something the cat had dragged in, she thought wryly.  Or
maybe the unicorn...  There was also a mirror over the counter
which had a small sink in it.
    Other features of the room included a shower/tub recessed
into the floor, a toilet, and a panel in the wall marked
"LAUNDRY."  Andrea chuckled.  They thought of everything, these
'kan.
    Locking the door, Andrea quickly stripped out of her clothes
(which she hadn't bothered to remove before falling into bed the
night before) and dumped them in the laundry chute.  "I hope that
however 'Raelf does the laundry knows how to take care of
leather."
    To Andrea's astonishment, the laundry chute spat the clothes
back out at her barely ten seconds later, fully cleaned, pressed,
with even the brass fittings and buckles polished and gleaming
brightly.  "More timebending, I guess," she thought with a
chuckle.  "Maybe I should have them set something like this up on
MY house."
    Thinking of her house sobered Andrea up for a minute.  She
still had that housestorming to plan, after all, and there was
this party just four days away.  She had a lot of stuff that
needed doing.
    But now was not the time to worry about that.  Now was the
time to relax and enjoy herself.  She hadn't had a proper hot
shower in she didn't know how long.  This was something she was
looking forward to.
    A half-hour later, she emerged and dressed, then went down to
breakfast with her hair bound up in a towel.  There was no one
else around, but there was plenty of food to be found.  As she
was just sitting down to eat, she heard the clip-clop of tiny
hooves, and looked up to see Sheryl trotting down the stairs.
"Oh, hi, Sheryl.  Where's Jay?"
    Yawning, drowsy, Sheryl made a half-incoherent noise that
sounded something like, "Whrffle nehgller mrpheeeee-ee-ee."  It
took Andrea a moment or two to translate this to, "Still'n bed."
    "I see.  Hungry?"  Sheryl nodded.  "Okay, let's see what
'Raelf and ar'Elya have to eat around here."  Besides the guests,
an inner voice (but not that or N'graytha) said.  Andrea told it
to shut up.
    "Hmm, this looks good," Andrea said, taking down a box from a
cabinet.  "It's something called 'Granola.'  Wonder what it
is...Oh, and here's something with your name on it.  Looks like
oats.  What do you think?"
    Sheryl nickered emphatically, so Andrea poured her a bowl
full of that, sprinkling a little granola on top at Sheryl's
insistence.  "You wanna see what it tastes like too, eh?"  She
grinned.
 
    After breakfast, Andrea and Sheryl left a note that would
tell Jay where they'd gone, or tell SOMEONE to tell Jay where
they'd gone in case Jay couldn't read (she'd never actually asked
him yet), then slipped out, walking down toward the Dragon's Inn
to see if anyone had answered the ad.
    -Did you have a good rest?-
    Andrea jumped.  She'd almost forgotten about N'graytha, the
spirit-unicorn who had taken up cohabitation in her body.
"Yes...yes, I did."  She took a deep breath, let it out.  "It's
good to be back.  I'm glad I'm going to be staying here for a
while."
    Sheryl looked quizzically at Andrea.  "It's just N'graytha,"
Andrea explained.  Sheryl nickered in understanding and trotted
on ahead.  She didn't care to listen to only one side of a
conversation.
    -Possibly longer than just "a while," considering your
investment.-
    "You mean the house?  Oh, yeah, that."  She chuckled.  "You
know, it's so BIG that I can't see what I'm going to DO with it
after all the traps are disarmed.  I'm not rich, by any stretch
of the imagination.  It'll cost a FORTUNE to keep that place up.
And spending my time pulling heists just so I can keep the hedges
trimmed is not my idea of the good life."
    -Perhaps you should find a way to make the house pay for
itself?-
    "That's a though, N'graytha...but I don't know how.  I can't
see myself running a boarding house or a hotel, and DEFINITELY
not a...um...well, you know."  For an instant, a picture of
herself dressed like Lady Ale flickered through her mind, and she
chortled at the incongruity.
    And then she stopped laughing when she realized that she
wasn't altogether sure whether that thought had been her own or
N'graytha's.  It scared her just a little bit.
 
    A few moments later, they reached the inn.  Andrea picked up
the notices that had been left for her.  One from someone named
Eowyn at the Nester's Inn, and another from someone named
Paladin--oh, no, wait, that was Palandun.  Hmm.
    "Hey, Rowan, could I have some paper and a pen?"
    Rowan Littlefair paused in wiping off a glass and came over.
"Certainly."  He reached under a counter and produced the
stationery.
    "Thanks."  Andrea wrote out a couple of notes, saying that
she would be at 'Raelf and ar'Elya's lighthouse for the next few
days, and giving brief directions on how to get there.  "Could
you have someone take this one to the Nester's Inn for me, and
get this to Palandun, wherever he's staying?"
    "I sure can," he said, taking the missives and putting them
in a safe place.  Andrea dropped a couple of gold coins on the
counter, unsure of what the proper gratuity was for this service
around here.  "Will there be anything else?"
    "Yes, I would like..."  Andrea paused, as if listening to
some internal voice.  "Oh, all right, I give," she sighed.  "No
alcohol.  Okay, give me...an iced tea, lightly sweetened, no
lemon.  Sheryl, you want anything?"  Sheryl shook her head, no.
"Okay."
    Littlefair got out a glass and served up the requested
beverage.  He didn't even shrug; if Andrea wanted to talk to
herself, well, he didn't have anything to say about it; he'd seen
far stranger patron behavior in his time.
    "Ah, thanks."  Andrea sat at the bar, sipping the drink,
while Sheryl stood around, looking faintly bored."  Then a
thought occurred to her.  "Do you have any back-issues of the
Generican Examiner?  I'd like to see what Jake Pitzar's been
writing about me."
    "Certainly, miss."  He lifted up a stack.  "Be careful, the
ink does tend to smear."
    "Thanks."  Andrea put another coin on the counter, then
picked up the stack and took them over to a table in a corner.
She took one seat, Sheryl hopped up on the one at the opposite
side of the table, and she started reading them aloud to Sheryl.
She read through the tale about the unicorn hunters, and then on
to the coverage of that war that was going on.  Jake was a good
writer, that was certain--his tales held a kind of poignancy that
was belied by his harsh exterior.
    Then she came to the last, most recent article.  Today's
paper, it seemed.  Jake had written of what was in the other
reporter's personal diary, and of the attack that followed.
There was a footnote to the effect that Jake had been gravely
wounded during the attack.
    "Gravely wounded, gravely wounded..." Andrea murmured, the
words taking a while to sink in.  Then, when they did, she jumped
up suddenly.  "We have to help him!" she gasped.  Sheryl nickered
her agreement, and N'graytha concurred.
    "Rowan, how does one get to the offices of the Examiner from
here?"
 
    Clyde stepped out of Old Man Heartwell's office.
    "Thank y'Sir, I'll do dat."  He hoisted a big bedroll filled
with the personal effects he had left here in the Examiner
offices, and went out into the bullpen, leaving 'Raf behind him.
    "So have you reconsidered?" 'Raf said, as soon as Clyde
closed the door.
    "No.  I won't do it.  My reporters can't send back the real
story if they aren't really there, in the thick of it, and if
they have one of these so-called escape clauses, they'll bail out
too soon, before they get the story."
    'Raf lashed his tail angrily.  "You know, I have half a mind
to take you out there and dump you in the middle of that damned
war."
    "Why don't you?"  Heartwell snapped, a challenging expression
on his face.
    'Raf's voice came out a low-pitched growl.  "Because you're
too soft."
    "What?"  Heartwell blinked.  "What are you talkin' about?"
    "I'm part satyr, remember?"  'Raf leaned over the desk, and
Heartwell leaned back involuntarily.  "I _feel_ what you feel,
old man.  I know that you were dead scared about the war.  I know
you sent reporters there because if the Merchants and the
Principality don't get their heads together and arm, this city is
going to fall in a few years, when the next damn war spreads this
far.  And I know you came one glass of bad bourbon away from
closing down this place when Jake Pitzar came back from that
disaster, with his mind half shot and his body leaking from a
half a dozen holes."
    Heartwell slumped in his chair.  'Raf continued.  "So I'm not
going to give you the free and easy way out, no cheap salvation,
no exculpation by fire.  You make up for the hurt you did to Jake
and to the one who went before him, by making damn sure that your
war never gets here."
    He paced over to the window, throwing the blackout curtain
back to let a few scant bars of sunlight into the room.  One of
the Printers Demons, a jet-black thing made out of shadows and
wires and with big yellow eyes, fell out of the curtain with a
silent squack.  It landed, looked at 'Raf and at Heartwell, and
ran out of the room through the wall, not even leaving an
inkstain to mark its passage.  'Raf grinned sharply.
    "And one more thing, Heartwell.  My brother Miro had a little
talk with your printers' demons.  They hang around here because
you're the first of your kind.  Generica needs you, Nexus needs
you.  These little demons, they're like your own personal
collection of greasy inky muses.  You listen to them, Heartwell.
They _know_ when the story is too important, when the cost in
lives is worth it, they operate on their own set of morals, the
little bastards.  And they also know when someone's willing to
die for a story.  They never brought anyone back like they did
Jake, but they will be now, when you send someone in too deep.
    "And they're merciless, Heartwell.  They'll use you up, burn
you out, and when you die screaming they'll use your greasy inky
soul to incubate one of their eggs, and you'll go with 'em to the
next place where they find another newspaper man who'll sell his
soul to the morning news.  That's your own personal heaven and
your own personal hell, old man.  It's your own heart's deepest
desire, to be a part of this news game forever, and I hereby
grant it."
    Heartwell felt something cold and familiar in his hand, and
looked down. There was his name, reversed in linotype.  He stared
at it, unseeing and seeing, for a moment, then put it on the
desk.  'Raf was gone out the door, but he didn't care.  He had
paste-up to finish, and that story he got from that Clyde kid
needed some rewrite.
 
    Out in the Bullpen, 'Raf found Clyde talking to one of the
reporters. "C'mon, kid, we gotta go stop by an' visit Jake."
    Clyde waved a goodbye and followed on four muffled hooves.
Jake looked really awful, wasted-thin and with an ugly jaundiced
color.  Andrea and Sheryl were there, the glow of Unicorn healing
pushing hard at the magic poisons that had set in the reporter's
wounds.  After a few minutes the yellow-grey receded from the
worst of the injuries.
    'Raf waited a while for them to finish, and when they were
done, he fell in behind them as they draggled out of the room.
Andrea didn't seem to notice them and Sheryl even seemed
oblivious, so 'Raf signalled to Clyde and they followed, not
speaking, as they went outside.  After a moment Andrea jumped,
and whirled to see the two following them.
    "How long have you been there?" she demanded.
    "Just got here," 'Raf lied, projecting innocence.  "Wanna
stop for a bite at Nesters Inn?  You look really dragged."
    Andrea yawned.  "Okay, sure, why not?  And afterward..."  She
yawned.  "...afterward, we'll be returning to the lighthouse for
a nap."
    "Sounds fair to me.  Let's go."  And they left together.
 
    A little later, Andrea and Sheryl walked back through the
lighthouse gate, weary but satisfied.  She, Sheryl, and N'graytha
had healed the majority of Jake Pitzar's wounds, and she had even
spoken to him briefly.  Now all he needed was a few days of rest.
She had left him a note explaining where she was staying, and
inviting him to come out and see her when he was fully recovered.
    "I never knew that healing could be so TIRING," Andrea
sighed.
    Sheryl nickered her agreement.  "The wounds were really bad,"
she said.
    "Well, come on.  Bed's waiting for us, and Jay's probably
anxious about you."  And so they walked up to the door together,
and entered the lighthouse.
--
Chris Meadows  | "My parents became Cyberpunks and all they left me
CHM173S@SMSVMA | was this dark future..." --CYBERGENERATIONS blurb
CHM173S@VMA.SMSU.EDU   | "I'd kill for a new Thundergod.  In fact,
CMEADOWS@NYX.CS.DU.EDU | I think I will." --GoGanger, CYBERGENERATIONS