Sit at the bar

If the Compliance Spell is truly on its last legs, Xabar realizes that forcing a conversation with Mrs. Peterson isn’t the best of options. Instead, he follows her out of the kitchen and returns to his stool at the bar, biding his time until the woman is less distracted.

He starts to take Blake up on his invitation to sit with him, but when he turns his attention toward his acquaintance, he can see that Blake is engaged in an earnest conversation with another of the tavern’s patrons. Xabar isn’t feeling particularly sociable right now, anyway. He takes a seat at the bar and motions to the bartender for a drink.

“I told ya we’re outta Scotch,” says the bartender, not bothering to try to hide his irritation. “Besides, you’re just a lad, anyway. Why don’t you go drink from your mama’s tit and come back when you have a hair or two on your balls?”

Xabar is about to tell the bartender a few things involving the bartender’s mother. Those words would likely have resulted in Xabar losing not only the hair on his balls but also his balls, as well. Fortunately, his retort is interrupted as the other patron draws the bartender’s attention away from him.

Xabar glances at the man who appears to be oblivious to the fact that Xabar took his ale from him. He is a mousey-looking fellow, roughly the same size as Xabar but nearly twice as old. He is wearing traveling clothes and has a large satchel sitting on the floor next to him. Xabar leans in to listen to his conversation with the bartender.

“Look, I’ve told ya that I’m not the local Tourist Bureau. If you don’t know where you’re going, you never should have let go of your mama’s apron strings,” says the bartender, who apparently has the same lack of charm with all patrons and evidently has some mother issues, as well. “Now are you gonna place an order, or shall I show you the door?”

The man nods absently and retrieves a small notebook from his pocket and flips through the pages hurriedly. He gives the appearance of someone who has looked everywhere for something important and is just going through the motions of checking again.

Sensing an opportunity, Xabar scoots over to the adjacent stool and says, “You appear to be in distress. Anything I can do to help?” The bartender sets a large ale down in front of the man. Xabar takes it and says to the bartender, “Another for my friend, here.”

The man looks up at Xabar, blinks distractedly, and mops his forehead with a handkerchief. Xabar can tell from his glassy eyes and the whiff of fumes from his breath that he has had more than a couple of drinks already.

“Oh, I do hope so,” says the man. “Do you happen to know where St. Althea’s School is? this man here is no help whatsoever, and I have gotten completely lost.”

“St. Althea’s?” responds Xabar. “I’m afraid you’re in the wrong town, my friend.” He drains the mug of ale, swaps mugs with the man, and motions to the bartender for refills. “Besides, if your daughter is a student there, you’re not going to be able to visit her until the spring recess. They have a very strict policy about allowing men on the premises.”

Xabar does not volunteer that he learned that the hard way. St. Althea’s School is an all-girls preparatory academy in the neighboring town of Rothschilde. He and Xabar attempted to pay a visit last year and nearly got castrated by the headmistress when they accidentally crawled through the window to the wrong room in the middle of the night.

“The wrong town?” says the distressed man. “Oh dear! I’m supposed to start tomorrow as a visiting professor. How far away is it?”

Xabar’s mind is already racing, despite the growing warmth of the **** that is infusing his brain. “Visiting professor? At an all-girls school? Is that a thing?”

“It’s a new initiative,” the man answers, mopping his forehead again. “The Board of Governors is concerned that the girls are too naive and **** when they leave the school because they have never interacted with men. In addition to teaching them academically, I am to prepare them for the proper way for ladies to interact with gentlemen in society.”

Xabar can barely hide his contempt as he looks at the man. “This guy is going to prepare them?” he thinks to himself. “I’ve seen more testosterone in a prepubescent naked mole rat!” At the same time, an idea forms in his head.

“Not to worry, my friend,” he says, slapping the man on the back. “You’re not far and can be there in plenty of time to lead those innocent, pure, virginal darlings into womanhood.” He motions to the bartender. “How much do we owe you, my good man?”

The bartender scowls at Xabar and says, “That’ll be 8 and a half krönaks between the two of you.”

Xabar makes a show of reaching into his pocket when his companion says, “Oh, no! Please. Allow me.” He pulls out his pocketbook, withdraws the money, and hands it to the bartender. He steps unsteadily from his stool and reaches for his satchel.

Xabar stands and offers a supporting arm to the man to steady him. “You’re so kind, my friend. Will you at least allow me to cover the tip?” He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a pocketbook that coincidentally looks just like the one used by his new friend. At least, it would be a coincidence if Xabar hadn’t used his offer of assistance as an opportunity to reach into the man’s pocket and withdraw the pocketbook for himself.

“You’re so kind,” says the man, wobbling a bit unsteadily. Xabar makes a show of pulling a generous amount of currency out of the pocketbook and setting it on the bar for a tip. As the man takes his satchel and starts toward the door, Xabar looks to confirm that the bartender is looking the other way before snatching up the tip money and returning it his newly-acquired pocketbook.

As Xabar and the man move toward the exit, he spots Glynda carrying a try of dirty dishes.

“You wouldn’t happen to know when the next stagecoach to Shacklefürth leaves, would you?” he asks.

“Shacklefürth? Why, it’s loading up right now,” she answers, looking through the window. “You’re not leaving are you? Shacklefürth is a three-days’ journey from here.”

“I’ll be right back,” Xabar says, giving Glynda a quick kiss before returning to his **** companion. He takes his friend by the elbow and guides him through the door to the awaiting stagecoach.

“You’re in luck,” Xabar says. “This stagecoach will take you straight to St. Althea’s. Go get in line. I’ll get your ticket.”

The man takes his spot as indicated, and Xabar gets the attention of one of the attendants. Pulling a gold piece from the pocketbook, he slips it into the attendant’s hand. “That man over there will need some special attention,” he says. “He’s my uncle, and we’re sending him to the hospital in Shacklefürth for some treatment.”

“The Shacklefürth Institute for Kooks, Freaks, and Ne’er-do-Wells?” asks the attendant. “Is he dangerous?”

“Oh no… He’s just a little funny in the head,” Xabar says, reassuringly. “He suffers from delusions. His latest one is that he has been hired to be a teacher at St. Althea’s School.”

The attendant shakes his head sadly. “The poor man! If such a position existed, every male in the Kingdom would be lining up to take the job! He’s definitely off his lid!”

Xabar gets the attendant’s assurance that he will take good care of his “uncle” and hand him over to the proper folks at Shacklefürth.

Xabar returns to the man, just as the passengers begin to board the stagecoach. “I have made all the arrangements,” he says. “I got you a nice, comfortable seat, so I recommend you just close your eyes and get some rest. In the morning, you’ll be educating the bustling bosoms — I mean, the bright minds — of St. Althea’s.”

“I can’t thank you enough, my young friend,” says the man, reaching for his satchel. Xabar takes it from his hand and says, “Not at all. And please allow me to take care of this. I will check it in with the attendant.”

The man begins to express more gratitude, but it is time for him to enter the stagecoach. Xabar gives him one last wave before walking toward the attendant. “Would you like to check your uncle’s bag for you, sir?” he asks.

“No thank you,” responds Xabar. “This one stays with me.” He steps back to the front of the tavern and watches as the stagecoach departs, going exactly the opposite direction from St. Althea’s School.

As the stagecoach passes from view, he hears the announcement: “The stagecoach to Rotheschilde will depart in 30 minutes.”

Xabar looks toward the tavern door and remembers his promise to Glynda that he would be right back.