IT'S A NANOWRIMO IT SUCKS IT HASN'T EVEN GONE ANYWHERE YET
Derrick opened his eyes. He was stuck to something. Further investigation revealed this thing to be a bar. Bars meant drinks. He could use one right now. Really, really badly.
The dark-haired young man peeled himself off the bar?s alcohol-stained surface and waved a languid arm at the bartender, who ignored him. Derrick wondered about this for a moment, concluding that it may have had something to do with the fact that the man was facing away from him. He called ?Bartender?, but it came out more ?Burmurrr?. Either way, the man turned around. Interesting that he would respond to ?Burmurrr?, Derrick noted, forgetting what he was going to say as the beefy man glared at him.
?What??
The young man had to stop and think about this new query ? everything kept changing on him, this was ridiculous. He needed a drink. Right! ?A drin,?? Derrick slurred.
The bartender eyed him sourly. ?I think you?ve had quite enough, lad. And it?s closing time asides.?
?Closin? time?? Derrick tried to wrap his head around this. ?Bu?...it?s no? even-?
?Aye, it is, and more besides. You?ve been out for maybe a couple hours.? The bartender shelved the bottles in front of him, closed and locked the heavy wooden cabinets, and turned back around, gesturing to the empty establishment. ?It?s closing time, lad. Be off with you.?
Derrick tried to come up with an argument about this when he found himself being gently led to the door. ?And heaven help you if you puke on my door, lad.? Said door then closed in his face, as he tried to remember why it was that he needed another drink so badly. Recollection stirred, sluggishly at first. It had been a bad day at work...work...work...
Recollection turned out to have a mean right hook.
Work indeed. Master Thalos had fired him. He was a dead man walking. Derrick contemplated breaking down the door to find something to drink, suicide, and just passing out in equal measure. Master Thalos was one of, if not the single most respected blacksmiths here in Bavandir. Being apprenticed to him was a fantastic opportunity, one that he and his parents had worked long and hard to earn. But today, Master Thalos had done his monthly inspection, and had essentially thrown him out. What was the phrasing? Oh yes. ?The shoddiest work to ever enter this workshop.? Lovely. Derrick kicked at the wall mulishly. He wasn?t that bad, just...just not good enough. Suddenly he felt sick, and the alcohol had nothing to do with it. Well, almost nothing.
Being cut loose of a guild Master basically meant Derrick was a dead smith who?d never work again in the capital, possibly never anywhere in Bavandir at all. Ironically, this meant he likely could work a passable trade in another country, like the neighboring Piran, but gone up in flames (and drink) were all his dreams of being a respected master himself. With the way commerce worked now, even the lowliest journeyman could travel and make a greater name for himself. He?d never get to present his masterpiece, never be inducted into the guild formally. Derrick kicked the wall again. All because some trumped-up old man with rich customers said he wasn?t good enough. Well, the hell with that! Tomorrow he?d find someone who would appreciate him, someone who knew good craftsmanship when he saw it and not only when it had the right frills and touches! ?Yeah!? Derrick pounded the wall several times, nearly falling over.
It was late, and he needed to get back to his lodgings. Derrick supposed he was lucky, having his own place to stay rather than housing with the guild apprentices, as he technically no longer was one. It was smaller, and less comfortable, but having a place of his own was a comfort all of itself. The apprentice shoved himself away from the building, caught his balance, if barely, and lurched down the cobbled road towards home. It was late, the bartender was right. Slivers of moonlight stabbed down between the thatch and slate roofs of the houses around here, casting everything in pale silver or shadow. Everything like that cart rolling at him.
Wait. Full stop.
Derrick turned. There was indeed a cart coming at him, horses pulling it, heavy stuff, driver nodding off. The cart was closing alarmingly fast with him. Derrick knew he should move, the little voice in his head screaming insistently at him even as his feet locked into place and his mouth opened to scream. Time slowed to a crawl as the cart closed to mere feet away. He noted all the tiny details ? the blaze of white on the right horse?s head, the way its foot hit the ground (that was a shoddy horseshoe right there) the bump as the cart hit a missing cobblestone, and the simple fact that he was about to be killed by a godsdamned cart of all things.
Something within him snapped. Even as the cart closed to within inches, he felt a burst of feeling ? rage, fear, determination ? bubble within him, swell to a fountain and blast through his body. He dove backwards, away from the cart, somersaulting to his feet and running. The feeling of energy, of pure life, was at odds with the drunkenness, and probably contributed to him running face-first into a wall.
A few moments later, when the stars had stopped dancing around him in a line and singing a rude song about barmaids, Derrick climbed back to his unsteady feet and looked around. He was in an alley between a couple of small shops, all the way at the back. Which was odd, because he could have sworn he?d only taken a few steps to the side out of the way of the cart; long steps, and he was tall and with a long stride, but still not enough to be back here. Maybe he?d been mugged and dumped here while insensible? Derrick felt for his coin purse frantically, sighing with relief when he found it before freezing with the realization that he no longer had any income, and the rent was due next week. He shoved that thought to the back of his mind ? there were more important things afoot.
The ex-apprentice gingerly walked towards the front of the alley, where a small shrub lay shredded. From the looks of it, someone or something had torn through the shrub at a considerable pace, tearing branches and leaves and scattering them within the mouth of the alley. Derrick looked around surreptitiously before squatting down, feeling the leaves and splintered twigs.
What had just happened? He shivered, staring at the bush, and realized it was getting cold. Autumn was just setting in here in Bavandir, and all he?d do starting at a bush would be catching something nasty. Derrick hustled back to his lodgings, looking over his shoulder at the wrecked shrubbery as he went. The place was dark and quiet, and he let himself into his room, suddenly overcome with exhaustion. He had just the presence of mind to lock the door and kick off his boots before he collapsed on his bed and darkness swallowed him.
Derrick awoke to the light of judgment blasting him with holy wrath for his sins. He shrieked in pain and tried to roll away. This, while getting his eyes out of the direct sunlight coming in through the window, had the effect of him rolling out of bed, where he smashed his already throbbing head against the floor. Clearly, today was not worth getting up for. Derrick lay on the floor, swearing inventively for several minutes, before dragging himself upright by the nightstand. There was a mug, half-full of water there. He didn?t know how long it had been there and didn?t care.
Half a mug of stale water later, the world ? or at least his room ? swam into focus. Miss Collins, the landlady, had strong views about alcohol and drunkenness, and probably wasn?t pleased with him now. On the other hand, Derrick rarely went overboard with his drinking and handled his alcohol well, so maybe she?d be more tolerant for a first offense. Plus, if it was early enough, he could just head back out and she?d be none the wiser about last night.
Speaking of early, it was late, wasn?t it...Derrick looked at the sunlight streaming through the dirty windowpanes with a sinking feeling. Midmorning, by the look of it. Master Thalos would-
Recollection turned out to have a vicious one-two punch as well. Derrick groaned aloud. He was dead. Doomed. Hopeless. A shell of a man, doomed to obscurity. He?d never make it big. He?d never make it at all.
Some days, it really didn?t pay to get out of bed. But his treacherous memory, already having administered a proper beatdown, didn?t seem to be finished with him, kicking his mind in the ribs for attention. Something else...something not hopeless. Something that might mean he was more than a failure or a reject. Derrick?s mind, while not precisely racing, began actively working again as memory filled in the adventure from last night. The cart, the shrub, the momentary burst of energy and adrenaline in the face of death or at least severe maiming. Derrick needed to make sense out of all this...and something for his pounding head. Fortunately, he knew someone who could help with both.
The ex-apprentice smith jammed his feet into his boots ? take that, getting undressed! ? and clomped down the stairs, right past Miss Collins, who sniffed at him. Miss Collins was a woman of late middle-age, with salt-and-pepper hair pulled up into a severe bun and a humorless expression. She ran a fairly tight ship with her boarders, though, and for the most part Derrick felt lucky to have his accommodations here, but for now he really wasn?t in the mood to deal with her, so he waved and mumbled ?Morning? to her on his way out the door.
Today?s amble into the sunlight (Derrick cursed as pain flared in his head again; behind him, Miss Collins huffed, affronted) took him to one of the nicer districts of Bavandir. Known as the Scholars? Way, the area was two concentric circular streets where many of the educated and respected craftsmen of the city held their shops. Scribes, apothecaries, historians, healers and more called the Scholars? Way home. The place was well-kept and largely clean; no beggars were allowed on the Way, and several men were hired to sweep the streets clean each morning and evening. But then, the men who worked here could afford to pay for such menial tasks ? in an age of limited literacy and education, where few could read or write, the scribes were highly respected. Derrick angled himself towards a particular establishment, whose small, slightly battered sign read ?Corder?s Scrivenings?. He tried the door, which was locked. Derrick sighed and pounded on the thick oak door. ?Open the bloody door, Corder!? A passerby gave him an odd look ? but then, Derrick was an odd sight here. His clothes were still soot-stained from his work in the forges yesterday (well, no need to worry about that anymore, hah) and made of coarse linen, a far cry from most of the clientele that frequented the Way, and the sizable lump on his head did nothing to detract from a ruffian appearance. His dark hair was tangled and unkempt, and probably still had some alcohol gummed into it, his dark brown eyes were bloodshot and sunken, and he smelled like a combination of smoke, metal, drink, and things he?d rather not contemplate.
The hell with it and the hell with you, Derrick growled mentally. He smashed his heavy fists against the door a few more times. ?Damn it all, Corder, open up! I don?t care what kind of insanity you?ve gotten yourself mired in or how much of the shop you?ve set on fire this time-? He paused to sniff the air, which thankfully remained free of smoke. ?If I have to break your door off its hinges again, I will, don?t think I won?t-?
The latch cracked slightly, and an eye appeared in the crack. ?Derrick?! Aren?t you supposed to be at work??
Derrick responded by shoving the door open as far as it would go, which turned out to be not very far at all, as a chain connected to the doorframe arrested the movement. The man on the other side of the door laughed. ?Yeah, I added that after the last time you broke my door down, Derrick. A little patience goes a long way. Here, I?ll let you in.? There was a rattling noise and the chain withdrew. ?Come on in.?
Derrick came in and promptly punched the occupant, knocking him into an armchair on the side of the store. ?Huh, turns out you?re right. A little patience goes a long way towards me punching you, you smug little turnip.? He grinned. ?So what are you up to, Owyn??
The man pushed himself out of the chair and shook his head. ?Next time I?m extracting a promise of nonviolence before I let you in here.? Owyn Corder was a slender young man, in his early twenties, and the two were the same age and fast friends from childhood. While dark-haired, dark-eyed Derrick had pursued martial arts and developed a burgeoning interest in making the weapons himself, the fair-haired, blue-eyed Owyn had busied himself with books. Every book he could get his hands on, he devoured. Derrick was literate, and considered himself reasonably intelligent, but always felt a little short-changed whenever he spoke with Owyn these days. Not least because Owyn had moved up in the world, and was now a Journeyman of the Scribes? Guild, while he was ? ironic, the turn of the phrase ? a mere Apprentice smith. Owyn also had a tendency to explore, analyze, catalogue and create things. His current project was an extended foray into alchemy, though Owyn always sniffed when people called it that. ?I am not an alchemist,? he?d insist. ?I am a chemist. Alchemy is a mythical art that tries to create things that don?t exist and is based on superstition and nonsense. I work on breaking things down and building them back up in different ways, that?s all. Anyone could do it, really.? Derrick sighed. That was Owyn in a nutshell. ?Anyone could do it,? when it was clear and obvious that his friend had a real gift in his analytic, brilliant mind.
At the moment, his analytic, brilliant friend was hooking the chain back up to the frame. ?Don?t need any interruptions today. People will just have to come back later, or find another scribe, there?s plenty of them.? Owyn snapped the latch closed and beckoned to Derrick. ?Come on, have a look at today?s project! It?s quite the doozy, if I say so myself!? He laughed delightedly. Shaking his head, Derrick followed him into the back room of the shop, where the scribe had several twisted glass monstrosities set up. ?Watch.? Owyn picked up a small vial with a clear fluid in it and poured it into a pot with a yellow powder. Within moments, the pot started to smoke. Owyn deftly swirled the contents of the pot around, and the smoke thickened. Derrick coughed uncomfortably.
?Owyn, look-?
?Just a moment more!? The smoke began to thin, and dissipated moments afterwards, leaving behind an unpleasant smell. ?Look!? Owyn brandished the pot, which now contained a small amount of a blue fluid.
?Um. Great.?
?Isn?t it?!? Owyn skipped over to a countertop and laid the pot to rest. ?That?ll be a perfect batch of sulfates. I?m thinking of a lot of things I can do with those. Anyway!? He waved back to the front room, where the two found chairs and Owyn brought out a pitcher of water. ?So, what?s the story? You look like hell, Derrick.?
?I feel like it too,? Derrick mumbled. He took another drink. It didn?t help much. ?First off, what do you have for a headache??
?Ah.? Owyn?s eyes gleamed for a moment. ?How bad??
?Like my head?s my forge.?
?You?re making a sword out of it??
?No, you idiot, it?s pounding and feels like it?s on fire. Do you have anything or not??
?Do I have anything?? Owyn pulled himself up, mock offense on his face. ?I can?t believe you?d even ask me that. I thought we were friends.?
?We?re about to be mortal enemies if you don?t get it out right bloody now,? Derrick growled. Owyn laughed again as he rummaged through some bottles, finally finding the one he wanted. He walked back over to the table, unstoppering the small bottle and grabbing a tiny cup as he did.
?Here,? Owyn said, pouring the tiny cup full of another mysterious liquid, this one green and smelling of mint and fennel. ?This ought to help.? Derrick took the cup, nodded thanks, and downed it in one gulp. He gagged.
?This...is vile, Owyn! Can?t you do anything about the taste, for gods? sakes?!? Derrick coughed a few times.
Owyn shrugged. ?Last time it was the smell, now it?s the taste. Make up your blasted mind, Talen.?
?Last time it was both!? Derrick downed his cup of water and poured himself another. ?Why would you fix the smell and not the taste??
?Smell was easier. I just added a few leaves to the mix. Plus I know some people who swear by mint tea for headaches. It?s never worked for me, but I figured-?
Derrick groaned again. ?Enough! Enough! I?m sorry I asked!? He held out his hands disarmingly. ?You?ve made your point!?
?Well, no, I haven?t. See, mint is actually-?
?Shut up!? Derrick howled. ?Maybe if you weren?t so busy with your bloody sulfites you?d-?
?Actually, these were sulfates, see-?
?Gods damn it, Owyn Corder, I don?t care if they?re sulfates, sulfites, sulfides or sultans! I couldn?t care less if mint is related to the rare bonga-bonga leaf! I came in with a headache and a question, and now all I?ve gotten out of you is a worse one!?
Owyn grinned. ?A worse headache, or a worse question??
And then Derrick threw his mug at him.
A few minutes later, when they?d cleaned up the pieces and Owyn had found a compress to hold to the rapidly rising lump on his head and a new mug for Derrick, the two sat back down. ?Alright, Derrick, what?s your all-important question that?s got you hung over, surly, destructive, and missing work?? Owyn rubbed his head again, wincing. ?I do hope it?s a good one.?
Derrick hesitated. Suddenly, in Owyn?s carefully arranged workshop and the bright light of day, what he was about to say sounded absurd at best, verging on deranged. ?Well...see, last night, on my way home...something happened.? He ran a hand through his untidy hair restlessly. ?Something weird.?
?Well, don?t just leave me hanging in suspense,? Owyn said dryly. ?What, where, when??
Derrick waved his arms vaguely. ?Well, I was walking back from the Black Stallion late last night. It was dark, and I was...um...kind of smashed.?
?No kidding,? Owyn snickered.
?Shut it,? Derrick growled, hefting the new mug they?d gotten out.
?You know, I only have so many of those. They don?t grow on trees or anything.?
?Well then you?d best shut it with the wisecracks, or you?ll be running out right quick,? the smith said, taking another draught of the water. ?Anyway, where was I??
?Smashed.?
?Owyn!?
?What? That?s what you were up to! It was dark and you were drunk enough that your brains were dribbling out your ears. Dare I ask why, by the way?? The scribe gave him a sidelong look, which somehow managed to be penetrating. Derrick shrugged uncomfortably.
?Not the point right now. Right. I was on my way home, and I wasn?t paying a lot of attention to where I was going, and...well, I almost got flattened by a cart.? The smith awkwardly scratched at the back of his neck. ?And...it was just about to hit me and then...I just, I don?t know, flew out of the way. It was crazy, man.?
?Flew?? Owyn arched an eyebrow at him. ?What do you mean, flew??
?I...? Derrick shifted in the chair. ?There was this moment where everything sort of froze on me, and then I...I just felt this explosion of energy inside me. You know, kind of like your lab, last week.?
?Was that really called for?? Owyn sighed.
?Yes,? Derrick said, smiling. ?Anyway, there was this rush, this burst of life, and then I just dashed out of the way.?
?Alright.? Owyn looked at him questioningly. ?And??
?And this is where it gets bloody weird,? Derrick said. ?The next thing I know, I?m smashing into the wall of the alley. The back wall.?
?I don?t quite see how-? Owyn began
?It was around 40 feet from where I was standing to the back wall there, but I hit it full force,? Derrick continued, determined to get the whole story ? now sounding more and more implausible ? into the open. ?I only ran about four or five steps. That should have gotten me to the mouth of the alley, maybe. Not smashing my face into the back wall.? He rubbed a hand over said face, wincing at the sizeable lump on his forehead.
?Um...? Owyn began. ?I don?t know how to put this, but...is it possible you just...you know, imagined some of this? I mean...? Owyn waved his arms vaguely. ?You were drunk as all hell, you admit it. Couldn?t you have just, I don?t know, blanked out on the running??
?I suppose,? Derrick admitted grudgingly, ?but I?m pretty damned sure I didn?t. Plus, there was also that surge of energy.?
Owyn waved a hand dismissively. ?That?s a well-documented phenomenon. When people are in danger, they often experience momentary surges of energy and strength. It?s called, oh...right, adrenaline.? Owyn sighed. ?You had me going for a moment there.?
?No, look,? Derrick said, exasperated. ?I know I was...out of it, but I?m telling you I know what happened. I tore off so fast I ripped this shrub to pieces and rammed into the wall!?
?Wait, what shrub? You never mentioned any shrub,? Owyn frowned. ?Proof would help. Where was this??
Derrick hesitated. ?You know...um...on the way back from the Black Stallion.?
Owyn?s mouth quirked into a wry smile. ?You have no idea, in other words.?
?I was a little preoccupied at the time!? The smith rose from his seat and started pacing along the walls of the shop. ?Almost getting killed tends to do that to you!?
?Yes. It does,? Owyn murmured. ?Thus, my point.?
?Alright then, how about we go have a look? If you see this bush, will that convince you?? Derrick started pacing faster, an agitated note entering his words. Owyn raised his hands placatingly.
?All right, all right! We?ll go take a look. Okay?? When Derrick nodded abruptly, the scribe sighed. ?This isn?t like you, Derrick. What?s going on??
?Nothing,? Derrick replied, but he didn?t meet his friend?s eyes. ?Come on, let?s go. Get this bloody contraption open, Corder.?
Shaking his head and hiding a smile, Owyn complied, unhooking the chain from the brace on the door. ?Shame it?s only good from the inside. I need a better way to stop people from coming in once I?ve left the shop,? he remarked, opening the door. Derrick pushed past him roughly, waving for him to hurry up. ?Of course, days like these, I find I?d rather stay in,? he muttered. What the bloody hell was Derrick playing at?
?What the bloody hell are you playing at?? Owyn glared at his friend. ?This is getting ridiculous.? An hour had come and gone. The sun was out in full force, and Owyn?s shirt was sticking to his back. They?d roamed from street to street with no frame of reference other than the shrub, which they so far had failed to find, and Owyn was losing patience. Investigating a drunk?s misremembered ramblings was not how he had planned on spending the day.
Derrick, in contrast, was growing more and more irritated, tetchy, and ? did he dare say it ? desperate? This didn?t make sense to Owyn. But then, there was obviously more going on than Derrick was letting on ? he didn?t have the time to be traipsing about aimlessly either. His master was probably fuming at this point. Derrick should have been back in the smithy, getting prepared for the trials to advance to Journeyman status ? he?d been in the guild long enough, if only just, and was more than decent at his craft. So what was he doing out here?
The pair turned another corner, showing yet another shrubless street. Owyn sank back against the whitewashed wall. ?That?s it. We?re wasting our time out here, Talen.?
Derrick spun around, a wide-eyed, agonized, pleading look on his face. ?No ? look ? I?m sure it?s around here, it?s really close by. Come on,? he pressed. ?Just...just five more minutes, alright??
?You said that twenty minutes ago, Derrick. Let it go,? Owyn said. He hesitated for a moment, then continued. ?Let?s at least stop and get something to eat, alright? My treat.?
The smith ran his hands through his hair again, a nervous habit of his, and finally nodded. ?Very well...? The dejected look was almost comical ? like someone had kicked a small puppy ? and utterly out of place on Derrick?s face.
Owyn led the way around another corner to a haunt of theirs, the Hearty Haunch. Many a time had the sign, which depicted the hindquarters of a boar, been defaced, and these days unless you already knew that name of the place you?d never figure it out. Owyn opened the door to the eatery, holding it for his friend, who had stopped, and was staring at...
?Oh. Well then,? Owyn said, nonplussed.
?There! That?s it!? Derrick was practically shouting with relief. ?I told you it was around here, I told you!? The smith skipped across the street towards a small bush, which had been wrecked by something tearing through it. ?This is the one. I just ripped through it last night and went right into that alley there.? He indicated the alley between the two buildings. ?See how far it is??
?Yes, Derrick, I see. Hold on.? Owyn made his way over to his friend, kneeling down by the bush. Something had definitely torn through it, but...Owyn frowned and stood, heading to the back of the alley. There were footsteps leading back to the wall, and a scuffed portion of the mud must have been where Derrick had fallen, insensible. ?Alright, Derrick, I can see that you went in here, but...?
?But? You still don?t believe me?? There was aching hurt in his friend?s voice.
?Look, I?d love nothing more than to believe you, but you haven?t shown me anything that couldn?t just have been you being drunk and getting lucky.? Owyn winced as he said this, watching Derrick?s expression. There was probably a better way of phrasing that, now that he thought about it.
?No, look. I?m certain of what happened last night. I mean...? Derrick raised his arms and then dropped them, frustrated. ?I know I was drunk, but the feeling, and the speed, I?m telling you, Owyn, they were real!?
?Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?? Owyn winced again, harder. Derrick opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Owyn shook his head ruefully. ?Look, how about this? We?ll go back to the Haunch, get something inside us, and then head back to my shop and keep talking? We?ve seen what we came to see, and it?s pretty clear neither of us is going to get any work done today.?
For some reason, this only seemed to wind Derrick up further, but he nodded. ?Alright, food, and then we?re going to get to the bottom of this. And you?re paying.?
?If I hadn?t already said I would...? Owyn laughed and shook his head. ?Honestly, Talen, what the hell am I to do with you??
Some food and drink later, Owyn was much more charitably inclined towards his friend as they entered his shop again. There was a note on the floor addressed to him, which he laid on the side ? probably another job ? along with the extra food he?d grabbed while they were at the Haunch. Derrick walked in after him and closed the door. ?Don?t bother with the chain, there?s hardly a point now,? Owyn said. ?Have a seat ? again ? and let?s talk.?
The two took chairs, and Derrick rubbed his hands together. ?Alright, Owyn, what do you want to know??
?Well, first off ? you?re absolutely certain about what happened last night?? Owyn rolled his sleeves up and got a piece of parchment and a pen.
?Well...pretty much, yes.? Derrick squirmed slightly in his chair.
?Pretty much doesn?t cut it,? Owyn shot back. ?If you?ve imagined this, then there?s little point in wasting any more time on it.?
?All right, all right!? Derrick snapped, nettled. ?Yes, I?m sure!?
?Okay then. Describe it, again, in detail.? As the smith did so, Owyn took down a careful account of his friend?s story, marking a few details as important. When he?d finished, Owyn laid down the pen and studied his friend, who looked back at him, his expression unreadable.
?Well? What do you think?? Derrick asked.
What did he think? The simplest answer was that Derrick was bloody mad. The second was that he was drunk last night and mad today. He liked those answers. They made sense in the world and the world continued to make sense with them. The alternatives were decidedly more...hazy. Owyn disliked hazy. He was happy when things were clear, defined, and predictable. That was why he enjoyed chemistry. ?Well...? he began. He shook himself mentally. This was no time to mess around. ?The simplest explanation is that you were drunk and carried a few sensations too far. But-? he continued hurriedly, as Derrick opened his mouth to protest, ?if you?re certain of what happened last night, that changes things. You could be onto something...incredible,? he finished, uncertainly.
?And if I am?? Derrick pressed the point.
He wanted to howl ?I don?t know!? He wanted to pin Derrick bloody Talen to a wall and beat this foolishness out of him. Owyn sighed. ?If you are...then we need to start testing it out.? What was he getting himself into? ?But the first test, and always the most important, is reproducibility. If you can?t do this again, the whole point is moot, buddy.? He steepled his fingers in front of him, thinking. ?Of course, the easiest way to do this is to recreate the circumstances.?
?You mean get me drunk and chuck me in front of a cart again??
?Actually, yes,? Owyn said, smiling. ?Though if this were some kind of latent power rising to the surface, I?d highly doubt it would have anything to do with being drunk. More likely, it responded to you being placed in danger-?
?Suddenly I don?t like this plan very much at all.? Derrick folded his arms. ?I don?t know what kind of methodology you?re using, but I draw the line when it involves me getting killed if you?re wrong, Owyn.?
The scribed shrugged. ?Well, do you have any better ideas? Can you do this at will, or was it just a fluke? Or maybe, just maybe, you were drunk and imagined it.?
Derrick?s face flushed. ?I?m telling you, Owyn, it was real!?
Owyn spread his arms. ?As much as I?d love to believe you, we don?t have any proof. The simplest explanation, and the one that all the facts but an indistinct feeling of yours point to, is a bit of tricky memory and alcohol and adrenaline all combining to give us an unbelievable scenario. Look,? he continued, as Derrick?s expression turned mutinous, ?if we can prove it, I?m behind you, one hundred percent. But until we can, well...what do you want me to do??
The smith put his face in his hands, rubbing at his eyes. Gods, he was tired. ?I don?t know. Prove it, I suppose.?
?Then, again, reproducing it is the first step,? Owyn said. ?Do you have any idea how you did...what you did??
?Not really. It just sort of...happened.?
?Well, do you think you could make it just sort of happen again??
?Damn it, Owyn, I don?t know!? Derrick snarled.
?How about trying, then?? Owyn shot back, annoyed. ?Just sitting here snapping at me isn?t going to do it!?
Derrick threw his arms in the air helplessly. ?Well, what do you want me to try??
Owyn sat down heavily. ?I don?t...all right, let me think.? He rubbed his temples gently with his forefingers. He had such a headache brewing and he hadn?t gotten any proper work done today and Derrick wanted answers to questions without boundaries or definition. If he had no clue what he was being asked, how was he supposed to give a clear or correct reply?
Well. Start from square one and work our way up. Maybe we?ll find out things along the way. ?Okay, Derrick. Try to concentrate on the feeling you had yesterday. You say you remember it clearly, right?? When his friend nodded, Owyn continued. ?I want you to focus on that feeling. See if you can bring it to bear again. Concentrate on it, itemize it, catalogue it, break it down and see what it?s made of.?
?Sounds like what you?ve been up to,? Derrick mumbled, his eyes closed.
?More or less,? Owyn replied offhandedly. ?But there?s a reason I do things this way. I find out more about it than I would running about haphazardly, or stumbling around drunk and disorderly at late hours-?
?Yes, yes, you?ve made your point.? Derrick subsided into silence, eyes still shut, working at his memory, attempting to reconstruct the scene and the sensations from last night. A few moments later he exhaled in frustration and opened his eyes again. ?Nope. Nothing.?
?I think you?d better try a little harder and longer than that,? Owyn said wryly. The smith arched an eyebrow at him, but did as he was told, closing his eyes and calming himself again. Owyn got up. ?I?ll be right back.?
He headed back to his workshop and busied himself with a few mundane tasks, including properly storing the batch of sulfates in tiny vials. His mind still whirling with possibilities, Owyn nevertheless felt a touch of unease at his friend?s behavior. Derrick was out of control today ? rash, reckless, impatient, and verging on desperate to have his story corroborated, to have Owyn tell him he believed him. Owyn was a practical and thoughtful man, and an honest one ? he wouldn?t lie just to make his friend feel better. All the same, there was clearly something Derrick wasn?t telling him.
Well, they?d work on this first, and once Derrick got it out of his system, they?d talk about whatever was driving him off the walls. Owyn opened the door, opened his mouth, and stopped at the sight of Derrick, nodded off in his armchair. Smiling gently, shaking his head, Owyn let him sleep.
