Tallah

“Do you know that you look about two missed meals away from starved? Does Tallah know?”

Vergil didn’t know what to make of the questions and, more than that, he didn’t know how much he should say to Tummy. He had his arms outstretched and the smith measured him every which way imaginable.

“I… don’t know how to answer that,” Vergil replied candidly. “I have no idea what this is even about.”

The smith furrowed his brow and looked at him critically. That he had used Tallah’s real name did not escape Vergil’s attention.

“Figures. Come here.”

Tummy showed him to a stool and then produced a bottle and a couple of glasses from behind his dusty counter. What he poured out was nearly black and had the consistency of syrup. He stopped, looked at Vergil more closely as he perched on the stool, and then emptied half of one glass into the other.

“We drink now. You tell me who you are and what you’re trained to do, and I decide what to make for you.”

Vergil took the half-empty glass and darted a look to the back room.

“I don’t think she’d like that.”

Tummy poked him in the chest with one meaty finger. “Not her shop. I ask and you answer, or she can take your business elsewhere.” He held out the glass and clinked it against Vergil’s. “First, drink.”

He did. It was sweet and thick, but the kick was like a punch to the back of the head. Vergil’s eyes watered and he struggled not to cough it out. It didn’t so much go down as it spread into him, like molten iron exploding in the pit of his stomach. Even Argia’s text appeared garbled in his vision.

“Not all at once would have been best, but your face is fun to watch.” Tummy drank in dainty sips, his smile broadening. “Now we talk man to man. And I don’t want to hear anything about the mean lady in the back.”

Vergil wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his tunic and struggled to find his mangled voice.

“What is this?” he rasped out, still feeling the drink clawing up his insides.

“Summer wasp venom. Good for the nerves. Good for digestion. Loosens tongues.”

“Sil said I’m not supposed to drink anything but water and her tonics.”

Tummy shrugged and looked around.

“I don’t see her in here.”

Vergil grinned. It may have been the drink but he found himself intensely liking Tummy.

“You’re not afraid of them,” he said and immediately blushed. “They both scare the living daylights out of me.”

That was definitely too much information to give. He stared incredulous into the dregs of venom in his glass.

“Is this truth serum?”

“Close as. Doesn’t last long.”

“Tallah’s going to be upset.”

“I’ll bring out the privy rag for her to write complaints on.” He swirled his drink in the glass and matched Vergil’s grin. His demeanour was infectious. “So, she hasn’t trained you at all. Two mistakes in one go.”

Before Vergil could rally his response, he went on, counting off his fingers.

“One, you drank with someone you don’t know well enough to accept a drink from.” He downed his glass in one swig. “Could’ve been poison. Could’ve been actual Summer wasp milk in here and you’d be screaming for days when the eggs you swallowed hatched.” He shrugged, seeming none too impressed by Vergil’s gasp of horror.

He raised two fingers, “And you confirmed her name to me.” Now the levity was gone from his voice, replaced by a hard, harsh note of disapproval. “That one’s real bad.”

“But you…”

“Not your fault,” Tummy said, refilling his glass. “But it tells me you’re green and not of our class of people.”

Vergil slumped back. He could see a lecture on the horizon, either from Tallah or Sil, that would make him feel even more the child. Tummy swirled his drink now, watching him.

“Who starved you?” he finally asked.

“Ratmen,” Vergil answered miserably. “My party got wiped out in the caves.” He gestured vaguely to the air without looking up from the tarry surface of the drink. “Somewhere out in the sticks. Tallah and Sil found me half-mad. I got better and they kept me around.”

They had only told him not to speak about being an Other. The rest, he figured, was nothing to keep secret even if it shamed him.

“I got my friends killed.” He finished the glass and held it out for a second shot. Tummy obliged. “I don’t know why I’m here or what good it’ll be to get me armoured up. Tallah uses an enchantment on me and I fight without a thought of my own in my head.”

He drank slower. The drink didn’t kick as hard anymore now that the initial shock wore off. It left behind the heat in his guts.

“It’s eating you alive,” Tummy surmised after allowing him some time for his silence.

“I guess it is.”

All of it. Davan and Merk, cut down. Sidora, brains splattered on the walls. Being helpless. Surviving. Being useless.

Things missing in him…

“What’s your training?”

“Paladin Corps. Basic.” He wiped his nose on his sleeve, then his eyes again, the short moment of kinship earlier having melted away into misery. “Just sword and a bit of shield.”

“Who?”

“Master of Arms, Harlem.”

Tummy nodded, drink set aside, and pulled his goggles up to his forehead. His eyes seemed beady now, without the thick spectacles, as he regarded Vergil thoughtfully.

“Harlem’s good but only really trains those that sign on as soldiers. Did you?”

Vergil shook his head and chuckled slightly, “Adventuring seemed safer.”

“More fool you. Adventurer is another word for mercenary. It only adds worse pay and much worse odds.”

Tummy moved to the back of the room and opened the door. He beckoned someone to him and, a few moments later, Tallah appeared in the doorway.

“Is he giving you lip?” she asked and gave Vergil a black glare.

“I’m not making you a single piece for him,” Tummy said without any preamble, face stony.

Vergil shrank into himself. Should’ve kept his mouth shut. Now he’d failed what had certainly been a test. Small wonder both women considered him a waste of breath.

“What?” Tallah’s glare snapped to Tummy, unimpressed that he towered over her. “Why?”

“For the look on your face most of all.” The smith crossed his arms and gave Vergil a side glance.

And a wink?

“Send him round every other day, ‘bout eve time. I’ll beat some proper sense into him. I’m not wasting good gear on a green leaf that can’t use it right.”

Tallah’s eyebrows nearly climbed off her face. “You want to train him? You barely agreed to train me. I pestered you for... for a tenday at least.”

“You’re loud. He ain’t. Deal or no?”

She looked to Vergil. He was sure his face matched hers in amazement.

“Deal, of course. Saves me the trouble,” she said, voice softer than Vergil had ever heard from her. “Why?”

“I’m not wasting good work on an untrained boy you found somewhere,” the smith said as he picked up a sword from a rack on the wall. “Hold this, Vergil.”

Vergil accepted the weapon. He nearly toppled forward when Tummy released it to his grip.

“That’s a crock of nonsense,” Tallah insisted.

“I’ll charge you two griffons per training bell if you keep pestering me.”

“That’s robbery.”

“Five then.”

That shut her up. Vergil still struggled to lift the sword upright and hold it steady.

“Tell Silestra I want him eating properly from here on out. Proper food. Meat—”

“I can’t eat meat,” Vergil hurried to say and then blushed. “I’m sorry.”

“Proper food to build muscle. I’m sure she’s doing alright by him, but remind her that tonics do not stand in for actual food.” He poked Tallah in the sternum. “Same goes for you.”

“You can’t know…” She blushed and did not meet his glare.

“I can and do. Eat. Or I’ll have you back here, with him, before I let Mertle make anything for you.”

He also selected a scabbard and showed Vergil how to fasten it at his hip.

“Put that down before you poke an eye out. Wear the sword when you go out. Get used to it and learn not to stumble over it. I’ll see you here tomorrow.”