Longs and Shorts of Laverito: Lyra 4 - Leslie Everlake

“You’re sure you don’t want advice?”

Laverito scowled. “I said no, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Everlake sighed. “You did. Just thought I’d be certain of it.”

“Is that an insult?” Laverito’s long ears began to tilt backwards, inching closer to being dangerously parallel with the floor. “Are you insulting me right now?”

Badallaioc perked up, peering at the blacksmith with beady blood-red eyes. There was nothing like a verbal brawl to make Badallaioc’s day, even if the stryx often had trouble parsing two-legger insults. Physical altercations were best left behind at a run, but verbal shakedowns were fun.

“No insults. Just an offer. Take it or leave it.”

Badallaioc deflated. 

Laverito snorted. “I can’t sell your advice, can I? No, you’re supposed to give… shiny things. Salables. Trinkets. Crystals always sell really well. So how much is it for one of these… bounty board things?” Laverito waved a slip of paper, one he’d yoinked off the posting-board down at the guild. Going to such a public place was dangerous, as there was always a chance someone might recognize him and remember one of his many crimes, but times were tight and so was Laverito’s belt. The pies had been sparse this season. He needed to catch a break, and this was supposed to be it.

Badallaioc had already agreed, of course. Where there was money, there were delicious and rare snacks not found in the wilds — jerky and kebabs and meat pies, oh yum — and Badallaioc’s stomach was on the same wavelength as Laverito’s. This made for many nostalgic commiserations over long-ago meals, but also quite a bit of nerve-wracking worry, because Laverito was a lot like his mother. He wouldn’t balk at eating himself, and Badallaioc’s stomach was actually big enough for the task.

Earning money was a really good thing to do for multiple reasons. It filled Laverito’s stomach, and it also topped off Badallaioc’s. Badallaioc was very fond of all those treats that could only be bought using coin by way of two-legger words and hands. As long as Laverito kept the supply coming, the saddle was allowed to stay strapped to Badallaioc’s back.

Laverito wiggled the slip of paper again. “Come on,” he whined. “You put this up there, didn’t you? You need this special kind of crystal that’s not like any of the other crystals all over this place. We can go get the special kind of crystal, bring it back to you, and you give us shinies we can turn into money. That’s how this whole thing works.”

Badallaioc added his two cents in the form of a chuckling squawk.

Everlake looked at them the way an exhausted father looked at a toddler completely covered in mud. Wisdom cultivated with age provided a full-color, surround-sound prediction of the inevitable altercation with an exasperated mother and a bathtub. In short, Everlake looked at Laverito and saw someone too busy worrying about life’s trifles to hear the distant thunder of oncoming consequences.

Everlake had seen a great many adventurers come and go. Some of them had gone by way of rolling down the mountain, collecting bruises as they bounced. Eventually, one learned to recognize the signs of someone about to trip.

“You’re sure?” Everlake asked, just one more time. “You don’t want any advice?”

“Yes!” Laveito snapped. “No! Yes, no-I-do-not!”

Badallaioc punctuated the refusal with a warning rattle, clucking with a ferocity that would scare any choir of crickets into tense silence.

“No we do not!” Laverito amended.

This was exactly why they both preferred decently shady black market merchants found in reprehensibly reeking backalleys. Those sorts of people knew how to keep questions to a minimum. Laverito preferred to avoid making excuses for how he’d acquired the wares he was selling, and Badallaioc simply disliked excessive conversation if it wasn’t riddled with foul language.

“Alright,” sighed Everlake. “Have it your way. Here: map, artistic rendition of what to grab, list of supplies to take with you, list of things that shouldn’t be eaten and-or might eat you. Fill this bag with the right grade of crystal, and I’ll give you a, hmm, salable.”

Laverito huffed and immediately proceeded to slide the various papers all around the counter until he decided which one to focus on. “Nosy old geezer,” he muttered. “Food, water — for a week? Bah! Lantern, lantern oil? Ugh. Light, rope, what are climbing hooks…?”

While Laverito squinted at the list of suggested supplies, Badallaioc leaned his feathery body a little closer, cocked his enormous head to the side, and gazed at the map with one blood-red eye. Then he flipped his head over and used the other eye for a while. Badallaioc absolutely could not read maps, but he did delight in mischief, and the looks on pudgy two-legger faces whenever he managed to make them believe in his nonexistent literacy was a pleasure they couldn’t save up enough coin to buy. 

Everlake did not deliver. The blacksmith watched all these antics with an aura of dull weariness that plainly saturated the blacksmith right down to the bone. Badallaioc, robbed of any amusing reactions, rattled low in his throat with unsubtle disappointment. Then, the stryx stomped away, lashing a featherless red tail in obvious irritation. 

This caused Laverito to quickly scoop up the bag-to-be-filled and the stack of important papers, and bound after the stryx lest he be left behind. In his haste, Laverito dropped one of the papers. 

Laverito did not notice this, but he did manage to catch up to the departing Badallaioc. With one impressive bound, and some less impressive one-handed scrabbling for a handhold, Laverito took his place in Badallaioc’s saddle. Laverito’s ability or lack thereof to decipher the map would go unremarked upon, because when the pair vanished into the snowy wilds, they were still heading the wrong way.

Everlake walked over to the fallen paper, and adjusted the massive white sword on his back so that he could crouch down and pick it up. It was the list of potentially deadly dangers. This would have been a lot more useful if it’d made it into an adventurer’s pack, instead of languishing in Everlake’s smithy…

Everlake sighed.

Then he went back to his anvil. Those lauded weapons weren’t going to forge themselves.