Hour of Mischief (8 page)

“Well, Laetatia loves them, so you might as well put a smile on your face,” Itazura said as we neared the door.

“You’re sure this is the place?” I started when a drunken man flew out one of the windows. He hit the ground, rolled, and then staggered to his feet and stumbled back into the building.

“Yes, why?”

“It’s just–I can’t see a Goddess hanging out here. It’s the rich who hold the lavish parties in the center ring.”

“True.” Itazura steered me toward the door. “However, said lavish parties are lacking in their supply of strong alcohol. Laetatia finds the rich as boring as I do. The middle-class bars are the best for a good time.”

“As opposed to lower class?”

“Well, think of it this way. Middle-class bars are still depraved enough to offer tons of drunken entertainment, but they can afford the stronger alcohol.” He knocked once on the door. “Besides, gold doors. That makes it fancy.”

“Sure.” I turned as he opened the door–and barely ducked in time to avoid a flying glass. “Shit!”

“Welcome to the world of fun and games.” Itazura laughed.

He called it fun and games, I called it an obstacle course for the intoxicated. Tables were crammed all throughout the room, leaving very little space for walking. Such narrow paths were potentially deadly to drunken folk, and several customers sprawled over tables, chairs, and the ground where they had tripped. Some stumbled back to their feet, sluggishly. Others decided they liked lying on the ground just fine and passed out right there. No one appeared sober in this bar. Even the bartender stumbled a bit as he slid glass mugs to his customers. The air smelled distinctly of whisky and sweat and the air was stifling. I clutched at one of my knives on instinct as a group of men lumbered past us.

“Ronnie! We’re low on shots. It seems my competitor is putting up more of a fight than I expected!” A woman’s voice pierced the drunken ruckus, rising from a large crowd gathered on the opposite side of the room. Men and women were packed together in a ring around a small table. I searched for the owner of the voice but I couldn’t see her.

“Ah, there’s Laetatia.” Itazura said. “Another drinking competition. How predictable. Do you see her?”

“No, I’m a lot shorter than you.” I clambered onto a table, one of the ones not occupied by rowdy guests, to get a better look. “Give me a second.”

At one end of the table sat a huge man with a thick beard that almost hid his face. At the other end sat a young, cheerful woman in a red dress much nicer than the occasion called for. She wore a corset fancy enough for the center ring, embroidered with silver gears and emblazoned with a golden mug in the center. The sign of Laetatia, Goddess of Festivities. She and the man across from her each had a large stack of empty shot glasses in front of them.

“Red dress, right?” I asked.

“That would be her,” Itazura said.

“She looks far too sober for someone who’s drunken that many shots,” I said.

“Well, one of her domains is drinking,” Itazura said. “She has to work very hard to get even a little drunk.”

“How much is very hard?” I asked as the two competitors took another shot.

“Barrels,” Itazura said. “She’s probably already competed in several competitions tonight and the poor girl still can’t get more than buzzed.”

“Well, she still looks happy.”

“That’s because Laetatia likes winning almost as much as drinking.” Itazura said.

The bartender handed the competitors another shot and Laetatia grinned.

“To your health, my drunken sir.” She tipped her head back, emptying her glass.

The man, who looked to be not at all in good health, was slower to raise the glass to his lips. A bright-red flush covered his face and his eyelids hung heavy.

“He’s going to pass out after this one,” I said flatly.

“You think so?” Itazura asked. “Hmm, he might last one more.”

“Nope. That’s a look of a man who is about to lose a drinking game.”

Itazura raised an eyebrow. “You know something of drinking games, little human?”

The man finally managed to drain his glass. Then he swayed on the spot and tumbled out of his chair.

“Yes.” I smirked. “I do.”

Itazura’s eyebrows rose. “Impressive. It’s a shame spectating on drinking games won’t garner Laetatia’s favor on its own.”

“Who says I get my knowledge from spectating?” I asked.

Itazura stared. “Wait, you actually participate?”

“I told you alcohol was safer than the slum water, didn’t I?” I shrugged. “You survive by building up a tolerance. I could never quite keep up with Sylvia, but that girl has a hollow leg, I swear.”

I smiled fondly at such a memory. Many nights Sylvia and I sat across from each other at a table in one of the rundown taverns, tipping back shot after a shot. We’d always had a good tolerance for alcohol. My mom only ever kept hard liquor around the house and Sylvia had come across the stronger stuff while trying to cure her anxiety. She could hold her liquor even better than I could. Both of us could out drink Parker and Sid any day. Though, then again, Sid didn’t drink at all, so he didn’t provide much competition.

On busy nights in the local taverns, we drew a small crowd of miners fresh off a rough days work. We were quite a spectacle, two girls in the midst of a crowd of broad shouldered, dirty men, drinking until our heads spun, and Parker and Sid had to drag us out of the bar and back to the clock tower.

A tremendous hangover greeted us the next morning, but it was worth it. They never lasted too long anyway.

I wished for Sylvia more than ever now. She was the strategist of our group. She could convince every god to spare humanity if she put her mind to it.

“Girl,” a quiet voice spoke below me, jerking me from my thoughts. I looked down to see a hooded man, sitting at the table I perched on. He was of the few calm people in the tavern, which probably explained why I hadn’t noticed him before. “Do you mind removing yourself from my table?”

“Oh, yes.” I jumped down. “Sorry.”

The hooded man nodded and went back to his drink. For a split second as he looked at me, I could have sworn his eyes flashed . . . red. I frowned.

“Come on boys, who wants another go?” Laetatia called, drawing my attention back to her as she raised her mug above her head. “I still have a few games left in me! Let’s not leave it at just thirty.”

“So you want me to get her attention?” I asked Itazura.

“If you’d be so kind,” he said. “I can’t help you. If she sees me first, she’ll never give you the time of day.”

“Fine. Useless bastard.” I stalked forward and pushed my way through the crowd, using my steel hand to pry apart the wall of bodies. I emerged at the unoccupied end of the table where the chair had been tipped over by the last competitor’s fall. “I’ll challenge you,” I said, slapping my metal fist against the table, locking eyes with the Goddess of Festivities.

Laetatia blinked at me in surprise. “Well, this is new.”

Some of the onlookers laughed. I didn’t blame them, but their chortles still hit my ego hard.

“What?” I snapped. “Bet I could out drink all of you any day!” I looked back at Laetatia, trying to keep my face cool and confident, despite the fact I was challenging the Goddess of
Drink
to a drinking competition. But seeing as she had probably had over three hundred shots already, maybe my odds would be a little better.

Maybe.

“So, are you up for round thirty-one?”

Laetatia studied me for another long moment before a grin split her face. “Bartender! Let’s have some clean glasses!”

The crowd cheered

“Take a seat.” Laetatia gestured to a chair.

“Actually, I have a better idea,” I replied. “See, drinking is one thing, but my friends and I like to add an extra something to the competition.” I reached into my belt and drew two throwing knives. I stabbed them both into the center of the table. “With each shot, we throw a knife at a target. Any target will do. We keep going until one of us misses the target or passes out.”

Laetatia raised her eyebrows, and the crowd roared their approval, banging their half-empty mugs on tables and sloshing liquor over the red wood.

“Interesting idea,” the Goddess said.

“You have an advantage when it comes to drinking,” I said. “But I know knives and I know how to throw them. Unless you think it would be too difficult.”

Laetatia’s eyes flashed. The Goddess of Festivities would never back down from a challenge, especially one questioning her skills. She pointed to a group of burly men standing near the barrels of unopened wine. “You three. Bring that barrel over here. Put it on the table.” She looked to the bartender as he brought over the requested shots. “I’ll buy off the barrel, Ronnie, if we cause a spill.”

“Of course, my lady, it’s not a problem,” Ronnie said, setting the shot glasses on the table across from our target.

“So,” Laetatia looked at me. “You’re the challenger. How many paces back?”

“Fifteen,” I said.

“Fifteen it is.” Laetatia nodded at one of the women. “Jasmine? You’re not too drunk to walk in a straight line yet. Measure out fifteen paces for us.”

“Yes ma’am,” Jasmine said, swishing the skirt of her purple dress as she took her place by the target and began walking out fifteen paces. The crowd counted along with her as she walked. By now, the entire tavern had their attention on us and the room was nearly bursting with onlookers.

“Fifteen,” Jasmine sang, twirling around to face us. “Here’s the line, my lady. As you asked.”

“Very good,” Laetatia said. Jasmine moved back to the edge of the crowd, swaying her hips as she did. She walked like my mother on the days she worked the street.

I shook my head to empty it of that thought, and turned my attention back to Laetatia. She picked up one of my knives from the table and strode over to the marked line, scooping up a shot as she went. “I declare this game,” she held up her glass for everyone to see then downed it one gulp. “Begun!” She slammed the glass down on the table and let the knife loose. The point buried itself near the center of the barrel, quivering upon impact. She had a good throwing form. I guess, being a god, she had time to learn lots of things.

She laughed at her victory and turned to me. “Let’s see what you’ve got, girl.”

I took my place and tipped back a shot with as much dramatic flair as possible. A smirk curled over my face as an idea sparked in my mind. If I was going to gain the favor of the Goddess of Festivities, I would have to do something especially interesting, and I had an idea of what might help.

I stepped up to the line, still turning the glass my hand. Every eye in the tavern was locked on me. It was an exciting feeling. My adrenaline so often came from moving in the shadows, as my trade required. The spotlight was a whole new arena. My every nerve pulsated with excitement as I raised my knife in my left hand.

But my right hand moved first. With a flick of my wrist, I sent the shot glass whirling toward the target. My knife followed after, spinning with deadly accuracy through the air. The blade sliced through glass, shattering the cup, before burying itself in the dead center of the barrel with a satisfying quiver.

Dead silence lingered as the last shards tumbled to the ground, scattering across the wooden floor. Then the crowd thundered with applause, vibrating the whole room. The sound made my nerves sing like never before. I had to fight to keep from beaming like a child as I turned to face Laetatia. “Good enough for you?”

Laetatia laughed and scooped up another shot glass. “Good enough? You know how to use a knife, girl. I think I’ll have to up my game.” She swallowed the liquor and took her place again.

We continued like this, drinking and throwing, matching each other shot for shot, blade for blade. In the beginning, the trick shots were easy. Underhanded, overhanded, over the shoulder, eyes closed. But as the drinking went on, I was reduced to basic throws. Soon the simple act of standing became difficult.

I swayed on the spot as I took my place on the line for the twentieth time, my shot glass shaking in my hand. Around me, the shouts and cheers of the spectators sounded duller and slower than normal. Kalite had clearly taken over our game and plunged us under water. My limbs certainly moved as if I was at the bottom of a lake.

But I wouldn’t surrender so easily. I raised the twentieth glass to my lips and tipped it back. I made my throw before the spinning got any worse. The knife buried itself in the outer edge of the barrel. Even Laetatia gave a shout of approval and downed her own glass. She made her throw. Her knife buried itself in the center. All of these shots and she still hadn’t faltered.

Laetatia looked me over, her mouth twitching. “Wouldn’t blame you if you gave up now, girl.”

“Give up when I have the lead?” I asked weakly.

Laetatia burst out laughing and I struggled to raise glass twenty-one to my lips. I tipped my head back and swallowed the contents in one gulp.

My hand shook as I raised the knife and my vision blurred in and out of focus as I looked about the room, taking in the faces of the drunken guests. Their rosy cheeks and liquor stained teeth. But somehow my stare locked on a flash of purple in the corner.

Jasmine, the woman from earlier, talking to a man. No, not talking. Yelling. Because he kept on trying to grab her arm. Pull her close to him.

She fought.

She slapped him and screamed.

Janet, go upstairs. I’ll handle this!

No, that couldn’t be right. The words didn’t match her lip movements. But I heard them all the same.

I said, GO, Janet.

The man, as if in slow motion, turned his face back to look at the woman, bloodshot eyes enraged, drew his fist back. Only I seemed to notice. No one else even turned to look. They were too busy cheering me on.

The man punched Jasmine in the face.

She fell back, knocking hard into the table.

The knife left my hand.

It hit the wall between Jasmine and the man. Only the quiver of the blade echoed through the sudden dead silence of the tavern. There was a beat. A second beat. The man stumbled back with a yell, his hand over his now bleeding ear.