Alchemy of Blood by Erin Hayes

Author:Erin Hayes [Hayes, Erin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Erin Hayes

14

Jared

“Are you going to pay for your drinks?” the barkeep asks me. “My pub isn’t a charity.”

I look up from my mug and sway as I give him a lopsided smile. The barkeep, a big man with arms that look like they could crush me, doesn’t look amused.

“What?” I ask in mock horror. “Why, I thought all the pubs in London were for the charity of the poor and depraved like me.” I lift the empty mug and turn it upside down. A drop of beer spills out onto the counter. “I do believe I need another one to settle the bill, kind sir. For charity.”

The barkeep leans into me, and I blink. His breath smells awful. Then again, I’m sure that I don’t smell much better. Sleeping on the filthy streets of London for a fortnight tends to do that to a person.

“You need to pay up before you see another mug of beer,” he snarls at me. “In fact, you need to pay up or else you’ll see my fist.”

Is he threatening me? I look back at those massive arms and decide that I should probably listen to the man before I make him angrier.

I slap a few coins on the bar, trying not to feel guilty about how I procured them. Since the Vermont left me with nothing, I’ve had to resort to pickpocketing in order to get by. I had promised myself a long time ago, when I set foot on my first ship, that I wouldn’t ever pickpocket again.

Ironic, then, that I must do it again after my ship left me stranded. I steal only what I need to get by. Which is apparently eight beers at the local pub.

I’m at least trying to numb myself against this crushing feeling of loss. Beyond that, I can sleep on the streets and deal with life in that way. But I need a steady stream of alcohol to keep me from realizing just how shit my life is right now.

The worst part is I’m not sure how I can fix it.

The barkeep eyes me before taking the coins off the counter, inspecting them.

“They’re real,” I slur.

He glares at me once more and then takes the mug from in front of me and turns away to fill it up at the barrel behind him.

I sigh in relief. Success. I just need to keep it coming. Before I can figure out how to fix it.

“Jared?” a voice asks behind me, its familiar Irish lilt ricocheting through my addled brain. “‘Zat you?”

I spin around on my stool and grin at the first friendly face I’ve seen in a fortnight. Perhaps I have had too much to drink if I’m hallucinating. Still, though, it’s welcome after everything I’ve been through.

“Rob? What are you doing here? I thought you’d be halfway across the Atlantic by now.”

If I look like I’m in dire straits, then Rob is in an even worse state. He’s wearing the same outfit that I last saw him in, and his face is smudged with dirt and shit and heaven knows what else.

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