So, this is, like, the fifth time I’ve had the Hammered Nail get blown up. The insurance for that place must be ridiculous…
Incidentally, one of the first pioneers of fire insurance was the British economist and politician Nicholas Barbon (c. 1640-1698), so the idea of the Nail being ensured isn’t actually that much of an anachronism compared some of the other things I’ve included into my stories…
Copyright
J.B. Norman
It’s another day at the Hammered Nail, and Kat Darkstone is staring down a roast goose.
“When I say ‘use a coaster’—” the bartender growls, momentarily ducking behind the bar.
He reappears brandishing a huge two-handed axe.
“— by the Powers, you are going to use a coaster!”
“Make me,” the patron answers.
The bartender takes a swing at the hapless patron how really has no-one to blame but himself.
Kat sighs heavily and gives her roast goose a wistful gaze. She’s spent enough time at the Nail to know where this is going.
Like a pebble kicked on a mountainside, as the bartender’s axe comes crashing down, the sequence of events that follows quickly culminates in a veritable avalanche.
The bartender’s axe smashes down into the bar, the unlucky patron who is the target of his ire — and his axe — topples from his barstool, crashing into one of the barmaid. A nearby longshoreman with a crush on the barmaid springs up to avenge her, tripping over a Goblin patron and smashing into a Musketeer Guardsman’s plate of chicken wings.
And things promptly get worse from there, spiralling out of control in a way that, all things considered, isn’t actually that much worse than a typical Wednesday at the Nail.
“Oh no,” Kat groans, seeing two familiar women cast aside their cloaks.
“I,” the first declares, “am Alma, the Lady of Explosion Magic.”
“And I,” she second adds, “am Akari, the Mistress of the Way of the Sword. And —”
Her face lights up as she sees Kat through the tumult, slowly inching towards one of the windows.
“Hello again, Kat!” the Yamatai swordswoman says.
Kat smiles and waves back half-heartedly.
Akari ducks under a chair being swung at her.
“We’ll talk later,” she says, drawing her sword and jumping into the fray.
Like a mother clinging to her child, Kat hugs her roast goose to herself, leaps for safety, and goes crashing through the window just in time to escape the Nail exploding — metaphorically and, she expects, before too long, literally — behind her.
Amara finds Kat sitting across the street from the Nail, still clutching her roast goose, idly watching the ongoing melee in the tavern. Occasionally, someone will get flung through one of the windows. Amazing, there are still unbroken windows for a few of them to going crashing through.
“Powers, Katherine,” Amara exclaims. “Are you alright? I can heal you, if you need it.”
“I’m fine,” Kat answers. “Just another day at the Nail. I’ve memorised all the best escape routes by now.”
She shrugs.
“I’m just glad I wasn’t up on the third floor today.”
“Why do you smell like grease, Katherine?” Amara asks.
Kat gestures to her goose.
“Now, Katherine,” Amara asks, staring sceptically at her best friend. “Why in the world are you holding an entire turkey?”
“It’s a goose,” Kat notes.
“Granted,” Amara replies, “but that still doens’t really answer the question.”
“I paid for this goose!” Kat says. “I’m not letting a few maniacs stop me from enjoying it.”
“Are you at least going to share, Katherine?” Amara asks.
Kat protectively clings to the goose.
“Katherine.”
“…Fine.”
And, of course, it’s a great time to remind you that Lyte’s Public House has the best fish-on-a-stick in Porthaven and much better track record of not getting exploded…
Check out the rest of my Spring 2024 writing exercises here.
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