Chapter 48. The Bargain.

  “Hey!... Don't forget about my favor now stranger.” Scarlett snapped, bringing him back.

  Sid’s mind cleared. The mental fog separated from his thoughts while each word left her chapped whiskery lips.

  “Right, thank you, what can I do in return for everything?” He asked. Rubbing the back of his neck—he would not be forgetting that dark dungeon of fire and froth.

  “Outside the perimeters, growing along the river banks, are Tinsilytine. Fill this bucket with the oils. Press the root with this.” Scarlett handed him a device looking like his pliers back home, before everything.

  A huge plier like tool, with a large stained ball, rather then a clamping nose. Also, rather then a single handed tool he was used to, these grips required two hands.

  “Look.” She opened them. “You open them up like this.” She than mimicked placing something within. “Place the roots in here, it can hold a lot so don't be shy.”

  Spreading the pliers completely, an opening formed at the opposing end. One side of the ball—round smooth and weighted. Helping apply even pressure while pressing for oils and other concentrates. The under side was an iron strainer—pressing the flat weight tightly with a full basket, squeezing the arms, one could press the oils from roots or whatever.

  “Then for the boots, this bucket.” Scarlett lift another.

  “You asked one favor.” The mustache was confused. He could have swore she said but a simple favor.

  “Per article of clothing dear. The eyepatch is on the house, third is always the charm is it not.” It was a sly golden chuckle. One that’s held together with a predatory smile. Those smiles always seemed to be just a bit more vicious from the elderly. “As I was saying , for the boots you can fill this bucket with the bright red blister berries, they make remarkable dyes. Just do not eat them." A frail finger warned shaking him up.

  Sid knew of the berries—Blister Berries are a bright colored, tiny bubble, textured fruits. The oils and juices are used for vibrant dyes, and sweet drinks. The oils had a precise boiling temperature. If one could keep such heat, during a simple process of aging barreled wine. Well one could really enhance the fruity notes of the tipsy beverage. These berries are one of many fruits of trickery. A long process of trial and error.

  I’ll try not an bore you but it should be known. Eating to much of the gummy flesh, would leave one vomiting ill. Suffering from projecting liquid water falling from all orifices. So it was typically wise to only eat one or just suck on the berry, popping the many fish egg like boils of sweetness.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Again not to many as the berry was very rich in natural sugars, causing the saliva to thicken, becoming dense like molasses. If one wasn't careful eating the berries they could perish, due to a lack of air. Sweet cache of thickening saliva and small berry bits ruptured from the popping, block the airways and one will slowly expire.

  Depending on season varied their colorful skins, during the warm season they grow with a soft tobacco orange bursting to sweet yellow. During the season of Frost they are a bright red, with notes of pink, and during the melting season they then become a gentle blue, with a trickling silver core.

  Sid approved of the two tasks, it was a simple and fair trade. He actually felt as if he was getting the richer end of the bargain—perhaps those stars in Trading sparkled for him. Now it wasn’t quite the season of Frost, but it was approaching. He would have to seek the red Blister Berries Scarlett required—shouldn’t be to tough.

  His only concern was backtracking through the forest. On the better side of things, at least he’s got a fine pair of boots, and trousers. Trousers stitched with roomy pockets.

  “Also you should keep in mind.” She said, wringing out a damp cloth. A single shaky hand spread a brilliant rose red across one of the stretched silks. The top slowly faded to the same red mud his trousers were. “The cloth is special, padded with charm.”

  She brushed her hands over the stretched curing piece before her, now fresh with color. Materializing right there, rapidly under her palm. Looked a whipped blueish yellow sea foam, seeping into the tight threading. The cloth then seemed to breathe. It even inhaled, pulling back at the hundred of threads holding it within its racks. Then it went limp with a long exhale.

  “You don’t need to worry about them ripping.” She winked.

  Then growing far to irritated to continue—Skeeter and Fenrir were becoming obnoxious. Pulling and tugging at things, knocking racks over and bumping items from tables.

  The three were rushed out from the shop and into the hallway. Sid held his root juicer, and sword. Fenrir sit at his side, Skeeter trying two feet into Sid’s old worn out boot. Forgetting the buckets and axe, Sid turned around preparing to go get them. Only to witness the buckets, one placed within the other, sliding to a spinning stop at his feet. Before he could reach down for the items, he heard a voice—no it wasn’t one of the voices haunting his thoughts either. No this voice echoed from—well Sid didn’t know what the hell it was.

  It was definitely brass, that was with out question. It bloomed like flower, and trumpeted like—well a trumpet. The voice that emit from that odd thing echoed with accustic reverberations. He could only watch while it rattled with request.

  “Scarlet we need you in the medical wing.”

  Seconds later the short round woman came into the doorway. Gave Sid his axe, and flipped her sign over.

  “Here is your axe. Get to work, I’ll be back here tomorrow. I expect at least one bucket. I don’t care if its berries or oil from the root. Just get it done.” Shutting her door, she muttered something about foolish adventurers to herself. She looked down at Skeeter, who was admiring his new attire.

  “You are the only person I’ve seen who clothe him.” She said looking at the old worn boot holding both dusty feet.

  Sid didn’t really give Skeeter the boot. The kook just kind of took it when he fit the new pair of striders.

  “Skeeter, you are not permitted to be in this section of corridors, best move along, you showed the man where he can find clothing now go.” Then, with a quick spinning heel, Scarlett rushed down the corridor.