A Touch of Magic by Gregory Mahan Read Free Book Online Page B

brother,” the militiaman said, slapping Randall on the back again before stumbling across the room and back to his table.
    “Drink your beer boy, and get that blush off your face,” Earl chuckled.
    “I can drink the beer?” Randall asked, incredulously.
    “’Course you can, boy,” Earl snorted. “You’re not a child any more. You’re apprenticed. First step to manhood and all that. Besides, this’ll probably be the last beer you’re gonna want for a long time,” he said.
    Randall took a sip of his beer and pulled a face. It wasn’t good at all. He couldn’t understand how the men at the inn could down it with such gusto. Then he leaned forward and lowered his voice a little. “I don’t get it, Master. Why didn’t Melinda’s Pa come give me a thrashing?”
    Earl grinned. “Consider it a lesson in the ways of the world, son. This inn ain’t the only place to have a beer in this town during the job fair. If that barkeep was really interested in saving his daughter’s virtue, he’d put her up in the kitchen, snug and safe and out of sight. And you can bet that three-fourths of the patrons in the place would be getting drunk somewhere else. No, he knows he’s got a good lookin’ daughter, and he puts her to good use. Probably woulda went out of business a long time ago, otherwise. This town ain’t really big enough for an inn at all. A pinch here and there’s a small price to pay to keep a roof over your family’s head.” Earl looked introspective. “Now, when the girl ends up pregnant and has to marry some soldier and leave the inn, he’ll be in dire straits. He probably hasn’t thought that far ahead, though.”
    Randall took another drink, and made another face. Earl lost his thoughtful look and chuckled again.
    “It’s an acquired taste,” he said. “You have to drink a lot of it before you like it. It grows on you,” Earl explained in response to Randall’s puzzled look. Randall didn’t think he could ever drink enough of the nasty stuff to ever grow to like it.
    Throughout the evening Earl encouraged him to drink up, to ‘act the part’. By the time he’d downed his third beer, he’d stopped caring about the nasty looks Melinda shot him every time she checked on their table. After his fourth, he had forgotten about how terrible it tasted. He completely lost count of how many beers he’d drunk shortly after that. Earl himself was quaffing large pints of stout with gusto. Soon, Randall’s head was swimming, and after standing up to make another trip to relieve his bladder he found himself clutching the back of his chair, his stomach doing flip-flops. He looked up at Earl in desperation before most of his dinner came up and covered the table they’d been sitting at.
    “Uh oh,” Earl said and quickly steered Randall outside. The cold night air hit Randall in the face like a slap, and the rest of his dinner immediately came up, spewing all over the ground. Been throwin’ up all day, he thought drunkenly. He retched a few more times and then had one of those rare milliseconds of clarity that you can only truly appreciate when you’re falling down drunk. He swiveled his head sideways and fixed a bleary eye on Earl.
    “Why ainchoo drunk?” he slurred.
    “Well, I’ll be!” Earl exclaimed, playing the mock innocent. “I must be drinking the wrong stuff! Now, if you’re all done wasting a good meal, we should get you upstairs and put to bed.”
    A few minutes later, Randall was tucked away in a nice warm bed, though the room was still spinning dizzily.
    “Gon-be sick ‘gain” Randall gulped.
    “Shh, boy. Just sleep.” Earl whispered. And then he said something else that Randall didn’t hear because he was fast asleep.
    The next morning, it sounded like an entire cavalry was holding maneuvers in Randall’s room. He moaned and pulled a pillow over his head to try and block out the noise. It didn’t help any, and the racket continued unabated until Randall couldn’t stand