The Old Phoenix Tavern Read online

  The OLD PHOENIX Tavern

  ~~oOo~~

  A Midsummer Tempest

  Doubleday May 1974

  ~chapters XI, XII & epilogue~

  House Rule

  Homebrew - NESFA Press Feb 1976

  Losers' Night

  Pulphouse Short Story Paperbacks #1 Jan 1991

  Visitors to the Old Phoenix have wandered in from:

  Three Hearts and Three Lions (Holger Carlsen)

  A Midsummer Tempest (Princed Rupert)

  Operation Otherworld (Valeria Matucheck)

  The Nicholas Van Rijn stories (who else?)

  The OLD PHOENIX Tavern

  Table of Contents

  A Midsummer Tempest

  (excerpts)

  House Rule

  Loser's Night

  A MIDSUMMER TEMPEST

  XI - THE TAPROOM OF THE OLD PHOENIX

  Will closed the door behind himself, barring every hint of storm. Windows likewise were tightly shuttered.The men kept right hands at hover near sword hilts and glared about.

  But the chamber was altogether peaceful. Indeed, the strangest thing was its homelikeness. It might be somewhat wider than was common for a country inn, but if so, that was not by much. Massive ceiling beams, subtle-grained oak in floor and wainscots, long central board and benches, a few small tables with straight-backed seats, were familiar. In a handsome stone fireplace a blaze danced to its own merry boom and crackle, casting forth pinewood fragrance as well as warmth, flanked by several armchairs which were intricately carved and ivory-inlaid but whose cushions had plainly comforted many a body over the years.

  The contents of the room were perhaps more unusual, as if sailor patrons had brought gifts from a whole world. Upon the mantel rested a giant hourglass and two seven-branched candlesticks of twining brass. The light from these was joined by that from tapers sconced around the walls. Their gleam picked out a number of pictures whose kinds, styles, and subjects made a somehow harmonious turmoil. On the right side stretched a mahogany bar with a brass footrail and surprisingly up-to-date beer pumps, guarding racks of bottles and drinking vessels. A nearby door must lead to the kitchen, since lingering savorinesses drifted thence. In the adjacent wall, opposite the entrance, another opening gave on a corridor and staircase. Beside this lifted a high, crammed set of book-shelves. Next to it, a desk held writing materials and two globes.

  Rupert’s glance gulped the setting as it hunted the persons. They were not many: a barmaid, a man and woman seated at the fire, another couple at one of the little tables. Their conversations chopped off when the Cavaliers appeared. Yet the regard they gave was neither hostile nor wary; it was frankly curious.

  The man by the hearth sprang erect and hurried toward the latest arrivals. “Good eventide, good sirs. Be very welcome,” he greeted. His voice was deep and rich, bearing a trace of West country accent.

  Rupert looked hard at him. “You’re the … proprietor … of this Old Phoenix?” he asked.

  The man nodded. “What may your wishes be?” He raised a palm, smiling. “Nay, let me guess. Ye’ve fared through rain, in striving and distress. A bath, dry garb, hot food, a cup of cheer, a bed, then breakfast, ere you go from here.”

  Still Rupert considered him. While more quick on his feet than most, he was stocky beneath an overlay of plumpness. His face was round, rosy, snub-nosed, brown eyes a-twinkle, chin clean-shaven; only his complete baldness made it memorable. His garb was equally nondescript, though of superior material. Yet something about him breathed an air at least of Puck.

  “Our purse is lean,” Rupert warned.

  The landlord made a dismissing wave. “We take no money here.” At their astonishment, he laughed. “If Faerie gold turns into autumn leaves in mortal wallets, what’s your gold to us?”

  Rupert stiffened. “This is a kittle place we’ve blundered into,” he told Will under his breath.

  “But friendly,” replied the dragoon, now standing almost at ease.

  “Aye, to those who seek us out,” the landlord said. “Fear never paying such unholy price as might be taken in the Venusberg. My sole reward for hospitality is meeting folk like you, within whom burn the stars of many worlds and destinies. I love to watch them meet and hear them yarn.” Seriously: “Indeed, I may not really touch their lives. Methinks, for instance, ye’ve escaped some peril. Well, ye could not have come upon this house had there not been another refuge for you.”

  “A brook an’ treetop,” Will nodded. “Me, I’ll choose your bed.” To Rupert: “Fear not. It war her toaken led us heare.”

  The prince shook himself. “Aye.” With a stiff grin: “Maybe I’ll grow used to trollery.” To the landlord: “I thank you much, and offer you our names. I am Prince Rupert, exile from the Rhine, and this my comrade is Will Fairweather.”

  The other bowed. “I’ve many names,” he answered. “Let you say Taverner. Now follow me upstairs. Hot water waits, soap, towels, grooming gear, and change of clothes. Ye must return them when ye leave tomorrow; yours will be ready, clean and dry and mended. We’ve eaten here, but you’ll be brought roast beef and what pertains to it, to dine at ease while settling privately what your desires are. A room is fitted for each one of you. I hope your wish will not be ‘Straight to bed.’ ‘

  “Nay, we’ll return”—Rupert gave a salute of courtesy to the rest who were present—”and make acquaintances.”

  As Taverner led them out, past the bar, Will half choked and Rupert himself broke stride. That was not due to the woman behind the counter; chubby, cheerful, gray hair in a bun, she was like a female version of the landlord, and might well be his wife since she wore a wedding band. But from here, one got a direct view of the hearth.

  “Thic wench in yonder armchair,” Will whispered. “Hoo, hoo, hoo!”

  “Whoe’er she is, she’s not for likes of thee,” Rupert cautioned.

  Taverner might have heard, since he remarked over his shoulder: “Ye’ll find your fellow guests tonight forthcoming. We get some surly ones; but mostly not. Here all alike are far beyond their worlds, and none may leave by any other door than that where through he entered, nor bear off much more than rest and cheer and memories. Thus, in a way, whatever happens here has not quite fully happened. That’s a freedom whereof no few avail themselves. Pray, come.”

  The three departed from the chamber.

  The man at the table, who had sat clutching a tankard while he observed, brought it to his lips for a mighty draught. “Aah!” he said. “Det gaar godt.” He addressed the young woman opposite him with a slight lilt. “Who might those fellows be?”

  “I don’t know.” Like him, she spoke an English never native to England, though with a different accent. “They look kind of Renaissance? Except I didn’t think people grew that big in those days. The dark one’s just about your size and build.”

  Her companion was in truth huge. His face was good-looking if not extraordinary, save for a slightly dented nose; his yellow hair was cut short and he went beardless. He wore trousers and open-necked shirt of stout brown cloth, boots cobbled for rough use. “Well,” he said, “things may not be the same in their world. Though, uh, actually, in my own time-line—I mean the one I started out from, this trip—giants did exist now and then, ‘way back in the Middle Ages. Like King Harald Haardraade of Norway, who died in 1066 trying to conquer England one jump ahead of the Normans. He stood seven feet high.”

  “Then no doubt the same was true in my history,” she answered. “They’re so similar, yours and mine, maybe identical till, m-m, didn’t we decide about 1900?”

  “I tell you, I don’t belong where I came from.”

  She patted his hand. “I know. Take it easy, Holger. I am trying to help you
.” She was a winsome lass, tall, slender, features pert, eyes blue as the man’s. Ruddy-brown locks fell past her ears. Her garb was a feminine, green version of his. On the left breast shone a silver pin in the form of an owl.

  “If we had more time!” he said. “What can I learn in a night?”

  “Well, we don’t. I’ll simply have to cram what I can into that square head of yours, before Mister Boniface politely but firmly sends us on our separate ways.”

  “Why can one only spend a night per visit?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? Anything more, and there might be too decisive an interaction. This is neutral ground.” The girl drew breath. “Suppose, oh, suppose I happened to meet Abe Lincoln here—I’m sure he’s eligible, whether or not he ever actually did find his way to a door—well, given a lot of time together, I probably couldn’t resist warning him against Ford’s Theater. Lord knows what that might do to his world. Make a new continuum? I’m not sure if that’s possible. However, I am sure that nobody less than God has the wisdom for it. I suspect we’re bending the rules already, you and I.”

  “You’re very kind,” he said.

  “Nuts! I’m having fun.” She sipped from her glass of wine. “But look, when those two guys come back, I’ll want to talk with them. After all, I am on an exploratory project. So let’s get as much done as we can until then.” She stood up. He made to. do the same. She gestured him off. “Stay put. I’m going to see if anything helpful is on the bookshelf over there.”

  She crossed the room with a limber stride. Holger settled down to his beer. The woman in the armchair leaned forward. His glance crossed hers, and locked.

  With sheer material, trim, jewelry and other accessories, she had turned what was supposed to be a decorous stola into something spectacular. The sumptuousness beneath her clothing made this irrelevant to any normal male. She ran fingers through midnight tresses and gave him a smoldering smile.

  “Damn,” he lamented, “I wish I could talk to you.”

  She crooned, to be heard only by him: “Da mi basia mille.”

  “Det var som Fanden! I’ve forgotten practically all the Latin I ever had, except for church.” Slowly: “However, is language required?”

  He half rose. His erstwhile partner saw, and called: “Hey, take it easy, lover boy. Sex and mathematics don’t mix. Or hadn’t you heard?”

  “Oh, well, look here, Valeria, I’m simply trying to be polite—”

  “Yah, I know that kind of politeness. And you told me you’re seeking your own true sweetheart. Do you or don’t you want some how-to instruction?”

  “Sure.” Holger slumped. His sheepish glance at the other woman got a return both sullen and sultry. He fumbled for pipe and tobacco pouch.

  Valeria ran her eyes over the books. They were as various in titles as in size and binding. Her fingers stroked the celestial globe on the desk beside. The terrestrial sphere was equally detailed, marking in special colors places like Atlantis and Huy Braseal.

  The landlord re-entered. Approaching Holger, he asked, “Vil Herren ikke gerne ha' et Krus til?”

  “Jo, Tak,” the big man said; then: “Why talk Danish? Yes, thanks, I would like more beer, Herr Kromand. I’ve never had better.”

  “Quite a compliment from your nationality,” beamed the landlord. His English changed accent again as he raised his voice. “I say, pet, the gentleman ‘ere needs another pint of the dark.”

  “Coming right along, duck,” the barmaid answered. She pattered to fetch Holger’s tankard and fill it afresh.

  “Would you care for a drink yourselves?” the Dane asked them both.

  “Aow thanks, sir, but I got me place to tend,” said the barmaid. “Might draw meself a mild-and bitter, though.”

  “And I’ve me own ’ostly duties,” the landlord added. “The poor lady over there ain’t got anybody else ‘ere tonight what can talk with her. Besides, I think you’re busy. You come join us when you can, what?”

  He sought the woman by the hearth, resumed his chair, lifted his goblet to hers, and proceeded in their conversation.

  “Hey!” Valeria warbled. “Yippee! Here we are— Sokolnikoff, Introduction to Paratemporal Mathematics.” She took a closer look. “And, yeah, right beside it, the Handbook of Alchemy and Metaphysics, so I don’t even have to go upstairs for my copy.” She grabbed the two volumes, plus paper and pencils off the desk.

  Back by Holger, she drew her chair close to his and sat down. “Now, look,” she told him, “I can’t teach you everything they’ve learned in my world. Anyhow, I don’t claim to understand more than the elements myself. And even our experts still have some pretty large areas of ignorance. But the theorems I do know let me cross from continuum to continuum, with a fair probability of landing in whichever one I want, or a reasonable facsimile of it. I even deduced there had to be an interuniversal nexus. That’s how I found the Old Phoenix. You did it by accident, didn’t you?”

  “Well,” he said defensively, “at least I have been traveling too.”

  “Yah!” she gibed. “Using the spells from that superstition-riddled medieval grimoire you located— an unguided missal if ever I saw one. You could hunt through the time-lines till you died of old age, in its random style. Or no, not that long: till you met something too tough and smart and mean. Had several narrow squeaks already, haven’t you?” She tapped a book. “Okay. You did once take an engineering degree. You should appreciate a systematic treatment. You may get a glimmering of how to cast a transportation spell that has a better-than-chance likelihood of taking you where you would want to go.” She sighed. “I hope, for openers, you’ve got the wit to grasp the fundamental ideas of the transcendental calculus, because that’s how we prove the theorems you’ll need, and without understanding, you can’t get any good out of them.”

  Holger reached for the volume. “Please explain,” he said meekly. “You shouldn’t take all this trouble for a stranger.”

  “Aw, hell, I like you, man.” Valeria started to talk and draw diagrams. The other woman chatted with Taverner-Boniface-Kromand, though her attention kept straying. The barmaid waited in amiable patience.

  XII - LATER

  Rupert and Will came into the taproom, cleansed, remarkably refreshed, the former regal, the latter gawky in robes of timeless cut but many colors. They paused at the entrance. Rupert’s glance was caught by a picture unlike most of the portraits, landscapes, and action scenes around: a colored print of a glossy kind new to him, eerily beautiful in its vista of a starry night wherein floated a banded silvery globe encompassed by shimmering rings.

  The landlord beckoned. “Ah, welcome, guests,” he hailed. “Come take your ease and drink. What is your pleasure?”

  “Beer!” said the two like a single mouth.

  The landlord chuckled. “I thought ’twould be.”

  Rupert led the way to the hearth. “You’re far too kind, good Master Taverner,” he said.

  “Nay, Highness, I’m a fat and cunning spider, albeit male, which weaves a subtle web bedewed with ale and wine and stronger waters, and thus ensnares a singing swarm of lives, to batten on the fables that they bear.” The landlord waved at armchairs. “Do join us. Oh, but first I must present you.” He spoke to the woman, with an appropriate gesture: “Rupertus, filius comitis palatini Rheni, et Guillermus, miles et famulus suus,” To the men: “And this is Clodia Pulcher, come from Rome.”

  Will leered at her. Rupert was dumfounded. “That Clodia—Catullus’ Lesbia?” he faltered. (His host nodded.) “But she is dead these sixteen hundred years!”

  “Not in the world that is her own, my lord. And here may come, from every time and clime, aye, every cranny of reality, whoever finds a way to find the door and brings uncommon tales wherewith to pay.” Taverner winked. “She is an often guest, our Clodia: tonight in disappointment growing sulky till your arrival. Sit ye, sirs, I pray.”

  Rupert curbed himself, bowed over the woman’s hand, kissed it, and greeted her: “Salve, domina; ad servit
ium tuum.”

  She beamed and purred in reply, “Oh! Loqueris latine?”

  Rupert shrugged. “Aliquantulum, domina.” Too bemused to struggle further with the language, especially when his pronunciation and, no doubt, grammar were so unlike hers, he settled his great frame beside the landlord’s.

  The barmaid arrived with two brimful tankards. She curtsied as she handed one to Rupert, saying, “Here’s for your Highness.” Giving Will the other, she added more casually, “And the same for thee. I hope ‘twill smack you well.”

  “I thank thee, goodwife,” said Rupert absently.

  Will picked a chair next to Clodia’s, though her attention remained on his master. Goggle-eyed, he little marked what a noble brew he drank.

  Valeria nudged Holger. “Let’s join the party for a while,” she suggested.

  “I could use a break,” he agreed. “You know, I damn near flunked differential equations in college, and now you spring this stuff on me.”

  She threw him a sharp glance. “Look, friend,” she said, “given your background, you ought to know already that God never felt obliged to make the universes easy for us to understand.”

  “Or easy in any way,” he sighed. “Naa, da, let’s go.” He put pipe in mouth, tankard in fist, and sauntered along.

  Clodia, who had been getting no response from Rupert, ignored Valeria but turned the full battery on Holger. He gulped. “Twenty lashes with a wet eyeball,” Valeria muttered. To Rupert and Will: “Good evening, gentlemen.”

  The prince rose and bowed; his follower was too rapt. “If you’ll allow self-introduction … lady—” His voice trailed off.

  She smiled. “Not used to women in slacks, are you? Sorry. I’m Valeria Matuchek, from the United States of America, if that means anything to you.” She extended her hand. He hung fire a moment, decided there could be no harm in showing her a courtesy to which she might be entitled, and kissed it as he had Clodia’s. “Hey!” she said. “You know, you’re the first man I’ve ever met who could do that with real authority?”