I follow Amelia inside the tavern, my legs feeling a little wobbly, almost like I’ve forgotten how to walk. When we step inside though I forget all about my legs.

I thought the tavern back home was a pretty rowdy place, but I was wrong. It seems the Happy Duck is pure chaos. Girls dancing on the tables in a drunken stupor, all the men howling and hollering around her, hoping she’ll fall so they can catch her.

I swallow hard as tall burly men, at least twice my size brush past me with armfuls of alcohol. This is definitely not my kind of place, matter of fact I can’t even fathom why I would ever come to this place? It seems impossible to sit in for a meal without some drunk person splashing ale all over you.

Amelia seems right at home though, she pushes her way through the dense crowds and it’s all I can do to follow close behind her.

“Out of my way,” she yells pushing a burly drunk aside. I step over his body, nearly slip on a puddle of who knows what, and fall forward grabbing at Amelia’s arm for stability.

“Sorry,” I say just loud enough for her to hear, but she waves me off.

“It’s alright,” She grins at me, and grabs my forearm, pulling me along behind her. Then she seems to stop and notice someone. “Otis!” She yells, and a tall dark-skinned man turns towards her, “Where is he?”

“Ha!” Otis laughs taking a big bite out of a chicken leg in his hand. “You know where he is, same ole, same ole. I wouldn’t mess with him though. He’s in… what does he call it? He’s in the zone. If you interrupt him now it might end up like last time. Be a fayring mess, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Amelia says and gives the man a slap on the shoulder. “Good to see you again Otis, might be best if you take your meal outside.”

I give Otis a shy smile and a wave before I’m yanked through the crowd once more. We take turns here and there, weaving in and out of people, pushing them away until finally we come to a space that the other patrons seem to avoid.

It’s the cleanest corner of the room, with a small table, and one small patron. He’s sitting there, quill in hand, scribbling away at a page of parchment. Beside him are large stacks of paper, extra bottles of ink and quills, and dozens and dozens empty cups.

“Oh, Amelia,” a woman’s voice says from behind us and we turn to see a young serving woman with curly chestnut hair and bright blue eyes holding a tray with a similar cup on it. Amelia grins and gives the woman a big hug.

“Connie,” She says, “It’s been too long.”

“Tell me about it,” Connie replies and nods towards the boy sitting at the table. “He’s been there for three days now.”

“A new record…” Amelia says rubbing her chin with a forefinger, as if deep in thought. “has he eaten anything?”

“No,” Connie answers with a shake of her head, “He started a tab, just like usual and he’s ordered a Fizzy Pepper Ale every two hours consecutively.”

“A fizzy pepper ale?” I ask confused, I’ve never heard of such a drink. Connie curtsies at me, and introduces herself officially, and I return the gesture.

“It’s a special drink,” She explains, “It’s a cool fizzy drink that pops and tastes cherries. It’s a best seller of ours in general but Cyrus here he’s… he’s our number one buyer.”

“Is it that good?” I ask raising an eyebrow and taking another look at the dozens of cups all over the area.

“Here,” Amelia says, grabbing the cup off of the tray and handing it to me, “you can have this one, he won’t be needing it right now.”

Connie’s face goes white, “Amelia, please, he’s not… He’s not really here right now, you know that. I don’t want to have to find another job because you too can’t-!”

“Don’t worry,” Amelia smiles reassuringly to her friend, “we’re not going to destroy this half of the town, I promise. We’ve got a rather important mission, and we need some help. Grab us another Fizzy Pepper though, just in case we need it.”

Connie dives back into the crowd, leaving just the three of us in the corner. I try a sip of the ale, and it is cool, cold almost, sparkly and popping as it hits the back of my throat with the distinct taste of vanilla and cherries. I can see why he might like the drink but to… to drink so, so many… I don’t understand.

He gets to the end of his page and numbers it at the bottom, before blowing softly on the page to make sure the ink is dry before he sets the fully written page on a large stack of others.

He’s about my size, skinny, and lacking in height. He’s got disheveled brown hair, that’s a deep rich color at the roots before it fades off to a ginger and then a shiny red at the ends. He’s got a few freckles on his face, and on his arms. He’s wearing a gray button up shirt, rolled up to his elbows, and all along his forearms and hands I can see the smears from the ink.

He puts his quill down and as soon as he does his hand begins to shake ever so slightly, his body twitch as he reaches for one of the many cups only to realize it’s empty, and so are all the others.

He proceeds to grumble a variety of curses before his eyes lock on to me, and then the cup in my hands. His eyes are a light green in the center, but darker blue on the outside, which is strange, I’ve never seen eye’s quite like that before.

“Hey, Cyrus,” Amelia says pulling up a chair and sitting down. “Long time no see.”