If I Were a Herald

Chapter 10

307 Ale

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people, places, and events is purely coincidental and should be ignored. I had no part in the experiment that created the original 307 ale, although my sister's ex-boyfriend goes to MIT.

A/N (10/25/05): I just discovered a song called "Talk Like a Pirate Day." International Talk Like a Pirate Day is September 19, so it's already passed; but the song is still bloody awesome. Hilarious, I tell ye, mates. Maybe I'll put the lyrics in one of the other chapters… Since I was having a decided lack of inspiration for this story, I decided to go back and read what I'd written about actual parties. So some of these descriptions are adapted from my journal. The one that says "Do Not Read on Pain of Death." You get to guess which parts are taken from real events and which parts are figments of my imagination… it's a contest. Good luck!

DBZ Addict: Vampire hiss involves stretching out my neck and widening my eyes, like what I really want to do is bite the person and suck their blood. I have, in fact, been doing a lot of that today, since I'm being a Vampirate for Halloween PCP. "I am a leaf on the wind, watch how I soar" is from the movie "Serenity." It's what the guy is saying as he's trying to land the really crappy spaceship that's much the worse for wear. So the only reason I actually used it is because this is fanfiction, so I don't have to own every quote. Plus it's the sort of thing I would think, after watching the movie. By the time Elspeth comes around, I'll probably be dead. Besides, I never tell any of the other Heralds about my Mage-Gift. History has to work out like it's supposed to, without any interference from me. I like your idea of getting all the trainees drunk "New College style." That is, in fact, what this chapter is about. You are very perceptive. I was hoping someone would catch onto Jacoby. And the hair spray fades after a few days, or washes out with shampoo. A rolla-rolla board is a piece of board placed on a pipe, on which one must balance. It's usually a circus act, but it's possible to get one for yourself. And don't expect things to make sense in the dreams. The story is, of course, written after the dream, so some sense is forced upon it, but that doesn't necessarily make it logical. The alcohol affected me in the dream because I expected it to do so; if I'd thought myself less of a lightweight, it likely wouldn't have affected me at all. And, in fact, I wasn't aware during the dream that I was dreaming, it was just that I was aware of the fact afterward, when writing about the dream in my journal. I love long reviews. They make me feel warm and fuzzy inside. They mean that the reviewer is actually reading my story and considering what they've read. As for the exerpt, well, this story is kinda like a journal, and I sometimes add stuff in my real journal at earlier days, when I think it was written, rather than when I found it. So that simply means that eventually Jacoby's journal will find its way into my hands. In fact, the trial is not the opening where I meet him. It's much more complicated than that. But you'll have to read the story to find out what I mean.

Fireblade K'Chona: I think I can access the songs from the cd now, but I'm not sure exactly how. As soon as I manage I will put it in an author's note.

Nawyn: The sweeping off the feet will come much later, I'm afraid. But yes, he is real.

It was time to throw a Wall. That was what we called the parties at New College. That meant I had to get together a playlist. Well, I didn't have a computer, but I did have a collection of cd's, and a cd player, and lots and lots of friends in Bardic.

"You want us to do what?" Stefany demanded.

"Just try to learn the songs, okay? I swear, they're clean. Okay, no, I don't. But 'Big Balls' is clean. It just sounds dirty. It's about dances."

"How on Velgarth does this contraption work? I tell you, the artificers would love to get their hands on it."

"I'll bet. I doubt they could replicate it, though, and even if they could, it runs on batteries. If MacGyver were here, he'd be able to make a battery and connect it up—blazes, he could probably make a whole new cd player, plus headphones. But he's not here, and if I tried to take this thing apart I'd probably end up breaking it."

"I suppose we could try to learn the songs. There aren't enough here for the entire party—"

"So pick some good dancing jigs," I interrupted. "You guys are good at that. Or come up with more songs like 'The Shake' or 'Big Butts.'"

"But there's no way to dance to that," Stefany protested.

"Oh, I'm gonna show you guys what real dancing's like. And real alcohol, too. Rum and punch."

For the alcohol, I needed the help of the artificers—the trainees, that is. I still had a hoard of coins I'd lifted from various nobles and dignitaries, and I put it to good use ordering spiced rum. The punch was rather harder to come by. I got the alcohol just fine, but then I had to find the juice part of punch. Eventually I just decided to make my own juice. I got together all the fruit I could find, and had my artificer buddies make me a juicer.

There were two batches of punch. Punch with punch, which was the New College version; and punch that didn't taste like alcohol, for the sissies like me.

Of course, this was my party. And there was only going to be one Wall at the Collegium; I doubted I'd ever be given the chance to pull this off again. I'd been there three years, but it felt like much longer. Lyrna told me I might be getting my Whites soon. Corwin was going out on circuit in a month, and there were rumors of allowing me to go with him. Everyone was jealous. Corwin was a handsome gentleman, and all the girls sighed over him. Myself included. When I wasn't busy being depressed over the lack of pirates, I was mooning over His Hotness.

This stunt was going to ruin my chances of going on circuit with him.

Ah well. Can't have everything in life. Maybe Jorjie would go with him instead. Lord knew she'd been a Trainee much longer than I had—she had to be the oldest Trainee, and definitely the oldest virgin in the entire Collegium grounds. I'd only been here three years, and it had been with great reluctance that Weaponsmaster Eduard pronounced me ready to leave the safety of Haven and strike out on my own. "Goddess knows you've been a trial to us all. I've never seen anyone quite so determined to learn all the dirty tricks of fighting, nor take to them quite so readily. I'd say you're ready to leave the nest, but be careful, you hear? That fiery temper of yours will get you into trouble if you don't learn how to control it."

I smiled a bit at the memory. I'd been extremely insistent upon learning all the dirtiest tricks in the book, and several that weren't, much to the astonishment of my peers. "But that's just not done," they'd said. "It's cheating." Hell, I was a bloody pirate. I'd cheat if it suited me. It's not like I'd be doing anyone but the bad guy any favors if I played fair. I wasn't going to kill anyone unless I had no choice, or they deserved to die. Knowing how to fight well gave me more options, and if they deserved to die, well, a knife in the back was much safer for the innocent bystanders than a duel arcane.

He'd been right about how I took to knife-fighting. Perhaps that was something of the reason for my earlier fear of knives. They felt natural in my hands, almost a part of me, but whenever I held one, be it steak knife or dagger, I immediately began to think about the sort of damage it could do to the people in my vicinity. How if I did this, that would result. They could defend themselves with such-and-such a move, and I would respond thusly. As I matured, the impulses had come under conscious control, and I'd begun to love knives of all sorts, the longer the better.

Another thing I'd taken to like I was born to it was the bow. I'd always been rather good at it, and half a decade without touching one hadn't changed that. Daily archery practice had honed my skill, making it second nature. Every Herald had to know archery, but not every one had to be an expert. I'd just loved it so much that wild horses couldn't have kept me away from the archery field, even when my time might have been better spent catching up on sleep. The entire last year had been nothing but day-long training at the pells and in the salle, following irregular dawn outings to the archery field.

:Maybe you should rethink this: Lyrna suggested. :You know, Corwin is very handsome. And he's going on circuit to the north. Gets very cold up there.:

"Bloody matchmaking pony," I muttered. "It's very cold down here, thank you."

I'd been working far too long on this party to back down now. I'd even written about five songs in the last year specifically for my Wall. Four of them were rap songs. I hated rap. The show must go on.

The artificers had built me a distillery, and we'd used the leftover fruit from the punch to make some bootleg moonshine. There was just one last thing to do—my own special touch, inspired by the song "307 Ale." Hyperspace was the Gate, which I'd finally gotten the courage to build. At least, I was pretty sure I had the nerve. I took a deep, steadying breath, and began the spell—this time with some slight modifications. I didn't want to go anywhere, I just wanted to send the booze into hyperspace and back again. Hopefully whatever spell Vanyel had in place would keep my friends from realizing exactly what I was doing.

:You're being a fool: Lyrna scolded. :There's no need for you to take these risks.:

"Yes there is. If I don't, I'll forever curse myself for being a coward. Now shut up and let me concentrate." The spell spun its way away from me, taking the hooch with it. A minute later, it solidified and collapsed, spitting out the liquor.

"Um, Kali?" said my artificer friend, Rachel.

"Yeah?"

"It's glowing."

I looked closely at it. It was, indeed, glowing, a lovely emerald-green. "Perfect."

"You meant for that to happen?"

"Nope," I said cheerfully. "But it looks bloody awesome. Okay, kids. Party tonight, usual place. The Bards'll be providing entertainment, and I'll be teaching y'all how to dance."

I also had one last trick up my sleeve. A prank, really. I had a half-filled keg of baking soda that I'd had to make myself. I wasn't sure exactly how well it had worked. I'd done some rather MacGyver-like stuff in the process, but the fact remained that I wasn't MacGyver, and I couldn't make a bomb out of fertilizer and cut-up roots, no matter how many times I recited his instructions (nitrogen from fertilizer, cellulose from plant roots; stir, don't shake, with a drop or two of acid). So my "baking soda" may have been something other than NaHCO3. There was definitely sodium, and probably hydrogen and oxygen, but not necessarily in the right quantities; I'd added some coal to the mix, and sparked it with magic.

To this dubious mixture I added vinegar, which had been much easier to obtain. It immediately began to bubble and fizz, which was all to the good. "Hey! Special drink from my homeland! We call it Baking Soda!" I called. The earlier partygoers gathered 'round and filled their glasses. One sip and the first began to sputter, spewing the drink all over the others. "That's bleeding nasty!"

The grind was a big hit, especially after everyone was tipsy. Or drunk, depending on what they tried first. The hunch punch had quite a kick, and I was beginning to suspect that my 307 ale really was one hundred fifty-three and a half percent alcohol. I got drunk off a shot-glass sized gulp of it. As in unfocused eyes and the inability to remember why I shouldn't kiss every guy who came within range. Remembered why I shouldn't screw them, though.

I had a full glass of the potent stuff. It didn't taste like alcohol. I wasn't sure what it tasted like, but it wasn't alcohol. Worked like alcohol, though.

I realized, when I set down my glass with exaggerated care on my sash, then stood up and spilt it all over myself, that I was definitely not operating at optimum capacity. I felt dizzy, almost as if I was about to faint, only without the brown stuff blocking my vision. Like usual, the alcohol had gone straight to my head.

I also realized, as I drank a whole glass of the 307 stuff in one go, that I was more inebriated than I'd ever been in my life. Even more so than when I was puking my guts up in 2nd court lounge the night of the Karaoke Wall, after I'd been told that now was not a good time to enter by my roommate's lover. Being sexiled when drunk is not a good experience.

That night I'd had four bottles of Schmirnoff Green Apple and God knows how much rum—the other pirates had given me the rum bottle to guard, which was not the brightest of ideas. Hey, look, rum. Sip. Hey, look, more rum. Gulp. Hey, there's still some rum left. Chug.

But even then I hadn't been so drunk that the ground was dancing beneath my feet. Now it felt like a ship during a hurricane—swaying from side to side, rearing and bucking like an angry bronco. It was time to go drink some water, so I wouldn't end up with a headache the size of Montana when I woke up. I'd never yet experienced a real hangover, and didn't plan to start now.

Water, it seemed, was rather hard to come by, so I made my way down to the river for a drink. Jello and his mates followed me there.

"Ahoy, Jello," I greeted him affably.

"Water looks nice," he said. I was proud to note that his voice slurred even worse than mine, and he didn't seem to be able to walk a straight line to save his life.

At that thought, I carefully put one foot in front of the other, willing the ground to stop its upheaval. With only a minimum of arm-waving I walked a straight line down to the river.

"Maybe you'd care for a swim," he added when I failed to respond.

"Don't think I would, mate," I replied, still amiable, though I was beginning to get suspicious. That was me: paranoid to the core. "Although it might sober me up. Think I'd be more likely to drown before any soberin' managed to take place."

"That was something of the idea," said Jello, hatred bright in his eyes. At least I figured that's why his eyes were shining—it was rather dark, and I was having trouble focusing, so it really could have been anything. Could have been the fact that his eyes were white and the rest of his face wasn't, for all I could tell.

He stumbled toward me and gave me a shove. Somehow I managed to hold my ground—probably because the shove wasn't much compared to the earth rocking beneath my feet.

"Bastard," I snarled. "Ye tried to kill me. I'll have yer guts fer garters, ye lily-livered swine-son! Scurvy dog! Bilge rat!" I continued spouting pirate insults and piratey-sounding nonsense as I took a swipe at his shirt. "I can se ye've had too much o' Nelson's folly. Landlubber like yerself never could learn a lesson proper. Loaded to the gunwalls as ye are, I misdoubt it'd be quite a fair contest, e'en with yer cronies to back ye up. Four o' ye, one o' me, hardly seems fair. No, wait, I misjudged. There's five o' ye. Might help even the odds a bit. Good thing ye didn't bring any more. I really prefer to have the advantage. 'Tis best to play with weighted dice, an' hedge all yer bets." I'd missed his shirt the first time, then overcompensated the second time and nearly knocked him on his rump. His cronies stood back, not wanting any part in this drunken fight. He swung at me, but I blocked it automatically; my reflexes, at least, hadn't suffered from the amount of alcohol I'd imbibed. My next blow caught him square in the solar plexus. He doubled over, then fell into the river, gasping for breath.

I probably should've left him there. Done the world a service. God help me, I seriously considered doing just that. But I figured I'd regret it the next morning, so, with a sigh, I dove in after him.

The cold river did nothing to drive away the haze of drunkenness clouding my vision. The shock of it just sent chills through my body, perhaps speeding up the process of getting rid of the alcohol but not enough to make a difference. I'd had, what, two cups of the 307 ale, and a bottle of rum. Okay, that was a hell of a lot. Probably the only reason I wasn't heaving my guts up was I'd had a hearty meal beforehand.

An arm surged out of the water inches from my nose. I grabbed at it, missed, grabbed again, this time furrowing my brow in concentration. Once it was safely within my grasp, I hauled it, as well as the person attached to the other end, to shore. In the process, I managed to swallow what must have been about half the river, but at least it all went into my stomach.

"You bitch!" he spluttered at me. "You pushed me into the water!"

"I just saved yer ever-lovin' life," I shot right back. "Ye could at least pretend to be grateful. Now, if'n ye don' mind, I'm gonna return to the party. To which ye were not invited. So get, ye swine-faced scoundrel!"

I returned, soaked to the skin, to find that the party was still in full swing, and the Bardic Trainees were just beginning to play "Big Balls." It wasn't much of a dancing song, but these Trainees needed to hear some dirty music; the songs these Bardics sang were all far too proper for a bunch of horny teenagers. "My balls are always bouncing and my balls are always full, and everybody comes and comes again. If your name is on the guest list, no one can take you higher. Everybody says I've got great balls of fire!" Somehow I managed to perform a simple spell to dry out my clothes.

Later they played "Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy)" and "Don't Ya Wish Your Girlfriend Was Hot Like Me." I jumped on top of the makeshift wall made of wood and showed them how to dance dirty when they milled around, looking confused. By that time everyone was drunk enough they accepted my instructions. A guy came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. It was just the two of us dancing atop the wall, with the sea of people stretching out beneath us.

The someone was Corwin, and he began speaking in my ear. "You sober enough to understand me? 'Cause this is important."

"I can be sober if ye want me to be," I offered, craning around to look at him. I squinted, trying to bring his face into focus.

"Just try. The other Heralds want you out of here, so they've rescheduled my circuit to begin tomorrow. You need to be ready by then."

"What? Why, mate? I'm not goin' with ye. Not after this stunt."

"Actually, you are going with me. So pack up, girl. We're headed for the frozen wastelands of the north."

I vaulted down from the wall, Lyrna's mindvoice ringing in my head. :Just the two of you… all alone… in the northernmost reaches of Valdemar…:

"Shut up, horse!"