Chapter 118: Warm Ale

Jimmy scratched at the wooden window a few times, until Marta paid attention to him.

Irritated, she stood up, and prepared to yell at him again, but she got practically frozen in place when she saw the bottle within Jimmy’s claws. She was horrified.

"Whit’s wrang wi’ ye?" She exploded in rage, "They’ll hae me stuck in here fur a hale week if they catch sight o’ any Ale bottles in this dump!"

Conversing with a talking crow was enough of a burden for her, one that she had trouble accepting as a fact. She even started second guessing her sanity, and as the situation had it, an overly hospitable crow tipped the bucket.

Nevertheless, Jimmy insisted. He was panting as he tried to hold the bottle close to the window, and wanted to get rid of it as soon as possible. Without ruining it, that is.

He said, "Ye’ll no be findin’ any ale bottles in there. Stick the bottles ’tween the bars when ye’re done, an’ I’ll pop ’em back in the crate."

Marta liked that plan. She was mad that she didn’t think of it first, which got her to further question her sanity.

Inevitably, she hesitated to take the bottle, because she didn’t want to drown whatever fragment of sanity she had left.

"Ach, come on noo," He insisted, "Ach, c’mon noo, ye might as well get a wee dram doon yer throat while ye’re in there!"

After a deep sigh, Marta accepted. She slid her arm between the wooden bars, and grabbed the bottle between Jimmy’s claws.

Jimmy let go of the bottle, of course, but when Marta touched something soft on the otherwise solid bottle, she was immediately disgusted.

"Could ye no hae flown doon tae the lake, an gied yersel a wee wash?" She shook her head. "There’s shite oan the bottle."

Jimmy tried not to laugh. Only now did he realize that a bit of shit, from that bucket full of shit that was tossed against him earlier on, had fallen on, and practically welded itself on the bottle.

It seemed like poetic justice at this point, but he tried to be nice about it.

He reminded her, "It wis yersel’ who hurled a bucket o’ shite at me."

Marta did not care to argue with him any further. She already conversed with her crow more than she expected to in her lifetime, and certainly more than her sanity would allow.

Instead, she pulled the cork out of the bottle, and started downing the Ale.

To her surprise, she saw another crow leaping from the ground, with another bottle of Ale between its claws.

She was stunned, of course, but after getting a taste of the first bottle of warm ale, she started getting greedy, and of course, she accepted the second bottle.

She grabbed it, and then she grabbed the third, and the fourth bottle.

Naturally, she downed them one after the other. She didn’t pace herself either, as she had plenty of reasons to want to feel numb right now.

Jimmy was happy. This was exactly what he wanted.

He thought, ’With any luck, she’ll tell us whatever secret the village is trying to protect. If they have a secret worth protecting? Getting her drunk should make it easier for her to spill a couple of secrets, I hope. For fuck’s sake, getting her drunk should be easier than winning over her trust the hard way. I don’t want to spend weeks here. We still have to go to God’s Spine Mountain to check what’s going on there.’

Jimmy’s friends noticed that Marta was acting weird after she downed the third bottle of Ale. Well, they noticed that she was walking weirdly, losing her balance.

When Jimmy pulled them away from the Jail-house, and had everyone grab more bottles of Ale, they began to realize how devious he really was.

"Are you trying to kill her?" Vorin asked, "I had a feeling that you liked her. What’s going on?"

"This won’t kill her, don’t worry about it." He said, "It’ll just make her dumber."

"What’s the point in that?" Zoey asked, "I can help you make her dumber without this drink."

"But can you make her spill some secrets?" He asked, and then he finally revealed his goal to his team, "I have a feeling we can swipe whatever skill, or even treasure these humans might be protecting."

"Spill secrets?" Zoey parroted, "No, I don’t think I can pull off anything like that. I can scare the poop out of her if that helps."

"She doesn’t scare easily, so no," He shook his head.

Vorin was struck silent. This plan sounded so wrong, and evil to him, that it would probably take him a day to explain how wrong it was.

Yet, he was advised against his nagging earlier on. Yelled at, really, so he knew that any sort of criticism he would give, would go in vain.

’What’s going on with him?’ Vorin thought, ’He tried so hard to convince us that he isn’t a bad crow. Why is he suddenly torturing that poor human? I know he likes treasures, but this is insane.’

There was nothing he could do. He just grabbed a bottle, and tried to be a team player.

The murder of four crows delivered another four bottles of Ale to Marta, and unsurprisingly, she was practically waiting for them. She tore the bottle from Jimmy’s claws, popped the cork out, and downed the fifth.

"Ah dinnae fancy bottled ale. It gets a wee bit funky efter a while, but a beggar cannae be a picky bugger, I reckon?" Marta expressed, chatting away without a care in the world, "Och, that bloody crate’s been roastin’ in the sun fur twa whole days noo. I wouldnae be shocked if the bastard gives me an early meetin’ wi’ Rotum hissel."

Jimmy’s plan didn’t fail him yet. Marta hasn’t refreshed him with any secrets, but he had a feeling that she was getting there.

That aside, one word she said nearly threw him out of his game.

’Rotum?’ He thought, ’Where have I heard that name before?’