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Rolnikov Goes to the Bar, by Stephen William Theaker

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Once they reached the small dry town of Tunesome, Rolnikov wasted no time in collecting his payment. The town mayor made no trouble about handing it over – people just didn’t do that with Rolnikov, at least not people who knew who he was. Those people who didn’t know, and who acted upon that lack of knowledge, soon learned the importance of good research. Before leaving the mayor’s residence, they decided that they might as well make use of his palatial bathroom. Both of them cleaned up, and Pelney did what he could to wash the blood from his boss’s leather chest-straps.

Money in hand, Rolnikov and Pelney went to the pub and checked their maps. Calculating the route of Princess Ranita’s orbiting space station, they worked out where they would need to be in order to be collected when she passed overhead, and when they would have to be there.

“We have time to eat,” said Pelney happily.

“That’s never a bad thing,” growled Rolnikov. “Order me some food, and if it’s bad, you die.” He poked a finger into one of Pelney’s round cheeks. “Understand me? Bad food, you die.”

Pelney could hardly stop laughing. “Rolnikov, you crack me up!”

Rolnikov narrowed his eyes as Pelney headed for the bar. Rolnikov’s stomach was rumbling. Rolnikov wondered if he should have taken a slice of the monster to snack on en route. Rolnikov was ready to throttle Pelney as the squire turned back from the bar, making a big show of pretending to suddenly have a thought.

“Rolnikov!” he called to the mad knight. “I understand the bit about the food – bad food, I die. That’s simple! But what about the beer – if that’s bad, will I die then too, or could I get away with an amputation?”

Remember the boots, Rolnikov told himself, gritting his teeth. Remember that the boots are exceptionally dirty today.

He resolved to step in something especially disgusting tomorrow. Just before he turned in, of course. He wouldn’t want to be walking around with poo on his boots all day.

Pelney was soon back with two pints of beer. He put them on the table and tentatively sipped one. “Not too bad,” he told Rolnikov. “Just try and pretend your mother made it or something.”

“Don’t talk about my mother,” said the mad knight.

Pelney shrugged and took a big gulp of the beer.

“Are you looking forward to seeing the orbiting princess?” he asked.

“Don’t talk about the princess,” ordered Rolnikov, before picking up his pint and drinking it in a single draught. “And get me another beer.”

“Sure,” said Pelney, rolling his eyes and grinning. He then became more reflective. “Do you want to know what I think, Rolnikov? You seem undecided. I’ll tell you anyway. This repartee of ours, this constant back and forth banter, which to you seems nothing but an irritation, is really the solid bedrock of our relationship.”

Rolnikov thought about what Pelney was saying for once. “I believe…”

“Yes,” said Pelney, leaning forward eagerly. “Go on!”

Rolnikov shrugged. “The bedrock of our relationship is that you clean my boots.”

Pelney slumped back, and pushed his beer over to Rolnikov. “Here, you might as well have this. I’ll get another two in a minute.” The mad knight nodded his approval, but paused to speak even as he lifted the glass.

“Not that you do a very good job of it.”

Once more he drank the pint in a single go.

“Well that goes without saying,” said Pelney, glumly. “I mean, as if I could ever mean anything whatsoever to the mighty Rolnikov, mad knight of Uttar Pradesh.” He cradled his head in his arms.

Rolnikov broke into one of his rare smiles. It always amused him when he managed to goad Pelney into a depressed mood. It amused him so much that he decided to go to the bar himself for a change. Usually he left anything that involved talking to people to Pelney. He got up from his stool and went up to the bar. Peeking out from his arms, Pelney could not repress a grin. He knew there was only one surefire way to cheer up his boss. It never failed.

The barman moved to serve Rolnikov immediately. It was a mark of respect, or of fear, the kind of thing which the mad knight was used to – on the rare occasions when he didn’t leave the human interaction to his flunky – but this time one of the other patrons took exception to it.

“Hey,” he shouted at the barman. “Why are you serving this creep first?”

The barman shrugged. “He killed the exomentarius for us. It had been killing livestock and children around here for the last six months. It even took off one of Hudd’s arms.” He pointed out a one-armed man with shocking white hair and an exuberant moustache sitting at the end of the bar. Hudd gave Rolnikov a big thumbs up (with his remaining thumb). “We owe him a lot more than we can afford to pay him. So he gets served first.”

Rolnikov gave Hudd a thumbs up in return. Maybe it was the dry heat of the day, perhaps it was the two pints, or could it have been, though he didn’t dare suggest this even to himself, the prospect of meeting the orbiting princess once more? – but Rolnikov was feeling positively bouncy, by his standards, at least.

The other customer was not satisfied by this, which seemed odd to Rolnikov, as from his behaviour he had clearly been served six or seven times already.

“I don’t care if he’s killed a dozen of those things. If you needed him to do it that just shows what a bunch of pussies the men in this town are anyway. Doesn’t say a thing about him. Now serve me and do it quick, mister! It took me all day to get here and I’m thirsty.”

Rolnikov looked at him properly for the first time. “Sir, I’m happy for you to be served first. It is only fair. In fact, I am honoured that you go so far as to let me even drink at the same bar as yourself. Please, though, don’t be so rude to the barman, who, after all, acts only out of an exaggerated sense of his danger in my presence.”

Having pricked up his ears at the sound of Rolnikov actually getting into a conversation, Pelney’s eyebrows were now scampering up his forehead as if they were trying to burrow into his hair. Fancy someone speaking to Rolnikov like that! Perhaps evolution on Melrune had been going more slowly than elsewhere in the galaxy after all, if there were still people that dumb here. Parallel evolution was evidently not all it was cracked up to be.

“Oooh, I’m frightened,” said the drunk. “Danger in your presence?” He threw his head back and laughed in Rolnikov’s face. “Look at me, I’m crying because I’m so scared! Boo-hoo!” He pointed a finger at Rolnikov. “The only exaggerated thing around here is what an arsehole you are, craphead.”

Pelney winced. This could really end up being painful to watch. He decided to intervene. After all, he reckoned, the man was drunk. He would not normally have been so boorish.

He jumped to his feet and ran over to the bar. Rolnikov was staring at the drunk, immobile as a statue before it falls on someone’s head.

Pelney pushed in between the two.

“What’s your name, friend?” he asked cheerily.

“What’s it to you?” said the man with a sneer.

“Just seems fair to exchange names before there’s any trouble, that’s all, in case there’s any complications later.”

“The name is Smad. Are you going to ask the name of this jerk?”

“No need,” said Pelney. “I already know it, and I can tell by your actions that you do not.” He smiled and leaned in to whisper in the man’s ear. As the man’s expression turned to horrified shock, Pelney stepped smartly back. He’d seen this happen before.

A dark stain spread across the man’s trousers; a dark pool appeared around his feet. The man began to shake and he put a desperate hand to grab his own backside.

At least, thought Pelney, he might keep that much of his dignity.

Unfortunately, he did not.

The one saving grace of the gentleman’s accident – luckily for him – was that as the trousers slowly bulged outwards it made Rolnikov smile again. He took the two pints from the barman and went back to his stool without taking further action. As the drunkard ran out of the pub, struggling with his own stool, Pelney handed a few notes to the barman, apologising for the mess, then returned to sit with Rolnikov, whose smile was just beginning to fade.

“You love that, don’t you?” said Pelney.

“I don’t hate it,” replied Rolnikov.