This blog series is a fun crossover between How to Break an Evil Curse by Laura Morrison and The Black Pearl by Jennifer Flath. You can read both novels for free at JukePop Serials.
Alexander has just been zapped by a wizard in the search for Warren. Start at the beginning with Part 1 of Alexander's Fritillary Misadventure.
After the smoke cleared, we were in the most disgusting section of town I had ever seen. Really. They would have been better off relocating the people, burning everything to the ground, and starting over. Perhaps I would suggest this to the revolution organizers, assuming anyone was actually organizing this revolution. I wrapped my cloak around my hand to open the door to the Stumble Inn because I was not touching anything in this place.
On the door was a poster: “One night only, listen to the musical stylings of Warren Kensington at the Stumble Inn!“
Copper stared at the sign and said, “He’s on the run, and he’s got posters advertising where he is?”
“One night only, though,” Ross pointed out. “Plus, remember his condition. Not the best judgment.”
“What exactly is wrong with him?” I asked. “Is he dangerous?” He had been attached to that woman back on the pirate ship after all.
Copper said with a glare at Ross, “Well, Warren has been on a lot of adventures these past few months. And he’s not too good at adventures. So he got hurt a lot. Stabbed a few times, some concussions. There’s this potion that wizards use.” Here, he gave Ross another angry look. “But if it gets used too much it has--uh--side effects. Lack of judgment. Warren has had a lot of doses.”
I had quite a bit of sympathy for his plight. If all my healings had a negative effect on me, I’d be a raving lunatic.
“I’m supposed to go in alone,” I reminded Copper and Ross, who were hovering at the door.
“At least I can hear him,” Copper said. Through the windows came the sound of a banjo playing at a frantic pace.
Copper moved to spy on him through the windows. “No peeking in the windows,” I told Copper. “The last thing an already paranoid person needs is unpleasant surprises. I’ll explain to Warren you’re out here after we’ve talked.”
I unearthed another tuna roll from my bag and tossed it to Pepper. “Wait outside,” I said. He cocked his head. Letting me out of his sight was a rule violation. “I promise to avoid bar brawls and to scream if anybody touches me,” I said. He took me at my word, or he was more interested in eating his tuna roll. Either way, he let me go.
I walked into the bar. The room was large, crowded, and furnished with plain, functional tables and benches. There was a small stage opposite me. Sitting on a barstool on the stage, playing the banjo, was the young man who had to be Warren. In addition to playing, he was also singing. Unless my eyes deceived me, he looked like he had tears in his eyes as he sang. I was just in time to hear the last verse as he belted it out with impressive depth of emotion:
“--I just wanna find you,
and say how I feel.
To tell you my love’s true,
and oh, so, so real.”
He played a few more chords, and he was done.
The room exploded with cheers and clapping.
He stood and bowed. “Thank you!” he yelled over the cheering and hooting. “I’m going to take a break for dinner, but I’ll play a bit more in about an hour. Thanks so much for coming out and seeing me!” He hopped down the stairs and sat at a table that had a ‘reserved’ sign on it. A group gathered around him, clamoring for autographs. I decided this was an opportune time to order something from the bar in order to sample the local fare. As I walked toward the bar, I glanced at what other patrons were eating and was glad I had some food in my bag.
I scanned the menu. If an asparagus was the sad looking green stick I saw around me, I wanted no part of it. Nor did I have the constitution for a drink called a “Screaming Death Punch.” I took a seat and ate some of the vat of lamb stew I was carrying instead. Normally I’d be finicky about eating food cold, but I was just feeling grateful I wasn’t eating what the table next to me was eating. It looked more like what food eats than something fit for consumption by people.
The crowd was small, and I had just polished off the last of the bacon-wrapped olives by the time Warren was chatting with his last fan.
“What’s your inspiration?” asked a gushing young lady.
“For that last song?” he asked. “Let’s just say it’s inspired by real life.” He sighed heavily.
“Warren, I presume?” I asked.
He looked past the young lady who had just handed a notebook to him with the intention of getting a signature. “Yes indeed! Hold on a second. If you have something to sign, could you have it ready? I’d like to get back onstage kinda soon.” He then signed the young lady’s notebook and thanked her. She scurried off to join a group of her friends, who had been waiting nearby. “Hi!” Warren said to me. “Thanks for coming out!”
I held out an arm. “Alexander,” I said. “You just talked to Ross. Or...a vial of blood who talked to Ross.”
“Oh! Right!” he said, looking around shiftily. “You’re alone?”
I gestured around me to illustrate I was, in fact, alone. Copper chose that moment to stick his head in the window. I sighed. “I’m mostly alone. Copper is hoping to speak to you for just a moment. Your sister is worried. I can assure you no one has intentions of dragging you off.”
He jumped to his feet and said, “We gotta run! Gotta hide!” and he leaped onto the stage, then disappeared behind a curtain. If I hadn’t had the presence of mind to follow him the second he darted away, I’d have lost him backstage. I spotted him dodging from shadow to shadow down a long hallway. He darted into a doorway at the end of the hall. It was a kitchen. And he was there behind the door, holding a knife he must have grabbed off a counter. I was glad Ross and Copper had warned me about the magic that impaired his judgement.
“So,” I said. “Impaired judgment problems. That must be challenging.”
Warren blinked at me a few moments, then looked down at the knife. “Aw shoot. I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”
“I’d say so,” I answered. “I just had a question or two, but if it’s too much right now…” I don’t want to be stabbed in the face was the conclusion to that sentence, but I’d let him draw his own, nicer conclusions. I tried holding my hand out for the knife. Warren gave it to me. I’m not sure if that was proof of some control or further proof of impaired judgment.
“I was told you might have some knowledge about the Princess,” I tried, returning the knife to its holder. “I’ve been trying to study Fritillary social structure, and it’s been quite a challenge to find someone who knows much of anything.”
Warren sighed and said, “You heard that song I was singing?”
“You’re a very talented musician,” I said, without even having to exaggerate. The lyrics needed work, but he clearly meant them, and he really could play that banjo. Perhaps Warren and his sister had taken the same poetry writing course.
“Thanks, dude. That song… it was about her. The Princess. Actually, all the songs I’ve been writing lately are about her. She disappeared. Went off to learn to be a witch. I have no idea where she is, and I need to tell her I love her. I--Wow, I’m saying an awful lot to a complete stranger…” He looked down at the banjo he’d been holding in his free hand. He raised it into position and began to pluck at the strings forlornly.
Thank goodness. I had assumed the song was about Lola. Thankfully, even magically-induced bad judgment couldn’t be that bad. Maybe she had exaggerated their relationship.
“If you need to tell your Princess her you love her,” I said, “what are you doing here?”
“I’ve been searching all around the countryside, trying to find her. I gotta support myself somehow on my search. Thus the performances,” he said. “The big problem with her learning to be a witch is that in Fritillary witches aren’t allowed, so there’s not a Witch Academy or something. It’s all very underground.”
“I’ve heard,” I said. “Your men are a rather overbearing, insecure sort in Fritillary, aren’t they?”
“Oh totally. They’re very insecure. Always trying to be tough and manly. Drinking their coffee black because milk and sugar are signs of weakness. Having brawls all the time. Burning witches. Stuff like that. I’ve never really understood it, myself. I hate fighting, and I like sugar and milk in my coffee, and I think no one should ever be burned at the stake.”
“You seem like a reasonable, progressive sort of person,” I told him. “Interesting social commentary overall. Could we head somewhere where I can write this down?” I asked.
“No problem. The dressing room they gave me is nice. And there are some snacks.”
He led the way back down the hallway to a door with a star on it. Written on the star in nice handwriting was ‘Warren Kensington’.
He held the door open for me and followed me in. I noticed how he looked furtively up and down the hallway before shutting and locking the door. “So!” he said, clapping his hands together and sitting down in a folding chair, “What do you want to know?” He gestured to his vanity, where at a tray of crackers with gray glop on them sat.
“I just ate,” I said politely. I would have said the same thing if I had eaten two days ago. The glop smelled like something that had come out of a fish. Not something made from fish. Something that had literally come out of the inside of a fish.
Warren shrugged and popped one into his mouth. I expected coughing or vomiting to follow, but he just swallowed the stuff, leaned back in his chair, and directed his attention toward me.
Ignoring a slight case of nausea, I jotted down some notes. “Your whole society is fascinating,” I admitted. “Women aren’t allowed to practice magic. The Princess has run away to participate in illegal activities. There seems to be revolution brewing right off shore. What are the king and queen doing? What are they like?”
“Yeah Fritillary is really weird. I’m new to the whole social structure myself. Up until a few months ago I was always sailing around the ocean with the pirates. I only heard little bits and pieces of news when we did performances on cruise ships.”
“Of course,” I said. “I already know more about pirate culture than I care to know. Hopefully I never run into the ex-Captain again.”
“I’m with you there,” he said, running a hand gingerly over his ribs. “That guy nearly killed me. I’m no good with a sword. He is.”
“Surprisingly so. Did this have anything to do with--” I dragged out the sentence suggestively. He could draw his own conclusions.
“Oh. You met Lola?”
“You can say that.”
“Yeah… this was something to do with her. In my defense, I was suffering from a concussion when I ‘fell in love’ with her,” he said, doing air quotes.
“Concussion?” I had to smile. “Did you actually fall?”
Warren rolled his eyes, but laughed. “Yes. I actually did. Right through a trapdoor. Then I fell in love. Or something. That was the most embarrassing chapter of my life, no question.”
“I have to admit. I question the judgment of anyone who thinks they’re in love with...that person, but you seem to have a decent excuse. At least you came to your senses.”
Warren winced and said, “Actually, my judgement wasn’t impaired due to magic until after that. But still, I can at least blame the concussion. If you’d met her father, you’d at least understand where she gets it. It’s totally hereditary.”
“Isn’t…” I was about to get myself in trouble, but this was my last stop. Or perhaps judgment impairment was contagious. “Isn’t Julianna her half sister?”
“Hey, pal. Watch it. Julianna’s the best. You have no idea. She is nothing like Lola. Except they both lived their whole lives locked in basements and know nothing about real life. But I spent my whole life on a pirate ship and I know nothing about real life either, so it’s not like I’m judging.”
It’s a shame I finally found an interesting story and I would have to leave soon. “It looks like I won’t have a chance to meet her anyway,” I said. “No one can find her.”
“Well, she’s wonderful. She’s even wonderful at hiding,” he grumbled. “Oh, hey! I have an idea. If you really want to talk to her about stuff, there is a way I can get in touch with you once I find her.”
