The Rusted Bolt is, at last, open for business - even if Jonathan is only willing to detail the opening night...
So here it is! The final parts of Chapter 1 of The Perpetual Soul! I've lumped the two together because they're rather short on their own, but they're still two separate parts to show the time distinction. Also, it means you know straight away why Part 4 ends so abruptly.
There's probably going to be a bit of a break from this for a couple of months. I'll still be working on it, but I'll be storing up parts to upload, and there are other things I'd like to get back to. For the moment, though, just enjoy this :D
And as always - PLEASE leave comments! I love hearing what all of you lot have to say about what I write.
Enjoy!

++<STORY BEGINS>++

The following evening, at the opening of the new pub, things went far smoother than either Laurence or Jonathan had expected. People started arriving at around sundown, coming in dribs and drabs, and the pub never actually reached a stage of unruliness.
The first patron to arrive was a young fellow, a completely white duck by the name of Volo. He wore the gilded blue uniform of the Cranberg Marching Band, the insignia on his arm designating him as lead tuba. He was rather rotund, as ducks go, and as such the uniform made him look strangely like a large, gold-edged blueberry. His name was apparently derived from an old Dol’ken word, although neither he, nor Laurence, nor even Jonathan could figure out what it meant. Whatever it had meant originally, they eventually decided it must have meant something along the lines of bouncy.
He arrived almost bang on seven, the official opening time, and practically bounded through the door, leaping straight up the bar.
“Hi!” he said, grinning one of the happiest grins Laurence, who was manning the bar for the first hour, had ever seen. “Got anything to drink?”
“Um, sure,” Laurence said, a little off-put by the duck’s obscene levels of enthusiasm. “What can I get you, mister...?”
“Volo!” the duck said, somehow managing to grin even wider. “Oh, and a cider, please, thanks!”
“Sure thing, Volo,” Laurence said, getting a glass from under the bar and pulling the duck a drink. “I’ve got to ask, what’s got you so... um... bouncy?”
“What?” Volo asked, seemingly confused by the question, taking a drink of the cider. “Well, it’s a new pub! Why wouldn’t I be happy?”
“He’s opposed to people having a good time!” Jonathan called, poking his tongue out. He was sat at one of the far tables, so as to observe the night’s proceedings. There was a free seat next to him, which he patted for the duck to sit at. Volo practically jogged over, although with his rather well-fed frame, it was more of a waddle. He slammed into the seat, wiggling around a little to get comfortable. Jonathan stretched out a paw, which the duck eagerly took in his own feathery wing and shook.
“Pleasure to meet you,” Jonathan said, surprised by the firmness of the duck’s grip. “I’m Jonathan; I own the place with Laurence. You’re Volo, right?”
“Yup!” Volo said, grinning and taking another swig of the cider. “You own the place? How did you buy it? Was it hard to do up? Wait, wasn’t this the Merrimack place?”
“Yeah, it was, we bought it a few months back,” Jonathan said, looking over to Laurence. “Took some time to get things sorted, but we got it done in the end, didn’t we?”
“Yeah, wasn’t too much trouble,” Laurence said. “And I’m not opposed to a good time, mate. You’re just a bit full-on.”
“Oh, yeah, I know!” Volo said, wiggling a little. “Everyone says so! I don’t know why it’s a problem though – I’m just really happy!”
“We can tell,” Jonathan and Laurence said in unison. They looked at each other a little perplexed for a moment, but the silence was cut short as the door opened as another patron arrived.
The newcomer was a large, burly polar bear, and seemed the antithesis of the duck. He was large and powerfully-built, where Volo was small and well-rounded. Where the duck wore the almost regal attire of the Marching Band, this bear wore the almost savage pelt-and-leather clothing of the northern wastes, festooned with pouches, small bones, and several blades, including a pair of monstrous axes. While Volo seemed so full of energy he could barely sit still in his seat, the bear moved slowly, and seemed, for lack of a better word, weary. In fact, the only thing they had in common was their colouring – and even then, where Volo was a pure, snowy white, this newcomer was the characteristic yellowy white of the polar bears.
He trudged through the room, making his way straight to the bar, and sat down at one of the sturdy brass and wood stools. The seat creaked a little under the sheer mass of muscle and the bear’s natural blubber, but it was of sturdy construction – the metal of the supporting beam was solid the whole way through.
“Beer, please,” he said, fishing a couple of Marq coins from his pocket.
“Coming right up,” Laurence said, drawing one from the tap and handing it to the bear, who proceeded to down half the pint in a single gulp. “Welcome to The Rusted Bolt, by the way.”
“Sure, sure,” the bear said, finishing off the beer. “This is good stuff, where do you –” The bear was cut off as Volo came up and actually hugged him, wrapping his feathers around the bear’s massive bulk.
“Hey there!” Volo said, jumping back from the hug and smiling. “I’m Volo!”
“Good for you Volo,” the bear said, brushing a stray feather off his side, “but don’t hug me.”
“But why not?” the duck said, looking even more confused than when Laurence had asked why he was so happy. “Everyone loves hugs!”
“Yeah, well, I don’t,” the bear said, turning around on his stool. “No issue with you, mate, just don’t like ‘em.”
“You’ll have to forgive Volo,” Jonathan said, walking over and putting a paw on the duck’s shoulder. “He’s just a little... friendly, is all. And you would be?”
“Steven,” the polar bear said, “but most folk just call me Sushi.”
“Sushi?” Laurence asked, confused. “Isn’t that a type of fish?”
“Yeah,” Sushi said, digging another couple of coins out of one of his pouches. “Apparently, you eat enough of something, people start calling you it.”
“Sod Off Baldric,” Jonathan muttered, recalling the ancient sketch, the world it had come from long, long gone.
“Excuse me?” the bear said, looking at Jonathan strangely. “You say something?”
“What? Oh, nothing,” Jonathan said, snapping back to the present. “So, Sushi, what brings you here then?”
“Had a bit of a falling out with the folks at the last place,” Sushi said, passing his coins to Laurence for another drink. Laurence was a little startled at the speed the bear seemed to be drinking, but simply shrugged, taking the small bronze coins and pouring another drink. “Some stupid fox and his gang decided they’d attack me and my lot.”
“What did you do?” Volo asked.
“Nothing that concerns you, duck,” Sushi said, taking the beer in his paw, drinking this one slightly slower. “But they’re far less talkative than they used to be.”
“You killed them?” Jonathan asked, looking briefly over to the window, spying a couple of figures making their way up to the pub.
“Hard to talk when you mouth’s not connected to your lungs anymore,” the bear said, patting one of the axes with his free paw.
The conversation was spared its dark conclusion as the door opened again. Through it stepped two foxes, the figures Jonathan had seen approaching from the window. Both male and in their mid-twenties, the one on the left wore a plain working suit, while the one on the right wore the brown and gold uniform of an Imperial Air Force captain. They were chatting between themselves as they walked in, the one on the right giggling at some unheard joke. As he hung up his heavy greatcoat and cap, the one on the left made his way over to the bar, placing down a small pile of coins for drinks.
“Good evening!” he said, smiling and pushing the coins forward. “You wouldn’t happen to have Karkoff cider here, would you?”
“Sure we do,” Laurence said, getting down two glasses and pulling the drinks, the tap for the rare cider made of polished ebony wood. The drink in question was made with a strange mix of berries, known only to the Karkoff brewers, and had a purple-red tinge to it. Taking the coins, leaving a few Fracts change, Laurence passed the fox the drinks.
“Thank you,” the fox said, beaming. He took the first drink for himself, passing the second to the other fox, who had now made his way over.
“Thanks mate,” the second fox said, taking the drink and taking a sip.
“So, you two,” Jonathan said, looking at the two foxes, “what brings you to the Bolt?”
“Oh, Blacktail here insisted the pubs in the city were too dangerous,” the first fox said, gesturing to the airman.
“I did not!” the fox named Blacktail cried out, looking at the first fox incredulous. “I just said that you weren’t safe there.”
“Of course,” the first fox said, sticking his tongue out before taking a sip of his drink.
“Jordan here’s not exactly the bravest of souls,” Blacktail said, wrapping an arm around the other fox, ruffling the fur of his head as if he were a pup. “We thought this place would make a good change.”
“Wait, you two aren’t...?” Laurence began, suddenly clicking into the discourse between the two foxes – Jonathan could practically see the wolf’s eyes widen a little.
“We are,” Jordan said, smirking a little at the look on Laurence’s face as he worked his way out from Blacktail’s grip, “unless if that’s a problem for you?”
“Oh, please,” Jonathan said, chuckling. “He’s had to put up with me for the last few years – he’s used to it.”
“But he’s not?” Blacktail asked, looking Laurence up and down, before taking another swig of his drink.
“Very much not,” Laurence said, giving Jonathan a look. “So, you two are together then?”
“That we are,” Jordan said, looking to the other fox, before looking around the bar, spying the two other patrons in the corner. They were engaged at that moment in a quiet conversation; although Volo’s constant wiggling did cause his chair to squeak a bit. “Who’re they?”
“Oh, that’s Volo,” Jonathan said, pointing to the duck with a claw, “and Sushi,” shifting to the right. “They came in a few minutes ago. Actually, you’re coming in rather fast – I didn’t expect so many people to be here by now.”
“How are four people a lot of people?” Laurence asked, looking around at the empty tables.
“Four people in, like, ten minutes,” the husky said, pulling out his chronometer and checking the time. “How many did you expect?”
“I don’t know, a few,” Laurence said, leaning over the bar a bit to peer at the timepiece. He tilted his head to the foxes. “Hey, you don’t know about any others who are coming, do you?”
“Um, I’m not sure,” Blacktail said, looking to Jordan. “Mate, you know if anyone else is coming?”
“Cormack said he was, yeah,” Jordan said, thinking. “Not sure about any others though.”
“Cormack?” Jonathan asked, wondering who the new person was.
“Yeah, Cormack,” Blacktail said, grinning a little. “Big bastard of a wolf – owns a farm just outside the Wall. You don’t have any food here, do you?”
“Um, I could cook something up in the kitchen,” Laurence said, looking a little confused. “Why, you hungry?”
“No, but he will be,” Jordan said, grinning and giggling a little.
“Sure, sure,” Laurence said, looking a little confused. “How do you know?”
“He always is,” Blacktail said, finishing off his drink. “Don’t worry, you’ve got plenty of time to prepare – guy’s a slow mover, won’t be here for a bit.”
The six of them chatted for a while, introducing themselves – Sushi was an adventurer, of sorts; Jordan worked at an apothecary; Blacktail captained commercial vessels across the mapped regions; and Volo gave a brief demonstration of his tuba playing through rather artful quacks – but eventually people started arriving more steadily. All sorts came through the door, of all different species and occupations. After an hour or so – Laurence discounted the first half-hour of his shift, as there had barely been anyone – the two canines switched, Jonathan pulling drinks, and Laurence going out into the pub to socialize with the new patrons.
The selection that arrived seemed to capture denizens from all throughout the city. Among the new arrivals was an ex-tribal lizard by the name of Frostspear, who studied astronomy at the College; a large shepherd of some description named Pete; a wolf calling himself Detac, who worked in one of the welding yards in the city fringes; a donkey fellow, who everyone ended up calling Ploddy, who worked repairing airship engines; a feline-dragon hybrid called Cresil, who Jonathan assumed must be a practitioner of witchcraft of some form; and various other people, who soon ended up blending into each other in a loud, talkative sea of fur, scales, and cloth.
The last person to arrive was Cormack – and from the moment he waddled through the door, the night seemed to pick up a bit.
His arrival was announced as the door crashed open, letting the cold night air rush into the main room – however, it was quickly blocked as he tried walking through. He was practically as wide as the doorway, and had to sidestep a little to fit his bulk through. Despite the coolness of the air outside, the red wolf was panting like he’d just ran a marathon, trying to cool himself off and get back some air. Once he’d composed himself, he immediately made his way over to the bar, people parting in front of him like a river around a boulder. Once he got there, he placed his paws on the supporting rail, pausing for a second, before digging into one of the pockets of his jacket – plain work wear, the red wolf not being much for fashionable clothes or the like – and pulling out a single Dazii coin. He placed the small silver coin down on the bar, and looked up at Jonathan.
“You don’t have any food here, do you?” he panted, heaving himself up onto one of the stools. It creaked and squealed a good deal, but held.
“You’re Cormack, I’m guessing?” Jonathan asked, taking the coin, dropping a pawful of Marq coins down on the bar as change.
“How do you know?” the wolf asked, looking around the pub, his eyes locking onto Jordan and Blacktail. “They told you, didn’t they?” He pointed a stubby sausage of a thumb at the two foxes, who were discussing something to do with travel routes across the continent.
“Indeed they did,” Jonathan said, getting Cormack a large glass of water and passing it to him. “You stay put; we’ve got some food made up out back for you.”
“Ah, thanks mate!” Cormack said, before eagerly lapping at the water. As the red wolf got to work on the drink, Jonathan made his way back to the new kitchen to retrieve the food for the man. As per the instructions of the foxes, he had a large plate of nothing but sausages ready, kept under a heated metal dome while they awaited Cormack’s arrival. Lifting off the dome, Jonathan grabbed the plate, and made his way back to the bar.
At the sight of the food laid down before him, Cormack practically drooled – although any that did escape his muzzle blended in with the water covering it. He looked down to the plate, up to Jonathan, down, and then back up again, stunned.
“You made all this for me?” he asked, his tail, a large heavy thing given his weight, wagging furiously behind him.
“Sure!” Jonathan said, smiling at the wolf, nodding to another patron that he’d be with them momentarily. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Well, the Paw and Sickle in Cranberg always had food ready, but never this much!” he said, staring at the food wide-eyed. “How much do I owe ya?”
“Oh, not too much,” Jonathan said, leaning over the bar to call to Laurence. “Laurence! How much for this?” Laurence paused in his conversation with a young hedgehog, who appeared to have dyed his spines a deep purple, to call back to the husky.
“Just make it fifteen!” Laurence called back, looking a little surprised at the amount of food on the plate. Instructions given, he went back to his conversation, something to do with the feudal eastern regions.
“Alright, call it ten,” Jonathan said, his voice low enough that only Cormack – who had already started wolfing down the sausages – could hear.
“You sure?” Cormack said, mumbling a bit around a mouthful.
“Yeah, go ahead,” Jonathan said, taking the Marq from the wolf. “It’s really not a problem.” The wolf served, he moved over to the earlier patron, a large lizard of some description. His clothes had been specifically tailored around two spiny ridges, like rows of maple leaves, running down his back. He also had exceptionally short, stumpy legs, and was wearing a pair of trousers that would be shorts on anyone else – not to say he was short, though. He stood a good seven feet tall at least, although with the slightly raised nature of the bar, Jonathan couldn’t be sure. “What can I get you?”
“Um, the sign says you serve Banksaan?” the man asked, tilting his head around Jonathan’s to see the shelves behind him.
“That we do, sir,” Jonathan said, walking back over to the shelves. “Any particular Era takes your fancy?”
“Do you have anything from the twenty-seventh?” the lizard asked, already rummaging around in a belt pouch for some change.
“Um, hold on...” Jonathan stood up on the tips of his toes, looking along the top shelf through the on-display collection of the Banksaan. Spying a two hundred and third Annum bottle from the correct year, he pulled it down, and retrieved a small tumbler from under the bar. “So, who’s the strange lizard standing before me asking for fine whisky?”
“Stephen,” the lizard said, putting down a couple of Marq on the bar and taking the glass. “You’re Jonathan, right?”
“Yeah, I’m Jonathan,” the husky said, taking the coins. “Stephen, huh? With a v, or a ph?
“Ph,” Stephen said, sipping on the whisky. “Why’d you ask?”
“Oh, just that there’s another Steven over there,” Jonathan said, pointing over to the bear, who had moved on from talking to Volo, and was at that moment engaged in discussion with the donkey Ploddy. “Although he responds just as well to Sushi.”
“Odd name,” Stephen noted, looking over his shoulder to the bear. “Gods, he looks fierce.”
“Nah, he’s fine,” Jonathan said, pulling out his chronometer and checking the time. “He looks all fierce and gruff, but he’s actually a nice enough guy. Doesn’t handle hugs well though – don’t ask.”
“How’d you find something like that out?” the lizard asked, looking a little confused.
“Volo over there,” Jonathan said, nodding to the duck and putting the chronometer away, “hugged him the moment he arrived. From the look on his face, that duck’s lucky he can still walk.”
“Sure looks lively,” Stephen said, chuckling a little at the sight of the duck, who appeared to be in the middle of three different discussions at once.
“That he is,” Jonathan said, hopping over the bar, landing next to Stephen. “Listen, Laurence is up now, but I’ll still be around, ok?”
“Sure thing,” Stephen said, nodding and taking another sip of the fiery spirit.
“Laurence!” Jonathan barked, walking over to the wolf. “You’re up, mate.” Laurence looked up, a little startled.
“Oh, alright,” he said, getting up. “Night’s nearly over, to be honest – I might call it a night soon.”
“Oh, mate, come on,” the husky complained, following Laurence over to the bar. “It’s only eleven!”
“You say that like it’s a normal thing,” Laurence said, walking around the bar. “You’ve got to remember, some of us do need sleep.”
“Oh, alright,” Jonathan said – a side-effect of his body’s ability to heal, one of many, was that he never really got tired. “Last call at midnight, then?”
“Seems good,” the wolf replied, a little surprised at the speed at which the night had worn on.
Last call ended up happening closer to one in the morning than midnight, but by that point, there were only a few people left, namely Cormack, Sushi, and Stephen. They all bid their farewells, leaving Jonathan and Laurence alone in the pub – they’d decided to open up the lodgings after a week or so.
“So,” Jonathan said, wiping down the bar and cleaning off a couple of stray glasses, “how did that go for you?”
“It was good, yeah,” Laurence said, looking up sleepily. “Bloody late though – what happened to last call at midnight?”
“Must’ve missed it,” Jonathan said, knowing full well he’d kept it open for that long on purpose. “You seemed to get on well with everyone, that’s good.”
“Well, they all seemed nice enough,” Laurence said, slowly getting up from his stool, a little light-headed from exhaustion. “Listen, mate, I’ve got to be off to sleep now – I need to recuperate before tomorrow...”
“You’re going to have to get used to this, you know,” Jonathan said, finishing up at the bar and clambering over. “We agreed, it’s your pub. And that means you’re the one who’s going to be on duty most nights.”
“Gods, yeah,” Laurence said, realizing for the first time quite what an undertaking the running of the Bolt would be. His eyes suddenly widened a little, as a thought crossed his mind, one that had managed to slip through before. “Jonathan, what happens when I... well, when I die?”
“When you die?” Jonathan asked, making his way to the stairs up to the rooms. “Oh, mate; you’ve got plenty of years left on you yet. Let’s think about it when the time comes, ok?”
“Alright,” Laurence said, padding up the stairs. “But we’re going to have to figure it out eventually, you know.”
“I know,” Jonathan said, not wanting to think about yet another death in the endless string he’d experienced. “Come on though, you’ve got to get some rest.”
“Alright, goodnight then,” Laurence said, walking into his room, forgetting to close the door in his sleep-deprived state. Jonathan heard him flop down onto the bed, and begin snoring. Quietly, Jonathan closed the door, after getting a look at the wolf sprawled out across his bed, still fully clothed, before going off to bed himself.

As the weeks and months, and eventually years wore by, the Bolt slowly carved itself into the establishment that was known throughout Cranberg as the place to go, if you need a drink, a bite to eat, and some decent, if slightly odd, company. The leftover money from the Thermadora’s crash was used up almost in full over the course of the first decade, as extension after extension was placed onto the building. Cold and hot rooms were installed, for those species partial to such extreme climates. A total of five separate library extensions were added, to house the vast quantity of books read by the patrons, and those gathered by Jonathan and Laurence on their expeditions. A proper airship docking area was added, along with the construction of a swimming pool, for Volo and Sushi. But at its heart, despite all these changes, the spirit of the Bolt remained unchanged.
Laurence died, eventually, at the age of one hundred and seven years, his life having been artificially lengthened by Jonathan. He went out with a bang, so to speak – a grand party was held, which reportedly half of Cranberg attended. His final wish, fulfilled by Jonathan, was that his soul be sung into the Navitorium of the Thermadora, so that he could be with the other soul that inhabited it eternally.
After his death, Jonathan hired a new man to run the Bolt, a young dragon by the name of Klaus. He would run the Bolt day-to-day, while Jonathan went out into the world, exploring, working, and discovering. Jonathan still checked in every now and then, however, to make sure that the Bolt was still being run in a manner Laurence would approve of.
And thus it continued for the next seven hundred years – Jonathan would hire a new person to run the Bolt in his stead, someone trustworthy and reliable, and would check in on them. Of course, the patrons changed through the years, and every now and then a new extension would be added – but in general, since the death of Laurence Claude, the Bolt has remained unchanged.

V

Gordon sat, utterly enthralled, as Jonathan spoke. By the end of the tale, it was nearly midnight, and most of the other patrons of the bar had left. Once Jonathan finished, Gordon could think of nothing to say at all – he simply sat there, silent.
“Am I to assume your lack of a response means I’ve, what, bored you to death?” Jonathan asked, looking a little concerned at the hawk. There were a couple of seconds where nothing happened, before Gordon snapped himself out of his stupor.
“I-I’m sorry, what?” Gordon asked, shaking his head. He looked around, startled by how few people were left, before hurriedly checking his watch, a small, plain piece of silver, miniscule in comparison to the chronometer Jonathan used. “Gods, Jonathan, it’s late. What did you want to ask?”
“You were very quiet,” Jonathan said, checking his own timepiece. “I’m sorry if I bored you, I can go a little overboard when I talk sometimes.”
“Oh, no, you didn’t bore me at all,” Gordon said, scratching at his head with the tip of one of his feathers. “I was just absorbed.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear that, at least,” Jonathan said. “So... do you have anything to say?”
“Um...” Gordon said, trying to cast his mind back through all the husky had said. “Well, yeah, actually. You got to talking about the Bolt, and then you just sort of glossed over everything.”
“Deliberately so,” Jonathan said. “Were I to delve into the history of the Bolt, you’d be here for a week. Besides, there are some events that happened I’d rather not recount...”
“Oh, come on!” Gordon said, squawking a little in annoyance.
“Maybe another time, mate,” Jonathan said, getting up. “Listen, I’ve got to have a little chat with Cal. I’ll be here in Cranberg for a week or two though. I’ve got some new maps and charts drawn up for the College, an undiscovered island group in the Halistis. If you see me around, perhaps we could talk more. What are you working on, anyway?”
“Tetherium arrays,” Gordon said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat at the thought of what he’d done to Francis earlier – or upon inspection of his watch, yesterday. “I’m trying to figure out a way to maximize the thrust, without just making the bloody thing shoot off.”
“What are you struggling with?” Jonathan asked, catching himself. “Actually, no, don’t worry. You tell me tomorrow.”
“Oh, alright,” Gordon said, getting up and retrieving his briefcase, giving the locks a fiddle idly. “I’d best be heading off anyway. Not a huge fan of the city this late and the coat sort of sticks out a bit. Where abouts would be the best place to find you tomorrow?”
“Oh, I should be just walking around for most of the day,” Jonathan said. “Not got the first review of the charts until about mid-afternoon, and I’d like to see if there’s any new work going on. I’ve got to catch up with Frostspear too.”
“Frostspear?” Gordon asked, cocking his head in that way only birds and canines can. “Didn’t you... didn’t you say he was at the Bolt when it opened?”
“Yeah,” Jonathan said, holding up a paw to Cal to let him know he’d be a bit. “He’s of the clan Frostspear. In their culture, a person can choose a name, but it’s theirs alone to know. Everyone else will call them by their clan name. That’s why you’ll see lizards from where he comes from wearing body paint. It’s their form of naming.”
“I think that makes sense...” Gordon said, although he wasn’t entirely convinced. “Alright, bye then Jonathan.”
“Good morning,” Jonathan replied, his voice sing-song in nature.
“Excuse me?” Gordon asked, halfway to the door.
“You know,” Jonathan said, beginning to sing a little. “Good morning, good mo-orning! You never heard that one?”
“Can’t say I have...” Gordon said, looking at the husky like he’d just sprouted wings.
“Bugger, that’s a great one,” Jonathan said, his mind cycling back through the various renditions of that song he’d heard through the lifetimes – including one disturbing one where the song had been written by the army as a way to wake the soldiers up in the morning. Jonathan cast that thought out, however – that world had been a particularly bad one. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
“You too,” Gordon said, leaving a little faster than usual, both to get back through the city as fast as he could, and to get away from Jonathan before he asked a question that would leave him deprived of what little sleep he’d get.
Once the hawk had left, Jonathan walked over to the bar. By that point, the only people left in the pub were a pair of rats and a Doberman, and they were renting lodgings anyway.
“Interesting talk?” Cal asked, the bear currently struggling to clean out a glass, his enormous paw struggling a little to fit inside.
“You could say that,” the husky said, his head resting on the bar – talking like that had taken a fair bit out of him. “Been a while since I talked like that.”
“You want anything to drink?” Cal asked, giving up on the glass – it was clean enough.
“Nah, I’m going to get some sleep in a bit,” Jonathan said, rolling his head a bit on the bar, idly enjoying the feel of the cool, polished, slightly chipped and gouged wood against his fur.
“Sure thing,” Cal said, looking a little amused at the sight of Jonathan. “What are you doing?”
“Oh, nothing,” Jonathan said, lifting his head up. “Just felt nice.”
“You strange dog,” the bear said, smirking. “So, how do you like things? Everything look to be in order?”
“Oh, yeah,” Jonathan said, looking around a bit. “You’ve done a good job with the place, Laurence would be happy.”
“Glad you think as much,” Cal said. “What did Gordon want to talk about, by the way?”
“He was asking about the pub,” Jonathan said. “Well, no. He was asking about how we got the pub. But yeah, the pub, really.”
“Sorry if he was a bit full-on,” the bear said, walking out from around the bar, not bothering to call time. It had been a reasonably quiet evening, and the folks who were left wouldn’t be asking for another. “But then, you need to be a bit odd to work in the College.”
“You mean like me?” Jonathan said, smiling.
“Well, yeah,” Cal said, walking over and slapping the husky on the back. “You’re not going to claim to be normal, are ya?”
“Of course not,” Jonathan gasped, winded some by the bear’s hearty slap. “Stupid bear.”
“Yeah, yeah, come on,” Cal said, making his rounds about the edge of the main room, extinguishing the lamps until only three remained. He called out to the remaining three occupants of the room. “Put these out when you’re done, alright?” One of the rats, the female, and the Doberman nodded and muttered their agreement, before going back to their activities. With the lamps out, Cal and Jonathan made their way up the stairs to the first floor.
“You go off,” Jonathan said, pausing outside his room. “I’m just going to make sure the accounts are all in order.”
“Alright then,” Cal said, making his way into the bedroom.
Jonathan spent a few minutes in the office, looking through the various accounts and ledgers kept up there. Everything seemed to be in order, and satisfied that this was the case, the husky left, dousing the single lit lamp before walking into his room.
Cal was already in bed, the sheets pushed back exposing him. Jonathan saw him lying there and smiled, before walking in and locking the door.
“I told you I wanted to get some sleep,” Jonathan said, undressing himself and crawling into the bed, wrapping his arm around the bear.
“Yeah...” Cal said, toying with the husky’s fur. “But it’s been a bloody long time...”
“If you insist,” Jonathan said, smiling as the two assumed their positions.
The two could be heard by the trio downstairs – there was a good reason Jonathan trusted the bear enough to run the place when he was away, and after such a period away, they were making the most of it.
Jonathan dreamt that night, the first time he’d properly dreamt in a while. It was an odd dream – the first half of it was the crash, the moments leading up to his jump from the Thermadora, although all the corridors were different and twisted. The second half, though, was just falling – endlessly tumbling through the items he’d jumped with, along with strange objects, items remembered from worlds he’d never seen, abstract shapes and faces that swam in and out of focus, and one final, slashing blade that brought him about, clutching the scar through his eye and screaming in burning agony.

++<STORY ENDS>++