Old Tavern Tales Part IV

 

     “I can’t quite make that claim with my greatest success,” announced the old man.  “But it certainly required more finesse than classic spell craft.  In fact, I would regard it as downright unconventional.

     “This was when I was living in Wales, some forty years ago.  The son of the local nobleman had returned from America for his brother’s funeral.  This Master Larry had spent the last seven years earning his Non-Degree from Columbia University in New York. 

     “I didn’t know him before he left, but let me tell you, the man who returned was one self-centered, self-indulgent low-life.  Oh, during the day time he wasn’t so bad, but while at University he had passed his Nightlife 101 class with honors and had then specialized in advanced courses within that department.  Well, let’s just say that the previous seven years had been little more than a blur for him.”

     “Sounds like my brother-in-law!” interjected the Heckler.

     “So, our Master Larry returned to Wales having contracted a severe case of ‘Urban Lycanthropy’.  Even once home, he continued to suspend all civilized behavior each night, which only increased the tensions between him and his father.

     “Shortly after his return, Master Larry spotted the lovely Gwen running her father’s antiques shop.  I understand that it was particularly creepy that Larry first saw her from his own bedroom window using a telescope.”

     “Definitely by brother-in-law,” mused the heckler.

     The old man gave an irritated glance, having been interrupted again.  “Naturally,” he continued, “Larry fabricated an excuse to meet her.  Over the next week, he employed his well-practiced method of always getting what he wanted.  He obsessed over her, assuming that his habit of coming on strong to a woman could be nothing less than attractive to her, no matter how much she protested his attentions.  The strong, bold man who takes what he wants from women.”

     The toothless woman gave an animal growl of lust.  Everyone turned to her in disbelief.  “I’m kidding,” she assured them.  “Geez, can’t anyone here take a joke.”  They continued to study her for a moment longer, searching her face for sincerity.  She gave them all a sweeping glare.  “It’s when the woman takes charge that I like it!”  The Mob turned quickly away from her when she let out a second growl of lust followed by a bark.

     “Now, back to this Gwen,” said the old man wearily. 

     “So, you cast the Moon Spell on Larry, so he nearly kills his girl; gets so scared of what he had become; he sobers up, then BING, he becomes a true gentleman,” shouted the heckler.  “Boring!”

     “What?  You really think that we would work a wolf spell on him?” asked the old man.  “Doesn’t that strike you as a bit dangerous?”

     “Yah,” asserted the little bent man.  “Like what would have happened if I had used the Taxim Conjure!”

     “I could have handled it, “mumbled the heckler.

     “No,” the old man shook his head.  “This was much trickier.  Just listen.  A few nights after the funeral, Master Larry persuaded Gwen to accompany him to the little carnival at the edge of town.  All the while, he complained to Gwen as they walked that all his father cared about was the family and their tiresome duty to uphold the traditions of the community.  He bragged to her about life in New York and that he would get back there as soon as he could.  Naturally, Gwen was not particularly impressed with his attitude. 

     “But when Master Larry moved from one carnival game to another, he walked right into our setup.  Every target in the shooting gallery was a wolf.  Every prize was a toy wolf, well actually a toy dog in a few cases.  We did what we could on short notice.  Even each milk bottle in the ball throw had a wolf head painted on it.  It vexed him beautifully.

     “Then he and Gwen moved to the Gypsy wagon to have their fortunes told.  The old gypsy queen sat at her end of the small table gazing into her crystal ball.  ‘Please,’ she croaked, ‘take a seat.  I can see much in my crystal.  And much that you do not wish to face.  Shall I proceed?’

     “Gwen put up quite a protest.  She insisted that she didn’t like this sort of thing.  But the more she objected, the more Larry determined to face the old woman’s vision. 

     “‘I see a cherished brother,’ professed the old woman.  ‘A brother who loved his brother in spite of his many weaknesses.  He loved his family, loved his heritage.’

     “’Charlie?’  Master Larry asked.  ‘My brother Charlie?’”

     “’A brother who feared for the future of a proud family,’ she continued.  ‘A brother who lies, tormented in his grave, hopeless.  A brother who had to die, just to get a brief regard from an older sibling that had once been a hero to him.  A younger brother that merits heaven, but suffers hell in despair for his family.’

     “’Charlie!’ Larry gasped.  ‘Not Charlie.’  He abruptly stood and stumbled out of the Gypsy Queen’s wagon.  ‘Gwen, let me take you home,’ he moaned.  ‘I am sorry, so sorry.’  He escorted her through the low fog of the moors.  Brush and small scrub trees initially blocked the first evidence of the rising moon from view.  When he saw it for the first time, with the lovely Gwen at his side, he howled in remorse.”

     “So,” asked the traveler, “Are you saying that Larry was a real werewolf?”

     “Oh, sure,” said the old man.  “Remember that he had been in America.”

     “But didn’t you say that doing anything with werewolves would have been dangerous?  Did you magic him out of it?”

     “Oh, no,” responded the old man.  “There is no way to stop lycanthropy, that is short of a silver bullet.  But if a lycan is kept properly integrated into civil society, then its affliction is neutralized.  And there you have it.  With only an occasional reminder later on, Master Larry had the resolve to stay part of gentlemanly society.”

     “Huh,” said the traveler in wonder.  “So that’s all you had to do?”  He thought on this a moment.  “Wait a minute, I still don’t see what role you had in all this.  So, you set up all the wolf props at the carnival.  Is that all?”

     “No,” laughed the old man.  “I was the old Gypsy fortune teller.  No one else in the company would do the part, or could do the part – properly, you understand.  There is my real talent.”

     “Company?” asked the traveler.  “You were part of a traveling company?”

     “Yah.  We would just travel around, helping the locals deal with their ‘Aristocrat Problems.’  I was with them for years, and I always ended up playing the drag queen.  Well after a while it starts to lose its fun, and it also wreaks havoc with a poor guy’s vocal cords.”

     There were many nods of approval as the Mob commenced to share fragments of similar stories.  After a few minutes the traveler leaned towards the old man.  “So, what about that lot?” he asked, pointing to the corner.

     “Oh, that gentleman fancied himself a scholar and an Egyptologist,” said the old man.   “Doesn’t know even the simplest spell from the Book of the Dead.”

     The toothless woman leaned forward from his other side, touching the old man on the arm.  “Here it comes,” she whispered, “the last element in that family’s civilization process.”

     The tavern door smashed open, bringing in a torrent of storm and also an Egyptian mummy.  Lighting silhouetted the mummy’s massive frame against the night.  The creature stepped forward.  As each foot came down, the tavern shuddered under the impact.  The young family wailed in renewed dread.  The mummy moved relentlessly in their direction.  The young mother and children shrank back in their seats, but the gentleman finally sprang to action.  He swept up the youngest child in one arm and seized a wrist from both his wife and other child in one hand, yanking them into the safety of the storm.

     “That’ll do it,” proclaimed the old man.  The mummy stood forlorn in front of the fire as steam billowed off its wet bandages. 

     “So, who wants this one?” asked the toothless woman.

     The heckler announced, “I can handle this.”  He stepped boldly towards the mummy, which immediately grabbed him by the throat and lifted him off the ground.  His legs bicycled in the air.  “I-can-handle-this,” he croaked.

     The serving girl, Mabel, was walking by at that moment with a round of drinks for the mob.  She gave the mummy a casual flick of her hand, causing it to release its grip and fall backwards like a slab of lumber.  No one paid attention to the heckler who gasped for breath on the floor.

     The tavern keeper headed to the basement once again to retrieve another replacement door for the tavern entrance.