The Nameless Bar, which was the name of the bar, was filled to brim with sailors, drunkards, and drunk sailors. The constant shouting and rough housing was not something I enjoyed, as I wedged my chair as close to our table as physically possible.

  Rose and Azog also hunched in, while George left his chair out in the open to fight the legs of tumbling people, who wanted to brawl just as much as they wanted to drink. Their weak blows did not make George budge, nor did it elicit a reaction out of the zombie. I envied George’s nonchalance and plenty of leg room. Sitting within this Inn felt claustrophobic, as I bent and squeezed my legs in a way that they shouldn’t have bent.

  “This is ridiculous!” Rose shouted, as she slouched over, drinking her ale, the ale making her forget her prim and proper behavior.

  “It ain’t right. Limitin’ others from paying some honest coin to get a ride is against the natural order of things. Doesn’t matter if the zombie, is wearin’ a couple more coats than what's necessary. It’s better for the sailors that way.” Azog agreed.

  “Agreed. It’s not like George is going to do anything when he can’t hear anything,” I agreed.

  As if the universe was trying to prove me wrong, George shot up from the chair. He began to walk towards the end of the bar. I pushed back my feet and scrambled to stop the zombie. Grabbing his waist, I dug my feet in as George continued to walk. George pulled me along with him, as if I wasn’t even there, as if I was light as air.

  “Stop, George!” I shouted.

  George did not hear me and continued walking. By now, both Azog and Rose manage to weasel their way out of their chairs, following George and me. At the entrance of an Inn, a woman signed with her hands. George walked up to her, then followed her out of the bar.

  We’d been in the bar drinking for hours, so the sun had already set. The dim glow of the moon showcased two other people with the mysterious lady that I couldn’t quite make out in the darkness. The lady who George followed out of the bar, had raven black hair, pale skin, and a thin wiry frame. She wore a long grayish coat and wide brimmed hat of the same color. Her boots were those of a traveler, comfortable and well worn.

  “Who the hell are you? If you’re working with the Dark One, just know that I am legally obligated to avenge my Master. ” I said to the woman who was trying to steal away my undead responsibility.

  “Who is this?” spoke one of the shadowy figures, whose voice was raspy and deep.

  “I don’t know. Companion?”

  “Odd. There’s two more coming from the bar, delay them.” Spoked the women.

  The two figures moved into the Inn.

  “I can hear you. Also, it's rude to ignore someone when they ask you a question.” I stated, nonchalantly.

  “This business doesn’t concern you, young man. I’m afraid you’re in over your head. If you would kindly un-cling from that zombie that would be wonderful.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to pry me from his cold dead corpse. And I’ll scream if you try any funny business.”

  The lady scowled.

  “Then you’ll be coming along with us. It won’t hurt to have some idiot to question.” She signaled something with her hands and turned to walk. George followed. I held on.

  The city looked different at night. The dim glow of the woman’s lantern illuminated the rough shapes of buildings and alleyways. Unlike Nosterdam, Yorle lacked the soft glow of lights from the windows of buildings. The smell of salt water was more noticeable at night; the sound of the crashing ocean would have been calming if I wasn’t playing piggyback.

  The mysterious woman knocked on an unassuming door made from iron. A metal clang came from the other side of the door, as a dead bolt was pushed open. A purple light came from the other side of the door, one that I was all too familiar with.

  The woman walked inside. George walked inside.

  A squarish table with four chairs filled most of the room. The purple light came from a lamp that laid on the floor. It was clear to me that the lamp was only placed here recently. The woman sat down and gestured for George and me to take a seat.

  “So who are you?” asked the woman.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Arthur.” I responded.

  “I did ask what your name was. I asked who you are.”

  “Well, I’m a traveler seeking to travel to Isles of Alcar to do some sight seeing, possibly even solve some problems that have sprung up recently.”

  The woman let out a large sigh.

  “What’s your relation to this undead?”

  “Well, I’d like to say we’re friends, but at worst we’re coworkers; I’m possibly his boss. I’m not too sure though. He does listen to me.”

  The lady pulled a notebook from the desk and wrote something on it. It could’ve been anything, even a drawing driven by a sudden inspiration and artistic urges. However this possibility was less likely than the lady jotting down notes of our conversation. I tapped my foot, impatiently.

  “What is your relationship to Alric Volarc?”

  “I’m his apprentice.”

  “Hmm. On file, there isn’t any record of Alric Volarc having an apprentice. Of course, he went dark almost two years ago, perhaps you’re a fledgling necromancer. You look young enough. Do you know where your master is?” asked the lady.

  “He died, I’m afraid.”

  “Died?” the woman inquired.

  “Saw it happen with my own two eyes.”

  She paused. Surprised, and seemingly somewhat upset. I chalked it up to stress; she nervously fidgeted with the pen that she was writing with.

  “Are you sure? You didn’t happen to kill him, did you?”

  “No, I’m afraid the Dark One did that. The Dark One basically mind controlled George, here, to lop off his head.”

  “Then you don’t qualify for the Master betrayal debt forgiveness plan, unfortunately. Also the grant for necromancer innovation has been halved recently. It’s not looking good.”

  “What’s not looking good?”

  “Let me introduce myself. I’m Lora Grimswald; a debt consolidator licensed with the High Council of Darkness to go around collecting debt owed by the more immoral, but not necessarily evil practitioners. Alric owed a hefty portion of funds. Somehow, he was able to trick Professor Dollop into thinking he could actually stop the decay of the already dead. For starters, even if he did, the practical uses would be limited and definitely not worth the 100 platinum he borrowed.”

  “I’m sorry. How much is a hundred platinum? I’ve got about two silver and four copper on me. Well, I actually just spent two of those copper on ale, so 2 silver and two copper. Also, technically it's a communal two silver, I share it with two other people.”

  The lady stared at me.

  “One platinum is worth one hundred gold.”

  The saliva dried up in my mouth, as I tried to wrap my head around that amount of coin. It turns out that I couldn’t, so I fidgeted nervously. I knew that it was a large amount.

  “Yeah… that’s a lot. I think you made a mistake; I’m actually not Alric’s apprentice, unfortunately. I said, um, I’m a brick apprentice. A brick sort of sounds like Alric, so I can understand the misunderstanding of what I said.” I lied.

  “A brick apprentice? That doesn’t even make sense. You, no, that’s not what I heard. In fact, let me look here in my notes I just wrote. Yes, a man by the name Arthur who claims to be Necromancer Alric’s apprentice. He even has a seal of apprenticeship cursed into him. I’m afraid we’ll have to kill you if you don’t pay back your debt or come to an agreement. It’s nothing personal. ”

  As casually as she breathed, Lora conjured floating purple blades that danced in her palm. They looked very sharp; they hovered right in front of my neck.

  “I think we can come to an agreement. How much would George be worth? He’s a zombie that doesn’t rot or decay. A very agreeable zombie. I’m certain that he’d agree to working for you to recoup some of our debt.”

  “Does he have any obvious flaws? I noticed the three ear muffs and two heavy coats over his body.”

  “I wouldn’t call it a flaw; more like a unique personality trait.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “Well, he’ll listen to everyone.”

  “That would make him a security risk. Also, it explains why he was so easy to beckon over to me. He might be worth anywhere from five gold to ten gold a month if he could be trusted. Right now, he is worthless.”

  “Give me time, I’ve only been doing this apprentice type stuff for a few months. My master died just weeks into my start. That’s why I’m headed to the Isles, to make a name for myself and learn. If you want to recoup some of your money, I’m afraid that you’ll have to do some investing in me. I plan to fix this little flaw with George and I’ll find a way to pay you back. Killing me won’t help you, I’ve got nothing of real value.”

  I gestured to my cheap robes and my anorexic coin purse.

  Lora gave me a look of contemplation, as if wondering how to best extract every conceivable coin from me. Then she smiled.

  “I’ll tell you what. All proper students at the Academy of the Dark Arts need servants to take notes and carry their books. You can start paying me back, by working for a student I know that is in desperate need of a quality note taker: someone who is diligent and has at least some understanding of the Dark Arts. At the very least you can learn about your profession, while you figure out how to pay me back. I’ll even find a passage for you and your companions to the Isles.”

  I let out a sigh of relief as the magical conjuration floated away from my throat. Lora continued.

  “Just know that I will need to see progress towards paying back the debt. A job as a servant won’t be enough on its own.”

  “I’ll figure something out.” I promised.