The vapor of bamboo spirit was all that remained in Teller’s beaker. He lifted his head in the direction the shuffling was coming from.
“Hey, Rychuck. Hit me again.”
“Coming right up.”
The Bocado was never a salubrious venue, but it was always where Teller’s feet led him when he needed to think. He wondered whether he may be past thinking at this point, when a new smell breezed from beyond the serving hatch doors. She swept into the bar and started to collect pots from the empty tables. Wiping as she went, she hummed cheerfully. Way too cheerful for this late in a workspan. There was murmuring from a table way over by the doors when she went to clean there, then the sounds of folk drinking up and leaving. Now there was just Teller and the staff. Wouldn’t be the first time.
“You two gonna sit and have one on me?” said Teller.
“Sure.” Rychuck, grabbed the bamboo spirit flask and banged it on the counter. Then he turned his head, “Minu? You coming?”
She wafted over to them, wiping as she went. She sat on the bar stool between Rychuck and Teller.
“Teller, meet Minu, my latest addition to the Bocado staff.”
She reached out a hand, Teller took it. It was well-manicured, and slightly damp from the cloth.
“Charmed,” he said. Then as if considering again, “Aren’t you a little young to be working here?”
“No?”
“I think you might be getting a little old,” said Rychuck.
“Yeah, that too,” said Teller, taking a swig from his beaker.
“So,” Minu said. Teller cocked his ears. “Why do you sound like someone who’s lost a fish and found a waterborne parasite?”
“That one of yours?” Teller chuckled.
“I’m practicing my customer banter,” she said. “Is it funny?”
“Keep practicing.”
“Huh.”
“Seriously though, Teller, your cheerful demeanor this evening has frightened away all of my customers,” said Rychuck.
“Rubbish. You never have anyone else this late, unless there’s a festival, or a fishing boat in. Besides, I’m your best customer, anyway.”
“You would be if you paid your tab.”
“Details.”
She touched his hand. It shocked him back to the bar, “Seriously though?”
Rychuck sighed, left his stool and went the other side of the bar to tidy.
“Seriously. I can’t tell you. Client privilege. Can’t discuss cases.”
“I’m gonna go out on a limb here and guess, it’s not the case you’re worrying about.”
“You’re actually not bad at this,” Rychuck shouted across the bar.
“Go jump in the lake,” said Teller.
“You’re kind of sighing sad,” Minu said, plowing on regardless, “so that’d be, hmm, lover?”
Rychuck barked a laugh.
“…kay then. Family.”
Teller took a long slug and slammed the empty onto the bar. Rychuck came back over to fill it. Teller picked it up again, swigged at it and put it back down.
“If I tell you, will you stop bugging me?”
“It does you good to get it out, you know,” said Minu.
“Trust me,” said Teller, “It doesn’t.”
“It’s what my old mom used to say.”
“I’m sure she did.”
“Hey mister,” she said, “I don’t know what your problem is—”
“No,” said Teller, “and for your own health and wellbeing, it’s better it stays that way.”
She stood and picked her cloth up again.
“For what it’s worth,” Teller said, “What I’m working on now, it’s bothering me. It’s straightforward. It shouldn’t be bothering me, but it is. And that’s not good. Not good at all.”
“Well,” she said, undented, “we’re here if you need us.”
“You seem like a good kid,” said Teller.
He lifted his beaker downed the contents and coughed, “Shreds, Rychuck, this stuff doesn’t get any better.”
“Neither do you, Mas. Perhaps you should give up grizzling and take up brewing. Couldn’t make you any less happy. Go to bed.”
“Yeah, maybe I’ll do that.”
He shouldered his coat, squared up his slightly woozy Air-sense and headed where it told him the door was. He was mostly heading the right way. If only that new girl had tucked all the chairs back under the tables like she was supposed to.
“See ya,” he said over his shoulder and walked back out into the Lakeside air. To bed, perchance to dream.
Teller’s pad was at the far end of the lane also called Bocado. In Lakeside, the tradition was for lanes to run from the quayside up the very slight hill to the massive stone back wall that also formed the back wall of Teller’s first-floor digs. Teller’s place was Bocado and tenth, sat in the far corner, a macro version of where he traditionally liked to sit in any room: back to the corner where a good set of whiskers could sweep for surprises.
He climbed the stairs to his apartment. First-floor digs were still unusual in Lakeside due to the sketchiness of building materials. In the corner of the massive cavern that formed Lakeside, there were two walls to go against, so the builders had been a little more adventurous. He even had a balcony for when he couldn’t sleep. He could take in all the smells and the sounds of the town during the sleep-cycle. Teller liked the idea of listening to other folk sleeping when he couldn’t. It made him feel more connected. Tonight though, he felt bone tired. No balcony leaning tonight. He just needed to set his clicker-beetle for the morning, put his head on his straw pallet and then—