Remington pushed off the bar, leaving the pint untouched.
Determined to find his friends, he sat down heavily in a puddle to cogitate. Since the only approach he could think of was a random search, he abandoned reason: pulling a bandanna from his pocket, he tied it over his eyes and waited for his drunkenness to subside.
His mind wandered freely, and over the course of the days his drunkenness began to recede, not all at once, but in waves of clarity that were obviously tied to the prodigious growth of the puddle beneath his folded legs. Nearly sober, Remington prayed, not to any saint or deity, but to his missing companions, Adam and Eve. When his mind was finally clear enough that he could speak without slurring, he voiced his prayer aloud.
“Dear friends,” he said into his clasped hands, “by the power of your corpses, the underworld begs you: be findable.”
His prayer complete, he held his joined hands before him like a dowsing wand and stood, putting his faith in his pointed fingers. Within moments he felt a tug, then followed it to where Adam and Eve lay stacked by a publican atop a pile of lumber and shattered crockery. At precisely the moment the headless duo entered his field of vision, they began to lift themselves off of the pile.
“I found you!” cried Remington, attempting to embrace both his friends at once. “I found you because I felt you. But I can’t feel Jake and Leo. We’ll have to get to them the old-fashioned way.
“You guys can see through my eyes. Can you hear through my ears?”
Eve raised one fist and made it nod. Adam gave a thumbs-up.
“Good! Let’s make a totem pole. I need to be as high as I can get.”
Eve climbed piggy-back onto Adam, and Remington scaled both of their bodies. From atop Eve’s shoulders, he could see across the pub’s vast floor, where so many sodden souls were spread that he couldn’t do much but stare for a while. “They’re out here somewhere. They wouldn’t get so drunk that they’d just leave us. Would they?”
Adam shrugged, causing them all to totter. It wasn’t long, though, before Eve clapped her hands, then pointed toward a tiny table across the hall. Remington whooped and hopped onto the floor, leading the gleeful rush toward their companions.
“Ah, there you are!” said Jacob, holding up a plastic replica of a golden goblet. He and Leopold were seated at a scarred air-hockey table with the map spread out before them, kept safe from Jacob’s drink by Leopold’s deft fingers. “Poldy here was just saying that we should give it a count of thirty before we left you behind, but I convinced him to give you a full minute. You had seven seconds left.”
“Believe nothing this one says,” said Leopold. “When I finally bullied him into admitting that a drink to the mysterious task ahead could only bolster his spirits, he revealed a sense of humor that may soon cause you to long for his tight-assed sobriety. I’d invite you to sit, but we were barely able to liberate these.” Jacob was seated on a wastebasket, Leopold on a log, and there were no chairs anywhere in sight. Adam and Eve, dissatisfied with this state of affairs, made a seat of flesh and bone by bending down and grasping one another’s wrists, which Remington sat upon with gratitude.
“It’s a little unholy, what you three have going,” said Leopold, standing unsteadily. “In principle, I approve, but in practice, I’ll have another drink.”
“So far, Remy,” murmured Jacob, chugging his goblet. “We’ll go so far!” And then he passed into a reverie so near to dreaming that Remington grew worried. Now that he wasn’t drunk any more, he could see how easy it would be for the company to accidentally remain in this very bar, at this very table, for the rest of eternity.
When Leopold returned, he set three sloshing drinks on the table and adjusted his head, which had been hanging on one side of his broomstick. “Well, this place has gone to the vultures!”
Determined to find his friends, he sat down heavily in a puddle to cogitate. Since the only approach he could think of was a random search, he abandoned reason: pulling a bandanna from his pocket, he tied it over his eyes and waited for his drunkenness to subside.
His mind wandered freely, and over the course of the days his drunkenness began to recede, not all at once, but in waves of clarity that were obviously tied to the prodigious growth of the puddle beneath his folded legs. Nearly sober, Remington prayed, not to any saint or deity, but to his missing companions, Adam and Eve. When his mind was finally clear enough that he could speak without slurring, he voiced his prayer aloud.
“Dear friends,” he said into his clasped hands, “by the power of your corpses, the underworld begs you: be findable.”
His prayer complete, he held his joined hands before him like a dowsing wand and stood, putting his faith in his pointed fingers. Within moments he felt a tug, then followed it to where Adam and Eve lay stacked by a publican atop a pile of lumber and shattered crockery. At precisely the moment the headless duo entered his field of vision, they began to lift themselves off of the pile.
“I found you!” cried Remington, attempting to embrace both his friends at once. “I found you because I felt you. But I can’t feel Jake and Leo. We’ll have to get to them the old-fashioned way.
“You guys can see through my eyes. Can you hear through my ears?”
Eve raised one fist and made it nod. Adam gave a thumbs-up.
“Good! Let’s make a totem pole. I need to be as high as I can get.”
Eve climbed piggy-back onto Adam, and Remington scaled both of their bodies. From atop Eve’s shoulders, he could see across the pub’s vast floor, where so many sodden souls were spread that he couldn’t do much but stare for a while. “They’re out here somewhere. They wouldn’t get so drunk that they’d just leave us. Would they?”
Adam shrugged, causing them all to totter. It wasn’t long, though, before Eve clapped her hands, then pointed toward a tiny table across the hall. Remington whooped and hopped onto the floor, leading the gleeful rush toward their companions.
“Ah, there you are!” said Jacob, holding up a plastic replica of a golden goblet. He and Leopold were seated at a scarred air-hockey table with the map spread out before them, kept safe from Jacob’s drink by Leopold’s deft fingers. “Poldy here was just saying that we should give it a count of thirty before we left you behind, but I convinced him to give you a full minute. You had seven seconds left.”
“Believe nothing this one says,” said Leopold. “When I finally bullied him into admitting that a drink to the mysterious task ahead could only bolster his spirits, he revealed a sense of humor that may soon cause you to long for his tight-assed sobriety. I’d invite you to sit, but we were barely able to liberate these.” Jacob was seated on a wastebasket, Leopold on a log, and there were no chairs anywhere in sight. Adam and Eve, dissatisfied with this state of affairs, made a seat of flesh and bone by bending down and grasping one another’s wrists, which Remington sat upon with gratitude.
“It’s a little unholy, what you three have going,” said Leopold, standing unsteadily. “In principle, I approve, but in practice, I’ll have another drink.”
“So far, Remy,” murmured Jacob, chugging his goblet. “We’ll go so far!” And then he passed into a reverie so near to dreaming that Remington grew worried. Now that he wasn’t drunk any more, he could see how easy it would be for the company to accidentally remain in this very bar, at this very table, for the rest of eternity.
When Leopold returned, he set three sloshing drinks on the table and adjusted his head, which had been hanging on one side of his broomstick. “Well, this place has gone to the vultures!”
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