Legend Of Zelda Fan Fiction ❯ Contemplations on Condescension ❯ A Wager Between Acquaintances ( Chapter 5 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Chapter 5: A Wager Between Acquaintances

There was no one at the inn when I bothered to return. Well, no one of importance, at least. There was Anju’s grandmother, I assumed, shut in that same room she never left (despite my wife’s begging for the contrary). I never went in there. The old hag always saw me as a young version of my father, and asked how if I was keeping up in my studies and if I wanted any candy, or the like. It was pathetic, and I couldn’t stand it. Thankfully, I never had to, as Anju had taken full responsibility for the senile old woman even before her mother’s death. So, ignoring that room, the rest of the inn was empty and, thus, unusually silent. I settled down in the hard wooden chair behind the front desk and propped my feet on one of the low shelves. There was nothing better to do, and someone would be around eventually. I looked at the large, colorful clock on the far wall.

Anju was, predictably, the first to return. She arrived to see me slumped in my seat, arms crossed. Smiling, she bowed a little in greeting, and told me that she would be making dinner, then heading back to the Milk Bar to eat with Cremia. And I, of course, should join them. As she headed around the hallway to the back kitchen, I told her I’d sooner jump off the clock tower before stepping one foot back in that horrid place. I could imagine her shaking her head at me as she said that I was being silly. Then, there were sounds of wooden crates being opened and closed, pots being rattled, vegetables being cut, and things sizzling as they cooked. Soon the whole lower floor of the inn smelled tangy, smokey, and slightly bitter. I could smell onions, peppers, a variety of spices... and what was most likely burning beef. It wasn’t an appetizing odor, exactly, but it didn’t smell deathly, at least. I suppose that was something.

After a while, my wife came up behind me and, when I turned to look, kissed my cheek. She placed a plate in front of me, and I marveled. It actually looked... edible, for once. As she headed back to the kitchen, I called, “This looks good.”

I could hear her smile as she replied softly, “Thank you. My grandmother taught me this recipe when I was younger.” She came around the corner still talking, and headed towards said grandmother’s room. “I don’t use it much.” I ate slowly, stealing glances at the old woman’s door. There was no sound from the thickness of it, but I could figure well enough what was going on. Anju often lamented (whether I was listening to her at the time or not) how her grandmother barely ate what she cooked, and I figured today would be no different. It was a matter of time before the old witch died and freed up that room: a fact I didn’t dare mention to Anju for fear she would start crying and then never leave her grandmother’s side. Then, of course, I would be blamed. It seems no one appreciates the honest truth.

The door opened, and Anju headed back to the kitchen. There were more sounds of things being packaged and moved. A few minutes later, she was across the desk from me, her arms full with two large, covered platters. “I’ll be back later,” she told me. “Please check on Grandmother in a little while to see that she eats, all right?”

I rolled my eyes but muttered, “Yes, yes. I will.”

She smiled somewhat before returning to her earlier, purposeful expression. “And if Link and Romani show up, tell them there’s snacks on the counter in the kitchen, and I’ll fix them a real meal when I get back.”

My mind now focused on the two children’s whereabouts, I replied somewhat automatically, “I’ll tell them.” She was out the door in a moment, but I never saw her leave. Tell them, indeed. I’d tell them they could eat only after they’d answered my questions. ...No, that wouldn’t work. That little girl was a problem. She distracted Green-hat and interrupted me and my charted progression of questions. I had to separate them, then pin down the boy for questioning. It had to be tonight. If I didn’t ask now, the ranchers would be gone in the morning, and the brat would most likely go with them. And even if he stayed, I had no doubt it would only be for a few hours, a day at the most, before he set off again. He never spent more than a night here. Then he would be gone for months: probably a year, if his wandering pattern continued. I didn’t think I could stand another year without knowing what it was about him that made him so... omniscient. I would find out, and I would find it out tonight. That was all there was to it. I brought my plate to the kitchen and washed it, then replaced it in the cupboard. I returned to my uncomfortable perch and stared resolutely at the door. He wouldn’t run forever. I wouldn’t let him.

I sat in that chair long enough that I eventually fell asleep, only to wake a short while later, sore all over. The inn was still empty, and it was long after business hours. I refused to wait any longer. Cremia and my wife were no doubt still at the bar (As I stepped out of the inn, I could hear music and shouting pounding through the bar’s walls, despite the hour. The place was always open until dawn.), so I could easily avoid them, anyway. It was just a matter of finding the two little brats. I walked to the very end of our long block, to the Shooting Gallery. The place was dark and had been closed an hour already. No one was in sight. I continued walking through the center of town. It was all very quiet. I looked in front of me, to the west entranceway. That end of town was more for the night owls, and the shops were most likely open there. ...But I couldn’t imagine the green-hatted boy and his little ranch friend having a reason to go there (as the whole area was rather seedy and not for little children), so I remained in the south, looking around in vain. My next idea was to search the north end of town, which did have a little playground. To get there was quite a walk from where I was, though, and there aren’t usually children around after dark anyway, to my knowledge. No, most likely they were all at the bar with my wife and her garrulous friend, and I refused to go there. The best idea was to just return to the inn and wait. Again.

Something in me rebelled at the very notion of it. I was sick of waiting, sick of the inn. Firstly, there was nothing to do there. It was a waste of my time. Secondly, there was the inn itself: it was always too warm in the summer, freezing cold in the winter, and stuffy all year ‘round. I’d much rather stand outside doing nothing, if I had to be doing nothing somewhere. So, I headed to the laundry pool, since I was close-by anyway. It was a little early for my nightly trip, but I could make an allowance this once.

I sat on the grass in the corner and rested my head on my knees. Like this, I could stare at the little reflections in the water from the lightning-bugs and the far-away moon, and everything else was absolutely still. There was a relative quiet, too, save for the little natural noises, and I soon slipped into a state of ease. I wasn’t waiting for anything here, and no one was waiting for me. It was a nice feeling of freedom, and I reveled in it.

Thus, when there was a long, low creaking noise of a door opening, I was caught off-guard; I jumped and cracked my head on the stone wall behind me. When the pain dulled and my eyes refocused, I saw him. There he was, across the little pond: the Green-hat boy, Link, still standing in the back entrance of The Curiosity Shop, his hand on the door as he stared back at me. I rather gracelessly pulled myself up, rubbing the pain at the back of my head (It didn’t seem to be bleeding, anyway.) while still trying to glare at him. “What do you want?” I called, and he didn’t respond.

After a long moment, he snapped into realization and closed the door fully behind him before explaining himself. “I thought you’d be up there.” He was too far away for me to see his expression as he said, “I was looking for you.”

“Did you try the inn?” My voice was thick with sarcasm, and my head was still pounding dully.

He replied with a bit of a laugh to his voice, “I figured that was the last place you’d be.”

“Well, I was.” I looked around absently, then sighed. I repeated myself, “What do you want?” And it occurred to me mid-sentence, that I was rather annoyed he was here. ...Even though I had been the one looking for him not an hour ago. That was an odd turn. Yes, I had wanted to find him. ...but that was before. Now I didn’t want to deal with him, or anyone. His very presence irked me.

He didn’t move, and replied only after a long pause, as if weighing his words carefully. “To talk?”

“Fine.” I said, but neither of us moved to speak further.

Eventually, I grew tired of the sheer stupidity and walked over to the bridge, sitting down heavily. Green-hat took the hint and walked away from the door, sitting down next to me. The spring-chilled water was like ice around my ankles. The toes of Green-hat’s boots didn’t even reach the water’s surface. We sat silently for a minute. My mind started tracing backwards, so I asked the first thing that came to it. “Where’s the girl?”

Knowing who I meant, he replied easily, “Romani’s at the milk bar. We went there a while ago, and when you never showed up, I left to find you.”

I scoffed, “What, my wife sent you?” I peered at him from the corner of my left eye, “Didn’t she tell you where I was?”

“No,” he said, looking straight down into the dark water at his own wavering reflection. “She didn’t send me. I just left. I didn’t ask.” He added with a sardonic smile, “I guess I should have.”

My suspicious mind began working then, and I asked, “You didn’t know where I was?”

“Apparently not.”

“So there’s something you don’t know.” I said with a little jab to my voice.

After a pause, he said, “I guess so.” He added quickly with a little rueful smile at me, “I’m not omniscient, you know.”

“You used to be.” The line was automatic, his words triggering my previous thoughts on the matter. He looked away again and leaned further over the water. There was no reply, and I figured one wasn’t coming. So, I went ahead and asked, “How is that?”

He was still silent, kicking his feet a little into a swing. Then, he looked over and gave me that frustratingly fake smile. “How are you?” he asked. “What’ve you been doing? I haven’t seen you...”

“You’re avoiding my question,” I bit back, and he responded just as fiercely.

“Yes, I am.” Then, he continued with less malice, “Really, how are you? Anju said you’ve been quiet lately.”

I rolled my eyes. They were talking about me when I wasn’t around. How expected. With a caustic edge to my voice, I said, “Yes, and they’re all very disappointed by my silence. You know how they hang on my every syllable with reverence.”

He chuckled, “Of course we do.”

Not giving him the chance to ask the insipid question again or make any insinuations about my lack of an answer, I excused myself. “The past few months have been boring, is all. There’s no excitement now that there aren’t imps running about cursing me, thieves stealing my masks, and the like.”

“I know what you mean,” he said, and his tone suggested that the words were true: more true for him than for me, even. Perhaps I’d hit something a little close to heart for Green-hat the Helper.

Never one to avoid saying what I thought, I voiced this. “No more problems to solve?”

He looked over at me and said rather vehemently, “No, believe me, there are always problems.” After a moment, he added a little softer, “Just... different ones.”

“Mm,” I agreed, on the surface, at least. Of course I had no idea what he meant, and he wasn’t about to clarify it for me. There was something he wasn’t saying. But wasn’t there always with him? And he wouldn’t tell me if I’d asked. But I had more important questions. “How long are you staying?” I spoke even before thinking the words through.

I felt him look over at me, though I refused to meet the questioning look. “I hadn’t thought about it.”

“A day?” I offered, still not meeting his eyes. “You don’t ever last longer.” With a sardonic grin I added, “Say some little condescending quip and then run off.”

I could feel him glaring at me, but when I looked up, I saw only amusement in his grey-blue eyes. “Is it a challenge?” He asked, “Do you think I can’t stay longer than a day, if I want to?”

“No,” I said, to be contrary, to get him to stay. “I don’t think you could.”

“Alright,” He declared, standing and dusting his green self down dramatically. “I’ll take that bet. I’ll stay a week.” And he nodded and offered me his hand, to shake on it. “And you’ll see.”

I stood and towered over him (the top of his head barely reached my chest, the little tadpole). After a dramatic pause of my own, I cocked my head and shook his hand. “It’s a bet.”

We dropped hands and, grinning, he asked, “So if we’re betting, what do I get if I win?”

“When I win,” I said, my red eyes flashing like a fire, I’m sure, “And you leave before the week’s up, for some made-up reason as I’m sure you will, you will return in under a year, and you will answer every question I ask from that point on, directly and with complete honesty, no matter how personal or trivial the question.” I crossed my arms resolutely at his puzzled expression, “Or the deal is off.”

“That’s a bit unreasonable,” Green-hat said, then was quiet for a moment. I was unmoved. Finally he gave in. “Alright,” he said, then quickly added, “Because I know I’ll win. And when I do...” He looked around for inspiration, then slowly met my gaze again, “I’m not going to tell you. I’ll let you know in a week, after I win. It could be anything, but you still have to do it.”

I scoffed, “Speaking of unreasonable,” I said, mocking his earlier words. “That’s a rotten way to bet.”

“Giving up already?” The Green-hat boy said, grinning.

“Fine.” I muttered. “I agree to the ridiculous stakes. But only because I’ll win and your half won’t matter.”

“Fine with me.” Link chirped back.