Drinks and Sinkholes
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Warm beds, quaint mysteries, and the best rosemary bread this side of Pigsend Creek. Welcome to the Weary Dragon Inn.
Bev may not know who she was before she showed up in the quaint village of Pigsend five years ago, but that doesn't bother her much. She's made a tidy little life for herself as the proprietor of the Weary Dragon Inn, where the most notable event is when she makes her famous rosemary bread.
But when earthquakes and sinkholes start appearing all over town, including near Bev's front door, she's got to put on her sleuthing hat to figure out what—or who—might be causing them before the entire town disappears.
Drinks and Sinkholes is the first book in the Weary Dragon Inn Series, a cozy fantasy by two-time award-winning author S. Usher Evans.
S. Usher Evans
S. Usher Evans is an author, blogger, and witty banter aficionado. Born in Pensacola, Florida, she left the sleepy town behind for the fast-paced world of Washington, D.C.. There, she somehow landed jobs with BBC, Discovery Channel, and National Geographic Television before finally settling into a “real job” as an IT consultant. After a quarter life crisis at age 27, she decided consulting was for the birds and rekindled a childhood passion for writing novels. She sold everything she owned and moved back to Pensacola, where she currently resides with her two dogs, Zoe and Mr. Biscuit.Evans is the author of the Razia series and Empath, both published by Sun’s Golden Ray Publishing.
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Drinks and Sinkholes - S. Usher Evans
S. Usher Evans
Pensacola, FL
Version Date: 5/1/24
© 2023 S. Usher Evans
ISBN: 978-1945438585
All rights reserved. No portion of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
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Sun's Golden Ray Publishing
Pensacola, FL
www.sgr-pub.com
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The Weary Dragon Inn Series
Ale and Amnesia (Novella)
Drinks and Sinkholes
Fiends and Festivals
Secrets and Snowflakes
Beasts and Baking
Magic and Molemen
Veils and Villains
Zealots and Zeniths
Campaigns and Curses
Perils and Potions
Royals and Ruses
Chapter One
"That is a sinkhole."
Bev stared down into the black abyss, her words echoing in the cavernous space. She'd been on her way back from the twice-weekly farmers' market with a wagon full of produce to serve guests at her beloved Weary Dragon Inn when she'd heard a loud rumbling. Then the ground began to shake, rustling the trees and making the pebbles dance along the road. Bev's old mule Sin (short for Sinister; she'd had quite a reputation once) had brayed unhappily, backing up a few steps before Bev hopped off the carriage to soothe her. Once the shaking stopped, Bev had continued down the road to investigate when the road itself had…disappeared.
That's definitely a sinkhole, Bev.
Grant Klose had been behind Bev in his own carriage, returning to his farm after selling all his produce at the market. When Bev had come to an abrupt stop, he'd jumped off his carriage to see what the problem was.
What'dya reckon?
he asked, peering down next to her.
No idea.
Bev rubbed the back of her neck where her short, dark hair reached her shirt. Couldn't have picked a worse spot, though.
Could've been in the middle of Pigsend.
Could've been,
Bev admitted with a nod. But this is a well-traveled road, y'know? Someone not paying attention would go head-first.
Grant nodded. We should put up a barrier, yeah? I got an axe in the barn. Let's cut down a tree.
It took some time, but between the two of them, Bev and Grant cut down a young sapling near the hole so it fell right in front of it, serving as a very obvious deterrent to anyone coming down the road.
That'll at least slow them down,
Grant said, dusting off his hands. Do you want to pop over for a glass of lemonade?
Wish I could,
Bev said, walking to where Sin was eating nearby grass. Got some new guests coming into town today. Queen's soldiers.
You don't say.
Grant whistled. Suppose that Queen Meanie likes to get her claws into every inch of her kingdom. Wouldn't be surprised if they were coming to harass the locals before moving on.
Queen Meanie.
Bev chuckled. That's a good one.
Queen Meandra had come into power some years ago through a violent and bloody war against the previous king. From what Bev had heard, it was quite a spectacle, with thousands of soldiers marching against each other, wizards casting magic, and perhaps even a dragon or two. But the stories had come from the old wine merchants who came back and forth, and they liked to exaggerate, so who actually knew the truth?
Not Bev, that was for sure.
I'll let the mayor and sheriff know about this.
Bev nodded. We'll see about getting some folks out here to fill this in. Have a good day, Grant.
And to you, Bev.
~
The rest of the ride was uneventful, and Bev almost forgot about the sinkhole, except for the new blisters on her hand from swinging the axe. The road into Pigsend wound over hills and by lush fields, still green from the late summer growing season, though there'd been a bit of a drought, so things were on the dry side. In a few weeks, everything would be brown as the weather turned colder, and before Bev knew it, the world would be covered in a soft blanket of snow. But for today, the sun was warm even if the breeze was cool.
Hey, Bev!
Bathilda Wormwood was barely visible from behind her fence. She only came up to Bev's stomach, with white hair, rosy cheeks, and a smile that could brighten any day. With a huff, she hopped over the fence and waddled over so Bev slowed her mule.
What can I do for you, Bathilda?
Bev asked.
When are you going to be baking that magnificent rosemary bread again?
the old woman asked.
Bev blew air between her lips. I don't know. Wasn't planning on it until the weather turned a bit colder. Best for stews, you know.
I'd kill for that recipe.
She leaned on the wheel with a smile that could've softened even the hardest heart. Why don't you give it to me?
Sorry, dear,
Bev said, patting the old woman on the head. Not for sale. Even for homicide.
The woman huffed and marched away, and Bev just smiled. Nearly every time Bev ventured to the farmers' market, Bathilda asked about the rosemary bread. The legendary bread had been baked at the Weary Dragon Inn for years, the recipe passed down from innkeeper to innkeeper. When Bev had inherited the inn from Wim McKee, the secret recipe had come with it. And Bev wasn't about to break decades of tradition.
She kept on, glancing behind her to where Bathilda was tending her rutabagas and shaking her head. There was something a bit off about her, though Bev wasn't sure exactly what. But it wasn't her business to question people's private lives, so she left it at that.
It wasn't long until Pigsend village came into view. Thatched roofs and stone chimneys reached toward the blue sky, separated by a dirt road lined with sprouts of green grass and plants with white flowers. Perhaps a hundred or so folks lived in the town limits, working all manner of trades that helped sustain the economy. Bev knew pretty much all of them—and the farmers who lived in the fields just beyond—she could say she got along with mostly everyone.
She waved to Bernard Rickshaw as he stood outside the apothecary, feeding his infamous chickens as they clucked about. They weren't as bad as Rosie Kelooke's, who escaped regularly and attacked whoever dared cross their path, but they were numerous and loud. Bernard was good at his trade, but there were always a few feathers in the draughts when ordering from him.
Allen Mackey, the local baker, was skulking down the street, his hands stuffed into his pockets. His thin shoulders were hunched over his tall frame, the curtain of black hair hiding most of his face. He wasn't yet twenty-five and had inherited the bakery from his dear mother two years ago. He hadn't quite gotten her talent with yeast and sugar, or perhaps the young man just didn't care about the legacy of delicacies his mother had left behind. Bev hoped he would get serious about baking one day. But for now, he seemed content to squander the money away.
He glowered at her as she rode by, but Bev just smiled and waved.
Got any rolls baked today?
she asked. I got waylaid out on the road and won't have time to bake before dinner. I'll pay you a gold coin for them.
He softened at the promise of money. When do you want them?
Whenever you can deliver them,
Bev said. I'll pay you an extra silver for your trouble, too.
His eyes lit up even more. Well, absolutely, then. What's the hurry? Got special visitors at the inn tonight?
Queen's soldiers,
Bev said. Going to make them a nice roasted chicken and some root vegetables. Market was plentiful today.
He nodded. I'll have them packed up and sent over within the hour.
Much obliged.
He walked inside, and Bev just chuckled at the ease with which he was placated. Even as prickly as he was, Bev still carried a soft spot for the baker. His late mother had welcomed Bev into the fold without a fuss, even ensured Bev got a job within a day of showing up here.
And that job had turned into owning the best inn this side of the Stellan river.
The beautiful sight of a green roof, white plaster walls, and the dark wooden accents of the Weary Dragon Inn never ceased to amaze Bev. She navigated Sin around to the back then unhooked the mule and led her to her stall, making sure she had hay and water.
The mule let out a loud bray of approval, almost sounding as if Bev had worked her too hard.
I'm so sorry, Your Majesty,
Bev said, patting the donkey on her brown hide. But we had to stop and get that sinkhole safe before anyone fell in. You know me. Gotta save the world.
Sin just ducked her head into her food trough and kept eating.
Very well.
Bev lugged all the items inside and found the six whole chickens she'd ordered earlier in the day hanging above her hearth, delivered by either Ida or Vellora, the local butchers across the street. Bev hummed to herself as she prepared the chickens first, creating a mix of butter, crushed garlic, and thyme from her small garden out back. There was something about the dirt that made the herbs she grew taste better. She didn't have room or time to tend to a full vegetable garden, so she'd planted rosemary (of course), thyme, oregano, and other herbs to always have something extra on hand for her nightly dinners.
Humming to herself, she chopped the carrots, onions, and fennel from the farmers' market and arranged the pieces around each of the six chickens in separate roasting pans. Then they went into the large, stone oven, and within minutes, the whole kitchen smelled of deliciousness.
Bev? You here?
Allen had arrived with the rolls. So uh…that'll be two golds, yeah?
Price went up?
Bev smiled as she walked over to her pouch on the counter. If it were anyone else, she would've argued. Here you go. As promised.
The look on Allen's face said he thought he should've asked for more, but he took his money and left. Bev stood at the door, watching him while wiping her hands on her apron. She shook her head and muttered about young men and their headstrong nature before turning back to clean up the kitchen.
~
The queen's soldiers were due to arrive in another hour or two—and the chickens were happy cooking, so Bev cleaned herself up, put away her apron, and set out to speak with someone about the sinkhole. Across the street, Vellora Witzel was sweeping up the blood in the butchery and waved to Bev.
Did you find the chickens?
Vellora asked with a bright smile. She was perhaps the tallest person in town, with thick muscles and long blonde hair that she kept braided down her back. She would've been an imposing figure, except that she was just so darn nice.
I did. Thank you so much,
Bev said. You haven't seen Rustin around, have you?
Vellora frowned and shook her head. No, can't say I have. Is everything all right?
Sinkhole appeared on the road outside of town,
Bev said. Once I get these soldiers settled, I'd like to see about getting a group of folks to head out and try to fill it in before someone gets hurt.
I'm sure the missus will help,
Vellora said, nodding toward the front door. She's inside finishing up.
Who's asking?
Ida said, walking out wearing a bloodied apron. She barely came up to her wife's armpit, with tawny skin and tight, black corkscrew curls that bounced as she went about her day. She was as slight as her wife was bulky, yet she could hoist a whole cow by herself. Her deep brown eyes lit up when she noticed Bev. Oh! Hi, Bev. Did you find the chickens?
I did,
Bev said. She briefly told Ida about the sinkhole, and the other butcher nodded.
I'd be happy to help,
she said, wiping her hands on her apron. Just let me know when and where.
Great,
Bev said, thumbing toward the city. I'm headed into town to let the powers-that-be know. If I could ask you two to keep an eye on the chickens for me. Should be cooking for another hour, but in case I'm not back.
Of course.
Ida nodded. Good luck.
You're gonna need it,
Vellora muttered.
~
With a soft whistle, Bev made her way into the town square of Pigsend. The town hall building was on one side with the schoolhouse, and the faint sounds of schoolchildren reciting their daily lessons, directly across from it. In the center of the square was a large marble dragon spurting water into the air.
Bev continued to the town hall, pushing open the thick wooden door. Inside was the town meeting space, where the townsfolk would gather to discuss…usually nothing important. The mayor was sitting in her office, her door mostly closed. But on the opposite side was the small office that housed the only law enforcement officer assigned to their quaint little town.
Rustin was broad-shouldered, tanned with curly brown hair and piercing brown eyes—not that Bev could see them. He was fast asleep, his feet kicked up on the desk as he leaned back in his chair. A shiny pin sat on his tunic, which was new. Most everyone knew who Rustin was, so he rarely saw the need to wear his official pin carrying the seal of the queen. But perhaps with the arrival of her soldiers, he wanted to dress up.
Um…
Bev pushed his foot. Rustin.
Hmmm.
The sheriff grunted and scratched his stomach. Five more minutes, Ma.
Not your ma,
Bev said, poking him in the stomach. Wake up.
He jolted, shock flooding his face as he looked up, then recognition dawned. Oh, it's you, Bev. You scared me.
Sleeping on the job?
she asked with a smirk.
Just trying to get ready for the soldiers,
he said. They aren't…here yet, are they?
Not yet,
Bev said. But we've got bigger problems. There's a sinkhole in the road outside town.
Oh.
He blinked, the wheels turning slowly in his head. Brilliant, he was not. What's the problem?
It's in the road, Rustin,
she said patiently. Someone's liable to fall in. We need to fill it before that happens. Can you help me round up some people? Maybe in the morning we can—
Sorry, Bev. Would love to help. But I gotta keep myself available to the soldiers.
Rustin wiped his mouth as he stood. He gave Vellora a run for her money in terms of height, but Bev thought the butcher might edge him out. Have you heard why they're coming?
You're the one who told me about them,
Bev said with a shrug. I've gotten nothing more than that.
Yeah, me neither.
He rubbed his smooth chin nervously. Hope they aren't here to replace me. You never know with these soldiers from the capital.
I mean,
Bev cleared her throat, if you're worried about them thinking you're not suitable for the job, maybe gathering an entire town to help fill a hole would change their mind?
You think?
He scratched the back of his head. I guess that would make me look pretty smart, eh?
A real hero,
Bev said, nodding solemnly. "Especially if they can't get their wagons around it. Sin and I sure had trouble. It's in the center of the road, you know."
I see, I see. I'll—
There was a knock at the door, and a raven-haired, pale-skinned beauty with red lips swept inside with a smile on her face—Mayor Jo Hendry. Her cheekbones were as sharp as her political acumen, and her eyes were as quick as an eagle's. She practically purred as she said, My dear Sheriff Rustin.
Ma'am.
Rustin all but bowed to her. What can I do for you?
Have the queen's soldiers…? Oh. Bev.
Mayor Hendry's dark eyes swept over Bev as if she were disrupting a spell she'd cast on the sheriff. What are you doing here? Trouble at the old inn?
Not at my inn, no,
Bev said. But there's a sinkhole outside of town that needs filling.
Oh my. Well, that certainly sounds like a problem that is someone else's to solve,
she said with a breathy chuckle. Rustin, I need you.
Of course!
He practically stumbled over himself as he scrambled after her. Whatever you need.
There's a painting in my office that needs to be hung before—
Before what, Bev didn't know, because at that very moment, the ground began trembling again.
Chapter Two
The trio scrambled to hold onto something sturdy, but it was in short supply as the ground violently shifted back and forth. Paintings and maps slipped down Rustin's wall, and his ink and quill set tipped over, spilling black onto the wooden floor. A vase toppled off a table, and a piece of the ceiling fell just beyond in the town hall room.
It lasted a full two minutes—per the clock on the wall—before things settled.
What in the…?
Hendry said, her raven hair askew across her face. What was that?
Earthquake,
Bev said. One happened just before the sinkhole appeared outside of town.
That's ridiculous,
Hendry said. "We don't have earthquakes or sinkholes in Pigsend."
We do now,
Bev said.
The sound of concerned voices echoed in the town hall, and Bev, Rustin, and Mayor Hendry