Short Story - A Time of Toil and Trouble - 862 words

[TitaniumTi]

I'd appreciate your critiques on the paragraphs below, which form the start of a short(ish) story.

Comments on tone and voice are of particular interest, but any feedback would be useful. The names - of the story, of places and of people - are mostly placeholders at the moment. (Sonnet WindRider will almost certainly be renamed.)

A Time of Toil and Trouble

It was midnight in Newton’s Proof and, because the wind wasn’t blowing, I was standing behind the bar in an empty inn. The room reeked of smoke and hops, but I refused to let it bother me. Chances were, it’d be windy tomorrow and I’d be scurrying around in the cellar again.

In another half hour, I’d call it a night and head for the luxury of a featherbed. Charlie wouldn’t mind; he’d moan about it and threaten to call in the rat catcher, but the unexpected treat of a night off always mellowed him.

I’d mopped the bar and was reaching for a broom when something colder than the icy draft made me shiver. Witch. Damn! There was nothing I hated more. I picked up the broom and started sweeping while I covertly studied the figure crossing the room. She didn’t look dangerous. She was dark-haired, slender and no more than five foot tall. I’d have called her pretty, if she wasn’t a witch. Her eyes met mine, and I changed my mind; she was pretty – unexpectedly so. Most witches, if they cared about their looks, aimed for beauty instead of prettiness. She was pale and her posture hinted at exhaustion, but there was humour in the shape of her mouth and the set of her eyes. Great. If there was anyone I trusted less than a witch, it was a witch with a sense of humour. I kept sweeping. If I ignored her, maybe she’d go away.

She didn’t. She waited at the bar, with a patience that was most un-witchlike, as I hunted down the dust bunnies lurking beneath the bar stools. She bent to put her shabby bag on the floor and, as she straightened, she swayed.

I sighed, leaning the broom against the wall, and turned to her. “Can I help you?”

She squared her shoulders. “Mayor Blackweaver?”

Uh-oh. She wanted to speak to Charlie in his role as the Mayor. Either she didn’t know zip about small mountain towns, or this was serious trouble. In towns like Newton’s Proof, there are two authorities – the Mayor and the innkeeper, with the innkeeper edging out the mayor as the day-to-day centre of power. The Mayor only steps up for ceremonial occasions or major emergencies. In Newton’s Proof, the two roles combined in one person: Charlie.

“No.” I rinsed a cloth and started mopping the bar. Finally, her damn patience wore me down and I added, “I’m not Charlie Blackweaver.”

She smiled, holding out her hand. “I’m Sonnet Windrider.”

I wasn’t going to hazard touching a witch – or sharing my name with one. Fool me twice – I don’t think so. I picked up a lantern, saying, “I’m Jonathon Greenriver.” That was a half-truth – what my parents had named me, but not how I thought of myself. My friends called me Jack Green.

“I need to speak to the mayor, Jonathon.”

“He’s not here,” I said, shrugging.

“But you know where he is.” The lift of her chin told me she wasn’t giving up without a struggle. But neither was I. Charlie was nobody’s fool, but he wasn’t proof against the witching hour – or the beguilement of a pretty woman. Besides, he deserved his night off.

“Yeah. Sure I know. But it’s after midnight. Come back in the morning.”

“It’s urgent.” No trace of patience now.

I shrugged again. What could she do – turn me into a rat? A witch had already done that. The hairs on the back of my neck were dancing to a different tune, one that said there was quite a lot more she could do to me, but I dug into my stubborn, ignoring the danger. “Look, La–“ The look in her eye stopped me mid-word. Calling her ‘lady’ might be a step too far. “Look, Sera Windrider, what’s urgent to you matters just about as much to us as a snowflake on a griddle. Come back in the morning.”

“This matters to you,” she insisted. “Your town’s under threat.”

I narrowed my eyes. Was she telling the truth? I wasn’t sure that witches ever told the truth. Even if she was, how much did it matter? Newton’s Proof held the easily-defensible high ground above the only pass through the Alps separating the rival Kingdoms of Snowscope and Atchen. Too small to be called a city state, it nevertheless maintained its independence by virtue of its inaccessibility. Both Snowscope and Atchen had tried to annex it many times, of course. Control of Newton’s Proof would allow them to sweep down on their neighbour and, perhaps more importantly, prevent their neighbour from sweeping down on them. All their efforts had been unsuccessful. Travellers were welcomed in Newton’s Proof, but the town maintained a careful watch over the roads that scrambled up from east and west. Once an army was detected, it was a mundane task to send an avalanche or landslide down onto the vanguard.

I might have made her wait despite her claim, if I’d had time. But a shutter banging in a gust of wind warned me I didn’t. By dawn, I wouldn’t be able to warn the town. I wouldn’t be human.

 

[tinkerdan]

This is interesting; however a little slow to start.
You make a point of the room reeking of smoke and hops. And it is probably overpowering to some extent. And though you have a fair description of the witch, I've an idea that she reeks of something herself. It could be bad it could be good or it could just be the musky smell of sweat and overused clothing, however whatever she smells like the closer she gets the more likelihood that it will be as important to notice as the smoke and hops.

That's just a thought.

I'm not sure at the end that I'm following the logic to his not being human by dawn and I'm thinking that might be an important point that I'm missing out on here.

 

[TitaniumTi]

Thanks Tinkerdan.

I was trying to use curiosity about the trigger for his change from human to rat as a hook leading into the story, but obviously that didn't hook you. I could give the explanation sooner; it would fit nicely after the comment about witches with a sense of humour. I'll see what other readers think.

I like your idea about her smell. I could replace the arguably cliched 'icy chill' with the scent of magic, perhaps.

 

[Danny McG]

I was intrigued at the start of this by the bit about the wind. It wasn't blowing yet the narrator could feel an icy draft.
You mention the inn is empty 'cos no wind so I'm thinking "why does this place need a wind so the population can get to the bar? Are they like bat people? Ray Bradbury's October People maybe?"
Then you mention Jack won't be human in the morning and I connect that with your earlier comment about Charlie joking about a rat catcher and I'm like "Yes, it's a town of were people who change at night (maybe!)
As I said at the start I find it intriguing world building with various clues slowly revealing

Further thoughts with the name Newton's Proof were alternate timeline or post apocalypse where things of magic somehow prevail.
Voice: I got the impression in opening paragraphs that narrator was female, I can't pin down why, maybe 'cos of the room reeking etc. A bloke in a boozer wouldn't notice pub smell as his nose would be stuck in a glass maybe?

 

[TitaniumTi]

That's useful feedback, dannymcg. I'm glad that you like the slowly revealing clues, but I'll obviously need to take more care designing the clues. The lack of wind was the reason he was standing behind the bar, not the reason the inn was empty, and I hadn't even considered that 'he' might seem like 'she'. That's the fun of writing, isn't it?

 

[Charles Gull]

This definitely has lots of enticing tidbits. I'm not sure how satisfied I feel after nibbling so briefly at each one. The references to wind, its significance and powers got me a little tangled up and confused.

I agree that the question of the possible gender of the MC kind of distracted me from the action for quite a while. In the end I just shrugged it off and decided it didn't matter. Perhaps a nudge in the right direction early on would have helped me to concentrate on what was going on. This is especially important when I have to also deal with the whole 'human/rat' situation.

I was also distracted by the question of whether the MC has sensitivity /premonition of all magical entities or just witches. An alternative approach might be to have the MC start from the position of a general mistrust of cute little females that are confident enough to wander around on their own at night and then progressively home in on the fact that she is indeed a witch by a process of deduction and elimination.

On a minor note,

the bar in an empty inn

I would use 'of' rather than 'in' it makes the bar sound less like an independent entity AND it avoids phonic confusion with 'inn'. But maybe that's what you intended.

 

[Martin Robert]

I can't imagine a rural bar is empty just because it's not windy, unless there is some sort of other indiscernible weirdness going on. Smoke and beer smells would be exactly how the clients like it....particularly because they're going to be smoking in there (I presume, unless you mean simply fire smoke - chimney?).

Overall, it feels a little over dramatic. And forced. The witch asks for the mayor and it's instant uh-oh? Seems the girl could be more suspicious and not jumping to conclusions with big sighs and comments about not knowing zip.

I'm not really feeling the beauty vs pretty thing. Beauty vs cute seems more of a difference, at least how I'd use those words. May just be me, though.

 

[tinkerdan]

I apologize: I usually read these through twice or thrice before deciding where to comment.
I got the scurrying and rat-catcher and the blase nature of what's she gonna do turn me into a rat.
However by the time I got to the bottom I missed a cue. Perhaps I wasn't sure how the flapping shutter or gusting wind was a warning.

Which now brings to mind a thought that maybe it should be a reminder more than a warning. (I'm only assuming now that wind has agency in his life.)That way you don't use the word warn in two places so close together.

 

[Charles Gull]

Seems the girl could be more suspicious

Assuming the MC is female. I'm still not convinced either way on that.

 

[tinkerdan]

Based on my own confusion and then reading some of the other comments I have read this a third time and I think that there is some grammatical stuff happening here that you may have to look into; because it is occurring where you are deliberately misdirecting while trying to foreshadow because you don't want to be direct.

% I know this leads to, what the heck did he just say.

However I'm guessing that your 'man'[Jonathon] changes into a rat because he has encountered a witch in the past who has felt a need to do this to him. That would make anyone sensitive to witches. However it seems that there is something to do about wind--since in at least two instances there is wind mentioned in conjunction with the mention of rat-boy-jonathon.

But to get back to my obtuseness above.

I'm only going to highlight your first sentence.

It was midnight in Newton’s Proof and, because the wind wasn’t blowing, I was standing behind the bar in an empty inn.

Here's the funny part. My brain parses this out as (because the wind wasn't blowing) in a non-restrictive clause- therefor the brain says that it works fine as

It was midnight in Newton’s Proof and I was standing behind the bar in an empty inn.
The (because the wind wasn't blowing) is then just further explanation.

However the sentence doesn't read correctly that way(or at least I'm guessing), so you have to be creative here and either restructure or throw away the notion of commas in the sentence. Because the wind isn't blowing is a restrictive clause in this instance(I think). I think it means to say that the only reason he is standing there at all is because the wind isn't blowing.

Either::
It was midnight in Newton’s Proof and because the wind wasn’t blowing I was standing behind the bar in an empty inn.

Or possibly split the sentence up to make it clearer.

However what I think it is ultimately saying is::
It was midnight in Newton's Proof and the wind wasn't blowing so I had a respite from my normal condition and I was able to stand behind the bar in the empty inn.

As opposed to::
It was midnight in Newton's Proof and the wind was blowing resulting in the Inn being empty and leaving me standing behind the bar.

You may need to hunt for more misdirection such as this.

 

[Charles Gull]

It was midnight in Newton's Proof and the wind wasn't blowing so I had a respite from my normal condition and I was able to stand behind the bar in the empty inn.

Quite honestly, I would never have understood it like that in a month of Sundays.

 

[Charles Gull]

Chances were, it’d be windy tomorrow and I’d be scurrying around in the cellar again.

Ohhh! I see now. When I read this line the first time, my brain just thought 'busy changing barrels because the pub is so full'!

 

[Phyrebrat]

I enjoyed the read. The voice of the bartender is easy to get into and flows well.

My observations:

I think if it is a short story you could trim a bit of fat here and there. I think Jack's mental asides are quite numerous, perhaps a little too numerous, and at times he sounds a bit self-satisfied. For someone who is scared of witches, I'd expect him to be slightly less smug and more reserved. Most of that you'll no doubt pick up in edit two. (I liked the names as they are, BTW.)

The use of dust-bunnies and zip seemed out of place, too 'urban', perhaps, and certainly for a pub in the Alps, too American.

Is 'mop' the right word (he cleans the bar twice in your excerpt, BTW)? I thought you mopped the floor, not a counter. I can only think of 'wipe' as an alternate. And of course this is highly subjective - I'm often wrong!

The only thing that confused me was the reason Charlie might call a ratcatcher and what his role in the pub is. This confused me even more when we find out Jack's experience at being turned into a rat at some point.

pH

 

[TitaniumTi]

I can't imagine a rural bar is empty just because it's not empty.

Thanks Martin. That first sentence definitely needs rewriting.

Either::
It was midnight in Newton’s Proof and because the wind wasn’t blowing I was standing behind the bar in an empty inn.

Or possibly split the sentence up to make it clearer.

However what I think it is ultimately saying is::
It was midnight in Newton's Proof and the wind wasn't blowing so I had a respite from my normal condition and I was able to stand behind the bar in the empty inn.

As opposed to::
It was midnight in Newton's Proof and the wind was blowing resulting in the Inn being empty and leaving me standing behind the bar.

You may need to hunt for more misdirection such as this.

That gives me a lot to think about. I'll re-work and re-post the excerpt, trying to layer clues more effectively.

I think if it is a short story you could trim a bit of fat here and there.

The use of dust-bunnies and zip seemed out of place, too 'urban', perhaps, and certainly for a pub in the Alps, too American.

Is 'mop' the right word (he cleans the bar twice in your excerpt, BTW)? I thought you mopped the floor, not a counter. I can only think of 'wipe' as an alternate. And of course this is highly subjective - I'm often wrong!

pH

Very useful, thanks. I wondered about "zip" but hadn't realised "dust bunnies" were North American. I'm not sure about "mop". I think about it as cleaning a wet surface, including a bar with spilled beer.

he cleans the bar twice in your excerpt, BTW
pH

Well spotted.

 

[The Judge]

I'm not sure about "mop". I think about it as cleaning a wet surface, including a bar with spilled beer.

Just coming in quickly on this point, as I've not read the whole piece, the "mopped the bar" feels wrong to me, too. To me, literal mopping is done only to the floor (and even then only when using a mop, not if it's being cleaned with a cloth) and figurative mopping is if you wipe sweat from your brow. Otherwise, if it's cleaning spilled liquid with a cloth, it's "mopped up [the spilled beer]" -- the object which has been mopped up is needed to complete the sentence.

If you want an alternative, "swabbed" would probably work for a counter, though it suggests washing down with water not just taking spilled liquid up, and I wondered about "sponged down" but that works better with removing something from a wall. A simple "wiped" is probably your best bet for a counter, even if it's not terribly exciting.

 

[TitaniumTi]

Thanks TJ. I've now done what I should have done first: googled "how to clean a bar". "Wiped the bar" is the correct terminology.

 

[TitaniumTi]

I've made changes throughout, but I'd appreciate your feedback on changes to the first paragraphs, in particular. I'll probably trim more from the rest (including dust-bunnies) in the next edit.

I almost took out the reference to pretty vs beautiful, because it's intended to add depth to his dislike of witches, and the next paragraph does that now. What do you think?

A Time of Toil and Trouble

It was midnight in Newton’s Proof and the wind wasn’t blowing, so I was standing behind the bar in Charlie Blackweaver’s inn. The chill beating inwards from the windows numbed my fingers, but I refused to let it bother me. Chances were, it’d be windy tomorrow and I’d be scurrying under the racks in the cellar again.

White-eye Tom, always the last to go, had given me a man-to-man grunt as he headed out the door. In another half hour, I’d call it a night and head for the luxury of a featherbed. Charlie wouldn’t mind; he’d moan about it and threaten to call in the rat catcher, but the unexpected treat of a night off always mellowed him.

I’d washed the glasses and was reaching for a broom when the sweet smell of magic turned my stomach sour. Witch. Damn! There was nothing I hated more. I picked up the broom and started sweeping while I covertly studied the figure crossing the room. She didn’t look dangerous. She was dark-haired and slender, and I’d have called her pretty, if she wasn’t a witch. Her eyes met mine, and I changed my mind; she was pretty – unexpectedly so. Most witches, if they cared about their looks, aimed for beauty instead of prettiness.

She smiled. She was pale and her posture hinted at exhaustion, but there was humour in that smile and in the set of her eyes. Great. If there was anyone I trusted less than a witch, it was a witch with a sense of humour. Sorcerous humour enjoyed cruel tricks, such as casting spells that worked when the wind blew, in the windiest place on Earth. False hope burned a man on windless nights.

I kept sweeping. If I ignored her, maybe she’d go away.

She didn’t. She waited at the bar, with a patience that was most un-witchlike, as I hunted down the dust bunnies lurking beneath the bar stools. She bent to put her shabby bag on the floor and, as she straightened, she swayed.

I sighed, leaning the broom against the wall, and turned to her. “Can I help you?”

She squared her shoulders. “Mayor Blackweaver?”

Uh-oh. She wanted to speak to Charlie in his role as the Mayor. Either she knew nothing at all about small mountain towns, or this was serious trouble. In towns like Newton’s Proof, there are two authorities – the Mayor and the innkeeper, with the innkeeper edging out the mayor as the day-to-day centre of power. The Mayor only steps up for ceremonial occasions or major emergencies. In Newton’s Proof, the two roles combined in one person: Charlie.

“No.” I rinsed a cloth and started wiping the bar. Finally, her damn patience wore me down and I added, “I’m not Charlie Blackweaver.”

She held out her hand. “I’m Sonnet Windrider.”

I wasn’t going to hazard touching a witch – or sharing my name with one. Fool me twice – I don’t think so. I picked up a lantern, saying, “I’m Jonathon Greenriver.” That was a half-truth – what my parents had named me, but not how I thought of myself. My friends called me Jack Green.

“I need to speak to the mayor, Jonathon.”

“He’s not here,” I said, shrugging.

“But you know where he is.” The lift of her chin told me she wasn’t giving up without a struggle. But neither was I. Charlie was nobody’s fool, but he wasn’t proof against the witching hour – or the beguilement of a pretty woman.

“Yeah. Sure I know. But it’s after midnight. Come back in the morning.”

“It’s urgent.” No trace of patience now.

I shrugged again. What could she do – turn me into a rat? A witch had already done that. The hairs on the back of my neck were dancing to a different tune, one that said there was quite a lot more she could do to me, but I dug into my stubborn, ignoring the danger. “Look, Sera Windrider, what’s urgent to you matters just about as much to us as a snowflake on a griddle. Come back in the morning.”

“This matters to you,” she insisted. “Your town’s under threat.”

I narrowed my eyes. Was she telling the truth? I wasn’t sure that witches ever told the truth. Even if she was, how much did it matter? Newton’s Proof held the easily-defensible high ground above the only pass through the Alps separating the rival Kingdoms of Snowscope and Atchen. Too small to be called a city state, it nevertheless maintained its independence by virtue of its inaccessibility. Both Snowscope and Atchen had tried to annex it many times, of course. Control of Newton’s Proof would allow them to sweep down on their neighbour and, perhaps more importantly, prevent their neighbour from sweeping down on them. All their efforts had been unsuccessful. Travellers were welcomed in Newton’s Proof, but the town maintained a careful watch over the roads that scrambled up from east and west. Once an army was detected, it was a mundane task to send an avalanche or landslide down onto the vanguard.

I might have made her wait despite her claim, if I’d had time. But a shutter banging in a gust of wind warned me I didn’t. By dawn, I wouldn’t be able to warn the town. I wouldn’t be human.

 

[Charles Gull]

I like this better. There is not the feeling of too much going on all at once here. There is a much better flow of narrative leading the reader through the action.

so I was standing behind the bar

I might suggest 'so I was able to stand upright behind the bar' or 'so I was able to stand on just two legs behind the bar'

The chill beating inwards from the windows numbed my fingers, but I refused to let it bother me.

Perhaps an early reference to rats at this point- 'The chill draft creeping in at the window made my nose want to twitch, but I refused to let it bother me.'

A witch had already done that.

I like this 'stable door/bolted horse' concept and think it could be strengthened like - 'She was a couple of years too late for that' or 'Somebody had already beaten her to that one by a good stretch of time!'

It's coming along nicely. I am very interested to hear what the witches news might be.

 

[TitaniumTi]

I like this better. There is not the feeling of too much going on all at once here. There is a much better flow of narrative leading the reader through the action.


I might suggest 'so I was able to stand upright behind the bar' or 'so I was able to stand on just two legs behind the bar'


Perhaps an early reference to rats at this point- 'The chill draft creeping in at the window made my nose want to twitch, but I refused to let it bother me.'


I like this 'stable door/bolted horse' concept and think it could be strengthened like - 'She was a couple of years too late for that' or 'Somebody had already beaten her to that one by a good stretch of time!'

It's coming along nicely. I am very interested to hear what the witches news might be.

Thank you. I particularly like the idea of Jack standing upright behind the bar.

 

[Danny McG]

I like your second version much better. Looks like it's gonna be a thumping good story
I know I mentioned it on first review but I'm still a bit confused over "and the wind wasn't blowing so I was standing behind the bar of"
If the wind WAS blowing would he be standing somewhere else?
Or would he be sitting behind the bar?
Or does he only become a rat when the wind blows?
I just can't grasp the connection between the wind blowing and where he stands

Mebbe I'm going way off track sorry