MoboReader> Fantasy > The Adventures of Larson and Garrett - A Werewolf in the Dark

   Chapter 3 No.3

The Adventures of Larson and Garrett - A Werewolf in the Dark By AaronDennis Characters: 4972

Updated: 2017-12-29 12:02


"Larson, " he replied. Then, he had an insight, whoever this guy was, Barry knew him, and he had come in last month, and he probably traveled a lot. "Say, you don't know the surname Ross, do you?"

"Ross?" Holden echoed as he started to remove his cloak. He had then the slow ruminations, the kind one has after too much alcohol where it's difficult to hold just one thought at a time. This was made evident by the way the old man's eyes had glossed over, the way he unconsciously moved his mouth like he was savoring smoked meat. "Ross?"

"I'm looking for my brother and my father: Largo and Mathew Ross."

While Larson tried to explain his predicament, Holden tried to find his seat. Barry touched Larson's hand to draw his attention, and then winced and shook his head as though implying that the coot was just useless.

"What are you hunting now, Hold?" Barry asked in a manner showing blatant disbelief, disinterest.

"Mm werewolf, or, uh, who wolf…what wolf, " Holden said and finally sat down.

Barry chuckled, but Larson was interested, and he blurted out, "They don't exist, do they?"

"Ya, oh ya, " Holden replied and rested his head on his folded arms. "I was just talking to a young man who was looking for his werewolf and brother."

Holden's voice had been muffled by the position of his face. Larson cracked a smile of incredulity and looked at Barry, who just wandered away.

"No, " Larson said, slowly. "Since you're a traveler, I thought maybe you had run into my brother or father. Have you been to Port Shau?"

"Listen, kid, " Holden started and turned his head—still on his folded arms—towards Larson. "I'm busy with this contract. If you need me to find someone, wait 'til I bag this wolf then hire me."

Larson wasn't sure what to make of Holden. On the one hand, he had the air of someone useful, but writing the letter as Barry suggested was probably a safer bet. Still, something intrigued him, something indefinable.

"Nobody believes in werewolves anymore, " Larson commented.

"Yes they do, " Holden replied, indifferently. "The woman who hired me certainly does, and I've been tracking this one for weeks." Larson and Holden eyed each other for a moment. "You've killed a monster, so don't give me this there are no monsters in The Third Age crap."

Larson's brow furrowed involuntarily. Holden's directness and familiarity with hidden knowledge had nearly drawn all his breath away.

"Who told you I killed a monster?" he gas

ped.

"It's written all over your face, " Holden said and sat up. "You're not from here. No, a small town maybe? Half Pine, right? Or Flotsam, yeah, you killed that reaper in Flotsam. I remember your name now."

An uneasy silence passed. Larson felt threatened, anxious, and somehow elated.

"I'm just trying to live a normal life, " he finally said. "That business back home was a fluke. Monsters don't run rampant the way they used to. Maybe there's a crazy wizard in some labyrinth somewhere, sure, or the occasional pack of kobolds."

"Brazen, " Holden interrupted. "A pack of kobolds is called a brazen, and you're wrong. People are just too busy with their lives to notice anymore, but kids see 'em—monsters—and so do the sick, the elderly, the seasoned warrior-traveler. Kings and pawns are too busy with their normal lives, whatever that might be, to notice what's really happening in the world today, but you rest assured, as sure as I am drunk, that there's a werewolf in these parts."

"Fine, so there's a werewolf, " Larson conceded, apathetically. "It doesn't concern me."

"Of course, it does, " Holden smiled. "You've got that flare in your eyes. You're dying to join me, and see it for yourself."

The old warrior then laughed his head off. Once more, Larson was incredulous. This man, Holden, was nothing like anyone he had ever met before. He was right out of a story book except he wasn't handsome, kind, or sober. Larson chuckled at having been pinned down so neatly. Holden was astute for sure. He wasn't a drunken construction worker overly worried about making ends meet, or knocking up a half willing woman, or raising a petulant child.

"What have you got to lose, " the mercenary asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Help me bag this thing."

"Why would you want my help?" Larson's tone belied his eagerness.

Holden frowned and shrugged the way a man does when he doesn't care to reveal the obvious, but instead wants placation from speculation and said, "Everybody needs help at some time or another. Take you; you need help in locating your family. I need help in killing this thing."

"Don't you get caught up with the likes of him, " Barry shouted while marching over. "Holden, you leave this kid alone. He's got a job and a good life ahead of him."

"Is that what you want out of life?" Holden stared at Larson. "You wanna' work like a dog for a pittance? Meet a nice girl and bear children, and grow into an old, fat, lazy dog?"

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