"What!" Old Fletcher screamed, his face reddening.
Flynn took a step back, with his hands raised in placation. "I'm sorry, When I mentioned 5 shillings, I thought you'd understand it was just a token."
Fletcher's expression darkened as he supported himself on the dusty pew. "You lied to me, Bimpky."
"I'll make it up to you, I swear. I'll earn plenty this week. Don't worry!"
Fletcher's long strides closed the distance between them, he didn't listen to a single word Flynn said. "You lied to get information."
"And how valuable is that information?"
Fletcher's frown deepened. "I overheard two men talking. They weren't from around here. Their clothes, their tone... No lies, Bimpky. This is valuable."
'Damn, I underestimated the old beggar. This is madness.' Flynn thought. He attempted to diffuse the situation. "Let bygones be bygones?"
Fletcher's gaze pierced Flynn's, then he scoffed. "You'll be bygones, alright."
With a swift motion, the Old Begger plucked a strand of Flynn's hair.
"Hey—!"
"I place you under the Beggers' curse!"
"The Begger's curse?" Flynn's eyes widened as he studied Fletcher's stern expression. No hint of jest remained.
"...If Bimpky lies about my payment," Fletcher's voice echoed through the church, "then, just as I hold this strand of hair, so shall decay claim his head!"
The color on Flynn's face turned pale. 'This man's dead serious.'
"...Just as I kept my hope in the payment," Fletcher continued, his eyes glinting, "so shall his hope be reduced to dust."
Flynn hastily intervened, "Hey, I'll pay you! No need for spooky talk." He cut the space between them, quickly wanting to leave, but Fletcher's parting yell stopped him.
"Today being Wednesday, Your head is forfeit by Friday, Bimpky!"
Flynn turned back, and Fletcher's wide grin sent another shiver down his spine.
"...Or else you'll join me as a Begger. For the rest of your miserable life!."
—————
Flynn rushed away from the church, his body feeling heavier with each step. "My head's due on Friday..." He muttered to himself, quickening his pace. "And what's gotten into Fletcher?"
Pausing, he reassured himself, "At least I convinced the old beggar I'm still Bimpky, but My head due on Friday, Hellsh*t!"
The Begger's curse lingered in his mind, but another concern took precedence – the Gate Fletcher mentioned. Gates connecting worlds? It sounded far-fetched, until he recalled how Fletcher's voice sounded when he said, "The Gates open tomorrow."
Soon, with all these thoughts, Flynn found himself in front of the pub. He actually hated this place, and before be entered, he sucked in a large amount of chocking air.
The creaking door opening and the floorboard beneath his feet made him hasten his step, avoiding the crack. Baggins' pub, like many others, was built with cheap wood, vulnerable to termite infestations.
A few Patrons were in the pub. And each minded their business. Flynn eyes moved to the Bartender.
"Hey, Bart!" He called, using the nickname from Bimpky's memories.
Bart, the hefty stout man with a sagging face, looked up. His name was actually gotten from shortening 'Bartender'. He was among the nameless in the streets and when he joined Mr. Baggins' pub, he had to give him Bart as a name.
"So, please, Is there any place I can get—"
"Blimey, Bimpky! You scarpered outta 'ere like a shot earlier. What's the 'urry, mate?" Bart asked.
Flynn eyes blinked confused, until remembering He had swiftly ran away avoiding the chocking smell. Now, he had to make up anything which sounds convincing, "I was looking for something I forgot."
"Ah, that's it, then," Bart said, nodding. "So, you're lookin' for, eh?"
Flynn nodded. "Yeah, need some work."
Bart's eyes went wide. "Bimpky wanna work? Gawd bless, lad!"
The patrons turned their heads to these words and after some minutes, they continued their quiet discussion.
Flynn heaved a sigh.
'Must this man shout everything?.'
Taking a deep breath, he walked towards the counter and signaled Bart to come closer and after the Man did, he whispered, "I'm under a Begger's curse—"
Bart's voice boomed, "YOU'RE BLOODY CURSED!."
The patrons turned their heads to this statement, majority shaking their heads in pity.
Flynn glared at Bart. "Did I say to shout it out, you numbskull?"
Suddenly, a voice spoke up, "I can help ya!."
Flynn head turned towards the male voice and studied the man, dressed in a straw hat, faded blue top, and patched grey trousers.
'Definitely a farmer!.'
"You can help me?" Flynn asked.
The farmer-dressed man chuckled, "Blimey, lad! You've got a right proper tone goin' on. Whatcha doin' 'ere with the likes o' us?"
Flynn raised an eyebrow. 'Looks like everyone knows Blimpky here.' Before he could say a word, the Man spoke up.
"Alrigh', listen up! To break the Begger's curse, ya gotta get in with the Beggers, savvy? They're a funny lot, but they got rules. A Begger's curse is binding, like a oath. Ya gotta appeal to the others, but it ain't just about forkIN' over coin, lad."
Flynn took a deep breath. He remembered his past life when he had enough bulks to get himself whatever he needed. Now, he's thinking of payment to the Begger.
".... Ya see, Beggers want somethin' more than brass. They want... Well, that's not for me to know. But I reckon ya won't be able to swing it, lad. Ya gonna die!."
Flynn frowned as next words were followed by the man's crackling laughter filling the air.
"Ya got a snowflake's chance in 'ell, mate!"
Watching the Man laugh, he hissed in a whisper, "Sh*t head."
__________
It was already late at night.
Flynn sat behind the counter, watching the last patrons leave. The most they'd left was three shillings, and he knew taking one would be a mistake. Despite being a thief, Flynn had searched Bimpky's memories and found the young man had never stolen from the pub. Flynn didn't want to be the first.
As the minutes passed, the empty pub became peaceful. Flynn preferred it this way; with fewer patrons, the air was breathable, and he could extinguish some candles, improving the oxygen level slightly.
Now, he decided to arrange ale on the shelf, the door swung open.
"No more customers for today, sorry—"
"Would you mind pouring me a whiskey?"
Flynn turned toward the refined voice. His eyes widened as he took in the man's attire— The young looking man wore a black tailcoat with red piping on the lapels. Flynn's eyes went to the white dress shirt, its high collar framed by a crisp red cravat. Black trousers with a thin red stripe broke the monotony of the dark attire, while black leather gloves covered his hands. A black top hat, with a narrow red band, sat atop his neatly styled red hair, The overall effect was one of refined elegance, but Flynn's gaze kept drifting back to the man's piercing blue eyes.
The man remained standing, asking, "You got whiskey?"
Flynn nodded slowly, sensing the man was one of those 'Odd Men' Fletcher had mentioned.
"Yes..." He replied, "But that would be five coins.."
"No problem."
As he retrieved the whiskey, a handful of coins appeared on the counter. Flynn's eyes widened, as he saw almost a hundred coins.
"... Young lad, I'm looking for a door," the man asked.
Flynn dropped the whiskey, his attention split between the man and the coins. "Door?"
"Yes. Have you seen any strange-looking doors?"
Flynn shook his head. "No... Not at all."
"Have you heard anything strange around?"
Flynn tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Well, I just heard something about a 'Gate' opening tomorrow."
The young man eyes narrowed. "Oh. That's relevant. Thanks."
He bowed politely, hat in hand, and turned to leave.
"Hey!" Flynn called out. "You're leaving this here?" He pointed to the coins.
"Sure. It's a thank-you gift."
Flynn's face lit up as he swiftly stashed the coins in an old pouch from the counter drawer. 'I can pay against my Beggers' curse and—'
"Crack.....
Crash."
The sound of breaking wood made Flynn's head jerk up. His mouth agape, he stared at the man, now in the floorboards.
"Are you ok—" he jumped over the counter and rushed towards the man.
The man quickly sprang up from the hole with amazing agility and balance, dusting his clothes before nodding with a wide smile and a hint of an embarrassment.
Leaving Flynn speechless, he walked away, closing shut the door.
"Strange—"
Suddenly, his eyes picked up something in the cracked hole. There clearly was something there.
Kneeling cautiously, Flynn dipped his hands in the hole and retrieved a box.
'Strange.'
He approached the counter, where brighter lights was. "The man must have lost it," he mused.
".. And what's this?..."
The box's lid had a symbol: two swords forming an 'X' before a barred gate. Surprisingly, when Flynn tried opening it, it was unlocked. When he did, he saw a black ring with a jaw opened skull at its center. Topaz-colored gems gleamed in the skull's hollow eyes.
Flynn's curiosity got the better of him. He picked up the ring, admiring its craftsmanship.
'Oddly strange. I wonder who crafted this?....'
He slid it onto his ring finger, the skull's jaw snapped shut.
"Ouch!" Flynn winced at the sharp bite. Then, he heard a monotone voice.
[HOST ACQUIRED: BLOOD BINDING]
"What is—"
Suddenly, the door swang open. Bart burst in, "Blimey, guvna! I'm back!"
Swiftly, Flynn placed the small box into the pouch and then, into his pocket. He was glad, the man's attention was somewhere else....
Bart's eyes widened at the hole in the floor. "Oh Lord 'ave mercy! Who's gone and smashed our lovely floorboard?"
Flynn shrugged, walking towards his makeshift bed, previously tucked away at the shelf end. He gave it a disgusted glance before dragging it to a better spot near the door.
"Bart, could you help me off the candles, I'm tired." Flynn collapsed onto the bed, stretching against the lumpy material.
The man's eyes twitched in annoyance. "You lazy slug... I've got to fix the board, blow out the candles, close the door, and—"
Flynn's soft snores interrupted, making Bart yell, "Get yer lazy arse up and sweep this place!."