The dwarf crashed to the floor of the tavern, out cold.
Razi finished the rest of her drink and then slammed the mug down on the table, where it joined a row of similar mugs. She crossed her arms triumphantly. "Tol' ya!"
Stinky Old Bert, the bartender, hobbled over to Razi, took one of her tiny hands in his enormous meat-hook, and raised her arm over her head so high she lifted off the ground a few inches. "The winner: Razi Smoothcut!"
There was a mix of cheers and boos as those who'd bet on Razi collected their winning from the unlucky larger group who'd put their money on Gustavo Flamebeard, Esq, a traveling merchant who was currently making the acquaintance of the floor.
Razi hiccuped and swayed on her feet as Stinky Old Bert pressed the pouch of her winnings into her hands. She fumbled with it, but no matter how drunk she was there was no way she was dropping a purse of gold. Not even if she was passed out. Not even if she was dead!
"If I was you," S.O.B. muttered into her ear, "I'd scamper now before someone gets wise."
Already, she could hear unhappy, suspicious muttering beginning to swell around her. Razi scampered, although not quite in a straight line.
- - - - - - - - -
Razi emerged from the bushes, lacing up her breeches -- though she was giving serious thought to not bothering. There had been a couple of problems in the plan, in retrospect, both thanks to a serious underestimation of just how much Gustavo Flamebeard, Esq., could drink. For one, even though S.O.B. had watered down her drinks until they were four-fifths water, she hadn't had to fake being drunk. In fact, she was dangerously close to plastered.
The second problem was that, alcoholic or not, twelve mugs was twelve mugs, and a little gnome body wasn't meant to hold so much liquid. Eight trips to the bushes later, and she still felt like a bulging waterskin.
Make that nine, she realized desperately, fumbling with the laces she'd just finished tying. Some getaway! At least the angry voices in the distance were a long way away - none of them could track for beans, despite the trail she was leaving.
You really weren't supposed to stop and count the money until after you were free and clear. That was how getaways turned into getcaughts. But she was so curious, and they were so slow, and as previously mentioned, Razi was dancing on the edge of Shitfaced Canyon. She dug into the pouch curiously. And discovered that there was a third problem.
A few coppers? she thought, just managing to bite back an enraged screech. And a worthless old map?
She saw right away what had happened. That idiot S.O.B. had been conned. The merchant had played it safe, preparing for a loss by offering a stupid fake treasure map, and the bartender had bought it hook, line, and sinker. Of all the lousy, rotten, infuriating cheats! And it didn't even look half as good as the fake treasure map she'd put up as a stake.
Oh well. She eyed the map. Wonder what's actually here under the X?, she thought. Rocks? Trees?
She shrugged. She had to get out of town and lay low for a while anyway. And she wasn't likely to be pulling any jobs for a few days -- she was too bloated to sneak through the tight cracks. So she'd humor Mr. Redbeard, Esq. Who knows? Maybe there was actually a treasure.
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