Chapter 2
2
Quiet in a public house is never good.
At least, not the way I would have it. A tavern packed to the brim with happy travelers and flowing with quality drink isn’t a place to peddle secrets and stay at the ready for someone to shove a dagger in your ribs, or at least it keeps that kind of business away. It’s a meeting place, the face of a town as far as travelers can see, and the brightest point of the day for many. I’ve made every friend I’ve ever had at a tavern, and that’s something I’ve never taken for coincidence.
That’s why the quiet of Thistlebrand’s unnerved me, and the look of it appalled me. This was less the beating heart of a town and more the bloated, fetid hunk of a liver. One could argue Thistlebrand himself was doing the best he could, but the least he could do was dust; even in the dim light from the fireplace opposite wall of the bar, anyone could tell the entire bar and fours round tables scattered before it were thickly coated, giving the entire place a scent not much better than the tunnels.
The mostly empty bar was lined with a row of stools with either ripped or missing cushions, unevenly spaced apart thanks to more than a few of them now residing in the junk pile out front. The wall before them was likely the most decent thing to be seen, a sizable line-up of the finer liquors with a eternally snarling bear’s heading hanging above. Probably from an auction; poor Thistlebrand couldn’t hunt himself a rat from his cellar, let alone a bear. Another door sat immediately to my right, a wooden sign nailed upon with the word “Washroom” carved on it. Distasteful to have space for that inside a tavern, but the tunnels left me spreading dust motes with every step, so I wasn’t completely opposed.
I kept still for a moment, letting my eyes scan the establishment quickly. No Cretch, of course, and for whatever reason, Liviana was nowhere to be seen either. The Gavik could’ve still been invisible for all I knew, trying not to chuckled at me from one of the empty tables, but I saw her walk in. I gulped hard, glaring towards the bar. Only two other patrons sat at the bar, a man at the farthest end with the hood of his cloak turned up and his head propped on his hand in boredom, and one beside him tossing back the last gulp of a mug of ale and froth. He matched the description, at least; Drosselmyer looked cleaner cut than anyone in Minnows Bydown had any right to be, crème colored skin and a shock of blonde hair unsullied by the dirt and grime of the innards. His features were sharp, punctuated in a beak-like nose poking out over the pewter tankard’s rim. He was dressed well, typically a mistake in the Innards, but the tightly fitting white sleeves and green tunic suggested more muscle mass than most would expect.
“Another round, Karavek,” he said with a grimace as he wiped the stray froth from his mouth with his sleeve.
The barkeep himself stumbled out from an archway behind the bar, struggling with the weight of a full, sloshing barrel. His knees clattered together, threatening to give way under the weight, but he managed to lower it gently onto the creaking wooden floor. He glanced upwards towards the door, wild black hair drooping over most of his face at his eyes widened at the sight of me.
“Oh! Strawman, I-I-I haven’t seen you around here in q-quite a whi-“
“Pint of Kuthwani mead,” I stated flatly as I tossed a silver coin to the counter. No way in all the Hells I was wasting money on the ale. “I’ll be back for it in a minute.”
I immediately turned to the washroom to collect my thoughts, and the door swung open inches from my face; Liviana stood in the center of the doorway, letting it swing open as she stared blankly at me. She blinked twice, then frowned in confusion. I mouthed the word “Cretch,” eliciting a brief look of fear and hands on her temples to stave off the stress headache. Then without warning, her expression changed to a smile beaming upon me like the sun itself.
“Sorry about that, darling! You don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve had a chance to freshen up,” she called out to the bar as she brushed past me. The accent was put on, a sing-songy cadence you’d hear in the bastions up north, but convincing enough. I shook my head in equal parts amazement and antipathy as I took her place.
What greeted me was to be expected: a wooden tub filled with murky water resting upon a stone slab, a soiled, damp rag hanging over the side, and a mirror nailed to the wall above them. I stared down at the filth water for a moment, evaluating how much better I’d feel in a layer of tunnel grime, then gave in. Skipping the rag, I dropped my hood and cupped my hands and splashed my face before glancing up at the mirror. An expansive crack jerked and crisscrossed along the middle, and I had to chuckle at my distorted reflection. Some would say that’s what happens every time a Half-Bruuk looked in a mirror, but I was never the most intimidating one. As tall as I was, I never had the sheer brawn typical of the Bruukai. It was a damn shame more armor was forged with broader men in mine, or else I’d wear it more on jobs like this. If it wasn’t for the slate-grey skin and extended canines, I’d probably pass as a human just fine. I spat out a trace of the filth water after washing away the dust and returned to the bar.
“And just what does the life of a privateer imply, might I ask?” Liviana asked with absolute wonder in her eyes. She paid no mind as I sat a few stools away from our mark, instead leaning as far on the counter as she could before risking falling into Drosselmyer’s lap. He smirked, taking a sip from his fresh mug of ale.
“I can assure you it’s not what you hear in stories, my lady,” he replied. Instantly his voice grated on my nerves, almost like he was hold back a laugh with every word. “My company and I have never shred an ounce of blood, though we may have felt like it as long as the voyages can be.”
They both laughed, Livy likely laughing more than was necessary. He, however, paid no mind as he continued.
“No, it’s a dull affair, believe you me. We merely transport the finest weapons armaments to the King’s men in Rydia, return to the supply, and begin the cycle anew.”
She furrowed her brow in extreme curiosity, twiddling her long braided hair with her index finger. I hadn’t noticed the ribbon in her hair as well, the same shade of lily white bound into a neat bow. Nice touch. “Now do you deal directly with King at all?”
He raised an eyebrow. “All Gods no. King Vicaert has men more suited to weapon inspections. If anything, he’s overseeing weapons that will make even crossbows obsolete. I’ve heard tale of some munitions making the use of this black powder substance. The strangest idea, really.”
“Your mead, Strawman.”
My head snapped up from their conversation, and I met Thistlebrand’s confused expression. He slid a weathered tankard full of a golden liquid.
“Your mead?” he repeated hesitantly.
I snatched the mug admittingly more forceful than need. “Took long enough,” I murmured under my breath before taking a swig. I glanced in my peripheral as the bartender sheepishly retreated to the back; Drosselmyer stared me down a few seats down, casually taking a sip of his drink. Mentally cursing Thistlebrand’s, the den of filth that he called a tavern, and that blue-skinned bastard Cretch, I kept my gaze forward and drank.
“Anywho, you never did tell me if you had plans for tonight,” Livy piped up in an attempt to shatter the silence. Atta girl, probably caught on as soon as he glanced this way. “If your looking for company, my prices are more reasonable than you’d think.”
He ignored her, continuing to stare at me. I could see the faintest hint of a crooked smile upon his face. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”
“Probably not,” I said immediately before taking another sip of mead. “You don’t look local.”
He narrowed his eyes, although his smile never faded. I heard movement behind him as the hooded stranger at the end of the bar straightened up. “No no, that can’t be right. Something about a Half-Bruuk with an odd name such as yourself running a tavern, not that you all look the same, you understand, but-“
“Public house, actually,” I corrected, pushing my tankard away with two fingers and turning to face him. “Either way, a better place than here.”
“Darling, this is turning out to be a rather dull affair, wouldn’t you agree?” insisted Liviana. “Let’s leave for awhile, what say you?”
Drosselmyer ignored her once more, clasping both hands over his mouth in thought. Clearly he loved his jewelry, several rings of ruby and sapphire on his fingers. “Now clarify something for me. Aren’t a tavern and a public house the same? They serve essentially the same function, and traveler would find the words to be interchangeable.”
I couldn’t help but grit my teeth. “Well, a tavern implies drink, maybe with some food.” I made sure to speak slowly as if addressing a child. “A public house does that, usually offering lodging as well.”
“And what does it offer in the way of bounty hunters?”
Silence. I saw Livy’s eyes widen for just a moment as I maintained my glare, only for her to laugh in her best northern brogue once again.
“Oh goodness! Where in the world would you get an idea like that f-“
“Speak again, and I’ll loosen every tooth in that pretty mouth.”
Her mouth snapped shut, but her expression was not one of fear. I spotted her twirl her wrist for a second or two, allowing the silk around her right hand to unravel slightly. The stool behind her scuffed against the floor as the hooded stranger hopped off his perch, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. Drosselmyer smirked, waving a hand dismissively.
“Oh, come now Emrit, no need for that just yet.”
“If you think you and that twig scare us, I’ve got some bad news for ya, shitbird,” I growled. “And if you even think about touching her, I’ll-“
“Fail?” he laughed. “Yes, I’ve heard tell of the lousiest mercenary company in Minnows Bydown.” He rose from his stool, swirling the ale in his cup around without a care. “Besides, if you did take me to whoever put you up to this, I’m sure the Coffin Nails would miss their weapons. What then?”
I glanced behind Liviana to see the man called Emrit, still idling along the wall. Didn’t look like there was much to him, at least; Livy would expect him to jump first, and that typically meant he wouldn’t stand a chance. I finally shrugged at Drosselmyer’s question, reaching for my mead and taking a long, deliberate drink. He narrowed his eyes at me as I downed it all, making sure not to waste any of the golden brew. I looked
“Who cares?”
With a quick spin, I smashed the tankard into Drosselmyer’s cheek, reducing that half of the mug to splinters. He reeled from the hit, his ale mostly cascaded out of the mug as he clutched his face and let out a roar in agony, only to let out a sharp gag; as he fell back, a silk rope wrapped around his neck and pulled back tightly as Liviana jammed a heel in his back for leverage. I couldn’t help but smirk; she wouldn’t strangle him to death, but she wasn’t above making it hurt before he passed out.
Then the cloaked man nonchalantly raised a hand.
The pale hand that emerged from the sleeve of his cloak was marred by a charcoal black line, starting near his index finger and branching off into multiple tendrils slither off towards his shoulder. I could see a tarnished yellow grin from underneath the man’s hood as the faint smell of sulfur filled the air, a lime green glow emanating from his markings.
“He’s got a Halfkin, Livy!” I bellowed.
A strange hiss shot through the tavern. Liviana’s expression went from one of determination to bewilderment, but her grip remained tight. A second hiss resounded, and she dry heaved, releasing Drosselmyer as dropped to her knees clutching her stomach.
“Gods’ blood!” I swore as I broke into a dash, shoving our mark into the bar, leaping over Livy, and charging headlong into the source of the incantation. His spine collided with the wooden wall, leaving the source of the resounding crack as anybody’s guess. His mouth opened as the wind was knocked out of him, and the green light left his arm. I could see the nausea leave Liviana’s face instantly, but as she tried to get back on her feet, a swift kick to her ribs sent her rolling a few feet. Drosselmyer stood over her body, still clutching his swollen and splinter-laden face, and spat at her in rage.
“Filthy…lying…knife-eared little who-“
His sentence was punctuated with my right hook as my ears began to ring. A bloody tooth flew from his mouth, bouncing off behind the bar as his head connected with the counter. I grabbed him by the frills on his shirt collar and pulled him to eye level. There was the heat again. I could feel inklings of it every harmless bar brawl or days when a mark put up a decent fight, but now it wasn’t amused. This smug bastard thought magic could make it easy, and all I could feel was a need for retribution. I let the wrath wash over as I let out a snarl in his face, baring my teeth as his eyes widened with fear.
Then my stomach churned.
A lime green glow flickered out of my peripheral vision, followed by the hooded man crawling into sight with his free arm. I shook my head as I tightened my grip on Drosselmyer’s neck, trying to shake off the vile lurching in my insides. Not this mark, we had him. I saw the fear slowly leave his swollen face, smiling crookedly as I tasted bile in the back of my throat.
And then it stopped.
A loop of lily white shot out and landed around the Halfkin’s neck, pulling tight and causing him to grasp at his throat in panic. Liviana let out a frustrated shout, yanking the man closer from her place on the floor, showing no signs of slack as his face rapidly turned red.
“Where’d the fight in you go, Strawman?”
I sharp pain shot through my side as Drosselmyer landed a punch to my side, causing my grip loosen completely. A sudden rush of warmth came over where he landed, and I saw him draw his fist back to reveal a thin glint of silver.
“I kept hearing that Half-Bruuk could fight!” he laughed before landing another blow to my chest. A second hidden blade ran me through just underneath my ribs. The pain was too great to even allow me to make a noise from it as I fell off the concealed knife, landing hard on the floor.
“Strawman!” Liviana screamed. I heard her kick something aside, likely the Halfkin’s limp body, before she hopped to her feet. However, just as she did, Drosselmyer planted a foot square on my chest. It forced the air out of my lungs, bringing the faintest iron-like taste of blood to my tongue.
“If you so much as make a move,” Drosselmyer panted, “I’ll gut the beast right here! Then you’ll be next!” He pointed a finger at Livy, a half-crazed smile upon his face. “This is what happens when some no-name bounty hunters think they can-“
“Pardon, Mister?”
Drosselmyer’s head snapped around to the source of the voice, and I managed to lift my head to look as well. Awkwardly shuffling from behind the bar was Cretch, hood lowered and carrying a leather pouch in his clawed hands.
“Now I reckon you’re feeling pretty sore over this whole thing, and I understand that, believe you me. But I’m thinkin’ we can still talk this out.”
Silence. With some effort, I glanced back at Livy. She stood with her mouth agape, trying and failing to speak up.
“Cretch…or Gods’ sakes, what-“
“Please don’t make this worse than it has to be,” Cretch pleaded. That was enough to throw me off; I had never once seen a trace of guilt in those beady yellow eyes, and yet here he was the most solemn I’ve ever seen him.
Drosselmyer glanced between all of us, one of the concealed daggers still pointed at my neck, then spoke once he realized we were just as confused as he was.
“Gavik, I don’t know what part you play in this, but these common mercenaries had the utter gall to try and apprehend me! As you can see, they’ve caused a great deal of damage to myself and my constituent, and-“
“And I take full responsibility.”
More silence. My suspicions were confirmed. No way this was Cretch.
Drosselmyer raised an eyebrow. “…You do?”
The insignificant creature nodded, scratching the back of his head. “Yes’sir. Our contract specified a man runnin’ with the Coffin Nails who deal with weapons and things. You were the first bloke that popped in my head, and with a hundred gold for ‘em alive, there wasn’t much thought.” He furrowed his brow in thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers. “I tell ya what, I was gonna give you a good amount of gold to forget this happened, but for good faith, I’ll give you all I got.” He rooted through the fat leather pouch for a moment, pulling out a shimmering coin. “Fifty should cover things, right? Make up for a ton of spilled ale, eh?” With a faint metallic tink, he flicked the coin high into the air, landing in a half depleted tankard of ale on the counter.
Drosselmyer blinked in astonishment, fishing the gold from the forgotten drink. “Well, that would be double what I receive for a regular shipment,” her murmured more to himself than anyone else. He bit the coin, wincing slightly after hitting a tooth I loosened, then absentmindedly took a sip from the ale.
“This will suffice,” he said after a long silence. “I feel it’s safe to warn you, however. The Coffin Nails don’t forgive this easily. You take that beast and he Faenani whore, and leave town. Otherwise, you might f-“
Oddly enough, he hesitated on the last word, almost as if it got caught in his throat. He attempted to say the word again, but only a labored squeak came out. He appeared surprised, then his eyes rolled back in his head as he collapsed with a resounding thud. Cretch tucked his gold pouch back in his cloak with a chuckle. Without a foot planted square in my chest, I managed to lift myself up to about his eye level.
“Cretch?”
He had already moved to Drosselmyer’s body, plucking rings off his hands. “Yup?”
“Explain. Now.”
He frowned for a moment, almost as if he forgot what I was referring to, then his eyes brightened in realization. He reached back in his cloak and held an empty vial high.
“This, my good friend, is oil of taggit root,” he announced with pride. “The bloody idiot will be out for hours.”
“…And you laced a gold piece with it why?”
He shrugged. “Thought he’d bite it. Him drinkin’ the ale was just lucky.
“Well, don’t think this makes up for running off,” I grumbled as I reached out for a stool in an effort to shamble to my feet. I felt a rush of movement on my right side, and Liviana was under my shoulder.
“No you don’t,” she panted, struggling to support my weight. “You shouldn’t even be walking after the hits you took.”
I let out a hard laugh, despite the shooting pain it caused. “What’re you talking about? It’s not even bleeding anymore.” Not a lie, but I could feel that the lacerations were still open.
“Well, we’re not doing anything else until Dina patches you up,” she asserted. “That’s final.”
“So long as you’re looked after too.”
She smiled slyly. “Why? I didn’t even break a heel.”
In an effort to hide a smile, I glanced to Cretch as the two of us worked our way to the door. “Cretch, Dina and Zeveth are picking us up in a few minutes. Tie him and his friend up before he wakes or Thistlebrand gets the guts to call for the Slatenauts one.”
Cretch didn’t answer for a moment, instead staring in concern at Drosselmyer’s motionless body.
“…Cretch?”
He jumped at my voice. “Oh! Yeah, Strawman, I’ll…I’ll hop to it, for sure.”
Livy stopped moving in my stead, closing her eyes in dread. “Cretch, what is it now.”
The Gavik began patting at the inside of his cloak a little more frantically than normal. “I think…Yes. Yep, uh-huh…I was mistaken when I said that was taggit root,” he said. “May have been urchin vine milk instead.”
I glanced over my shoulder and gritted my teeth. “Dare I ask, what’s the difference?”
Cretch was now fist deep in Drosselmyer’s pants pocket, procuring a brass pocketwatch, suspending it by the chain as he observed the outer etchings.
“The difference is he’s dead,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Quite dead.”