5

             

                        The wooden floor of Vagabond’s Bluff against my cheek wasn’t a pleasant sensation, especially paired with the steady, war drum beat of my head. Years of scuffs and wear scraped against me as I stirred, eyes wincing shut in pain before I could properly open them. There was no sound, no crowd in good spirits partaking in good spirits, no light of the fireplace (thank the gods), no cheers or boos, no Clemeau twins, and certainly no Liviana.

            I felt around the floor for a moment, trying to push myself off the ground only to ram my scalp into the bottom rung of a chair. The pain was too strong for any kind of cry in pain, the bolt of pain shooting through my eyes only allowing me to lower my head once again.

            “Ten Hells below,” I growled under my breath.

            “And good morning to you too.”

            The voice from behind me was a surprise, but not enough for me to whip around and flare up the hangover pains once more. Without looking up, I scooted the chair forward and dragged myself upwards. As far as my spinning vision could tell, Vagabond’s Bluff was deserted. The cursed sunlight gleamed from the dusty windows, illuminating the stray tables and not much else. Typically one of the swains and I would stay behind after the Bluff closed just past five, letting the others sleep while we cleaned, but Pike Night was typically the unanimous day of rest. Empty tankards, playing cards, stray silver coins, and even a few crumpled shirts and undergarments were strewn about all over. I slid into the chair, allowing my head to fall limply on its side. A sticky pool of sweet-smelling liquid coated the side I decided to lay my head on. Cider, more than likely from Cretch’s reserve. Too good of product to be spilled, and certainly too mild of a drink for Head on a Pike.

            “H-Hello?” I managed to slur into the blackness of the bar ahead of me.

            “Yes, good morning,” the voice repeated with just a hint of irritation. “We’ve covered pleasantries for today, don’t you think, Strawman?”

            My eyes focused more, and I could make out a figure seated in the very center with his back turned to me. He was a salt and pepper haired man dressed in black leather with silver studded buckles, save for the amber painted bracer enveloping his entire right arm. The shoulder jutted out like a stalagmite, the visage of a slate gray boulder wrapping around it. Strapped to his back was a large iron box with a rounded top, copper tubes extending from it and into the bracer. Somehow, the stranger sat perfectly straight in spite of the heavy looking uniform. I slowly blinked twice, trying to focus my eyes.

            “That you, Tagren?”

            He lifted up his exposed arm, sipping from a tankard I couldn’t see past his broad frame. “It’s Maester Lightpond when I’m on duty, you know that.”

            “It’s…It’s too early for you to be on duty, isn’t it?”

            “How many times must I say ‘good morning?’” he asked with a chuckle before taking another sip from the tankard.

            I could only groan, allowing my eyelids to droop closed once again. “Right…Yeah. Forgot,” I mumbled through my pulsing temples beating in my ear. “Well as long as you’re around, what can I help you with?”

            Lightpond finally turned to face me, setting aside his now empty mug. He always had the face of a man you could trust. It was never anything I could explain rationally, but it had to be in his voice. In all my years, I had never heard the old man shout, let alone raise his voice. Of course, that couldn’t have been true; one probably doesn’t become the High Maester of the Slatenauts by being the mild-mannered grandfatherly type.

            “Well, I meant to me meet with you when your public house was open, but you seemed…” He furrowed his brow, shaking his head as he thought up the word. “Occupied.”

            “Yeah, Pike Night,” I replied with a forced chuckle. “Probably our best night, business wise.”

            “I know.” There was no humor in his voice. “Pray tell, do you remember anything about last night?”

            A long pause, my eyelids fluttering as the exhaustion continued to weigh me down. “Let’s say mostly.”

            He nodded. “Right. Well, maybe I can jog your memory. The festivities started about the time I came along. Do you remember that?”

            I slowly lifted my head from the table, turning to face the center where the game had taken place. “The twins had the first pick.”

            Lightpond slowly slid off his stool, his boots making a loud creak on the floor thanks to his armaments. He strolled over to center table, letting his hand fall upon a square, ceramic cup. The visage of a Gavik’s laughing face was molded into the side.

            “I believe this was the first concoction?” he asked. “For goodness sake, it smells like an entire orchard took a piss.”

            “That’s Devil’s Fruit for you.” I smirked. “Livy took it after a couple bids. Always does.”

            He raised an eyebrow as he reached into a pouch on the front of his armor, procuring a cigar. “And the Faenani lass enjoys it?”

            “And a mean drunk on it to boot,” I added.

            The weathered Slatenaut chuckled as he tossed the thick cigar to the table. “Right then…and the second drink?” he asked before his free hand found purchase with a book of matches, two matches left. He struck the match against the pointed shoulder of his bracer

            I scanned the table once more, eventually spotting it when the cigar was lit and casting a flare of orange light across the glass. It was hilariously out of place compared to the pewter mugs and chipped tableware normal for the Bluff, a narrow crystal glass meant for wine. I could see a drop of a purple liquid along the side, semi-translucent and running down the glass.

            “Grounds for Divorce. One of Cretch’s favorites.”

            “Odd,” he replied, the lit cigar now in his teeth. “I thought the Gavik had no concept of marriage.”

            “He gets the gist of it, at least.”

            Lightpond narrowed his eyes again, the orange glow from the cigar illuminating his face as he puff. I could see the thin grey beard most prominent at his chin, an oddity for Lightpond considering he liked being cleanly shaved. On second thought, a beard was just about the only way to make him look any older than he already was; despite being in his late fifty’s, the man didn’t have a wrinkle on his face outside of laugh lines.

            “You keep odd company,” he noted.
            I shrugged. “Nothing new.”

            “Well what happened then?”

            I sighed. “The fat one ended up taking it, but only after we bid for a long while. Bastard downed it like it was water.” I shook my head in confusion. “Look, I’ll ask again. Is there something I can help you with? We’re…” I glanced around the murky public house, half hoping for Liviana or another coworker of mine to back me up. “Err…We’re closed.”

            Another puff, then he held the cigar away from him with two fingers as he stared me down. “Alright then. Sometime around midnight, I found one Mr. Karavek Thistlebrand in a panic at my outpost’s doorstep, babbling something about you starting a fight.”

            Leave it to the dirty little cretin to name names, even after the extent of the damage was a smashed mug. I scowled at the center table in silence.

            “Then I made my way here to find you, long ago off duty, mind you,” he continued. “I come to witness you lose a good bit of coin to this.”

            He held up plain wooden cup off the floor, hardly bigger than a shot glass, and the memories rushed back to my consciousness. Cretch had invented Head on a Pike’s namesake drink on accident, disposing of the remnants of firewater, vodka, whiskey, and whatever else glazing the bottoms of barrels into a single concoction. It was never the same drink twice, overwhelmingly bitter at best and a full night’s worth of drinking at worst. For Pike Night, Cretch preferred the latter, serving it bubbling in the most unassuming of cups.

            “Oh,” I murmured mostly to myself. “Was wondering why I couldn’t remember the third round.”

            “It’s damn foolish,” he said with a sigh. “I’m more of a fan of the quiet taverns myself, not places where folks drink themselves stupid and risk getting hustled by the owners.”

            “Watch your tongue, Tagren,” I snapped, not as forcefully as I would’ve liked as woozy as I was. “First of all, it’s a bloody public house, not a tavern. That, and I have a good fifty or so people a night that’d beg to differ with you.”

            He raised his thick grey eyebrows, letting out a small chuckle. “Well I do stand corrected.” It was mildly impressive how even now he didn’t raise his voice. “But I’m merely stating preference, not judging your business. What I don’t approve of is the bounty hunting.”

            “I know the law, it’s not illegal. It’s-”

            “Technically,” he interjected. “The Baron’s word is to tend to anything that might disturb the peace.” He propped his unarmored elbow on the table, slowly doing the same with the other as he took a long drag from his cigar. He let the smoke slowly roll out of his mouth, drifting through the air and just over the table’s surface like morning fog before speaking again. “Of course, I feel that many men in my position twist the meaning of that order, and I’ll be the last person to isolate a band of mercenaries doing it for a living. However, something like this is an actual problem.”

            “Surely you know it was a fluke,” I countered. “You haven’t had trouble with any of us before.”

            “And I’d rather not again. I regret the years you were kept in a cell after Kaifell, and I’d regret you going back even more.”

            I opened my mouth as if to speak, then immediately closed it again. As unwanted as his presence was then, I knew Lightpond to be nothing if not sincere. He grimaced as he got up from his seat, armor clinking and shifting as head did so.

            “Any plans for today?” he asked as he snuffed his cigar out in a pewter tankard. “Other than sleeping off a hard night?”

            I shrugged, scratching my scalp through my sweat-matted hair. “Just have to make a supply run in Granita.”

            He gave a curt nod just before walking out the door. “Safe travels, Strawman.”

            With Lightpond’s departure, I hauled myself to my feet. The taste of pungent spirits still glazed the back of my tongue as I made my way to the bar. The top of it was mostly clean (quite the feat for Cadryt and Zeveth working within ten feet of each other), save for an all too familiar face. Rumbum sat in the center of the bar with a neatly wrapped scroll held carefully in his teeth. I stared at him incredulously and he stared back with bloodshot eyes, no doubt from someone finally obliging him with a brink.

            “What…have I told you about the counter?” I stated slowly, holding my hand flat just beneath his chin.

            He dropped the scroll, licked my hand, then bounded away towards the storage room in response.

            “Don’t act like you can’t hear me!” I called after him as I peeled off the wax seal and unrolled the scroll.

 

 

Strawman,

            None of us could move you after you passed out, and Wulfric said you looked too peaceful. The Clemeau brothers will be back next week. Dina left something in your office to take care of the hangover a bit. Only a bit. Zeveth and I will clean up soon and the rest of us are making the supply runs, so try to rest.

                                                                                                                        -Livy

 

            I squinted at Liviana’s overly elegant script, finding myself mouthing the words as I did so. I wished she’d have Dina or someone write the letters for her; you could always tell when a Faenani learned to common script later in life as flowery as the letters are. I leaned back to gaze around the staircase, looking longingly at the door to the cellar. As tempting as passing out more comfortably in the darkness of my office sounded, the idea of Cretch having a prominent amount of say over the Bluff’s stock made me cringe.

            The next hour was a bit of a blur, thanks to the lingering Head on a Pike in my system. I vaguely remember spending a couple minutes trying to find the keys and longer using them to unlock the office door. Then I remembered downing the deep red swill Dina left on the desk in a small vial, sickeningly saccharine and often mixing with the foul remnants of last night’s drink. I remember how the sun blazed above, pouring through the cliff’s opening and giving the public house’s walls sheen like the floors of a temple. A beautiful sight on most days, but completely blinding to me then. How I hitched up Lilac to the wagon and set out, I have no idea. Maybe it was the promise of the tunnels, where little to no light could reach me save for the occasional torches along the rock walls. The combination of the sight of a Bruukai and a hangover made me feel more like a bat, hobbling around with my eyes snapped shut and clinging to dark caves.

            A few hours later, once my head slowly began to stop pulsing in time with the Gathra’s hoof beats, Granita lie before me at the end of the tunnel. When travels passed though Minnows Bydown as they often did, this is where most of them congregated at one time or another. Since it was the cluster of shops and homes closest to the surface, the buildings look like what most towns were supposed to. Instead of hollowed out rocks, there were wooden cabins and storefronts with cobblestone sidewalks just along the road’s edges, all laid out around cave walls twinkling red with specks of granite.

            With the morning came a fairly sizable crowd of people, both on and off the road. Aside from the anomaly that was travelers, Granita was where the humans who could afford a safe place to walk at night came to live. As my eyes scanned down the trail at the storefronts just opening up shop and small groups of children playing amongst themselves, an intoxicatingly delicious aroma wafted in my direction. Just to my right was a portly man with a bald head and a blazing red goatee tending to a thin slab of iron suspended by planks above a campfire. Three-fourths of the slab was covered with slices of lamb browning in their own juices while the rest was devoted to neat rows of nearly translucent slices of onions and cabbage leaves. My stomach was already empty, but the promise of surface food it growl in bottomless frustration. The man tending the delicious offerings grinned as he heard my carriage rolling to a stop beside him, but he had yet to look up at me as he flipped a few bits of shredded meat with an extended iron fork.

            “Lookin’ to eat, I reckon?” he asked jovially.

            The man’s good spirits combined with the smell were contagious enough to make me smile as well. “Two please. Got a full day ahead of me.”

            He laughed as he reached underneath the cooking flab, grabbing a pair of flat and round portions of fried bread. “Well, you’ve come to the right place, mister! There’s no Gathra jaw or spider eyes served he-“

            He stopped as he glanced up at me for the first time, eyes wide and jaw slacked. After spending enough time in the Bluff, it was easy to forget how most individuals reacted to the presence of a Half-Bruuk; patrons that had been there for years thought nothing of me, but the rest of Minnows Bydown (hell, for miles around for all I knew) had likely only heard stories about how one could snap your neck at the smallest slight. I merely rolled my eyes as he stared in shock at my grey skin or prominent fangs.

            “W-Well, um, mister,” he stammered in a desperate attempt to feign normality despite his very real shock, “D-D-Do you want any, uh-“

            “Onions on both, no cabbage,” I said curtly.

            “Oh, of course!” he exclaimed as he stabbed out more lamb than necessary for the first meat pocket. “What a silly thing to ask you! I in no way meant to offend you, mister. I mean sir! I just-“

            “Take it easy, friend,” I replied slowly. “It’s no problem at all.”

            He stayed silent, avoiding my gaze as he stabbed out an impossible amount of lamb and onions, stuffing them in each piece of bread and sealing them up.

            “That’ll be four silver, sir,” he said as he handed them up to me, wincing as if saying the price would prompt a beating.

            I fished in my pockets for a moment before grabbing a single gold piece, larger than a silver piece and shining with the King’s crown. “Keep the change,” said before cracking the reigns.

            I left him behind, staring at the coin with a look that seemed to indicate he hadn’t seen anything beyond silver since his youth. I glared into the distance as I wolfed down one of the first meat pockets, not even the juicy meat and crunch of the onions lifting my diminished spirits. It was irritating being as feared as I was without any effort to; from being put on the wrong side of prison bars around five years old to now, I’ve felt nothing but contempt for what the populous considers “civilized folk.” There was nothing more that I’d like in this world to sit down with someone so afraid of me and calmly ask why. Just why they look at me like I’m a seven-foot tall Bruukai on the warpath, bloody trophies ripped from lesser men hanging from my belt. Admittingly, I succumbed to the same rage my “greater” kin were known for, but can they not say humans and others do the same if they were ? After all, if the Kaifell proved anything, it proved monsters didn’t necessarily have to look the part.

            “Wow, someone pissed you off bad.”

            I jumped at the sudden tiny presence seated to my right; Cretch stared at me with curiosity, swinging his legs forward and back off the seat, but only for a moment as his gazed snapped to the untouched meat pocket between us.

            “Planning on finishin’ that?”

            “Cretch!” I half-shouted in exasperation. “Was that at all necessary?!”

            “That’s not a no.”

            I swiped it up and set in on my opposite side. “First of all, no, just to be clear. And second of all, why in the hells did you all leave the Bluff?”

            He shrugged. “Well you looked all peaceful like. Would’ve only made you madder. That, and we’ve got most of the work done anyways. Check this out.” He opened up his tattered cloak to reveal an implausible amounts of glass vials, crammed in every available pocket. They varied wildly in color, from translucent to glittering orange to black as tar.

            “Varquist’s stock was on point, I’d say!” he said with a toothy grin. “Got me some widow’s dust, liquid shadow, waspfire, some-“

            “Oil of taggit?”

            His eyes narrowed as he closed his cloak again. “Just had to bring that up again…and before you ask, yes, I had the spices delivered before I went there.”

            I nodded, keeping my eyes on the trail as the carriage rolled on. “Well, you’re good for something, at least.”

            “Good for a lot of things, actually,” he countered matter-of-factly. “Where are we going, by the way?”

            “Pauper’s Piece,” I replied. “Shipment of ale needs picking up?”

            “Sure more alcohol’s a good idea?”

            I slowly turned to him to see a wide, catlike grin creeping across his face. My nostrils flared as I stared him, but as usual, he seemed to not notice. At this point, I didn’t blame it on a lack of sense so much as a refusal to use any sense.

            “Quite an unlucky pick there, eh?”

            “Shut up.”

            “Well, you can’t blame me for it!” he said in mock offense. “You didn’t even lose that much gold, all things considered.”

            “Not another word,” I growled. “You know how much damage that kind of thing can do to the Bluff?”

            He shrugged, causing the clinking sound of glass on glass. “If anything, it makes everyone else without a fat bloke in their company think they stand half a chance.”

            “I wasn’t even supposed compete today, you know!” I snapped. “I’ve got way more important things to sort out after that Drosselmyer debacle.”

            “But Liviana asked you otherwise, right?”

            My eyes widened at the gall of the little whelp. “Watch what you say.”

            His grin had yet to fade, his eyes narrowed coyly. “You’d walk off the Bluff’s overlook for her, don’t hide it.”

            “Enough, Cretch.”

            “Denying it doesn’t help your case. Makes you more endearing, I think.”

            “Cretch!”

            Just as I bellowed, the harsh scraping of wood on wood followed by a manic chattering made me snap my gaze back to the road. I had turned my attention long enough to scrape against a carriage on the other side of the road, and the Avvadon dragging the smaller wagon along was clearly spooked. The tan spiderlike creature about as wide and tall as my Gathra skittering in circles, tangling and untangling its reigns around itself as its bright red eyestalks glanced around in wild panic. It chirped almost like a flock of birds, shrill enough to cause Lilac to let out a roaring hiss from my own wagon. A man dressed in a dustercoat and eye patch was in the driver’s seat, buckling from the sudden impact as if he had been half asleep for most of his journey.

            “Easy boy, easy!” shouted the human as he yanked back on the reigns. Surprisingly, the Avvadon stopped spinning around, planting its jagged, stone like legs into the dirt. The man in the driver’s seat glared at me, his black hair disheveled from his beat’s lashings and fury in his one brown eye.

            “What’s the matter with you?!” he thundered, still keeping an iron grip on the reigns. “I just got this carriage paid for, you bloody animal!”

            I returned his glare, saying nothing. The Avvadon, still facing us, began to somewhat bow and scratch at its face with a pair of forelimbs ending in claws. Leave it to the beast of burden to be more apologetic than the owner. I felt movement to my side as Cretch leaned forward to get a look at the irate driver.

            “Fair warning, he’s not in the best mood,” he stated dryly. “Don’t make this worse than what it is.”

            “Hah!” he laughed humorlessly. “Leave it to a monster to back up another!” He spat in the dirt with a flourish. “If I had my way, they would’ve strung up all the trollbloods and all the deviants responsible for th-“

            “And if I had my way, I’d yank your tongue out of your fucking skull!” I roared.

            The man’s eyes widened at me, scooting away from me in his seat. Without another word and a flick of the reigns, the Avvadon skittered away with the wagon in tow. I turned back to glare at the trail, only to notice that the streets had cleared out considerably. What passerby remained dashed off quickly when my gaze fell on them. Cretch, however, didn’t seem to notice as I forcefully cracked the reigns again.

            “Ah, forget ‘em. Goes to show you how much brains he’s got when the damn Avvadon. Then again, they say they’re smarter than most people, y’know?”

            The only response he received was the dirt grinding underneath the wagon wheels.

            “I’ve heard that there’s entire tribes of ‘em on the surface,” he continued in pure ignorance. “Just fields full of the things skitterin’ around, almost like a real town. Can’t imagine they’d like outsiders much, that’s for su-“

            “Stop talking, and don’t start again.”

            The Gavik frowned. “Okay, admittingly…I may have been the cause of all this.”

            I let the sentence hang for a moment, allowing the cabins and open markets to drift by. A group of young boys stared intently at our carriage out of the corner of my eye, the tallest pointing at me with a smile on his dirt-stained face.

            “You bring up the subject of Liviana and myself, which is strictly forbidden,” I began in an even tone. “And because of that, you got us into another mess that further proved to the good folk of Granita that the Half-Bruuk are no good spawn of savages.”

            “…Strong possibility that’s all my fault, yeah.”

            “Cretch, why are you even here?”

            He blinked twice at the question, the sunk deeper into his seat looking more puzzled than sad.

            “Ain’t got a place left to go, really,” he murmured. “None of us do.”

            We remained in silence for a long while, as did much of Granita as we passed through. As much as I didn’t acknowledge it at the time, Cretch was right. Vagabonds, the lot of us. Whether we had lived within the cliffs or found our way there, we carved out an existence in them every day. That being said, it was easier some days in some places than others. I let out a deep sigh, reaching into my pocket and taking hold of my last piece of hay. I slid it between my teeth, trying to taste the iota of flavor the bone dry wheat may have left. There would be plenty more when I could make it to the surface crops, golden stalks of pure beauty in the must-free air.. That’s what I needed.

            A while later, the open maw of another tunnel came into view. A large wooden arrow on a post pointed inside reading “Pauper’s Piece, 3 miles ahead.” The business was just outside of Granita’s borders on a lower level, appropriate considering it would seem so out of place amongst “decent” establishments. It was equal parts food supply and salvage yard, with the food and drink Pauper Tom found being relegated to a two floor storage house. The rest, being furniture, weaponry, wagons, assorted trinkets, or whatever other forgotten things lay in heaps wrapping around the main building. It was a place of secret for many who went there; they would scoff that it looked like a dump someone took residence in, and yet they would go there to see if Pauper Tom somehow scrounged up a fine imported stout by the barrel. I, of course, had no problem admitting that most of my tavern had been furnished by the place.

            But to get there, you funneled through Granita’s rear tunnel. I glanced at Cretch in my peripheral vision just as the darkness of it washed over, only his bright yellow eyes visible for the few seconds it took my eyes to adjust. It also helped that this tunnel was a stretch torchkeepers actually kept lit at most hours, and a warm red glow dotted about every ten feet of the path. About the only thing not well illuminated was the ceiling about fifteen feet up, occasionally dropping a light amount of dirt on our heads as we rode beneath. Oddly enough, the carriage slowed considerably not far along. The Gathra let out a low grunt, lowering her head until her massive trio of horns touched the dirt.

            “Lilac?” I called out in confusion.

            She paid me no mind, sniffing at the ground intently.

            “Not like her at all,” Cretch noted. It was his first time speaking since before we entered the tunnel, and it almost made me jump.

            “Should’ve had Zeveth take the carriage,” I replied. “He never has a problem driving her. Get on, will ya?”

            I cracked the reigns again, and the beast began moving again, shaking its blubbery mass as if to rid itself of flies. Her pace never did match what it had been before, instead plodding along and looking from one wall to the other to fully take in her surroundings.

            “With her actin’ a fool like that, I worry her being hitched up in town anymore today,” the Gavik said in another attempt at conversation.

            I frowned. “Wasn’t this the last stop?”

            “Nah. All of us were going to meet at Kavecka’s for food after.” He shrugged. “That is, if you’re hungry and in the mood for conversation.”

            “Might be. Got a little bit to discuss about the Bluff.”

            His brow unfurrowed. “Do tell.”

            “Not yet. It’s kind of serious, and I’d rather not get into it right away.”

            “Well you can’t just bring that up and expect me to forget it,” he chuckled. “Give me some details, will yo-“

             In a deft motion, I grabbed the uneaten mound of lamb on my left and plopped it on his lap. “Something to tide you over.”

            He stared down at it for a moment, then looked up at me unimpressed. “Really? You think a lukewarm meat pocket’s gonna keep me quiet?”

            “It’s got onions.”

            “You know me well,” he sighed as he scooped up the food.

            As he ripped at the leftovers ravenously, the tunnel forked into three paths. Luckily, all three were lit well and another sign hung above the path in the middle, ambiguously read “Pauper’s Piece:  Nearly There.” However, Lilac came to a sudden halt, causing Cretch and I to jerk forward.

            “Dammit all!” I shouted out of surprise. “Why won’t you move it?!”

            Lilac refused, instead letting out a short series of cries as she bucked against the reigns. I cracked them again, but all she wanted to do was turn around. Cretch looked up from the remains of his food with a dripping slice of lamb sticking out of his mouth.

            “You think she hears something?” he said after a hard gulp.

            “Oh please,” I growled in frustration. “Other than travelers, I can’t think of anything in these tunnels!” I yanked on the reigns once more to no avail, then looked back to Cretch.

            “Could you at least find Zeveth or-“

            My sentence trailed off when I saw Cretch’s face. He stared down the rightmost path with a perplexed expression, setting aside the shreds of the meat pocket in his hand. I followed his view, only to see a peculiar sight:  the long expanse of torches were flickering in places. It was never more than one at a time, but one torch down the line would dim almost to the point of extinguishing only to flare back to normal. To make things more ominous, the strange flickering was working its way towards us one torch at a time.

            “What in the devil?” I uttered.

            Cretch turned to me wide-eyed. “Turn around. Fast.”

            “Well, what is i-“

            I was cut off by a loud hiss and the harsh crunch of wood behind us; a ten-foot tall solid black mass of eight legs with isolated tufts of black hair flattened the clay splattered covering of the wagon. The nearby torches dimmed instantaneously as it raised its head, six green eyes and fangs dripping with a matching ichor.

            “Run!” I bellowed. Cretch and I leapt from the carriage to our respected sides just before a leg with a wickedly sharp tip plunged through the seat. Lilac let out a roar behind us as we took off, eventually catching up to each other.

            “The hell is that thing?!” I demanded.

            “Something that ain’t supposed to be on a well traveled road,” Cretch wheezed, the vials clinking from within his clothes. “Don’t stop running until we hit town!”

            “No need to tell me twice!”

            “No, that’s not it,” he replied as he fell behind slightly, reaching into his coat. “Riuls travel in packs!”

            I glanced back at the agonizing cries of the Gathra behind me. The spider that had fallen upon the wagon had leapt to Lilac next, digging its legs into its blubbery hide. Without warning, more of the things barreled down the left and right tunnels, skittering on silent jagged legs. Lilac, bucking wildly under the weight of the Riul on her back, managed to ram her horns through one as it leapt at her. But even then the monster snapped and stabbed at the Gathra, the rest dragging the poor beast to the ground. One of the spiders devouring Lilac alive looked up to the flickering torches and hissed lowly, likely feeding off the firelight as much as the fresh meat. Another one dropped from the darkness of the ceiling, eying us hungrily as it gave chase.

            “Well shit,” I murmured under my breath. I turned back to the dark path ahead, torches flickering violently in all directions and hisses reverberating off every wall. I heard the sound of Cretch rummaging through his coat, then the shattering of glass; a quick look back revealed a bubble black tar spread across the floor, clinging to the Riul’s legs as he lunged and hissed in vain. Cretch dashed ahead of me with a grin on his face.

            “Betcha they weren’t ready for starved mold!” he laughed in triumph. “We’re home free, I thi-“

            “Watch it, Cretch!”

            I screeched to a halt as I saw movement from the ceiling, but the Gavik didn’t. I loud hiss rang out as yet another Riul leapt down. Cretch fell back in shock, somehow dodging two legs aimed at his head but finding himself face-to-face with the creature. Without a second thought, I shoved him aside and aimed the hardest right hook I could muster at one of its eye. It reeled from the punch only for a moment, head-butting me to the ground seconds later. My stitched wounds smarted again as I was flung against the rock wall, quickly pinned back by the spider’s front legs. It was all I could do to hold them back from piercing my flesh, but its head drew near, mouth agape in drooling hunger.

            Then the ceiling gave way.

            The rain of dust motes above us had barely been noticeable, in hindsight. There would have been no reason to notice that the chunks of solid earth had become more frequent or the accompanying faint humming that went with it. I’m fully convinced that in that time no one would’ve expected the arrival of a Slatenaut. Then again, they always come from above.

            A torrent of dirt and solid rock spilled forth in front of me, heralded by the sound of grinding metal and a constant whirring drowning out everything else. A man dropped upon the spider and knocked it face down, obscured by the ensuing dust. A bright amber bracer adorned his arm, ending in a shining silver drill spinning violently and smoking at the base. The Riul let out a yelp as it bore through its chest, spasming in sheer agony before becoming motionless. The remaining spiders took note of their packmate’s cries and came running down the tunnel, but the man didn’t even look up from his bloody work. He reached for a small bundle at his belt with his free hand and violently tossed it between him and the beasts; it burst into a blinding yellow light met with a chorus of shrieks. I could barely see as the strange bomb left harsh imprints in my vision, but it was clear that Riuls fed of the light of a fire and nothing more. They split up and skittered back down the tunnels, crying like wounded dogs the entire way.

            A moment of silence passed, the stranger standing over the single Riul corpse. I glanced between him, my ruined transport, and a very wide-eyed Cretch before I stood on mildly shaky legs.

            “You’re very lucky,” the Slatenaut said in a familiar voice as he turned to me.

            I blinked twice, my vision still reeling from the fading yellow flare. Tagren Lightpond kicked aside one of the spiders legs, wiping the murky blood off of his face. Steam still poured from the drill, which had long since stopped spinning.

            “The question still remains…Who let the bloody things loose?”

 

 

6

 

 

            “Are…Are we in trouble?”

            Wulfric glanced between Cretch and I quickly, then easily over both of us at the swinging door to the tavern with fear in his bright orange eyes. The relative silence was only broken by the scuffing of pewter mugs along the bar a few yards away from our booth. Thankfully Kavecka’s was never too crowded around noon, but I leaned forward in hushed whisper anyway.

            “I didn’t say that, Wulfric,” I stated calmly, trying to ignore the pit in my stomach. Leave it to the company I kept to not let me get a word in edgewise when I had bad news.

            “You said that the High Maester of the Slatenauts is meeting with us shortly,” Cadryt stated flatly. “That’s essentially the same thing, you know.”

            “Oh come off it, Cadryt,” Cretch groaned, leaning back against the seat and staring hopelessly at the ceiling. “It’s nothing we did.”

            “So something did happen, possibly horrendous, but none of us did it,” Zeveth noted. “Great, good to know.”

            “Well, at least word hasn’t gotten out about the last job yet,” Dina said with a shrug. She was the only one out of all of us to actually get a change of clothes and a quick bath, her grass green tunic spotless and her curly black hair showed no trace of dishevelment.

            “We don’t know that for sure,” I reminded her.

            “I can guarantee you the goodman probably only stopped talking about us in Baroke long enough to stuff his fat gob.” She crossed her arms and slumped in her seat at the thought of him, then suddenly looked back to me in epiphany. “Wait, is Rumbum alright? I left him with the note, and-“

            “Looked as barely lucid as ever,” I dismissed. “But it’s not important right now. We-“

            “Cretch, what were you doing with Strawman anyway?” Liviana interrupted after wiping the froth from her mouth after a swig of a deep black, steaming liquid. She appeared to be the one of us operating under the least amount of sleep, bags subtly developing under her bright green eyes.  Any other visit to Kavecka’s and she’d be drinking something much stronger than coffee. “We were planning on saving the ale run at Pauper’s Piece for tomorrow since you had the cart.”

            “Yeah, about the cart, actually…” Cretch replied, letting his voice trail off as he glanced up at me with hope in his eyes. I stared back at him with no expression.

            “I’m sure you could tell it much better.”

            “Well shit,” he sighed before turning back to the rest of the group. “Alright, so here’s how things went down. I had just seen to the spice delivery and went on a bit of shoppin’ for pleasure.”

            “You didn’t get those mixed up again, right?” Wulfric asked. “You’re lucky all that happened last time that happened was a few people getting queasy.”

            “I’ve told ya a thousand times, the stew tasted fine to me,” Cretch replied.

            “Says the creature who ate out of dumps for most of his years,” Zeveth murmured.

            The Gavik raised up both arms incredulously. “Honestly, was it that bad?!”

            “You weren’t there to clean the outhouse, I won’t hear another word of it,” Cadryt snapped. I could make out the slightest hint of a shudder.

            “Keep going please,” Liviana sighed. “This is hardly conversation for lunch.”

            Before anything else could be said, a tray filled with seven clay bowls overflowing with a pleasantly peppery scent was gently placed on our table. Within the golden broth was a medley of coarsely cut chicken and leeks, occasionally accompanied by a slice of carrot or celery. Standing over our meals was Katyusa Kavecka herself, hands on her hips in pride. She looked as she always did, wrapped in a dark red-smudged apron too big for her rail thin frame. She was peculiar for a Faenani woman, blonde hair shaved down to fuzz to make her pointed ears look longer than most. Her eyes were also an oddity, one deep blue, the other a shade of cyan. She looked between us eagerly, trying her damndest to find a smile amongst us.

            “Looked like you all needed it,” she said quietly. “On the house.”

            I blinked twice in surprise, but the eyes of everyone around me lit up like stars. I was wondering why they hadn’t ordered yet; they weren’t above trying to get a free meal, but Katyusa knew us all well enough to be wise to that.

            “Much obliged, Kavecka!” Zeveth laughed before scooping into the soup with a nearby spoon. Wulfric and Cretch already began pouring the soup directly into their mouths, the former catching a good bit of broth in his long orange beard, and the latter looking as if he would spill the entire bowl on himself. Cadryt eyed both of them with a grimace, then procuring a lacey handkerchief embroidered with “CC” in elegant script before taking even the daintiest spoonfuls. Dina glanced down at her bowl, then up at Katyusa in worry.

            “Same as usual?”

            “There’s not a speck of chicken in yours, per request,” she nearly recited. “Nor in the broth.”

            Dina dug in without another word. Katyusa smile, glancing at me for a moment with a tinge of worry, than briskly walked away down another corridor of booths. Normally she would hang back and ask me how business had been, but she very wisely skipped it today; I credited it to kinship between owners and nothing else. Her public house was always a strange one to me, but one Katyusa swore by. The building, from its axis, branched off into four long corridors, the bottom floor bearing booths instead of tables and the higher floor containing all the rooms. The center is where all the cooking and imbibing of spirits took place, a circular bar with a wide fire pit in the center warming every inch of the establishment.

            “So anyway, what were we talking about?” Cretch asked after a series of loud slurps. “Outhouses?”

            “That’s what I told you to skip, Cretch.” Liviana said. “What happened after you finished shopping?”

            He pointed a boney finger at her, mouthful of leeks as he continued to speak. “That was it! Anyways, I saw Strawman ride up in his carriage. Looked like he just finished scarin’ the almighty shit outta this street vendor, and-“

            “Excuse me,” I interjected more quietly than he deserved. “That’s not right and you know it.”

            “Now Strawman, I’d like to hear this,” Liviana said with a hint of a smile creeping along her face.

            “Indeed,” Cretch said as he turned to me putting on an expression as serious as the grave. “These good people want to hear the story you asked me to tell.

            “So where was I? Oh right! Strawman. So I hitch a ride with him, offering him some help at Pauper’s Piece all nice like. When suddenly, after we get to talking for a bit, he gets a little heated over such and such. I’m sure you’re all familiar.”

            “Natch,” Liviana replied, trying desperately to hide a smile.

            I rubbed my temples at the futility of it all. “Really? You’re all buying this?”

            A chorus of shushes battered me back into silence; the most sympathy I could find was an apologetic smile from Wulfric, but the rest of them were holding back laughter, occasionally leaking a snicker of two.

            “Anyways,” Cretch repeated, “This is about the time the cart drifted a bit too far and bumped into another one. Almost jumped right outta the wagon at this one.”  He gave off a quick shrug. “TO be fair, I had distracted Strawman a good bit, and that other guy was a right arsehole.”

            “That’s the way Granita is, sadly,” Cadryt said before blowing at a scorching spoon of broth. “I was old enough to remember when Devento was worse.”

            “Killings in the streets, I assume?” Zeveth inferred. “Did my best to stay in the manor during Kaifell.”

            “No, they took prisoners,” she stated grimly. “The ones who were killed trying to run were the lucky ones, I figure.”

            Zeveth shook his head in a mix of reverence and disgust; Halfkin hadn’t garnered the same level of prejudice yet, but I could tell it was something he worried over. People can be terrified of what they don’t understand, and few understood the Halfkin. Suddenly, a look of concern came on his face.

            “Wait a minute…the cart got hit, you said? Did Lilac get hurt?”

            Cretch and I must have cringed noticeably in unison, and everyone else took notice. I glanced down at Cretch, now crossing his stubby arms and glancing towards the open floor sheepishly.

            “I reckon it’d be best if you told the rest.”

            I rolled my eyes and sighed deeply. Of course he’d save me the worst part. “On the way to Pauper’s Piece, a pack of Riuls jumped us at the fork.”

            Silence, save for a low gasp from Liviana.

            “The High Maester chased them off, but the wagon and Gathra are torn up all to hell.”

            “R-Riuls don’t go there,” Wulfric stammered. It was always striking to me to see such an imposing man, let alone a Ken-Kuni show fear. “They keep to the cliffs and deeper places, surely.”

            “My thoughts exactly,” Cretch scoffed. “Yet there they were.”

            Zeveth’s mouth formed a thin line. “That explains why I saw you both come in with no carriage…” He stared blankly at the table’s surface for just a moment, focusing on the occasional splinter jutting off the rustic surface, then slammed a fist on the table in frustration. The clay bowls and pewter mugs stirred from the force, barely enough to send broth over the side of Cadryt’s barely touched stew.

            “Just our damn luck,” he sneered. “Any of you know how much a Gathra costs?!”

            “Zeveth, calm down,” Liviana said gently.

            “Calming down won’t get our wagon back,” I sighed, trying my best to keep a level tone. “There’s no getting that ale shipment to the Bluff now, let alone us getting back there quickly.”

            “That, and I’m not sure I or anyone here’s willing to risk walking the tunnels that may or may not have giant, light-sucking spiders about,” Dina said. “Could I use some Riul hair for more stitching? Yes. Do I want to risk being lunch for it? No.”

            “Well, how much ale do we have in reserve?” Wulfric asked Cretch with wide eyes. “Maybe we have enough to last awhile?”

            Cretch blinked twice, glancing at the ceiling in thought. “Now that I think of it, I’m fine on house ale. Could brew a bit more as soon as we get back too.”

            “As long as it takes you to brew it?” I scoffed. “It’ll get drunk by tonight. That, and its imports we’re hurting on.”

            “Can’t we just get another cart and Gathra?” Liviana offered.

            I shook my head. “Not now. The budget wouldn’t allow for it after-“

            I snuffed out my own sentence as my memory returned to me. As big a problem as someone taking from the Bluff’s fund was, there wasn’t much of a point bringing it up then. For one thing, the last thing in all the hells I wanted to believe was that someone in my close company had the capacity (or good sense) to steal from me. Maybe they did in past walks of life, but surely that was past them all now. On top of that, I didn’t have an ounce of proof, and there was a much larger problem right in front of us. I glanced back up to realize that everyone’s eyes were on me, puzzled that I had abruptly fallen silent.

            “…After what?” Zeveth asked slowly.

            “Yeah, somethin’ else happen?” Cretch added. “Before you say it, not my fault, I swear.”

            “Umm…” I began, my eyes drifting back to the table. “It’s nothing major, y’see, we-“

            “Major enough to not be able to afford a cart and something to pull it?” Cadryt countered. A platinum blonde eyebrow shot up at my hesitation. “Just our luck.”

            I opened my mouth again, surely to flub another explanation, only for Liviana’s voice to be heard instead of mine. “It’s nothing that terrible, Cadryt,” she said. “He’s talking about our water supply, you see. We’ve got that to worry about to.” She smiled pleasantly before lifting a clay bowl to her lips, but I could tell her thoughts were with mine. It was appreciated, but took me aback; Liviana almost never lied for me. I quickly nodded in agreement.

            “Damn vendors in the cliffs are raising their prices on me, saying that the river Shevek’s getting worse.” I tossed back a hearty swig of ale with conviction. “They’re always so finicky about things…No offense, Wulfric.”

            The answer seemed to pacify the mountain of a Ken-Kuni, at the very least. He gave a curt shake of the head. “None taken, boss, but I s’pose I understand ‘em. Sure as I’m sittin’ here, I couldn’t gather water like they do.”

            The rest of the group remained silent for a moment, still processing Liviana’s statement, then a white glow brighter than firelight grabbed their attention. The ink black mark on Zeveth’s right eye flared up as both eyes snapped shut, the light flowing down the spiral towards his eye.

            “Riuls in the streets yet?” Dina stated, little sarcasm to be heard.

            Zeveth opened his eyes slowly in response, a faraway expression on his face. “Just checking to see what’s keeping our Slatenaut friend.”

            “And?” I asked, quietly thankful the conversation had shifted.

            “Here now, actually.”

            The front door of Kavecka’s creaked audibly not far away, only heard thanks to a nearly empty house. High Maester Tagren Lightpond slowly walked towards the bar, waving over Katyusa from the cooking fires with a warm smile. Our booth went silent as we watched his every move, the usual protocol when a Slatenaut was near despite our complete innocence. However, he was in no manner of dress to arrest anyone. His drill-tipped bracer and iron tank were gone, replaced by a black vest with ivory toned buttons. The shirt and sleeves beyond it were just the opposite, perfectly clean white with tiny specks of jet visible near the wrists. It was odd to see him look this refined after having seen him caked with Riul blood not an hour ago. Hells, at the time, I was still questioning how he could stand at perfect posture after walking around in untold pounds of iron and machinery. He spoke when the proprietor drew near, but it was only muffled voices followed by a gesture to a nearby stool. He looked oddly awkward, something about his posture that said he liked his drinks in the privacy of his home rather than a typically bustling public house.

            “What’s he saying?” I whispered to Liviana.

            She casually propped her elbows on the table and rested her head on her clasped hands in an effort lean in and listen closer, only to furrow her brow in confusion.

            “Well?” Cretch asked in a much less subtle whisper. “He askin’ if we’ve done anything suspicious?”

            “You know he’s not come to lock us up, right?” Dina replied. “We’re the victims of circumstance here.”

            “He’s…He’s asking if he can borrow a stool…”

            Silence as we let the reality of it sink in. Katyusa clearly shared our confusion, giving a polite yet forced smile and shrug before quickly returning to her work. She was just as nervous around him as we were, but for what I could only guess. Wulfric was the first to speak once more, letting out a low whistle and beaming after.

            “Could’ve been worse, eh?”

            “He knows this is a public house, right?” Zeveth asked.

            I mean, sure,” Liviana said, blinking in total confusion. “If it doesn’t have someone’s ass in it, the stool’s yours.”

            “He’s so polite,” Cadryt murmured in mild awe. “Wish I had customers like that.”

            “That’s how a Slatenaut gets ya,” Cretch said. He narrowed his solid yellow eyes in clear suspicion. “They’re all grins and niceties ‘till on ya at first. That’s when they’ll tackle ya, y’know?”

            We all turned to face the blue-skinned creature for a moment, oblivious to our incredulousness and nodding at the would-be profundity of his own statement.

            “You lead an interesting life,” Cadryt stated dryly.

            “Most people would think so.”

            The grey haired gentleman scooped up a stool with one arm and immediately turned to stroll towards our table. He gave off another pleasant, perfectly white smile as he spot us.

            “Just where you said you’d be!” he called out with a laugh.

            “You told him this was our usual booth?!” Cretch said, successfully turning a whisper into a hushed squeak. “For shame, man!”

            “Not now, Cretch,” I whispered out the corner of my mouth. “Gods above, not right now.”

            I gave a curt nod in response as he awkwardly wandered to our table, gently setting in down near the edge of the table. “I do apologize for being late,” he began as he took his seat, “All things considered, how is your afternoon?”

            It’s a funny thing to see a group of people you’ve known for years, all at the same time, put their guards up. As Lightpond looked to all of us, all but I assumed their own definition of reserved, and it varied wildly. Cadryt had returned to taking dainty sips of broth from her now cooled soup while Wulfric quickly dropped his gaze to the table, trying in vain to straighten out his long beard in an effort to look as presentable as the High Maester. Zeveth, at some point when I hadn’t been looking, had grabbed a small dagger from inside his vest and began trimming his nails with it, humming as he methodically grazed against the edges. I could hardly tell, but every now and then I could make out a dim white light around his right eye, clear him taking murky, second-long glimpses to see if a patrol was not far behind their superior. Dina had taken a less reserved approach, smiling back at Lightpond just a bit too widely as she shifting the contents of her soup back and forth with her spoon. Cretch’s reserved front could be called loose at best, leaning back and crossing his arms to show his toothpick-like biceps while still narrowing his eyes in skepticism. Liviana was the only one with any sense of normalcy about her, making eye contact and showing no signs of hostility. The warm orange glow of the nearby oil lamp danced across her pale face as she half-smiled in return.

            “It’s no problem at all, High Maester. And we’re alright, considering no one’s hurt.”

            “Still seen better days,” I added. “With the business in jeopardy and whatnot.”

            Lightpond raised an eyebrow at my pessimism. “You and your Gavik friend are lucky I came along when I did. A second longer, and you would be in the same shape as the Gathra.”

            “How did you even know what was happening?” I countered. “You came down ready to kill.”

            He smirked as he reached for his belt, grasping at what appeared to be a pair of pitons at his belt. They were the wrong shape for any kind of climbing, however, fist-size drill head of copper ending in a small round orbs. He held one of them up with a loose grip.

            “We call it prime mantle,” he explained. “Very sensitive metal, and only Slatenauts know how to forge it. We hook it to chains and use it to sense vibrations meters deep.”

            I let out a hard laugh in disbelief. “So what I’m hearing is that there was just as much a chance of you running me through instead of that beast.”

            “Strawman, old friend, you weren’t making half the noise it was.”

            “Fair enough,” I sighed.

            “While we’re at it, why were you around in the first place?” Cretch asked. His eyes widened expectantly, almost as if he had him caught in a verbal trap. Lightpond, at the most, pretended not to notice.

            “I’ve had business in Granita all day, not that I can share more than that.” He hardened his expression a bit, as he always did on the subject of business. “The Baron’s increased patrols everywhere, but especially where the most people gather.”

            He was met with silence, partially from the majority of us still untrusting or fearful of him merely sitting in our company while Liviana and I frowned at the mention of patrols. Considering our line of work, having more patrols closer to the Bluff felt dangerous. On top of that, it was a bloody crock that a patrol would have to be sent as far as a lone public house on the edge of Scarp Eiger. Worst of all, with the crowds we’d gotten at the Bluff in recent months, the occasional patrol could turn in a daily routine. Lightpond awaited a response for a few, yet egregiously long seconds, then narrowed his eyes at the grave silence.

            “Indeed,” he replied to no one. Lightpond was just shy of my height without the stool, but sitting perfectly straight on it he loomed over us all, glancing from face to face in surmounting mild confusion. “I’m sensing a bit of unease here.”

            “Of course not!” Dina laughed a little too loudly as she scraped at the bottom of her clay bowl ceaselessly. “It’s just having a man of your stature being in the same building as us, let alone sitting at the same table!”

            “Dina, sweetheart, eat your soup,” Liviana insisted.

            On command, Dina scooped up a bit of leeks and carrot with a little too much haste. Still locking eyes with the High Maester, she bumped the metal spoon against her cheek before it found purchase with her mouth. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at her, but Liviana waved away her absurdity.

            “Never mind her, she gets in a tizzy under stress.”

            “Not that I’d call it stress,” Zeveth chimed in, still staring at his reflection in his blade, “But most of the time we try to avoid Slatenauts while we’re on the job.” He looked up from the dagger, giving a curt nod with no other trace of emotion. “No offense, High Maester.”

            His eyes shifted to Zeveth, glancing between him and his blade as he spoke, then gave a wry smile. “Ah. Should’ve known that would be a problem.” He leaned in as much as he could, his tired eyes exuding nothing but sincerity. “I know that none of you trust me or have reason to trust me, but the outlawing of bounty hunting is Baron Degren’s law, not mine. There’s a very clear difference between arresting a heartless mercenary and arresting a person trying to make enough money for the Baron’s taxes, and I have many problems with the latter.”

            “And we’re thankful for that, High Maester,” Liviana said.

            “I…Well I’ll be,” Cretch said, his mind barely processing his words. “…Thanks?”

            His eyes fell upon me for a moment, then returned to nothing in particular, towards the table’s center and far away. “Either way, I know criminals when I see them.” He reached into a front pocket of his shirt for a moment, fishing out a fat, oddly sweet-smelling cigar. “I’m sorry, do any of you mind?”

            Again, most of us blinked in confusion; whether or not smoking was permitted wasn’t a question asked at a public house, and anyone blatantly told not too usually planted a lit cigarette into the naysayer’s forehead. As we pondered his alien manners, Wulfric was the first to speak up, reluctantly ma.

            “Not a problem,” he murmured. “I actually like the smell.”

            Lightpond smiled at the first signing of being warmed up to. “Well, you’re in luck. This is hardly as acrid as what you smell in most pubs.”

            Wulfric smiled back as the High Maester found his last match, stridently striking it off the side of the table and setting his cigar ablaze. The tip flared orange, casting a glow along Lightpond’s silver tinted beard.

            “But back to the original matter,” he said, the first drag rolling from his lips as he spoke. “Would you prefer good news or bad news first?”

            I thought for a moment, then shrugged. “I doubt anything worse can happen. Try me with the bad.”

            “We have no idea where the Riuls came from or why they settled near a main road.” he straightened his posture before placing the lit cigar between his teeth. “At the very least, we hunted the ones that ran, plus another three down the road.”

            “Wulfric says they keep to the cliffs most of the time,” Liviana noted.

            Lightpond nodded, taking another puff. “In deeper portions near the river, yes. None have been so bold as to attack us, however.”

            “Strange,” Dina agreed. “There’s not enough torchlight anywhere to attract them from that far.”

            “My men and I will be investigating it until we find a source. Until then, here’s the good news.”

            All of us leaned forward in anticipation, whether we did it knowingly or not.

            “I’ve sent a request to the Baron himself detailing the situation. With any luck, you’ll be getting a new cart with beasts to pull it in three days.”

            A chorus of gasps from our booth.

            “Did you says beasts?!” Zeveth exclaimed in shock, adding emphasis to the plural.

            “You’re sure the Baron would say yes?” Liviana asked with wide green eyes. “As much as I hate to, I sincerely doubt he’d pay much mind to your everyday public house.”

            “Hey,” I interjected. “’Everyday public house’ is a bit of a stretch, you think?”

            “In the grand scheme of things, Strawman,” she chuckled.

            “A case of giant spiders attacking strikes me as a good exception,” Dina said. “There’s more people at risk than just us, you know.”

            “And what can he do?” Zeveth added, smiling widely at the prospect of  better cart and Gathra to pull it. “Say no because we’ve got five bounty hunters among us?”

            “Well, yes,” Cadryt stated matter-of-factly. “He’s the baron. It wouldn’t be unlike him to dismiss us without a second thought.”

            “Oh please,” he chided. “He’s not a Crum, he’ll throw the common man a bone every now and then.”

            Cadryt snapped to attention. “Now what are you insinuating!” she demanded, her voice squeaking as it always did when he teased her. “My family was far more generous to those less fortunate than us!”

            “I should hope,” Zeveth laughed. “Your father had me a nice, clean corner of the stables to sleep in and everything!”

            “Save it for the Bluff, kids,” Dina said.

            Lightpond observed this with mild amusement, his milky green eyes twinkling in the light of his cigar. The smoke drifted from the tip delicately, a light scent of tobacco and something saccharine as honey fading into thin air. He waited a moment, plunking it from his mouth and holding it in his left hand as he spoke once more.

            “Again, it’ll be awhile before you receive word on that, but for now, I’ve arranged for an escort to transport you to the Bluff.”

            I raised an eyebrow and opened my mouth, but Lightpond cut me off.

            “And,” he enunciated, noticing my attempt to speak, “Since I knew you had necessary business at Pauper’s Piece, I’ve sent men to handle it in your stead.”

            That’s what shocked me. I frowned, gazing at each of my companions in total confusion before returning to Lightpond.

            “Wait, shouldn’t one of us have gone with them? We have the gold.”

            “Already taken care of, old friend,” he said plainly. “You have enough to worry with.”

            My jaw likely hit the table. “I…You didn’t have to-“

            For once, Liviana dropped her professional demeanor, taken completely aback by the gift. “H-High Maester, is there any way we can repay you?”

            He chuckled as he took another thick puff from his cigar.

            “Just stay out of trouble, I suppose.”

            We only stayed at Kavecka’s a few minutes longer, finishing off our drinks and making a few attempts at less tense conversation. However, my memory of anything past the good news is hazier; the night of very little sleep on a hardwood floor finally caught up to me. Katyusa waved us out quickly, tending to a small crowd finally gathering around the toasty bar. Outside, the escort was far more discreet than what I had initially envisioned, but no less impressive. Parked on the edge of the dirt path was a covered wagon at least a few feet longer and wider than the one we lost, an emblem of a stone grey boulder painted on the side. Attached to the front and snorting in general displeasure was a young Gathra, lean yet powerful for its size despite its complete lack of horns. Beady red eyes slowly glared in our direction at the sound of our footsteps.

            A trio of Slatenauts lounged against the side of the vessel, conversing amongst themselves in hushed voices. They lacked the full regalia and bracer that Lightpond typically wore, instead wearing heavy, deep red breastplate over leather with bronze helmets covering their faces. There seemed to be a complete lack of traditional faceguards or any sort of opening for the eyes, instead sporting a smooth surface with deep, jagged fissures like cracks in the earth. They all turned to us, standing straight and giving salutes before gesturing to the back of the wagon.

            “Y’know, Strawman,” Cretch poorly whispered up at me as he hurriedly walked to my said, “If I didn’t know any better-“

            “And you don’t,” I countered.

            “I’d still think we’re being hauled off to a cell somewheres.”

            “Cretch, enough of that already,” I grumbled in a hushed tone. “They’re saluting us, for gods’ sakes.”

            He frowned, stopping and staring at the stairs at the rear. “Well, it’s odd to see them completely armed, is all I’m sayin’.”

            I glanced back around the wagon as Cretch climbed in. While they were in plain sight, a man would be hard pressed to see the immense crossbows slung over the Slatenauts’ backs thanks to their vibrant armor. The crossbows were large enough to be more aptly called ballistae, accompanied by bolts roughly the size of javelins.

            “And I thought the drill looked to heavy to use,” I murmured.

            “What’re you waiting on, Strawman?” Cadryt called from within the wagon. “Some of us need sleep sometime today!”

              I stared at the escorts for a few seconds longer as they marched towards the front of the carriage, then made my way inside.

            “Nothing stopping you from resting on the way there,” I replied, plopping down hard on the expansive bench next to Liviana. The back was sparse, but it at least provided everyone plenty of room. Only Wulfric was even somewhat inconvenienced, his scalp just shy of grazing the low ceiling. I’m sure the carriage set off for the Bluff soon after, but I felt my eyes droop shut on more than one occasion. It seemed like every time I reopened my eyes, another one of us had been lost in slumber. The bar swains were the first, Wulfric sputtering out the occasional snore and swaying from the motion of the carriage while Cadryt long before past out face down on the bench. Zeveth and Dina followed, despite the dull roar of Wulfric’s snoring, and had drifted off using their packs as makeshift, misshapen pillows. Sometime later, I felt a slight stir next to me and turned to look. Liviana still seemed wide awake as she loosened the silk ribbons around her arms, clasping both hands together once a good length had been unraveled and woven between each finger. Both hands slowly parted to reveal a web of lily white, pearl-hued bridges connecting the two walls of smooth skin. I glanced back up, surprised to see her eyes pointed at me in amusement.

            “Thought you’d be asleep.”

            “On and off, yeah,” I said groggily.

            She chuckled softly, twisting her hands to shift the angle of the ropes into a tight coil. I watched her hands move for awhile, unable to look away as the strands never shown any signs of tangling.

            “You must really be bored,” I finally said.

            She laughed quietly, suppressing it to make sure everyone else remained asleep. “No, just a little something I learned from the monastery years ago.” She twisted her hands once more, slow and deliberate movements to form a five-pointed star between her hands. “It was less a game and more an exercise of balance, inner peace or something or other.” She shrugged as she gave the ribbons some slack. “Agramoth isn’t known for fun and games, I suppose.”

            I nodded distantly. “Kept you out of trouble, I imagine.”

            “For at least a few minutes out of the day, yes.” She glanced up at me as her hands parted once more, the white ribbons forming a small tower. “On a more important matter, why did you lie about the missing gold?”

            That took me off guard a bit, no doubt as she planned. I blinked twice before whipping my gaze to everyone around us.

            “Livy, if you’re going to mention that, say it a little quieter, maybe?” I asked in a hushed yet mildly frantic tone. “You don’t know if they’ll hear or not!”

            She nodded to her feet, and a strange, muffled gibbering became immediately apparent; I had completely forgotten about Cretch as I faded in and out of slumber, but there he was passed out underneath our bench. He looked like a tiny, blue-skinned corpse, limbs slung in odd angles and barely stirring other than the occasional twitch and babble in his own tongue.

            “Somehow I doubt they’ll hear us,” she said.

            “By gods, he’s almost endearing when he sleeps,” I scoffed. “Anyway, I can’t help but wonder why you were fine with me lying in the first place.”

            She shrugged. “Assumed you had a good reason, really.”

            “And that would be a first,” I sighed wearily. “We’ve got more to worry about now, I think.”

            “Do we?” she rebutted. “If the baron hears us out, we just have the supposed thief to contend with.”

            “It’s not guaranteed, Livy. That’s why I’m keeping it secret for now.”

            I could never tell if she was convinced on matters like this. She gave a nod of understanding, but something in those moss-colored eyes told me it was her agreeing to disagree. She leaned back where she sat, wrapping the ribbon back around her arms at a deliberate pace.

            “Just keep an eye on the till and keep it secret.”

            I smirked. “You make it sound easy.”

            Before I knew it, I fell asleep not far down the road to the Bluff, no doubt lulled back into frantic, deliriously tired nothing dreams by the steady crunch of the wagon wheels. I didn’t stir again until we stopped, the sharp hiss of the Gathra causing me to rise from my slumped over position with a start.

            “Alright, up and at ‘em, the lot of you!” called out a stern voice from the driver’s seat. “We’ve arrived!”

            The bodies around me began to stir and grumble, scraping themselves off the benches almost in slow motion.

            “Five more minutes,” Dina mumbled, a tangled mass of black hair obscuring her face.

            “Any chance we can open later today, boss?” Zeveth asked in something between a low croak and a moan.

            “Aye,” Wulfric agreed, “I’d reckon none of us are fit for a full house tonight.” His eyelids fluttered dangerously as he got to his feet, supporting a silent a

            “Nah mum, I didn’t sell the farm yet,” Cretch prattled while still in the throes of sleep.

            I glanced down at the slumbering Gavik reluctantly. As sleepy as I was, a night’s earnings seemed like a paltry incentive for staying awake.

            “I’ll do you one better,” I said to the group. “Today’s our day off. Get all the sleep you need.”

            I’m sure I would’ve gotten a more emphatic response had they been wide awake, but all I received was slow nods of approval and murmurs of how nice an actual bed would feel.

            “Who are you, and what have you done with Strawman?” Liviana said drowsily as she rose from her bench. She must have gotten some sleep after I dozed off, but apparently not longer than an hour; her long dark blonde braid had been undone, and I could make out the faintest trace of bags under her eyes.

            “Hey, never say I’m heartless,” I said as the rest slowly shambled out of the carriage’s rear.

            “That, and you’re just as tired.”

            “You know me well.” I stepped outside, shielding my eyes from unforgiving sunlight as I landed hard on each step. “Make sure you get Cretch out of there too,” I called over my shoulder.

            “You expect me to carry him?!” she called out incredulously.

            “Like a newborn babe,” I replied with a chuckle. I held up my left hand, dulling the orange light pouring in from the Bluff’s grandiose vista as my companions made their way to the back entrance. To my surprise, once my eyes adjusted, the front porch of the public house was already occupied. Sitting in one of the rocking chairs appeared to be a large black and white ape, a long and fuzzy striped tail flicking at the air behind it. It looked comical, if only for the clothes it wore; the open purple vest and loose green pants were a few sizes too big and filthy, stained with the dirt and grime of what had no doubt been a long journey. He hunched over a large and dusty tome, the thick layer of pages dog-eared and marked with leaves in countless places. I slowly walked towards the porch, and yet he never acknowledged me, mouthing the words to himself in complete enthrallment. As benign as he seemed, I knew I’d have to be careful approaching him; Stastas were a jumpy bunch.

            “…Excuse me?” I asked as gently as possible.

            Sure enough, the Stasta let out a sharp cry, leaping onto the rocking chair’s arm and scuttling to the top. As was usually the case with a Stasta, his balance was impeccable, hands and bare feet maintaining a deathgrip on the wooden frame. Wide orange eyes behind silver rimmed spectacles stared at me for a moment in fright, then he nervously chuckled.

            “Oh, you gave me a start, good sir!” he said. His voice had a chattering cadence to it, but every vowel seemed sharper. Clearly from the northern countries.

            “Clearly,” I said slowly. “Hate to let you down, but Vagabond’s Bluff is closed at the moment.”

            “Oh, it’s quite all right,” the ape said with a dismissive wave as he dropped back into his original seat, dusting off the cover of his book with care. “I’m just waiting until the owner of this establishment returns.

            “Yeah, that would be me.”

            His eyes widened again, looking me up and down in shock. “A Half-Bruuk owning his own business?! My word, Minnows Bydown certainly is the land of opportunity!”

            I gritted my teeth, but remained silent.

            “So you must be Strawman then,” he said as he flipped to a marked page of his book, the spine threatening to give way as he opened it. “Quite a few people recommended me to you.”

            “To me, or the public house?” I asked with a yawn. “Because again, it’ll be tomorrow before we can get you anything to drink.”

            “No no, I didn’t come all this way for fine spirits.”

            The Stasta let his sentence trail off, staring intently at the wagon behind me. Somehow in my lethargy, his words clicked, and I turned to watch the Slatenauts make their exit. Two of them made their way to the back where we once rested while the other remained in the seat, nodded politely once he made eye contact with us. I saw the Stasta wave in the corner of my eye, but I remained still. With a crack of the reigns and a hiss of loathing from the Gathra, the carriage slowly turned and began the long trek down the tunnels. At the very least, they would be ready if another pack of Riuls decided to try for a light lunch. Once the carriage had faded out of view, I asked a question that I had asked dozens of times before.

            “What troubles you?”

            The Stasta pushed his glasses close with a finger and stared down at the page before him. “Only pondering fortune while seeking my own.”

            “Does fortune not favor the bold?” I asked cautiously as I turned to face him.

            “Aye,” he said with a smile. “But the bold lead short lives with little to show for them.”

            I smirked, leaning against a wooden beam on the porch. “And that’s why you’ve come to us, I see.”

            “Oh how exciting!” our newest Goodman laughed as he clapped his solid black hands in joy. “I must say, if I hadn’t written that down, it would’ve been a mighty pain to remember.”

            “Just a formality,” I replied. “Slatenauts have ambushed bounty hunters off and on, but I don’t think there’s one alive who knows the code yet.”

            “Smart of you,” he said with an emphatic nod. “Now I must warn you, while I don’t need anyone in particular dead, this will be…taxing.”

            “Well, let’s start from the beginning, then,” I said as I rubbed my eyelids. “You have a name I can call you?”

            “Ah, yes! Silly of me to forget. My name is Crikken, and I’m a historian from the kingdom of Rydia.”

            I raised an eyebrow. “You’re a long way from home. What for?”

            For the first time since I had seen him, Crikken looked troubled, scratching behind one of his ears. “Well, I was planning on delivering a package to a friend of mine to be bound and sold. It’s a new project of mine, actually.”

            “And?”

            “And...It was dropped.”

            His tone weakened considerably. Instantly worrying.

            “Where?” I asked slowly.

            Slowly, he pointed toward the cliffs, the sun still high over the vast maze of bridges between them.

            “I believe locals refer to it as the Old Bridge?”