by Paul S. Kemp
Two more of Tesha's girls, Lis and Kiir, leaned suggestively on the bar. Nix nodded at Kiir, a lithe, red-haired lass whose pale skin reminded him of polished ivory. Both girls smiled at Egil and Nix.
"Kiir is pleasing to view, not so?"
"Aye," Egil said. "Strong girl, to look at her."
"Indeed."
"I wager she could take you in a grapple."
Nix grinned as the thought played out in his imagination. "I think I should like to find out one day."
Morra breezed by them again, this time with an empty platter.
"But maybe not today, yeah?" Egil said. "Today we drink. Come."
Egil pulled Nix toward the bar, but Nix held his ground a moment longer. "Wait."
"Wait what? I thirst."
"Gods, man! Look about you. This place is ours now! What are your thoughts?"
The priest looked around, stroked his beard, and said, "I think we bought the worst tavern in Dur Follin."
"You what?"
"I blame you," Egil said matter-of-factly, and walked toward the bar. "Gadd, a draft! A big one!"
"Here, too!" called one of the hireswords. "And quicklike!"
"Coming, loves!" Morra called to the hireswords.
One of the teamsters spilled his beer and loosed a stream of swearing, much to the amusement of his comrades.
"For a man with a mystic eye tattooed on his scalp," Nix said, trailing Egil across the common room, "I fear you're not seeing the potential here. We can turn the place around, pretty it up."
Again Egil harrumphed. "Pretty it up? Putting a dress on an orlog, more like."
"Gods, you're in a mood tonight."
They bellied up to the bar, bookended by Kiir and Lis.
Gadd, his thin arms covered in a sleeve of patterned tattoos depicting mythological creatures from Vathar, filled a metal tankard from the tapped hogshead behind the bar and placed it before Egil.
"Make that two, yeah?" Nix said to Gadd. To Kiir, he said, "Anything for you, milady?"
She smiled shyly. "No, my lord."
Gadd grunted an acknowledgment and nodded with a vigor that made his waist-length topknot dance. The long-stemmed wood pipe he smoked, filled with fragrant leaf from the east, burned in a clay tray atop the bar. The smell of the blue smoke curling up from its bowl made Nix lightheaded. Gadd soon had a tankard of ale foaming before Nix.
"Here too, I said!" called the hiresword again, presumably to Morra. "Over here, you cow! I thirst!"
"Someone best take that slubber a beer before his voice irritates me further," Egil said.
Nix read the creases in Egil's brow the way an oracle read chicken entrails, and they told him the priest's ire was up. He really was in a mood.
Not good.
"Come now," Nix said. "Are you really that mad about buying this place? We agreed it was a good idea."
Egil merely harrumphed again.
"Something else, then?"
"A beer!" the hiresword called.
The lines in Egil's forehead deepened, Ebenor's eye in a squint.
Nix didn't see Morra so he grabbed a tankard of ale from Gadd and asked Lis, "Would you mind taking this to that oaf?"
"I'm not a serving wench," Lis said, pouting.
"I know, milady. But if I take it to him, I fear I'll stab him in the eye."
"That'd be a well-earned stab," Egil said.
"Please?" Nix asked, pleading with his eyes.
Lis sighed, shook out her long black hair, fluffed her breasts, and took the tankard in hand.
"You are the landlord, now," she said, and walked off.
Nix grinned at that. "Tesha did tell someone!"
"She told all of us," Kiir said. "She seemed put out by it, I'd say."
"Put out?" Nix said, frowning. "How so?"
Kiir seemed to realize she'd spoken out of turn. Her soft eyes looked everywhere but Nix's face. Her cheeks colored, visible even through her makeup. "Just that… well… I think she… There she is! Maybe you should ask her yourself."
Kiir grabbed Nix's tankard and took a long drink while Nix turned to watch Tesha descend the stairs. She wore a flowing blue dress with a tight-fitting bodice, and her dark hair hung in waves around her olive skin. Nix had heard that she'd been a harem slave once, owned by some minor sultan of Jafari, but he'd never dared ask. Her severe features did not invite familiar talk. Nix, who'd faced devils, who'd stared down three assassins hired by Kazmer the Flame to take Nix's tongue, acknowledged that Tesha intimidated him. She wasn't like most women he knew; or maybe she was, and he just didn't know women like he thought he did.
She slid down the stairway with the grace of an aristocrat. She spoke softly to the men and women in her employ who stood at the stair rail. Nix read her lips.
"Posture, ladies."
"Smile, Arno. Always smile."
Nix raised a hand to get her attention. He faltered like a boy when her eyes fell on him and her brow furrowed. He stood there like a statue, arm raised, no doubt a doltish expression on his face. He conjured the words he would speak, played them out in his mind – Milady, Tesha. You certainly are a lovely sight.
Shouts from the loudmouth hiresword ruined his fantasy.
"Even the whores serve tables here! Maybe it's not the shithole I took it for."
His three fellows laughed and Lis, who had just set down the tankard of ale at their table, donned a fake smile while two of the men pawed at her backside.
"Where do you think you're going?" the hiresword said loudly, jumping up from his chair and boxing in Lis against the table. He took her by the wrist, none too softly. "I might want more than a beer."
From the stairs, Tesha said, "Lis, please come see me. Goodsir, if you'd like–"
The hiresword turned and glared up at Tesha. "What? Am I not good enough for a whore's company?"
"That's not what I meant at all," said Tesha.
Nix stood up, thinking to impress Tesha by diffusing the situation.
"Here's an idea," he called. "Why don't you just take your hands off of her, retake your seat, and enjoy another drink with your crew. It's on the house."
Tesha pursed her lips and stared daggers at him. He had no idea why.
The man did not release Lis. He cocked his head, squinted his eyes. "Don't I know you? Ain't you Nix Fall?"
Nix bowed, pleased to be recognized. "Indeed, I am. I see my reputation precedes me. Now–"
"This doesn't involve you now, does it, Nix Fall? So maybe you should close your hole, shouldn't you, Nix Fall." He shook Lis by the arm as he spoke. "This is between her and me."
"There is no you and me unless you pay," Lis said, still playing her role. She tried to sound playful, but Nix could see the hiresword's grip caused her pain.
"We'd like to settle up here," said the fat teamster, as he and his companions rose and edged away from their table, out of the verbal line of fire.
"Friend, just let it go and go back to your tankard, yeah?" Nix said. "You don't want this to go bad, do you?"
The hiresword sneered. "Maybe I do. Would you wet your blade over a whore, Nix Fall? This whore?"
"Nix…" Kiir said behind him.
On the stairs, Tesha, still staring at him, raised her eyebrows and shook her head.
"Maybe I would," Nix said philosophically. "I've bloodied an edge over less. But that's neither hither nor yon, since she's more than that to me. It happens she's a rent-paying tenant. My rent-paying tenant, since I own this place."
A few murmured comments, one soft "huzzah" from one of the teamsters.
The hiresword guffawed. "You own this place? Ha! You lose a wager or something? I heard you was called 'lucky.' This place is a shithole."
The slam of Egil's tankard on the bar, as loud as the report of a blunderbuss, cut short the chuckles of the hiresword's companions. All eyes turned to the priest. The stool groaned with relief as Egil rose.
Rakon sat his horse, blinking in the drizzle, Rusilla's slouched form before him in the
saddle. The eunuch sat a horse beside him, his ham hands clutching Merelda's limp form to prevent her from falling off the mount. Rakon's men stood around an uncovered, horse-drawn wagon. All but Baras, the head of Rakon's personal guard, had cloak hoods drawn against the rain.
"That's it there, my lord?" Baras asked, pointing at the decrepit building across the street.
Rakon squinted through the drizzle at the sign that hung over the building's door. He couldn't make out the faded writing, but the image limned on the board looked like a dark tunnel.
"That's it," Rakon said.
"And they're inside, this Egil and Nix?"
"They are," Rakon said. Or so his informant had told him.
Baras nodded. His face wrinkled in a question but he did not give it voice.
"What is it, Baras?" Rakon asked.
Baras looked up at Rakon, droplets of rain adorning his beard. "My lord, why are we bothering with these two? I don't see–"
"We'll need them when we reach Afirion," Rakon said.
"Yes, but these two men are thieves by reputation. There are others–"
"No," Rakon said sharply. "It must be these two. Now do as I've said, Baras. No more questions."
Baras stiffened. "Aye, my lord."
"I need them alive. Bring them to the warehouse in the docks, the one we've used before. I'll meet you there."
"Aye, my lord."
"It may be a shithole, slubber," Egil said to the hiresword, "but it's our shithole. And you and yours are no longer welcome in it."
Nix smiled, pleased to see Egil taking some pride of ownership. "I'm glad to hear you own up to–"
The hiresword let Lis go and put a hand to his blade hilt. His three companions pushed back their chairs and stood.
"Is that right?" the hiresword said to Egil. "You mean to kick us out? Of here?"
He chuckled darkly and his comrades echoed him. The chuckles died, however, as Egil walked toward them, shoving empty chairs out of his way as he went. Nix fell in behind him, seeing how it would go.
"This is our place," Nix hissed. "Whatever you break is our lost coin."
The priest seemed not to hear him and went nose to nose with the hiresword. "I'm not kicking you out. I'm telling you and them to leave. If I was kicking you out, my boot'd be in your arse."
Anger colored the man's pockmarked face. His mustache and stubble twitched. With his narrow chin and large nose, he reminded Nix of a river rat.
"Ain't you a priest or something?" the man said, his eyes flicking over the scalp tattoo.
"Or something," Egil said. "Now, get out."
The man looked over at Nix. "Is this slubber serious?"
Nix rubbed his chin and made a dramatic show of studying Egil's face, the furrowed brow, the narrowed eyes, the way his chest rose and fell. Egil's eyes never left the hiresword's face.
"Hmm. Not yet, I'd say, but–"
The man whirled back on Egil, spraying spit as he spoke. "Then tell him to stop wasting my fakkin' time, eh? And maybe get out of my face? I want to get drunk and then laid."
"Ah, don't we all," Nix said, nodding sympathetically.
"You'll do neither here," Egil said, and Nix heard the promise of violence in his tone. The priest stood half a head taller than the man, and several stones heavier.
"Shite," Nix said, and shook his head regretfully.
"What now?" the man said.
"Now he's serious."
The man seemed bemused. "What are you two, a comedy troupe?"
"No, but I'm flattered you'd think–"
"Apologize," Egil said.
The hiresword blinked. "To her? For calling her a whore? Fine, apologies to milady the whore."
He made an exaggerated bow in the general direction of Lis.
"I think that resolves it, then," Tesha said from the stairs, clapping her hands once. "Let's all go back to–"
"We done?" the man said. The way he leaned in toward Egil suggested that matters had not ended.
"No," Egil said. "Now apologize to me for calling my place a shithole."
"Your place!" Nix exclaimed. "This is our place. And I knew you'd come to see the potential–"
"You're pushing now just to push," the man said.
"Isn't that what you were doing when you stood up and started shouting about whores and shitholes?" Egil said, his deep voice low and dangerous. "When you bumped into Nix and me outside? Pushing just to push, right? You and your boys used to havin' the run of places, are you?"
The man's lower lip trembled. "You know what? Fak you, Egil the Priest and Nix the Lucky. Yeah, I know your name, too." He spat on the floor. "I was trying to be cordial, but this is too much now."
"You were trying to be cordial?" Nix said. "Really? You need lessons."
"Too much now, is it?" Egil said.
"It is," the man said, his tone hard. "Far too much."
The man's three comrades nodded, muttering agreement.
Nix saw how things would go and sighed. To the man, he said, "Friend, I'd wish you well, but I'm not one for fruitless wishing. I think maybe those lessons I mentioned are forthcoming."
The man licked his lips. The lump in his trachea bobbed up and down as he swallowed. "And who's going to teach it? This priest?"
"Don't kill him," Nix said to Egil.
"Ha!" the man said. "There's four of us and–"
The smack of Egil's backhand across the man's cheek nearly knocked him to his knees. The onlookers gasped, even Tesha.
Snarling, red-faced from embarrassment and the blow, the man reached for the hilt of his blade as his three companions did the same.
Egil lunged forward, seized the man's wrist before his blade showed half its steel, and punched him in the jaw hard enough to mist the air with spit, blood, and at least one tooth. The man hit the floor like a poleaxed bull. Meanwhile, Nix bounded forward to the nearest of the man's companions while clearing his punch dagger of its wrist sheathe. He put its point under the man's chin before the man had cleared his own sword.
The two remaining hireswords got their weapons out and backed off a step, bumping into their table. They took half-hearted fighting crouches, looking around nervously. Sweat glistened on their foreheads.
The man at the end of Nix's dagger glared at Nix but dared not move. Nix winked at him.
"Your friend there forgot that I'm called both lucky and quick. But I wager you three will not soon forget that, and you can remind your loudmouthed friend of that when his senses return, yeah?"
The man bared his teeth. Nix pricked him with the blade.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," the man agreed.
"You show respect to the workers here from now on," Egil said, loud enough to be heard by everyone. He grabbed the semi-conscious man by an ankle and dragged him toward the doors. The other two men made no move toward the priest.
The hiresword groaned, his eyes rolling, his hair collecting bits of the filth from the floor as Egil pulled him along. Bloody drool dripped from the corner of his mouth.
"Go on, now," Nix said to the other two. "Follow. And give your blades a home before I lose my smile. This is all done now, unless you're stupid. This goes any further and my friend will start plying his hammers rather than his fists."
The pair shared a glance, looked at Egil, who pulled their friend along as if he weighed no more than a child, and scabbarded their blades. As one they headed for the doors, mumbling inaudibly. Nix took his blade from under his man's chin and pushed him after them. He realized he had the man's coinpurse in his off hand. He must've lifted it. One day soon he'd have to break himself of the habit, lest it land him in trouble.
"You," he said, and the man turned. Nix tossed him the purse and the man fumbled it. "You dropped that."
The man collected the purse, what was left of his dignity, and shuffled for the door.
Egil opened the door and tossed the hiresword out onto the rain-soaked walkway, nearly hitting a group of four other men just about to enter.
<
br /> "Pardon us," Egil said to them. "Rubbish drop."
The four newcomers wore mail shirts, metal caps, and long blades. They waited off to the side while the three remaining hireswords filed out.
