“Besides,” she went on, “our employer wants to be there to watch them die, is paying us good coin for the privilege. More than we made shaking down this whole shitty little backwater village, that much is sure. If, that is, some idiots don’t mess it up for us.”
Kerry sighed. “Sorry, Mum. Won’t happen again.”
“It had better not. Now, get him”—she paused, nodding her head at the unconscious man—“back with the rest. Unharmed,” she finished, meeting Rock’s gaze.
Oleander watched them go then heaved a heavy sigh, shaking her head. A long day and a long night ahead. It was high time she had a vacation. Which, with what they were being paid, she thought she’d be able to manage just fine. There was just one little thing to take care of first.
CHAPTER TEN
“I still don’t like it,” Mariana said as they walked down the city street. “Something wasn’t right about that guard.”
“Yeah,” Dannen said with a sigh, “she was a prick. My experience, girl, most guards are.”
“Didn’t like that other man, either,” she went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “He smiled too much. I never trust a man who smiles that much.”
“You’d rather he gave some bloodthirsty battle cry and attacked you then?” Dannen countered.
She considered that for a moment then shrugged. “At least it would be honest.”
Fedder grunted. “I liked him.”
Mariana rolled her eyes. “You only liked him because he complimented you on your size, you big bastard.”
The mage laughed, grinning. “Well. It didn’t hurt matters.”
Dannen rubbed at his temples. “Look, the guard vouched for him, alright? She knew him.”
“Sure,” Mariana said, “and maybe she’s in on it, did you ever think of that?”
“Right,” Dannen said, not bothering hiding his annoyance any longer, “and maybe the entire village is just a big trap that’s waiting to spring and kill us all but until that happens, why don’t we just relax, huh? It isn’t as if we don’t have enough problems already without going and looking for more. So how about we just keep our heads down, eh?”
“Fine,” Mariana said, “but I don’t like it.”
“And what do you like?” Dannen snapped.
She frowned at that, as if considering, then when she gave no answer, Dannen grunted. “Come on, let’s find this inn. We need a guide or a map, and the gods know I could do with a drink.” He could do with a room, too, preferably one that was situated as far as possible from his companions.
The inn wasn’t hard to spot, in a village so small, holding only a few shops and a few dozen houses, the big building stuck out like a sore thumb. The sign hanging over the doorway simply said, The Tavern, and Dannen supposed that in a village the size of this, there was really no need to come up with a clever name—wasn’t really any need, in fact, for the sign at all.
They had seen a few people as they’d made their way to the inn but not many, and so he was surprised when he opened the door to see that the common room was practically packed to bursting with somewhere in the neighborhood of fifty people eating and drinking, laughing and cursing.
“Huh,” Fedder said. “Must be good ale.”
“I aim to find out,” Dannen said. “Come on.”
He led the way to the bar where a man stood. A man who must have been the innkeeper, though Dannen had to admit he looked nothing like the typical innkeepers he was used to seeing. Generally, the barkeeps he’d met were older men with protruding guts, evidence that they enjoyed their own stock as much as anyone. They were also, as a rule, pretty jovial, not surprising considering the fact that people came to taverns to relax and have a drink, to have a good time, not to be talked down to by an asshole barkeep.
This man, though, was none of those things. His was not a body gone to fat, but thin and wiry. He was younger than Dannen would have expected too, looking to be around his mid-twenties when most barkeeps were pushing their fiftieth year or more, a thought which reminded Dannen of how close he was getting to that number himself and how he might need to start looking at a retirement plan of his own, though truth be told he thought it likely he’d never reach that milestone and so could avoid that worry at least.
But the most striking thing about the barkeep wasn’t his build or his age. Instead, it was the hostile scowl he pointed in Dannen’s and the others’ direction as they approached, a scowl that, if looks could kill, would have left a scar at the least.
Dannen put on his best smile as he took a seat at the bar, his companions following suit. “Hello.”
The barkeep said nothing, only stared at him, his hands planted on the counter as if he thought Dannen was liable to pick it up and run off with it. An impossibility, of course, at least for him, and considering the thick wood counter, he thought such a theft might even give Fedder trouble. Dannen cleared his throat. “An ale please.”
“Make that two,” Fedder said, “and hold the spit.”
The man turned his scowl on the mage and seemed to notice him—and particularly his size—for the first time, for his forbidding expression faltered, giving way to a wide-eyed stare. “Coming right up,” he said, then turned and began pouring the drinks from a cask set behind the counter.
Dannen propped his elbows on the counter then frowned as he felt something wet on his skin. He raised his arm, expecting to see that he’d just drenched his elbow in some spilled ale and was surprised to see that it wasn’t ale after all but blood. More than a little.
He looked back to the barkeep and saw the man returning with their drinks, putting them on the counter in front of them. “I, uh…looks like you’ve got a bit of a mess here.”
The man frowned at him then down at his arm and the counter. “Oh shit. Well. Yeah, had a customer acting out a bit, had to sort it out. Here…let me get you a rag.” Dannen waited as the man bent and opened a counter, searching through it, then another, then a third. When the fourth still held no rags, he cursed quietly, moving to a fifth.
“Is that what you’re looking for?” Tesler asked, motioning behind the man to a wooden rack on which several rags hung.
The man glanced at the rack then back at Tesler, his face coloring with embarrassment. “Ah, right. Just moved ‘em there. Thanks.” He retrieved a rag from the rack, tossing it to Dannen who began to wipe the blood off his arm. Most of it came off but not all. But then, Dannen had been in enough scuffles to know that, as far as blood was concerned, you never got it all off.
“You need anything else,” the man said, “just let me know, eh?” Then he was moving down the counter toward another couple of people sitting at the far end of the bar.
“Strange, that.”
Dannen turned to Mariana. “Hmm?”
She shook her head slowly. “You’d think the man’d know where he kept his own towels, wouldn’t you? It bein’ his bar and all.”
It seemed to Dannen that the woman was intent on finding something wrong when all he wanted was to have an ale and to sleep in a real bed for a change. He sighed. “There’s no one to say he owns the place—maybe he just works for the real innkeeper.” Which was possible, though considering the man’s confused awkwardness Dannen thought it more likely that he’d been sampling his own wares and, in another few years, would likely sport the same gut that plagued so many in the barkeep profession.
“If you say so,” Mariana said, her tone skeptical.
“I do,” Dannen said, hoping that would be the end of it but doubting he’d be so lucky. He took a slow, calming breath then lifted his mug of ale, eager to take a drink.
That was when he heard the shout.
He turned, his eyes scanning the room, his hand instinctively going for the sword at his waist, the sword that was not there, that had not been there for a long time, not since he’d married Val and promised never to wield a blade again. Its absence brought him up short, but he surveyed the people in the tavern quickly, looking for any threat. But no one rushed at him
with blades drawn, no undead skeletons appeared, set on butchery. Instead, his gaze found the source of the shout, a harried looking barmaid who appeared to be in her thirties. She might have been pretty under normal circumstances, if a bit on the plump side, but she now looked very tired and very scared, her eyes red as if she’d been crying recently.
The cause of her shout became evident a moment later as said cause—a man with a ragged scar around his neck that looked as if he’d been hanged but it hadn’t taken—held onto the back of her dress with one hand, pawing at the front of it with the other. The other men at his table—half a dozen in all—laughed as the barmaid tried, and failed, to escape their companion’s groping.
Dannen looked around the room, but no one said anything, many of them not even looking up as if such a thing was a normal occurrence, while those few who did smiled as if at some great joke. Dannen watched the woman’s struggles for a minute, feeling his anger rousing but forcing it down with a will.
It wasn’t his problem, that was all. If a person took it in mind to beat up every asshole they met then they’d have a full job of it, that much was sure, and he’d pretty well said as much to Mariana not half an hour gone. Not his problem and that was just as well, for he had problems to spare, could have started a charity if anyone was feeling a lack.
The woman cried out again, her arms flailing in her desperate struggles, and one of her fists caught her persecutor in the eye. The man rocked in his chair, nearly falling, and growled a curse. Dannen took one last look at his mug of ale, foaming to the top, then reluctantly set it down, rising. He had come looking for a drink and a bed, not trouble, but then, he’d always had the knack for finding it whether he looked for it or not.
“Bitch,” the man growled, slapping the serving maid across the face, and she cried out again in pain, falling to the ground. He reached for her, pulling her up by the front of her dress and rearing back for another slap.
This one, though, did not land, for Dannen caught the man’s wrist and, before the scarred man could react, slapped him a hard, ringing blow across the cheek. The man grunted in surprise and pain, falling backward onto the tabletop and upsetting several of the ales of his companions which spilled onto him.
“How do you like it?” Dannen asked, staring at the man.
“You son of a bitch,” the man growled, and all his companions at the table rose, reaching for their weapons.
“Go ahead and draw ‘em,” a voice came from behind Dannen. “I’ve been lookin’ for some fun.”
Dannen’s eyes were drawn, along with the other men’s, behind him to where Fedder stood flanked by Tesler and Mariana, all of them, even the squirrel perched on the young man’s shoulder, looking like they were spoiling for a fight.
The man Dannen had struck hesitated at the sight of Fedder—which showed that while he might have been a fool, he wasn’t a blind one—then with a growl went for the knife sheathed at his side. He’d only managed to get it halfway out of its sheath, however, before another of his companions reached out, catching his wrist.
The man turned, opening his mouth, clearly preparing to ask what his companion was about, but the man in question beat him to it. “Enough,” the man said, “leave the blade where it sits, Clint.”
Clint’s upper lip twisted into a snarl, showing just what he thought of that, but the other man met his eyes calmly. “That’s an order.”
Clint hesitated, and the anger left his eyes to be replaced by something like worry. “Fine,” he said, “only it was a cheap blow, that’s all, and I wasn’t ready.”
“No, you weren’t,” the man replied calmly, “and I expect you never will be. Now, sit down and have your drink—what you didn’t spill of it anyway.”
Clint’s face turned red with anger or shame, it was hard to say, but Dannen was relieved when he sat. The other man watched him for a moment, as if to reassure himself that Clint was done, then he turned to Dannen and the others. “Sorry for my friend here,” he said, giving them a smile, “he’s a bit of a fool, but a decent enough sort, in his way.”
“That right?” Mariana asked.
The man considered then shrugged. “Well. Maybe more than a bit. Anyway, I apologize for any inconvenience he caused.”
“It’s not us he owes the apology,” Fedder growled.
“Right,” the man said, “you’re right, of course.” He turned to the barmaid, standing there with the front of her dress torn, her lip bloody from where his companion had struck her. “I’m sorry, miss, truly, for my fellow’s terrible behavior. Perhaps…” He paused, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a gold coin. “Perhaps this might go some small way toward making amends.”
The woman didn’t look much comforted. In fact, Dannen thought that, strangely, she looked more afraid than ever. Still, the gold coin was more than the barmaid was likely to see in a year, and she snatched it from his hands eagerly before retreating toward a door behind the bar, doing her best to hold the tatters of her torn dress together as she did.
“There, now,” the man said, turning back to Dannen and the others. “Again, I’m sorry for my companion’s behavior. I hope that settles it?”
Dannen frowned. He hadn’t wanted to get in a fight, not at all, but then he never did. Still, he’d resigned himself to it the moment he’d risen from his stool and now he couldn’t help but feel the smallest amount disappointed that it looked like there wasn’t going to be one after all. Say what you want about fighting ruffians in a tavern common room, at least it did a damn fine job of distracting a man who happened to be marching to his almost certain death against an undead army.
He glanced at the others and each of them slowly nodded, then he turned back to the man. “Looks like it does.”
“Well, that’s fine,” the man said. “Anyway, why don’t you all sit, have a drink with us? It’s the least we can do.”
Dannen glanced over at the other man, his mouth like a dagger slit, his eyes narrowed and angry. The expressions of the others at the table weren’t much better, looking like they’d still kill him and his companions, if given a chance, but maybe wouldn’t stomp around in their guts like the first man would.
He turned and looked at his companions. Fedder shrugged distractedly, most of his attention caught by the glasses of ale on the table, but Tesler and Mariana were frowning, clearly not comfortable with the idea. Not that Dannen figured they should be. A knife in the back—or the front, for that matter—was a lot of things, but comfortable wasn’t one of them. “I appreciate the offer,” Dannen said, turning back to the speaker, “but I think we’ll pass.”
The man glanced between Mariana’s frown to the object of that frown, the man who’d been abusing the barmaid. “Oh, don’t let Clint stop you—he’s harmless.”
“Wonder if the woman with the torn dress’d say the same,” Mariana said, her frown still well in place.
The speaker turned and frowned at Clint, and the man shifted in his seat. “Didn’t mean nothin’ by it. Was just havin’ a bit of fun, is all.”
“That so?” Mariana said. “And if I were to take this dagger and do some cuttin’ of my own, are you tellin’ me that’d be alright, just so long as I didn’t mean anything by it?”
“I’d like to see you try, bitch,” the man said, starting to rise only to stop halfway to his feet when the other man grabbed him by the shoulder. Clint’s lip snarled back from his teeth but, after a moment, he sat back down. Mainly because, without hardly knowing he meant to, Dannen, angry at some drunken thug calling his companion such a name, lunged forward and planted his fist in his belly. A belly that was, it had to be said, considerably softer than the scowl the man had worn a moment ago—not that he wore it now. Just then, it seemed all his energy was dedicated toward strangled, wheezing gaps as he struggled to get his breath back.
“Didn’t your mother ever teach you to respect a woman?” Dannen said, doing his best to suppress the wince that wanted to come to his face. He was a bit out of practice hittin
g people—though the way things were going it looked as if he’d get the knack back soon enough—and there was a sharp pain in his wrist where he’d tweaked it when he’d struck the man.
Perhaps predictably considering he still hadn’t got his air back, Clint didn’t answer, so Dannen turned back to the first man. “Thanks for the offer but, as I said, I think maybe it’s best if we forego the drink just now.”
The man watched him with slightly-narrowed eyes, his expression not reflecting the good humor it had a moment ago. “Yes, it seems that you’re right.”
With that done, he turned back to the others to see Fedder grinning widely, while Tesler and Mariana were staring at him with wide eyes.
“Come on,” he said, “let’s go see about getting some rooms.”
As they made their way back toward the bar, several people in the common room marking their passage now, Mariana leaned in. “And here I thought we weren’t looking for trouble,” she said in a low whisper.
Dannen winced. “Well. The guy was a dick.”
She grinned at that. “You’ll get no argument here.”
Then they were at the bar again, the barkeep leaning over the counter and talking with a couple of hard-looking men in hushed whispers. The two men shot a few not-so-covert glances at Dannen and his companions as they spoke—not friendly glances if their deep frowns were anything to go by—and he had to force back a sigh. It seemed that they, like pretty much everyone else in the common room, had seen what had transpired.
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