Don't Feed the Trolls

by Jacob Peppers

  “They’re looking at us as if we’re the ones who were harassing the barmaid,” Tesler said quietly.

  Dannen did sigh then. Sometimes, the world being what it was, there just wasn’t much else a man could do. “In real life, lad, unlike in the story books, people rarely thank a man for doing what’s right.”

  “But…why?”

  “Who knows?” Dannen said. “Maybe it’s because it makes them feel guilty for not doing it themselves, or maybe they just think people should mind their own business. Or—and I’d say this is more likely—they’re simply assholes.”

  “Well,” Fedder said, grinning, clearly not put out in the least by the, if not hostile, then certainly not friendly glances the two men were shooting in their direction, “that’s the thing about assholes, you know—everybody’s got one.”

  Dannen thought everybody is one would have been closer to the truth, but he decided to let it go, mostly because he was too tired, and could feel the scowls and suspicious glances of those in the common room on his back. His dream of a relaxing sit and an ale would have to wait, at least for now. Right then, all he wanted to do was get in his room, away from those angry stares and from the man, Clint, before he decided to pursue their disagreement further, likely at the point of the blade he carried.

  “Barkeep,” he called.

  The young man, still chatting with the two customers, didn’t look up at his call, though there was no way he couldn’t have heard. Was the man playing a game, then? Dannen would have thought it would have made more sense for the man to thank him, if anything, for stopping his barmaid from being harassed. But then, he knew enough about the world—and the people in it—to know that the things they did rarely made sense. “Barkeep,” he called again.

  Still, the man did not turn until one of the other men leaned in, whispering something to him, and the younger man’s eyes went wide before he turned to look at Dannen and the others. Then he hurried over. “Oh, hey sorry about that. Must not have heard you.”

  Dannen thought the man would have had to have been deaf not to hear, thought, too, that it seemed more like the man hadn’t recognized that he’d been speaking to him, but he let it go. He didn’t want to argue, just wanted to get into his room away from the eyes piercing his back like daggers from the dozens of other patrons in the common area. “We’ll need four rooms.”

  The man frowned. “I ain’t got that many free.”

  Well, Dannen supposed he should be comforted by the fact that here, at least, the man seemed like practically every other innkeeper he’d met, acting as if an inn full of customers—which, of course, was how he made his money in the first place—was nothing but an inconvenience. “Well.” Dannen said after a moment. “How many do you have?’

  “Can probably find two for you, though that’ll mean you’ll be bunking in pairs.”

  Can probably find. Here, then, was another similarity to the man and other innkeepers, talking about rooms as if they were lost ducks he had to round up. He looked at the others, and Mariana frowned.

  “Or,” she said, “you three’ll be bunking together. The gods know I don’t trust Fedder in the same room as me, not if I want to get any sleep without worryin’ he’ll sneak his old wrinkled ass into the bed”—Fedder barked a laugh at that—“and a woman, after all, has to protect her virtue,” Mariana finished, sparing a scowl for the mage as she did.

  Three of them to a room. Dannen didn’t much care for the sound of that. And even if he somehow convinced the girl they’d do two and two, he doubted very seriously if it’d be him or Fedder that ended up sharing a room with her but the young man Tesler instead. And that, of course, came with its own slew of problems. Which meant that, however things shook out, he’d be sleeping—or rather, tossing and turning angrily while Fedder snored like a pissed-off bear—in the same room as the mage. A recipe for a shitty night to add onto a shitty day if ever there was one. Both of which were no more than the garnish on an already pretty shitty life.

  Someone cleared their throat behind him, and he winced, turning to see who they’d managed to piss off now. It was the man from the table, not Clint, so that was something, but the other who seemed to have been his boss, at least in the same way that a man could be said to own a rabid dog at any rate.

  “Sorry,” the man said, offering a smile. “I couldn’t help but overhear that you’re havin’ a bit of a problem getting some rooms.”

  Dannen thought that, by and large, his life consisted of one problem after the other but he nodded. “Yeah, well, nothing we can’t figure out.”

  The man nodded. “I hear you. Anyway, might be I can help with that. You see, Clint over there—” he paused, gesturing at the man who was still scowling at Dannen and the others, forcing him to wonder if the bastard had anything else on the docket for the night—“has just found out he’s got some pressin’ business elsewhere and won’t be needing his own room tonight.”

  Dannen frowned. “Look, I didn’t come looking for trouble, and the last thing I want is to make matters worse. That man isn’t exactly my biggest fan just now.”

  The other man snorted. “No, no he ain’t, but a secret about Clint”—he leaned in as if preparing to divulge some great secret—“the man’s a bit of an asshole.”

  Dannen found himself grinning. “Yeah. I might have picked up on that.”

  The man nodded, offering his hand. “Anyway, I just realized I never gave it before—blame it on spending time with Clint that my manners are out of whack—but the name is Palder.”

  Dannen took the offered hand, giving it a shake. “I’m Allen.”

  Palder smiled. “Nice to meet you, Allen. Anyway, as far as Clint’s room goes, it’s up to you, but he won’t be using it either way. Either it’ll sit empty or you all can make use of it.”

  Dannen glanced back at the others, and Mariana’s expression in particular—a penetrating, warning gaze—made her feelings clear. He turned back to the other man. “If you’re sure there won’t be any hard feelings, we’d be happy to take the room, with our thanks.”

  The man nodded, producing a key from the pocket of his trousers and handing it to Dannen. “All yours, friend.”

  Dannen decided that maybe the world wasn’t just full of assholes after all, and he took the key, turning and sharing a smile with the others. He looked back, meaning to thank the man again, but he was already walking away back toward his table and the scowling Clint.

  “Well,” Mariana said, snatching the key out of Dannen’s hand, “that was nice of him.”

  “Yeah,” Dannen said, watching as the man sat back down with his companions, “yeah, it was.” He glanced at the barkeep who had stood quietly behind the bar during the proceedings. “Can we have the other keys, please?”

  “Of course,” the man said. He rummaged behind the counter for several seconds, finally producing the keys and handing them over. “There you are.”

  “Thanks.”

  He glanced at the others. “Ready?”

  “Now, that’s a tough decision” Mariana said dryly, “might hang around here for a while, you know, the people bein’ so friendly and all.”

  Dannen sighed. “Right.” Then he turned and started toward the stairs, the others following.

  “So,” Fedder said, “Allen, is it? What is it, like a middle name?”

  Dannen turned to stare at the mage then blinked. “No, it’s not. I made it up.”

  The mage looked confused at that. “Made it up? Why?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Fedder,” he said, “because I thought that, considering the target we seem to have on our backs and the amount of people that have been trying to kill us, it might be safer if no one knew who we were.”

  Fedder grunted, nodding slowly as he followed up the stairs. “Boring, though.”

  There wasn’t really anything to say to that, for Dannen didn’t have the time—and wouldn’t have wasted it even if he had—to go into the fact that any man, at least any sane one, would take a
boring life over an exciting death any day. So he said nothing and, in another moment, they were at the top of the stairs and stepping out onto the landing, each of them eyeing their keys.

  “Well,” Mariana said, looking around at the room numbers, “looks like I’m here.” She moved toward the second room down the hall, and Dannen looked at the two remaining keys, one for the first door and one for a room farther down.

  “I’ll take the one beside Mariana,” Tesler blurted, snatching the key out of Dannen’s hand with a speed he wouldn’t have credited him.

  They all looked at him, surprised, and his face turned a deep crimson. “I meant…” He cleared his throat. “That is, in case one of those…those men decides to do anything, I’d rather be close so I could…”

  “So you could what?” Mariana asked, but Dannen didn’t miss the way she was smiling, clearly pleased, “watch while I kicked their asses?”

  Tesler winced. “I…uh…yes. Or…something like that.”

  They were all still watching him, Mariana grinning widely, when Tesler shifted. “Anyway, um…goodnight.”

  And with that, he hurried to the door, unlocking it and fleeing inside before closing it shut behind him. “Well,” Mariana said after a moment, turning away from the door to look back at the two of them, “you two don’t have too much fun, alright? I imagine we’ll be getting an early start in the morning.”

  Dannen frowned as she headed for her room. “Lock the door,” he said.

  She turned, raising an eyebrow, and he shrugged. “Might be Tesler’s being paranoid, but in my experience paranoia will keep a person alive a lot more than carelessness ever will.”

  She nodded at that and, in another moment, she was gone, closing and locking the door behind her.

  “Well, Butcher,” Fedder said, “looks like it’s me and you, just like the good old days.”

  Dannen winced. He remembered the old days, but he couldn’t remember much good about them. A thousand things all fighting for the pleasure of killing them and nights spent at campfires listening to the big man’s ground-shaking snores. He wondered, for a moment, if the whole embarrassing episode hadn’t been calculated by the young man so that he could get a room of his own and decided that maybe he was being a bit too paranoid after all. Still, embarrassed or not, the lucky bastard wasn’t going to spend the entire night tossing and turning, trying to sleep to the sound of what might as well have been war drums.

  He shook his head, turned, and headed for the door, the mage behind him. He unlocked it, went inside, and no sooner had Dannen managed to get the door closed and locked the big man had already collapsed onto the bed, not even bothering to so much as remove his boots.

  By the time Dannen had sat in the room’s single chair and removed his own boots, a quick glance—not that he needed it. considering that the snoring had begun—showed that the mage was asleep. Dannen stared at the big man, at the steady rise and fall of his chest, hating him a little. Maybe more than a little. Wondering, too, if a man who was choked until he passed out would still snore then dismissing the thought—pleasant though it was—as useless. It was just a fantasy of his, that’s all, one that he’d had since just about the first day he’d met the man and now, like then, he knew that he would never act on it. Mostly because, though his face was no prize, he preferred it un-smashed.

  He finished removing his boots then hesitated, staring at the bed. He could make himself a pallet on the floor, but the floor was hard wood, and there was only a single, threadbare blanket anyway. He hesitated that way for several seconds, weighing what Mariana might say should she discover they had slept in the same bed against the inevitable aches and pains he would feel if he opted for sleeping on the floor instead.

  In the end, he decided that he would sleep head to foot, like a child sharing a bed with a friend might, and damn Mariana and her jokes. Besides, the door was locked, so it wasn’t as if she would walk in and see him sleeping there. He made his way to the bed and lay down, unable to repress the sigh of relief as his weary body sank into it.

  He closed his eyes—not because he really thought he was going to manage any sleep but simply because it was what a man did—and had barely had them closed for a few seconds when there was a knock on his door.

  Dannen glanced at Fedder and saw that the man hadn’t so much as paused in his snoring slumber, then with a frown he rose and started for the door before a thought struck him. What if it was Clint, the man he’d struck, come to take his revenge? For that matter, based on the looks he and his companions had received, it could have been nearly anyone from the common room. Certainly it didn’t seem as if they’d made any friends, save perhaps for the man who’d given his name as Palder, but even though the man had seemed outwardly agreeable, there was something about him that had struck Dannen as off.

  Still, the fact was that there was a long list of men…and women…and monsters, come to it, who might have been waiting on the other side of the door with their weapons, or talons, raised in preparation of killing him as soon as he opened it. A quick glance at the door showed that there was no peep hole that he might look through to see who was knocking on the door, which, while a disappointment, wasn’t really a surprise. Such luxuries as safety were usually only entertained—if in a mocking sort of way—in far finer establishments than this.

  The knock came again, but Dannen ignored it, casting his gaze around the room in search of a weapon. Unfortunately, though, the innkeeper hadn’t been so kind as to place a fully-equipped weapon rack in each room for his customer’s pleasure—based on the crowd in the common room, he’d have had far less custom if he had, as his patrons would have likely set about killing one another.

  There was nothing, really, nothing save the bed and the mage slumbering peacefully away in it. His gaze caught on the chair he’d sat in to remove his boots and paused there. He made to grab it only to realize that it had been bolted down. He thought it funny—or maybe not that funny at all, in truth—that an innkeeper who didn’t find it necessary to include peep holes on his doors would opt to bolt down his chairs.

  A third knock, and he began to feel a bit more frantic. Finally, he settled for grabbing one of his boots off the ground then went to the door, the boot in one hand, the door’s handle in the other. “Yes?”

  “I’ve come with your dinner, sir,” said a distinctly feminine voice from the other side.

  Not the voice of the man, Clint, that much was sure, but that didn’t make Dannen feel much better. After all, he’d been around a while, long enough to know that men didn’t have a monopoly on being dangerous or vindictive. He cracked the door slightly, just a slit, propped and ready to slam his weight back against it should anyone try to force their way in.

  He wasn’t sure what he expected, Clint or a pissed-off mountain troll, a skeleton or a common room’s worth of scowling men and women who had all gotten together and decided they were bored and that the only cure for it was a random murder.

  But as the door creaked open, revealing who stood on the other side, Dannen realized that it was none of those things. No angry or murderous mob stood in the hallway. Instead, it was the barmaid, the one who Clint had harassed. She’d changed her dress to one slightly-less ripped than the other, but a person could not so easily change her mood, and the harried expression, the one he’d marked in the common room, was still there. So, too, were the dark circles under her eyes and the emotion—fear, he thought, or if not fear something damned close to it, that he saw in her gaze.

  She shot a glance to either side of the hallway before turning back to him. “Sir,” she said, holding up her hands to display a covered tray, “I brought the dinner you ordered.”

  Dannen frowned. “I didn’t order any di—”

  But in his confusion at seeing the woman there, he had lightened his pressure on the door and so wasn’t ready as the woman ignored him, brushing past and into the room. “I’ll just set it on the table here,” she said hurriedly.

  Dannen turn
ed to watch her as she moved to the room’s small table, setting the tray down. “Look, I already told you, I didn’t—”

  “Huh,” she said, staring at the bed and the snoring mage lying sprawled on top of it. “Sleepin’ in the same bed, are you?”

  Dannen frowned. “Head to foot.”

  The woman waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, you needn’t explain it to me. It’s a tough world, and folks have to get on however they can.”

  “It’s not…” Dannen began then sighed. “Forget it. Anyway, as I have been trying to tell you, I didn’t order any dinner.”

  She turned, meeting his eyes. “I know.”

  Dannen gripped the boot tighter. A barmaid, particularly one like the one in front of him, wasn’t the most threatening thing he’d seen in the last few days, but a sword might be more threatening than a fisherman’s knife—that didn’t stop the blade from doing its bloody work, if you let it. “Then why are you here?” he asked, tensing, preparing to defend himself.

  But if the woman was an assassin putting on a show, she was a damned convincing one, for he saw, looking at her, that her eyes were full of unshed tears, and her lower lip was trembling as if she might burst into sobs at any moment. “You shouldn’t have come here, you and your friends.”

  Dannen felt his heart speed up in his chest. “Why? What is it?”

  “They’re going to come for you,” she said, “you and your companions. I heard them talking about it.”

  “Who?” Dannen asked. “Clint?” He shook his head. “I don’t think you need worry on that score. True, the man isn’t my biggest fan, but the other one with him, Palder, he seems to be reasonable enough. Nicer than most, anyway. After all, he’s the reason why we have three rooms instead of two.” He paused, glancing at the still snoring Firemaker and frowned. “Not that it did me any good,” he muttered.

  “Palder,” the woman hissed. “Don’t you get it? He’s one of their leaders and the worst of the lot.”

  “Leaders?” Dannen asked, his weary brain struggling to keep up. “What do you mean? Whose leader?”