by Kris Kramer
* * * * *
Galen woke early the next morning and rounded up a small blade, some cloth, and a basin of hot water from Jonn, so he could finally shave off the week of stubble on his face. For some reason, he felt compelled to look as presentable as possible when dealing with criminals, even though he still loathed the idea of meeting with Oln. He hadn’t been sure what to expect last night when Cyara and Ballok showed up, and to be honest, they weren’t the type of people he thought he would see. He thought slavers and such would be dirtier, or uglier, but those two weren’t. In fact, he found Cyara to be an elegant, graceful woman and he wasn’t sure how someone like that ended up working for a slaver. He wondered if Oln would end up surprising him as well.
After shaving, he decided he would eat breakfast first, and then work on his journal. He’d managed to write down all the events from the trip so far, though the incident at Duren Olan had been difficult to recount, even on paper. He needed to keep writing though, because it helped him relax. This city made him anxious, and being stuck inside of it was enough to completely fray his nerves if he stopped long enough to think about it. He could only pray that the meeting with Oln went through today without a hitch. If they could agree on a deal, then maybe, if they were lucky, they could leave tomorrow, or even tonight. If they were lucky.
Galen went downstairs to find the common room just as empty as it had been half an hour ago when he woke up. He caught Jonn wandering through and he asked him about breakfast. Jonn politely told him to wait a few moments while he rounded up some food from the back. Galen took a seat at the same table they had used yesterday and waited patiently, trying to not to let the anxiety in his stomach ruin his appetite.
Two men entered the common room from the street. They were short, with long, grimy, black hair and beards. They wore pants and shirts that were entirely black, and each carried a long, ornately designed dagger, sheathed through their wide black belts. Normally, Galen would have ignored them, being as preoccupied with his thoughts as he was this morning, but their behavior made him uncomfortable. From the moment they walked in, they watched him like they recognized him. They sat at a table near the entrance and looked around, giving the room a cursory glance, but every few moments, at least one of the two would glance over at him, as if to make sure he hadn't run off.
Galen turned sideways in his chair to avoid looking directly at them. He wondered if their actions were normal here, or if they knew they were being incredibly rude. Thankfully, Jonn entered the room, bringing breakfast with him – a plate of bread, cheese and ham, along with milk. Galen thanked him for the food and began devouring the meal, desperate for the distraction.
Hal and Jonir came down, and ordered the same for themselves. Galen greeted them, eager to have others nearby in case the two strangers were unfriendly. He never had a chance to find out, though, because they quickly stood up and left the inn, not even looking back. Galen watched them leave warily, but decided to leave well enough alone. He had more important things to worry about today.
By the time he finished eating, all six of them sat at the table, either arranging for their own food, or nervously chatting. Cyara or Ballok could be back at any time, so again they were stuck waiting, killing time anyway they could. Eventually the dice and cards made a showing, and this time Galen and Margis stayed downstairs.
They didn’t have to wait too long. Ballok entered the inn around mid-morning, alone. He approached the table with the same sneer he’d had on his face last night.
“Let’s go,” he said. “You’ve got your meeting.”
Galen’s stomach dropped. He nodded to Ballok, hoping no one saw the blood drain from his face. “I need to grab a few things from my room, first.”
Ballok grunted and Galen tried to steady his legs as he walked upstairs. Once in his room he reached for his pack and pulled out one of the bags of crystals. He didn’t know if taking both bags would be prudent, so he decided to bring only one for now, and leave the other in case something happened. He tried to hold the bag as casually as he could, fearing that somehow anyone who saw it would know it was filled with highly illegal Mergoran crystals, but he didn’t how to do that. So he just kept the bag close to his body, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and went back downstairs.
“We’re ready,” Iago said when Galen returned, and Ballok walked outside. Iago followed him and the rest of the group fell in line, Galen staying as close to Iago as he could. Ballok led them down the street, and then took a left through an alley between two small houses. They crossed through to another smaller street and walked about four blocks, before he led them through a second alley. Galen studied everyone who passed them, looking for any sign of an ambush, or even guards surprising them. But all he saw were people doing their best to walk by without interference, grimy kids playing in front of some houses, and a pack of dogs barking at anyone who came near. Luckily, it wasn’t long before Ballok led them to a doorway behind a large, crumbling, old building. Two men with short swords waited outside the door, one sitting on a barrel next to the wall, and the other leaning against the closed door. They both stood up as Ballok approached and the second guard opened the door for the group. Ballok walked in first, with Iago, Galen and the others close behind.
A large, empty room greeted them, with two doors at the back. Ballok ignored the doors, sliding his fingers into the crease between two wooden planks in the wall to his left. When he pulled, a section of the wall opened, revealing a hidden passage. He motioned them in, and they followed him down a short hallway, and then through another door. This one opened up to a much larger room than the first, although this one wasn’t empty. Stacks of wooden crates lined all four walls, leaving space only for the two doors in the room, the one they entered and another to the right. Four armed thugs watched them warily from the back of the room, a few paces behind a long, rectangular table.
Cyara waited at one end of the table, arms crossed, staring at Iago intently, and tapping her foot impatiently. In the middle of the table sat a very large man, almost as wide as he was tall. He wore a brightly colored red and yellow patterned tunic, brown leather pants, an expensive-looking gold chain around his neck, and what seemed to be gold bracelets around his wrists. He was naturally bald, rather than shaved as Iago was, though this man was at least 20 years older than anyone in their group.
Ballok motioned them to stand in front of the table, and Galen moved next to Iago, who waited in the center, directly opposite the man Galen assumed to be Nentini Oln. The other four fell in line a step or two behind them. After a brief moment, the fat man stood up, walked around the table and approached Iago, who remained still as a statue the entire time. The fat man, quite a few inches shorter than Iago, stood right in front of him and looked up at his face with a calculating stare. Finally, he spoke.
“Why aren’t you dead yet?”
