“What are we, if not the things we make?” Tracy asked the sky out loud, feeling his way into this new adventure.
Yenrab nodded. He didn’t quite understand the meaning, but nodding seemed like the sort of thing people were supposed to do in such a situation.
The ship pulled oars and coasted in to rest in the natural harbor, tying up at one of a few hard-planked docks spearing out straight from the semicircular bay. The place was gorgeous. The town was big for the area, but not so big that one would think that neighbors didn’t know neighbors. It was filled with relaxed and verdant green slopes on the outskirts, with a beautiful and antique light tower on the top of its most prominent hill, and a gorgeous, now almost leafless, forest of mixed deciduous and coniferous trees huddled between clear expanses of field, all lying harvested and bare as the winter winds came close.
The town itself was a postcard painter’s dream. Older structures made with an artistic eye, built to last, occupied much of the town proper, with the more recent wooden structures placed with a concept of keeping everything together and worth looking at. A large courthouse, and what was most probably a mayoral office building, rose above all else, clearly fortified and meant as a place of refuge as well as one of municipal business. Together they portrayed a sense of justice for all. Meanwhile the few bars stuck out quite clearly as well. Not for their size, though they certainly didn’t beg for space, but for their style. They competed with one another through theme and menu. They were gaudy, picturesque with murals taking up sides and cantrips accentuating all of the nooks and crannies. And best of all, they looked comfortable.
Thoughts of being burned forever washed well out of their minds.
Chapter 24: Words
The men stepped off the ship, the wet air mixing with pine and cascading upon their senses. It was good to be back on shore.
“Where to now?” asked Bern, a little hungover from his constant drinking.
“Whatever route takes us to those taverns?” Yenrab put forth with a tremendous smile. “I feel like those are going to be a lot of fun.”
“After we have money,” Carric put in with a stern face that attempted to hide its own excitement. “We definitely need money.”
“Ya, ya know, we do need money. It’s not like I can hock my bear trap all over again. And, well, those places look absolutely tremendous!” Yenrab said as he wiped saliva away from his mouth with a broad, hairy-backed arm.
A whiff of something delicious and roasting came their way. About them, sailors grinned and licked their chops. The town looked to be a quite popular stop among the crew.
Tracy looked upon Yenrab, noted the drool, and then spat in his hand and wiped it on his face a bit to fit in with everyone else.
“Dude . . .” Bern said with a sigh, and then just left it at that. Tracy shrugged.
“Guys, I’ve been practicing all week, and we are going to need a bit of cash before we track down this missing lad, of that I am sure.” Carric smiled. “Why don’t we just go to one of those taverns, and I can give them a bit of a show in return for some good eats and cool ale.”
“Or dark beer.” Bern smiled as well.
“Wine. Or whiskey with ice.” Tracy went to spit in his hand again. Bern shook his head and mouthed no.
“Guys, I thought we had figured this out. No stupid tricks to make money. We are destined, and so we have to be heroes and all that. Plus, the book said that anything we do here in a smaller city can get the whole city against us. We’re here as employees to a local who seems to have quite a bit of cash, and therefore clout, in this city. Let’s do this right. Okay?” Yenrab put forth sternly.
“Okay!” they all said. Except, maybe, Bern said something else. It was hard to tell. Something about the one percent? And some other voice whispered something about burning forever. It was something that seemed less important now and even a bit cliché. Whatever, Yenrab noted to himself. The message was clear, and that was all that mattered.
“Alright, we go to the inn first. We meet with the man and find out about his son. And maybe we can get some information at the bar after we get there. Bartenders are a tricky bunch who always, somehow, know a lot about whatever thing you plan to get involved with. Trust me, I know this. I’m a folk hero.” Yenrab didn’t preen or push out his chest as he said this. He simply let it be known.
“Doesn’t the book say the same thing?” asked Carric, with as innocent a face as could be mustered.
“Yeah, sure,” the barbarian dismissed.
“Guys, I’m a folk hero too. Back in the Elven Reaches . . .” Tracy trailed off as he realized that nobody cared. With a shrug, he spat in his hand and wiped it on his face once again, emulating and hyperbolizing the drool that he had seen from the non-Freemeetians before.
***
The inn, Hub Inn, wasn’t exactly the best they’d ever seen, but it certainly beat the last one they had stayed in. The steps didn’t sag with shame, but, rather, with the dignity of well-spent youth and accomplished gains. Everything looked well-kept and occasionally redone. The outside didn’t exactly shine, but neither did it look drooping and disregarded. And, importantly, it was of that antiquated style that so beautified the town about them.
Stepping indoors, from the fresh late fall into the dusky, lamp-lit dark of the interior, was a bit disorientating after having spent so much time on the Great Lake. While the front door had a knob, an invention this world had figured out millennia ago, a second door after the first did not, instead swinging inward or outward at the behest of its operator. Pushing through it was quite fun and novel. This wasn’t a typical design.
Inside the place was a long bar to the right, behind which stood the patron they sought, standing guard between the customers of his establishment and the liquid ambrosia that they had come to partake in. As this was an inn, the cache of alcohol was certain to be quite overpriced, making the guarding of it that much more crucial to the defense of his business. But he seemed to be a bit distraught. And maybe he was overzealous in his role because the left side of the room, with its tables and chairs, held few beings. There were few sentients in the establishment to begin with. There were drunken halflings, who were quite busy and content working through an already purchased bottle of raspberry wine. There was a full-blooded and tuskless orc, sleeping soundly in a chair, with his last cup spilled on the table in front of him. And what looked to be a forest gnome sat at the last table, well misplaced here and clearly showing it as he huddled protectively over his draught of honeyed ale. A hallway extended to the right and left past the bar. In the corner, a winding stairway led up to more floors with more rooms in which to stay.
Yenrab cleared his throat. Then Carric interrupted him in a quiet voice, making him cough and splutter.
“Look, Yenrab, I have learned a lot already about how to speak in this country. I messed it all up back there on stage, but I think I’ve got it. The man has suffered a grievous loss. I can weed through that and make this work. Let me give this a go.”
The barbarian looked at him and nodded. Carric certainly did seem convincing. Yenrab stepped back a bit to give him space. Carric moved forward, with the rest of the party fanning out behind.
“Pete Burgh, I presume?”
The man nodded his assent. His hair was light, gray, and fluffy. Tracy stared at it without manners, mesmerized. Pete was handing out some sugar cane to three young boys, each of them taller than the next, who then scurried out of the place. The party watched them run and then turned back to him.
“Hi, I am Carric Smith,” the half-elven minstrel informed him. “And here I have a docket with your name on it. It would seem that you have lost your son and that we are here to find him? Are those also your children?”
“No, they are some neighborhood kids. Their parents sometimes come in, and well, you know, I give them some candy to make their life a little sweeter and then send them on their way. Taverns are not always the best place for children.”
“That is very
nice of you. Maybe, we should all find ways to make life a little sweeter,” the bard said, his voice full of joy and pleasant aplomb. “So, well, we are here to find your son?”
“Yes . . . ? I’m sorry. Thanks . . . I mean thank you for coming. All of you, sit down. This isn’t easy for me because . . . well, I’ve already . . . anyway . . . this place is all I’ve got now. I think of myself as a man of means and a man made to means by his own means . . . if you know what I mean.” The tavern-keeper paused. “Do you know what I mean? I have a hand axe under the bar and a few loaded crossbows in places I won’t tell you, so don’t do anything untoward, but let it be known that I went around and looked myself for a bit while my poor wife Jan ran the place all by herself, but I couldn’t find that foolish boy of mine. . . . Luckily, it’s getting cold and the settler rush has stopped for the season.”
“Words!” called his beautiful, red-cheeked wife from a far corner.
“That boy of mine,” Pete amended, tussling his own gray hair as he did so.
“I understand, Mr. Burgh. But none of us know much about this place, or about you. And don’t grieve yet—we can well find him given the opportunity!” the bard noted with carefully placed optimism.
The optimism was catchy.
“Yes. Yes! Of course, the fool—er—friendly lad can still be found! Hear that, Jan?” the tavern-keeper asked with growing joy.
“Every single syllable,” she answered, throwing her gray-streaked tussle a bit as she both praised and punished the man for what he had almost said.
“What is your name, minstrel?” Pete Burgh asked with just a residual hint of optimism underlying his voice.
“I am Carric Smith, a bard and an adventurer,” the man responded.
You will burn! cried a voice in his head. Carric decided to ignore it.
“Well, Mr. Smith, these have been rough times. This is very hard to talk about, but we’ve already lost two sons now, three if you include Tim.” Pete Burgh held back tears, quickly losing resolve once the topic was upon his lips. “The first was lost to a raid, the second to that darn treacherous call to colonize the Eastern Reaches. But Tim, he was the heir now. And he done ran off. I think, really think, that he found a girl and off and eloped. But I really don’t know. I mind the bar and my own business. If he found a gal and wanted to marry her, he should have told me.”
“If he did that, he would have told me!” yelled Jan from her corner of the tavern. “He tells me everything!”
Pete ignored her. The bard didn’t, but he also had nothing he could think of to say to her. Giving her an awkward nod, he focused back on the man behind the bar.
“I must say, Mr. Burgh, you seem like a very intelligent man. You speak quite well.”
“Say that again after you’ve lived with him for a few decades,” Jan called from her corner. It seemed probable that this humor was her own way of dealing with grief. Or perhaps that she was trying to comfort the old man. Pete’s face struggled, but he ultimately decided to keep ignoring her and to stay focused on the task at hand.
“Not every innkeeper spent his life as such. I was a bard in my youth as well. It’s a hard life though. No respect until someone needs healing.”
“No respect, my butt!” Jan yelled.
“Not since you were fifty!” Pete yelled back, though with a giggle. Jan Burgh laughed as her strikes landed home, and a smile reappeared on the man’s face. The party relaxed.
Carric chuckled as well.
“Well, this is something we can do. We’ll find him. What do you know?” Carric asked with a serious voice that neither quavered nor shrank. He was a strategic mix of charisma and business, and it was fitting him well.
“I asked about, but nobody knew a thing. If they eloped, they did it at a horribly stupid time in a tremendously stupid manner. But I don’t know.” The man shook his head, his voice breaking. Jan stayed silent.
“I need to know what happened to my son. And I’ll pay to know, whatever that means,” the before-jovial man added in an almost whisper.
Carric nodded, riding the emotional flow like an expert. He went serious and professional in the blink of an eye.
“I understand, Mr. Burgh. We will do whatever is required of us to find him. Thank you for putting up with us and have a good day.”
“No, wait. Mr. Carric . . . ? You and your band of adventurers are welcome to a quick meal here and a place to stay while you search. Even if you fail, I really do appreciate the effort. And I know how it is. Being an adventurer is not a life of glamour.”
Burn forever, his mind reminded him.
Tracy began to ready hir hand and pucker hir mouth, ready to cover his face in saliva once again.
“No, the gods be angered. Just no!” Bern was beside himself.
“Okay. Just say it again, but more politely.”
Yenrab began to laugh heartily.
Mr. Burgh looked on, perhaps offended and more than a little confused. But Carric stepped in.
“It’s just an inside joke. We gratefully accept, though don’t wait up for us since we have plans to hit the bars and gather information as best as we can. We will find out what happened, and you have my word on that.”
***
The food had been quite good. It was a stew, thickened with flour, and home to potatoes, carrots, and chunks of softened beef, perhaps powdered with a bit of caraway and seasoned slightly with David moss, a local moss often used in brewing. Some say the moss has special properties for clearness of thought. It certainly felt enlightening, the way the brain fired back up after such a succulent bit of unexpected wonderfulness.
Yenrab belched.
“Damn, that was good,” he said, leaning back in his extra-stout chair. Pete had brought it out especially for him.
“Yeah, for sure, but I think maybe you need to mind your swears among the younglings,” Tracy said with a wild smile.
A gaggle of children had come in for sweets. They looked at the half-orc in wonder.
“Damn,” one said, hulking out in imitation of the man.
“Damn! Damn! Damn!” they all chorused.
One of them belched. A deep, full-throttle affair that had Yenrab both enthralled and envious.
Bern laughed out loud.
“Well, Yenrab, if this destiny thing falls through, maybe you could be a teacher!” he exclaimed with a wink.
The barbarian nodded, then seized the assassin’s half-full bowl and downed it in a gulp.
“Yeah, after I’m done educating you lot,” he said with a smirk, licking his fingers and eyeing a suddenly downtrodden assassin.
Tracy and Carric hovered over their bowls.
“What, are you two looking to say something stupid also?” Yenrab asked, his grin now trying to stretch beyond the confines of his face.
“Damn! Damn!” added some childish noises, fading as they left the place, their treats in hand.
“Damn,” Tracy responded solemnly. Carric giggled.
“Yeah, that is what I thought,” Yenrab ended, giving himself a deep chuckle. “Alright, guys, listen; we have a destiny, and I’ve been thinking about that. With a little help from you guys, of course.”
Bern scowled, his face sour. Destiny was not something that sat well with him anymore.
Yenrab pulled the adventurer’s tome out and plopped it hard upon the table. Tracy and Carric held their bowls firm in the face of the seismic onslaught.
“So I was thinking, well, why can’t I find anything about Gharag in the book?” he asked. “I mean, this book seems to be our cheat sheet, and yet it doesn’t say a thing. I’ve looked!”
Tracy nodded with a serious face. “Yeah, that sounds like something that should be there. Has anyone else looked for it?”
“Yeah. Yenrab told me on the ship, and I paged through. It is really strange. I tried and I felt like I saw something about gods, but then it wavered, and I got a headache,” Carric told them. “And a ringing in my ears.”
“Don’t even tell me if the
ringing had words in it. I already know,” said the assassin in dismal tone. “Damn gods!”
Tracy opened his mouth wide and pointed.
There was a new trio of children who all looked on the group with wonder.
“If they shouldn’t learn swears, their parents shouldn’t let them come here. Scamper off, you little wimble sniffers!” the frustrated rogue yelled out.
“Damn gods! Wimble sniffers!” screeched, whooped, and blasted the children in ecstasy, their short lives having never experienced such gleeful cacophony.
Chapter 25: Fricking Gharag
They all left the bar not long after. The incident had again knocked aside thoughts on destiny, and had ended conversation, as such things often do. The day was waning into night, and stars were stealthing into and speckling the sky. A mostly full moon graced their exit, casting a strange and spooky pall upon the town.
It was dusk, and the party had a job to do. And they needed a tavern to do it in. Or so they suspected. It was what the book had told them before. Go to the bar and find information. That seemed simple enough.
And, as they got closer, each of them wondered in their own way if they could have passed it all up. They practically tossed a coin in choosing—even with a meal inside them, the smells and wonders portrayed by each of the establishments was just too much—and they landed on The Chivalrous Chicken, a place whose decor they found both amusing and tummy rumbling.
The tavern was spectacular, with an outside porch lined with rails and pillared with thin but stout wooden columns. It was all furnished by the hardwood timber quite native to the region. Streamers of silk, glamoured with mild cantrips to sparkle and occasionally squawk, lined this outside porch from corner to corner. Strong homemade benches ran its length, with patrons sitting upon them, noisily chewing meat and quaffing from large pewter mugs fashioned to look like fat chickens with their beaks wide open to the sky.
How to Be an Adventurer- World of Gimmok Page 19
