"We passed some inns back down by the water," Teldin pointed out.
Rianna shook her head. "Harborside taverns," she said dismissively, "catering to sailors, broken-down whores, and uptown failures. They're great if you're looking for a nice, diverting brawl, but I'm not in the mood. What I'm looking for-there it is," she interrupted herself. She put her arm around Teldin's waist and led him to the right down a narrow crossroad.
There were fewer lighted windows here, but fifty feet away Teldin saw ruddy firelight washing out into the street from an open doorway. A wooden sign hung above the door, but he couldn't make it out.
" 'The Pig and Whistle,' " Rianna announced, leading him toward the door. She gave his waist a squeeze, "Buy a girl a drink, sailor?"
Teldin stopped in his tracks. He hadn't even thought of it before. "I don't have any money," he admitted. That wasn't quite true; he did have some coins, but they were steel Krynn currency. Odds were that it wouldn't be accepted here, and- worse-someone might recognize its origin.
She fixed him with an amused glance. "Don't they use money on Waypoint?" she asked ingenuously, then chuckled at his uncomfortable reaction. "Don't you worry, I've money enough. This time the girl can buy the sailor a drink." She led him through the open doorway.
Teldin had visited inns in a few of the larger towns he'd visited and thought he knew what a "big city" tavern would look like. The Pig and Whistle came as a complete surprise. It was a small room with pillars and crossbeams of dark wood supporting the low ceiling. The whitewashed walls were decorated with horse-brasses, bridles, and other pieces of tack. The floor was wooden planking dusted with a thin layer of sawdust to soak up spilled drinks. A fire burned in the small hearth opposite the bar itself. Teldin sniffed the air; he would have sworn it was a peat fire. By the bar was a narrow staircase that presumably led upstairs to the tavern's one or two guest rooms.
This was his first trip to Rauthaven, but Teldin knew this little pub. It was virtually identical to any number of village taverns around the Kalaman region where he'd grown up. Everything-the smoke-discolored ceiling, the feel of sawdust underfoot, the smell of peat smoke mixed with ale-was exactly as it should be. An overwhelming sense of homesickness, of loss, washed over him.
Rianna smiled broadly. "Well?" she asked. "What do you think?" When Teldin hesitated, her face fell. "I'm sorry," she said, "I thought you'd like it. I thought it'd remind you of home."
"It does," he explained.
"But too much." She squeezed his waist again. "I understand. Come on, we'll go somewhere else."
She tried to turn back to the door, but Teldin stopped her. "Oh, no," he said, "I do like this place. Anyway, you promised me a drink, and you're not getting out of it that easily."
Her smile returned. "And I thought I was off the hook," she said jokingly. "All right. Why don't you find a seat while I get the drinks?" With a final squeeze, she headed for the bar.
Teldin looked around the room. Most of the tables were occupied, but there was one-in the back corner-that was empty. Carefully he threaded his way over to it.
The table had no chairs around it-presumably they'd been "requisitioned" by the occupants of other tables-but there was a wooden bench with cloth-covered seat bolted to the wall. It's small, but there's just enough room for two, he thought as he sat down, as long as we don't mind sitting close, Teldin thought he could handle that.
Rianna was at the bar, watching the publican draw two pints of ale. As he waited, Teldin let his gaze drift idly around the tavern. There was a difference between the Pig and Whistle and the pubs of Kalaman, Teldin realized, but the difference wasn't in the institution itself. It was the people who were different. In a village pub at home, there was no way he could have made his way from the door to a back table without someone offering him a friendly greeting, trying to strike up a conversation, or challenging him to a friendly game of knucklebone. A village pub was more like a social center than a drinking establishment, particularly for the more aged.
The Pig and Whistle's patrons were city folk, however, and city folk always kept to themselves-or so Teldin had decided long ago. They'd never offer a greeting, for fear that it would be taken as an invitation to exploit the speaker somehow, or as a challenge. They'd respond to a greeting with either grave surprise-and often a close scrutiny, on the assumption that the speaker was either someone they should know or mentally deranged-or with surliness. As city people held their tongues, so did they control their glances. In Kalaman, a newcomer to a bar would immediately be inspected from crown to toe by the regulars, but there would be no hostility or challenge in the curious stares. In cities or large towns, Teldin had seen, people kept their eyes down and only shot someone a furtive glance if they didn't think they'd be caught at it. So things were in the Pig and Whistle.
There was movement in the doorway. He saw the flash of a profile, then the figure withdrew into the night. Why did that profile look so familiar? He racked his brain for a moment, then the answer came to him. It was Iregimesticus, one of the crewmen that the Probe had acquired from the neogi vessel. What was he doing here? Tregimesticus was one of those who'd adapted least well to freedom. Teldin couldn't imagine the ex-slave showing the initiative to ask for passage to shore, and then to track down a tavern for a drink. He could be wrong, of course… but then why did the man look around the place and leave?
Rianna's return disrupted his train of thought. She sat beside him, pressing the warmth of her hip against his. He immediately discarded thoughts of Tregimesticus for much more interesting considerations.
"Cozy," Rianna remarked. She set two tankards of ale on the table. "Barleycorn's Best Bitter," she announced, "The Resort's finest ale, in my opinion, and that's saying a lot."
He raised an eyebrow skeptically. "We'll see about that." He lifted the heavy pewter tankard and took a pull. Served at room temperature, the thick ale had a rich, nutty taste, with an underpinning of smoky sharpness. He let it linger on his tongue, giving the flavor time to develop, then he swallowed. He breathed out through his nose, enjoying the lush aroma. It was similar to the Krynnish ales he was familiar with, but just different enough to make it seem somehow exotic. And, he had to admit, it was excellent. Easily on a par with, if not marginally better than, the local bitters of Kalaman. "Not bad," he said noncommittally, trying to suppress a smile.
Dissembling didn't work with Rianna, though. A warm smile spread across her face. "Admit it," she said, digging him playfully in the ribs with an elbow. "It's excellent. Better than the best on Waypoint, isn't it?"
He looked away from her uncomfortably. I'm lying to her. he told himself. She's befriended me-maybe more-and I'm lying to her. He felt miserable.
She seemed to sense his discomfort and smoothly changed the topic. "I asked the bartender if he knew of any arcane in town," she told him. "You said you needed to meet one. For that kind of information, barkeepers are about the best sources around."
"And?"
She shrugged. "He said he didn't know but promised he'd ask around. We can check back here tomorrow and see if any-thing's come up."
Teldin nodded and took another full swallow of his ale. Again he savored the mouthful, but this time to give himself time to think. There was another subject he had to broach, but he wasn't sure of the best way to do it. Rianna seemed to sense his thoughts. She drank her ale as well, silently watching him and waiting.