Where are we?"
"Where do you think?" Kai said, getting off the car- riage floor, where he had landed. "Where the real fun is. In the happy part of town!" He tumbled out the door, leaving Alaire to follow.
Alaire emerged from the carriage, knees shaking, and stepped down onto cobblestone. Without com- ment, he noticed one of the carriage lamps had shaken free and fallen to the street, somewhere behind them.
Also, a spoke in one of the wheels was missing.
Grateful to be on solid ground again, Alaire looked quickly around the street where they had stopped. It was a narrow, cobblestone avenue in an old part of town, lined on either side by many cheap, ill-kept tav- erns. A few torches lit the streets, with too many shadows for Alaire's comfort.
A small group of men staggered out the door of the tavern nearest them, singing and leaning on each oth- ers' shoulders. Alaire had hoped to be able to let his guard down, but when he saw the great contrast between their clothing and everyone else's, he shud- dered. Might as well paint a target on our backs.
Attack us, we're rich, he thought. Good thing Nai- tachal's got most of the money.
But strangely, no one seemed to pay them any par- ticular attention. The street crowd, rough workers, ne'er-do-wells, loafers, probable thieves, who knew what else, all seemed hell-bent on getting drunk that night. As did Kai.
The Crown Prince led him down the long, four- story canyon of bars, brothels and places that of "entertainment." Alaire's eyes nearly fell out of his head when he saw an advertisement for a show. Some- thing for everyone, he thought. That is, everyone except non-humans. Not a sign of elves, orcs, or dwarves anywhere.
Kai led him directly to the first tavern on the right.
Carved on the wooden sign hanging over the door, dulled with age, was the image of a large dragon on its back, its legs sticking straight up. The tongue lolled lifelessly to one side. THE DEAD DRAGON INN, Alaire read, deciphering the strange but legible Suinomen script. Charming.
"Here we go," Kai said cheerfully, stepping over an unconscious man blocking the doorway. "First stop."
"Of how many?" Alaire asked, not expecting an answer.
The tavern was small, cramped and smoke-filled.
Through the haze Alaire made out about a dozen tables, lined up on either side of a long, narrow room.
Barmaids scurried from table to table, balancing wooden steins on teetering trays, serving rowdy cus- tomers, fending passes, keeping up with the orders. In one corner, a musician played a harp, singing some ballad in the Suinomen tongue. His presence sur- prised and cheered Alaire, who had resigned himself to enduring the bellows and howls of drunks. Beauti- ful. Maybe this will be fun after all.
Kai stood glaring at everyone in the tavern. Alaire finally noticed this, he thought the boy was looking for a place to sit. Then he saw he was looking for something else entirely.
"You, there, in the pansy outfit!" a large, drunk man roared, from the nearest table. "This here be the adult's bar! The nursery, it be down the street. Now git!"
An odd silence fell over the tavern, with the excep- tion of the harpist, who continued playin Though Alaire clearly saw the harpists muscles tense, and his legs brace for a quick escape.
Alaire's hand crept close to the hilt of his blade.
Fully half the tavern turned to look at them, as a few got up and made a hasty exit.
The table in question glistened with spilled ale. Five men, sailors perhaps, had claimed it as their own. The candle burning in the center was cheap, fat and guttering, illuminating their bearded faces in brief, unpleasant flashes. These were not pretty men; nor, from the number of broken noses and scars, were they strangers to a fight. A fight that would probably not stay or even start fair. Alaire saw far too many scars on hands and arms, marks which could only have come from sharpened steel.
And given their present mood, a joyless, surly one that could quickly turn to violence, they seemed ready, eager, to add a few more scars to their collection.
Kai seemed to revel in the attention. He gazed at them belligerently. Five sets of bleary, ale-shot eyes glared back.
Actually, four and a half. One of them has an eye patch.
Kai grinned nastily. "Looks to me like you boys need a mother to clean up after you. Look at that table!" Turning to Alaire, he added, "I think we've al- ready walked into the nursery. Orphanage, more like.
Orphans so ugly no one wants to take them in."
Kai! Shut up! Alaire wanted to scream. I'm good with the sword, but not that bloody good! He briefly considered pulling the boy out of there before a fight started. By the hair, if necessary.
Except that he didn't think he'd be able to get them out of there intact. Kai would certainly fight him, probably yell further insults at the sailors and without a doubt would precipitate the fight the Prince seemed to want.
Instead, Alaire did the only thing he could do; he watched the table, waiting for the tensing of muscles that would signal an attack.
"What about your friend there?" one of the toughs asked. "Pretty boy as he is. Makes me wonder, is he your wife, or do you two like to dress up like girls to make people think you're highborn?"
"Don't bother to guess," Kai snorted. "Don't bother to think, you're not equipped for it. Where'd your mothers find you five, anyway? Under a rock some- where? No wonder they didn't want to keep you." He grinned slyly. "Not a chance they could ever find five men, or even one, ugly enough to claim paternity."
The five were slow to react, but they reacted. Prob- ably the bit about paternity, Alaire suspected. That last jibe triggered the expected muscle-tensing. They might have been dense, but they weren't that stupid, and Kai had just called them all bastards.
"Now come on boys, we don't want no troub The Dead Dragon Inn," one of the barkeeps said in a wheedling voice. But it was too late. The men ignored him as if he was a fly, annoying, but powerless. They rose as one, with fire in their eyes and snarls on their faces.
"I was beginning to wonder if you boys were too drunk to stand up," Kai said laughingly, and pulled his sword.
As Alaire pulled his. The two nearest them came after Kai, armed with short curved swords of a kind he'd never seen before. How the devil do you counter those? he thought in confusion. And are they going for blood or...
They were.
The tall, uglier one, with a full face of hair that looked like a bird's nest, smelling of ale and sweat and salt water, charged him with a blood-curdling scream, swinging his short blade in a way that left no doub Alaire's mind. Kai had managed to work this one, at least, into a killing rage.
Wonderful. Just wonderful...
Alaire engaged; the short sword clashed with his longer blade, and Alaire suddenly discovered why the blade was curved. The sailor bound his longer blade before he had a chance to think, and nearly pulled it out of his hand. He disengaged, only to find his blade bound again. This time he backpedaled a few steps and freed his sword again; the tough came after him, still full of fighting fury.
Can't let him take my sword... He still had his jew- eled dagger, tucked away under his shirt, but that would never do against their weapons. The sailor bobbed and wove like a snake, forcing Alaire to make desperate deflections that were nothing like any of the fighting styles Naitachal had taught him. If only Nai- tachal was here!