Everyone at the bar-everyone in the tavern except Royce-watched Hadrian. Sensing pressure, he decided to play it safe. “What would you suggest?”
This caused the priest to shift uneasily on his stool and the bartender to sigh. “That would be putting me in a precarious pinch. Being the dispenser, I must remain neutral.”
“You’ll choke on anything other than Old Marbury,” said the man farthest away, the only one besides himself who wore a sword.
“Before you decide,” the priest said, “you should know this is Lord Marbury.”
“Oh?” Hadrian straightened up and offered a bow. “Your Lordship.”
Everyone smiled in an embarrassed manner, except Lord Marbury, who scowled. “Do that again and I’ll stab you in the foot.”
Hadrian looked to Dougan, who, by virtue of his winning smile, had become his helmet in a hailstorm.
“It’s more of an honorary title now,” the bartender said.
“The church doesn’t recognize ranks of nobility within Ghent,” the priest explained.
Marbury grumbled, “The church wouldn’t recognize a-”
“Another drink, Your Lordship?” Dougan said loudly, snatching up the mug before the man.
“I wasn’t done with that one.”
“Oh, I’d say you were. And let’s not forget we still haven’t found out where this young lad’s loyalties lie, have we? Or his friend’s for that matter.” Dougan stared at Hadrian expectantly. “Have you decided?”
Hadrian was confused and uncertain where the topic of conversation had wandered. Then Dougan gestured at the advertisements again.
“Oh … right. Um…” He glanced at Lord Marbury, who sat hunched over the rail glaring at Dougan. “I’ll try Old Marbury, I think.”
This brought smiles from both His Lordship and Dougan, and Hadrian felt as if he’d finally said something right and had made more than a drink order.
“I’m partial to Bittersweet,” the bearded traveler who had offered the toast admitted. Hadrian noticed the man jingled when he moved, but instead of a weapon, he was ornamented with numerous metal trinkets that dangled from a wide belt.
“You’re a tinker?” Hadrian asked.
“Tinker Bremey,” he introduced himself. His handshake was weak and began unpleasantly before their thumbs met. “I have good hooks if you’re here for the fishing.”
“And what might your friend be interested in?” Dougan asked, pointing toward Royce.
“Good question. We haven’t known each other long.”
“Join up on the road, did ya?”
“No, we-”
“I’m not thirsty,” Royce called.
Marbury glanced over. “Then why in Maribor’s name did you come in here?”
“He was thirsty.” Royce pointed at Hadrian. “I just wanted to get out of the wind. Is that all right?”
“Sure.” Marbury nodded and turned to Hadrian. “Considerate fellow you’re riding with.”
“Oh yeah.” Hadrian nodded and smiled. “That’s exactly how I describe him to everyone-considerate to a fault.”
Royce smirked and folded his arms across his chest.
“I sell a tight weave tent that blocks even the highest winds,” the tinker informed him. “Comes with nautical-quality rope and pegs to hold it in place. You stretch this lady out and she’ll keep you warm all night.”
Dougan slapped Lord Marbury’s and Hadrian’s mugs on the bar, where both foamed over just like in the pictures. The bar went silent as Hadrian raised the drink to his lips. He was used to small, or table, beer in Calis, where they used an over-abundance of hops. This was stronger, richer and fresh. He was grinning before he drew the mug from his face.
“Hah!” Marbury slapped the counter. “I told ya. I should win this year. Just look at him-there’s a happy man, if ever I saw one.”
Hadrian nodded. “It’s good.”
“He’s just being polite,” the priest said. “You can tell that’s the sort he is. Raised well. Mother was likely a devout member of the Nyphron Church.”
“Actually, my mother passed when I was young,” Hadrian said. “My father … well, the only time he mentioned the gods was when he ruined a bit of metal or burned himself on the forge.”
“A smith’s son you are,” the tinker said. “I should have known by all the steel you carry. I sell a fine set of tongs and hammers. I even have one I bought from a dwarven smith-finest you’ll ever see.”
“Why did the dwarf part with it?” the priest asked.
“Desperate to feed his family, I think. Sad story.”
Hadrian took the opportunity to move over and join Royce, who sat with his back to the hearth and his sight on the windows. “I’d say you’re being awfully quiet, but then I might as well follow with ‘Oh look, you’re breathing.’”
Royce leaned forward and whispered, “Why don’t you just tell them we’re thieves while you’re at it?”
“What are you talking about?” Hadrian matched his tone, feeling uncomfortable whispering like conspirators in front-or in this case behind the backs-of strangers. “I was just being friendly.”
“You told them your name, your place of birth, what your father did for a living, suggested which direction you were traveling in, and the fact you’ve never been here before. You would have told them who I was, and exactly where we came from if I hadn’t stopped you.”
“And exactly what would be so wrong with that?”
“First, when you’re on a job, you don’t want people to notice you. You want to be nothing more than a vague shadow on a person’s memory. Leave nothing that anyone can use to track you. After we break into the tower, people will be looking for us and they’ll remember a talkative stranger wearing three swords who likely went back south.”
“If you wanted to avoid being noticed, why’d we come in here in the first place?”
“That’s the second thing. I’m expecting some guests.”
“Guests?” Hadrian raised his mug to drink.
“The five men who were on the road behind us.”
Hadrian put the mug back down. “What are you talking about? I didn’t see anyone.”
“No surprise there.”
“What? You think they’re after us?”
“I don’t know. That’s why we’re here.”
“Wait … then they could be just other people traveling the same road?”
“I think everyone is after me until proven otherwise.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“They were also wearing swords and chain and have been riding hard.”
“So?”
“So five is too many for a courier, too few for reinforcements, and no one else rides that hard unless they’re hunting someone. Five would be just about the right size to send after two men accused of stabbing the son of a baron who were last seen riding north out of Sheridan.”
Hadrian turned to look out the window. All he saw was the stone wall, the road, and the lake beyond. The setting sun gleamed gold across the water’s surface.
“There’s a door off the side here.” Royce tilted his head toward a hallway that extended past the bar. “It opens to the trench where they dump chamber pots. When our guests arrive, we’ll step out that door and wait. If they follow, we can be certain they didn’t just happen to get thirsty at the same time we did. Arcadius says you’re supposed to know how to fight. I hope so, because if they come out, we’re going to kill them. All of them. And then we’ll come back in here and kill these four.”
“What? These four? Why?”
“Because you decided to get all friendly and chatty. We can’t leave five bodies in the sewer and four witnesses to spread the word. The first one you take out is Lord Marbury-he’s the only real threat. I’ll kill the priest and the tinker. Then whoever gets done first can deal with Dougan. Try not to splatter too much blood around. After they’re dead, we’ll put all the bodies out back-with luck the sewage pit will be deep enough to cover them. If we don’t make a big mess with the blood, it might be hours before anyone notices. By then we’ll be lost in the streets of Ervanon.”
“I’m not going to kill these people,” Hadrian said. “They’re nice people.”