“Just some information,” Geldon answered shortly. He looked around again, pausing to let a group of loud, drunken men go by. “Why is Bargainer’s Square so busy today?” he asked. “I’ve never seen it like this.”
Stubbs tilted his head and smiled again, holding out his hand. Geldon flipped one coin down. Before he knew it, the cripple had bitten hard into it, testing its worth. Stubbs smiled with approval. “News is there’s goin’ to be some kind of big announcement today, and very soon now,” he said conspiratorially.
“What kind of announcement?”
Stubbs just smiled. Geldon tossed down another coin.
“They say it’s goin’ to be big doin’s, and has to do with somebody important.” Again he stopped. Yet another coin came down.
“Who?” Geldon asked.
Stubbs smiled nastily. “The prince,” he said softly.
Geldon froze. That’s impossible, he thought. No one knows Tristan is here.
He tried to keep his composure. “What about the prince?” He pursed his lips as if the information he had just paid for had been a bad bargain. “I don’t know very much about him, much less care, and I’ve half a mind to come down there and get my money back.” He glared angrily at the cripple. “There must be more to it than that.”
“Only that there is to be some kind of announcement in the Hog’s Hoof Tavern, in about one hour,” Stubbs said. “I swear to the Afterlife, m’lord, that’s all I know.”
Finally believing him, Geldon tossed down one more coin. “Consider that to be a down payment on my next visit,” he said sternly. “As for now, do the smart thing and erase me from your memory until you see me again. We never talked.”
“Yes m’lord,” Stubbs said gleefully. He headed off, leaping and bounding awkwardly across the cobblestones of the square, aiming straight for the first of the street whores he could find, happily holding out his kisa like a schoolboy entering a candy shop.
But the amusement Geldon felt at watching Stubbs quickly vanished as he turned his horse toward the Hog’s Hoof. His thoughts were darkening with every moment. No one, as far as they knew, was aware that the prince and Wigg had returned to Eutracia. The thought of some kind of announcement about Tristan unnerved him. And the only way to learn more would be to go to the tavern—a prospect he was not particularly fond of.
The Hog’s Hoof had the worst reputation in all of Tammerland, and had long been known as a gambling house, a haven for criminals, and a brothel of the most perverted standards. Geldon had been there only one other time, during one of his first trips into the city. He had quickly left in fear of his life. Still, he had no choice but to brave the place again. He owed Tristan his freedom and his life—a debt he would never stop trying to repay.
Dismounting in front of the great, overbearing edifice of the tavern, he tossed the leering brutes on the sidewalk several coins to watch his horse, then stepped inside the belly of the raucous, human carnival that was the Hogs’s Hoof.
It was exactly as he had remembered it. The noise, smells, and laughter coming from the various areas of the great front room seemed to have a unique, dangerous texture all their own. A very long, hand-hewn bar of highly polished hibernium wood stretched from one end of the rear wall to the other. The rest of the entire room seemed to be a mass of tables, chairs, and men in various stages of drunkenness. Women worked the room constantly, either serving liquor or plying their other trade, trying to entice the men into going upstairs. There were many takers.
But everyone was not always happy in this place, and he knew a fight could break out at any moment. Anxious, oftentimes angry men leaned over the gaming tables, seemingly trying to throw their money away as fast as possible. From the far corner of the room he could see more of them standing in a small crowd, yelling down at the floor and throwing their kisa into the circle before them. There was obviously a cockfight going on. And the vast majority of the men in the room were armed, wearing both sword and dagger.
The square, open room was two stories high; on the second floor, the chambers of the whores opened onto a railed balcony that overlooked the main tavern below. Scores of oil lamps hanging from the elaborately carved ceiling gave off a harsh, glaring glow, and the various hues of red, the predominant color, gave the tavern a cheap, glaring, dangerous cast. The entire place smelled of liquor, sweat, and greed.
Carefully walking through the crowd to reach the bar, Geldon realized that it would be the man standing behind it who would most probably be the best source of information. The dwarf laboriously hoisted himself up onto one of the relatively high chairs.
“Ale,” he said simply.
The man behind the bar gave Geldon a curious look. Then, with a slight smile, he poured the dwarf a tankard of the tavern ale. Geldon took a draught of the strong, bitter swill, smiled his approval to the bartender, and jangled several kisa down on the bar top.
The server was an older man, with a liquor-induced, ruddy complexion. He had a shiny, bald head, save two tufts of unruly, white hair on either side. He wore a white, stained apron that did little to cover his protruding stomach. But underneath it all Geldon could see that this man was heavily muscled, and no doubt exceptionally strong. He probably needs to be, the dwarf realized.
But the server’s demeanor seemed kind, so the dwarf decided to chance a conversation.
“Bargainer’s Square is very busy today,” he began casually, “and so is the Hog’s Hoof. I’ve never seen so many people here.”
“Business is good,” the man said. He began wiping glasses with a cloth that was less than clean. “Rumor has it that something is going to happen here, and very soon. I don’t know what it is, but if I were you I’d keep my ears open, say little, and be prepared to leave in a hurry if need be. In my opinion, we were all given two ears and only one mouth for a reason. And that is because we should listen twice as much as we talk. One never knows what’s going to happen next in this place, and drawing attention to yourself is never a good idea.”
Excellent advice indeed, Geldon thought. He was beginning to like the fat, red-faced man behind the bar, and he decided to press a little. “My name is Geldon,” he tried.
The man nodded. “Rock,” he said.
“Rock?”
“Yes, Rock.” He smiled. “Can’t you imagine why?”
Geldon smiled back as he looked at Rock’s bulging arms and large, gnarled hands. “Yes,” he said. “Indeed I can.”
Rock leaned forward a little, motioning for Geldon to do the same. “Like I said, something is about to happen,” the barman whispered. “And I think it has to do with—”
Suddenly Rock’s voice trailed off as he looked up to the door at the other side of the room. He swallowed hard, then straightened back up, saying nothing. His face had lost some of its color, and he stood stock-still, as if waiting for something. The entire room had also gone amazingly silent. Geldon turned around, trying to see what it was that would stop such a powerful man dead in his tracks.
Someone had entered the tavern. Standing in the doorway, the stranger was backlit by the streetlight outside, and Geldon could not make out his features. As he walked farther into the large room it became clear that he was very well known. Tables and chairs screeched and scratched out of his way as he moved forward. No one spoke. As the man finally came into view, Geldon knew that he was looking into the face of a cold, professional killer.
It was true that a great many such men had sprung up since the assault by the Minions, but somehow this man was different. Geldon could immediately tell that he would not only be one of the fastest, most efficient of assassins, but would also have absolutely no remorse regarding his chosen craft. This one was a true professional.