Lake Merrin Page 3

  That was shocking. Five minutes? I shrugged. Oh well, no queue.

  “Come on; I haven’t got all day to watch you daydream. If you don’t tell me what you want, I’m going to ask you to leave!”

  I shake my head and apologise, “Sorry! Some goons jumped me earlier today. Must be a little frazzled still, or it could be the pie.”

  I can see Royce is becoming a little annoyed by the way he is tapping a scarred thumb on the top of the table.

  “Sorry. You do not care. Um, I am here to sign up!”

  He looks me up and down with a professional-grade sneer that says he has seen all sorts. “Do you wish to start a new Charter or do you want to apply for an opening in an existing Charter, if one is available?”

  “Just wanting to pay Hall’s dues and put my name down for any open spots.” I stood there, smiling inanely at him.

  “What’s so funny, boy? You look like a grinning idiot. Take this paperwork and fill it out. The annual fee is forty slips.”

  Every time I come into the Hall and ask about Charters, Royce gives me the same speech. Three times before, I did not have the money, but I do now. I can register. Wish he would remember me; this is the fourth time I have been in here! Bloody senile old human.

  “This does not guarantee you a spot in a party, just allows you to apply for jobs and covers the administration of your documents …”

  Wow, this guy can prattle on. I cannot stand listening to people who think they are smarter than me. Or annoying people. Like this guy.

  “And after you are done with that there—”

  He suddenly stops and looks at me.

  “Did you hear anything I just said, boy?”

  “Of course I did! All this paperwork is not going to do itself. Here are the forty slips, and may I borrow a quill and well to finish this?”

  As he passes the writing kit over, I spy an empty table. Time to fill out this unnecessary paperwork. Looking at the forms, there are some interesting questions. Place of birth, okay. Name, I can do that. Skills and ability, well, that will be a short list. I can swing a sword, take orders, march, and scout—can not forget that one.

  Being a half-breed, the army just gave me the ‘fun’ jobs, the ones I had to do to gain citizenship of Favinonia. Okay, I can see in the dark—so? Bloody typical, racist lowlifes making me scout out enemy positions in the dark and cold of night! I can ride a horse too. Well, my horse. I loved that horse. Cannot remember its name now. The only one that would come near me; another fantastic trait of my half-breed background.

  I scatter a bit of sand to help the ink dry, and done! Back to Royce. Such a bothersome administrator.

  “With all your lollygagging, I thought this would take you longer.” He smiles and looks down at the form.

  “Let's have a look at this… An army boy, haven’t seen that much action.” He chuckles to himself, flicking through the pages as if they offended him personally. “This all seems in order. Here is your receipt. So, do you want your name in the pool for open Charter?”

  “Are no Charters looking for anyone at the moment? I am willing to do any sort of work, even if they do not want a new signing member. Ready to be signed on for a job or two.”

  “I have a group upstairs looking for a few members. I can put your name down but …” He pauses to point to a strong Folk and then to the armoured knight from the pit. “Those men seem to be more experienced than you. You are—no offence—a bit ordinary.”

  Mela, Jara, Jenell! Try being told that you are pretty much useless! Well, average then. When I served, I might not have been the cream of the crop, but I still was not one of those ‘special’ cases who did not know left from right. They were good for one thing: following orders, as long as you took the time to explain them thoroughly.

  “Okay, I’m not a knight in shining armour or a savage, but do not dismiss me. There must be people looking for someone, even just a body to fill a sentry spot.”

  “Come back in a few days. See if any other parties are coming through these parts.”

  Such a waste of time. I turn to leave, but Royce is still talking. “Well … there is one job on the Board. I don’t think they’ll mind a solo petitioning for this job.”

  He coughs again. Wow, do all older men have a phlegm factory in the back of their throat?

  “The town Watch patrol is looking for bodies to fill the ranks for the Duke’s upcoming tour. Three days’ work, good pay, and they aren’t too worried about experience.”

  Well, it is a job from the Hall. Beggars can't be choosers, or is it lazy people like money, hmm?

  “This would help me get out of a jam. Put my name down!” I exclaim. “So, what are the chances of me getting this job?”

  Royce looks up. “I send over the parties that wish to do the job. I’ll put you down as your Charter name of ‘Lone Solo’. Not much of a name, but it will do.” There’s that old man chuckle again; more phlegm than laughter. “They seem a bit rushed with this, so your chances are good.”

  Why am I only skilled to be a walking thug? Only have thirty slips left, not enough to pay Malik. I need this job! Hope it is not too dangerous.

  Chapter Four

  Journal Entry One continued…

  Yes, Lone Solo at this point. I thought Royce was a dick back then, but he did me a favour naming me Lone Solo. That name has become famous in some circles. Still, if I had known then what was going to happen in the future, I would not have paid off my debt to Malik. Malik aside, I still met Corbin and Pela; one became a friend, and the other became an enemy.

  The night I met Pela—wow! I love what happened between us, except for her occasionally threatening to cut off my ‘manhood’. If it were not for Roth, that murderous pig, we would never have met. I am glad he is not around anymore—prison counts as not present, right? Yes, Roth was not so wow …

  Time for dinner! Oh damn, I nearly forgot Malik’s loan. Even a part payment will be better than nothing. Not getting stabbed in the back by a thug at night is a good reason to have it paid and done. Where do I find a helpful, cheap courier service? Hopefully, it doesn’t cost too much to send a small package.

  Traders yell out their wares to me as I walk down Market Lane. Sometimes I can hear the catch in their voice like if I do not buy that trinket, their family will starve. Dwarves have it down to a fine art. It is hard not to care when a dwarf opens their mouth.

  I am increasingly amazed at how little imagination these people had when they decided to name the streets. Does Market Lane lead to the market, perchance? Okay, okay, I already know. I have been living in this town for nearly three months but still, think it is funny.

  There it is, a courier station: Jameson & Son. Wow. I mean wow, such an excellent sign. Maybe this street should be called Courier Street or Jameson Place? Upon entering, I can see the non-stop excitement in the droopy, white moustache of the attendant! Why do all administrators need to be crusty old men? At one time they would have been crusty young ones, but still.

  “Excuse me, I would like to send a package to the Anvil and Musket, attention to Malik. How much will that cost me?”

  “The cost will be twenty copper bits. You can have a brief message with it too.”

  Only twenty copper bits and even with a message! More money down the drain.

  ‘Dear Malik. Here are twenty-five slips. Pay the rest soon. Please don’t kill me. Love …’ so on and so forth. Wow, how annoying, begging for my life.

  As I step back outside into Market Place, I feel the need for an ale or a beer, and pie, or even some stew. Mmm, stew. I spy a half-breed vendor, clean-shaven with a hat and a spotless apron. Strange to see someone with such clean clothes.

  I head over. “What is on the menu today?”

  “Not much; still waiting for the local farmers to deliver. I have stew. It is a bit thin, but the bread should soak it up, and I will throw in a half pint as well for eighty copper bits.”

  As he opens the pot, there really is not much in there. Som
e floating vegetables and no chunks of meat. There is a hint of bitterness in the smell like it has been on for days.

  “Seems a bit old. How about fifty bits?”

  He sighs. I got him! “Fine, but yesterday’s bread.”

  Looking at the thin stew he puts in a clean bowl, I hand over a silver slip. I feel as though this is not the time to haggle, especially with a fellow half-breed. “I am sorry. Here, keep the change. What is your name, Mr Vendor?”

  A glint of moisture seems to come to his eyes. It must be the onion he chopped earlier. Mela’s grace, how I hated cooking in the army; mess hall prep was the worst.

  “Name is Brice Marden.” He hands me my bowl and a full pint, then makes a special point of choosing a fresh bread roll. His aqua hair poking out from under his hat is a dead giveaway he is a half-gnome. “Yeah, the stew’s been on the heat for a bit. All I can do is make good bread and add water to the stew. I’m not the only one hurting; even dwarves can’t get produce.”

  Breaking open the roll, the aroma of freshly baked bread is the best. I even spot grain and nuts inside. Tearing the little loaf apart, I throw it into the bowl. “Has anyone headed out to see what is happening?”

  “Yeah, us smaller vendors scraped some money together to hire a party. We haven’t heard anything from them yet.”

  Taking a swig of my amber brew, the taste is marvellous. Nutty, with a hint of the bitterness that marks a good ale. Far better than the Musket’s amber dishwater.

  A thought comes to me—a good way to save money. “I’m an Adventurer. If you give me a meal and drink once a day, I’ll have a look for you.”

  Brice regards me, his eyes full of suspicion. “Can I see your licence?” Damn it, all I have is the bit of paper Royce gave me. Showing him that, his face lights up. “Thank the Trinity! Mela, Jara and Jenell be praised! You’ll cost us far less than the Charter we hired last week.”

  Damn, I am too cheap! “I’ll ask around and see what is happening.”

  Now I’m kicking myself. I should have asked for money as well as food!

  “If you do this, to make it fair, I’ll give you two meals a day!’ he says. “We need the trade route to start again, but we should be all right as long as the grain and fish hold out, as they come by ship.”

  “Ah, thanks.”

  Another customer comes up, and Brice starts to talk to them. I need to start thinking about where to sleep. Shovelling food into my mouth, the flavour is probably the best I have tasted since… forever!

  As I enjoy the stew and bread, I start pondering my situation. I cannot go back to the Anvil. Too much of a risk, especially since I haven’t paid Malik in full. I could move to another inn, just in case the stabby thing is still on the cards. I cannot trust Malik as far as I can throw him. Yes, I will find a place to tide me over till I get this Watch work. Maybe Brice will know of a cheap place around here.

  I finish my meal and ale while he serves customers two and three. I can understand why he is popular; his bread is to die for! “Hey Brice, do you know of a cheap place to stay around here?”

  “An inn, or something more permanent?”

  Permanent? What is that? “Just an inn.”

  He cocks his head for a moment. “You could try Corbin’s.” He points to a dirty, grey brick building. “If you head towards that building and take the first alleyway, you’ll find it. Not the best place, but it’s the cheapest. Most places around here are expensive, but Corbin’s is the best price if you can deal with the company.”

  “Thanks, Brice. I will keep you up to date on my progress. See you later on, then.”

  He nods at me and starts to serve another customer.

  As I walk over to the grey building, I am not filled with confidence that this will be a nice place. The alley has very little light; spying people huddling in rags makes the atmosphere less appealing, but I only have four slips and seventy bits left.

  A worn and dirty sign has a name barely legible, apparent blood stains on the stone pathway, the smell of sewage and ale is evident.

  Okay inside could be better. Let us see; a piece of ceiling falls off in front of me. Must be Bruce’s sister inn. Cracked stone tables and roughly carved stones for chairs. Barman spitting into the glass to clean it; wrong, but what can you do? There is plumbing in Lake Merrin; why not rinse your cups with clean water, not spit?

  This place is not perfect,but no way Malik’s Boys will venture into enemy territory. I can tell that even threatened with the darkest pit of the Abyssus, I would not eat here. Time to barter for a room. Charisma, do not leave me now!

  “Good day, barkeep. I was wondering if you had a room free for the next few days?”

  He looks at me with watery, bloodshot eyes and grunts. His bald head is ringed with dirty blonde hair. He spits. Such a charming fellow.

  “Two silver slips a night. Three if you want company,” he said, roughly.

  “My dear … may I ask your name, barkeep?”

  “Corbin.”

  Glad this guy cannot read my thoughts.

  “My dear Corbin, I am only asking to stay a few nights, not buy the actual room. So how about we make it two slips for the next two days? I will be willing to offer my services as a bouncer for this period too,” I say, jingling my sword a little for dramatic effect.

  He looks me up and down and smiles. “You must be a Registered. Could use someone with that sort of talent.”

  Is it just me or is he even creepier now?

  “Okay, two silver slips for two days, but you’ll be doing double shifts and no food. Also, you sleep in the common room.”

  “I am willing to accept that offer.” Not much choice! “Four shifts in two days. How long are the shifts?”

  “Six hours. You’ll be on from dusk to dawn,” he eloquently grunts at me.

  Is it just me or has my luck turned? Either that or my negotiation skills are failing me. I will play out this shift, then head back to that joke of a place, Anvil and Musket, to pick up my stuff.

  Corbin grunts at me and hands me a heavy lead pipe from under the bar. “No swords! You can keep the knife, but don’t kill anyone in public. The Watch isn’t gentle when finding corpses around here, and if they do, it costs me a larger bribe. So, if I hear you’ve ended someone too close to my business I’ll make sure you pay the difference.”

  He leans in, and I am almost knocked out by his foul breath. When will people learn to use charcoal to clean their teeth? Heck, I do.

  “If you need to teach someone a lesson, throw them out, drag them into the lane in the back and give them a good kick or a little killing out there.”

  Again with ‘killing someone a little’. The villains around here use strange terminology.

  Scoping the place out, I take in all the sights and smells. Large saloon with twelve stone tables, a long bar with large stone blocks as seats; a raised stage for music, perhaps? Three bar wenches on the job and a couple of thugs who look rough. Well, three now, including me. I can crack a head if I need to, but I prefer to talk my way out of things.

  The atmosphere does not seem too hostile at the moment. A few workmen just knocked off, and a merchant or two sipping wine in the corners. Might be an easy job after all.

  Just have a little nap until my shift.

  Being shaken awake, it must be late as there are a few more people in here, and more pouring in. I look at who has shook me, and it is a beautiful, golden-blonde bar wench. Her loose, flowing skirt is not hiding those lovely legs.

  Looking around, well, I am not doing much here. Am I supposed to stand around and look intimidating? Maybe I should ask one of the veterans. Looking at those two bully boys, my best bet is to choose the oldest, if that is what he is. The one with the cauliflower ear and broken nose, with a jagged scar across it. He might be friendly; that would make a change.

  “Hey, I am new to this whole bouncer thing. Could you give me a few pointers?” He looks at me like I am a bad smell under his nose.

  “Bloody Corb
in! Another fish,” he growls. “Okay, Fishy. I'll say this only once, so listen up!” Fishy? Original. Usually, it is arseface, or my personal favourite—dung-head. “If you see someone grabbing the staff before they pay Corbin for their time, bash them. If you see a fight, bash them. If one of these gutter trash hits one of us, we take them out back and make sure they don’t make that mistake again.”

  Seems simple, really simple. “Sure thing. Bash anyone who gives us a wrong look. I can handle that.”

  He looks at me and smiles with pearly whites—strange to see that. “But because you’re a newbie, no one will come to your rescue tonight till you’ve cracked a few skulls.”

  Great, not too different from usual, then. “Crack heads.” Pipe in hand. “Can do.”

  Maybe I should leave the charming man alone now? I cannot believe people would pay for these ladies. Well, perhaps the petite maiden with the beautiful, golden-blonde hair. Must be a quarterling.

  “Hey, how much is she?”

  The thug looks, then smirks at me weirdly. “Two hundred slips.”

  What? Who is worth that? She might be, but still.

  “She has a particular taste in clientele too.” He looks me up and down, again weirdly. Am I missing something? “She doesn't go for white-backs like you.”

  Not that I could afford her. Nevertheless, that is a little racist for someone who is a half-breed themselves.

  “Might never have the money anyway. What's her name?”

  “Pela.”

  He grins at me as I ogle Pela’s physique. Now it really feels like I am the butt of the joke. His smile does not sit well, but he is an old thug.

  “You can take that section over there. If there’s trouble, deal with it.”

  Great. Thanks, man-with-no-name. At least I have Pela to stare at. She’s waiting tables in my section—best news! As I watch, she looks at me and frowns.

  Just give her a charming smile! Seems to work—she hides a smile herself, and maybe a giggle.

  Cannot believe I have never been in this bar before. Smells like the dives at the docks, but seems to be a bit quieter than the Anvil. I have no idea how Corbin makes any money—his customers appear to be mainly workmen. Easy job, for not being paid.