Magic. It had been magic that was at the root of his problems. Marcius felt that truth in heart, in the very marrow of his bones, and yet here he was, chasing that tempting mistress across the entire continent. Any sane man would have left long ago, given up that dream in the face of such loss and danger. If the whole situation wasn't so poignant to him, Marcius probably would have laughed at himself.
He felt helpless, adrift in an encompassing tide that was merely pulling him toward a destination that was unknown. There was little he could do but go along with the force and see where it led him. Apparently the building in front of him was one of the stops along his journey, a fact he had no choice but to accept.
The Black Rose tavern was written on a crude wooden cutout of a rose, and the sign hung by a single nail above the door, causing it to tilt to the side and sway as people left and entered the tavern. The stairs leading up to the door were rickety from countless patch ups, a mismatch of different woods and grains. The windows were cracked or, in some places, just not there. It looked as if the three story building might cave in on itself at any moment. It made Antaigne's place look like a mansion.
"Well," Jared put on his most comforting smile as he started up the stairs, "Let us go in and see how much trouble we can rouse?"
With a grumble about inappropriate humor, Alicia complied, following Jared up the patio stairs. Marcius hurried to stay near, not wanting to be left alone in such a place.
The stairs groaned warningly with each frantic step and the hinges protested loudly as Jared opened the door. The interior of the tavern was dimmed, so it took Marcius's eyes a few seconds to adjust. Marcius made sure to hold the door open a half-second longer so Faerril could flit his way in. There was no way he trusted leaving his familiar outside, even if the little creature was invisible. The flood of relief Faerril imparted his way showed that the tiny wyvrr agreed. He wondered, not for the first time, where Alicia's familiar was.
Various round tables, all mismatched in form and make, were arranged in a rough semi-circle in front of the bar. Judging by the worn floorboards in the middle of the circle, Marcius guessed that the tavern saw a bit of dancing. A fact he found hard to believe considering the sullen hostility he felt from the few patrons sitting at the tables. Blackened faces huddled behind their mugs, some raised in mid-drink, as they all stopped to regard the three of them. Marcius felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment and the edges of his armpits started to sweat profusely. What was he doing here!? This place wasn't for him. Just for a second he considered turning tail and bolting out the door. His familiar intervened.
Marcius! Remember your promise! This is nothing, and we still have so much to do! I am here, I am with you. You are not alone. You are never alone. Your friends are with you too. A strong wave of confidence washed over Marcius, driving away the self doubt.
Marcius took a deep breath, steadying himself with the comforting words of his familiar. Faerril was right. This was nothing compared to what he still had to do. Emboldened, he put on the most confident smile he could manage.
Thanks, Faerril.
No problem, Marc.
The dark eyes of the patrons continued to follow them as they walked toward the bar. Everything was eerily silent and the sound of their footsteps echoed as they approached. The bartender was a large bloated man with a shiny bald head and a bushy brown mustache that trembled as he muttered indecipherably to himself. He looked up from the glass he was cleaning. "What'ya want?" he lazily asked Jared as they approached, the mustache fluttering with each word.
"Do you have any rooms available?" Jared asked brightly. Marcius found himself envious of his friend's cool demeanor.
"Rooms, eh?" the man repeated Jared's question thoughtfully, taking a few extra wipes of the glass, "Yeah, we might have some rooms. You've some coins, I reckon'?"
Jared smiled. "Of course."
"Two silver a'night. No arguments or hagglin'," the man continued as if he hadn't heard Jared.
"Done." Jared reached into the pouch, and Marcius noted his friend kept the contents hidden. Pulling out two shiny silver pieces, he handed them to the man. The bartender was quick to take the money and, after biting it, was even quicker to deposit it in the bag hung about his neck. Tucking the bag protectively under his brown tunic, he reached under the counter and pulled out a small key.
"Yer room be the second one on the left, second floor. Might be a bit crowded with three people, but I guess you already knew that," he said, jerking a thick dirty thumb to the staircase off in the back of the room. "Name's Barry. Holler if you need anythin'."
"Well, Barry, a bit of crowding is not an issue. Thank you, my good man," Jared said, taking the key from Barry's outstretched fingertips.
Completely ignoring the rest of the bar, Jared turned around and smiled serenely at Marcius and Alicia. "Well now, that was simple. Let's go check out our room, shall we?"
The general atmosphere of the place seemed to retreat respectively back a bit, now that it was obvious that the strange visitors were nothing more than prospective tenants, though a few pointed eyes lingered on Alicia.
It was still mostly silent, a change from the few bars Marcius had attended back in Rhensford where the patrons were mostly rowdy sailors looking to unwind. Nonetheless, the hushed whispering of people amongst themselves was a marked improvement over the suffocating silence from moments before.
Marcius's relief lasted all the way up the stairs, through the dirty hallway, and the two seconds it took for Jared to open the door to their room. As soon as the door had creaked ominously open, all such thoughts vanished. Instead of the sanctuary they were expecting, what they got was a literal mess.
It was a rather small room with one corner housing a mattress supported on all sides by thick blocks of wood, and the sheets were stained a musty brown. The window above the mattress was cracked and a poor attempt was made in covering it with dirty cloth. A small shelf was set into the wall, misaligned and looking lonely with only a small, half-used, candle and its holder to keep it company. The floor seemed to have assimilated the filth of endless nights of excess, turning the formally brown floorboards into a grey-black waxy hue. If there was one thing that Marcius could find to praise the room, it was that at least there were no vermin running about.
He assumed they probably came out during the night.
"Well, at least now we know why this is the cheapest place in Harcourt," Alicia said tersely, stepping about the room warily as if the dirt was transmittable through her boots.
Jared sighed. "Look, Alicia, we're just going to have to make the best of it." He turned to Marcius with a pleading look in his eyes. "What do you think, Marcius?"
"I think. . . " and Marcius formed the words slowly, like a prayer, "I think. . . I think I need a drink."
The ring of their unexpected laughter echoed about the empty room, bringing some much needed humor to the whole situation. Suddenly, it didn't seem so bad. "Well," Jared began, running his fingers through his long blonde hair, "I think we can afford a bit of excess. But let's try to tidy up the room a bit first, eh?"
For once, everyone emphatically agreed.
Chapter 18
"Got yer coin, Simon?" Barry's outstretched hand waited expectantly.
"Of course, Barry. And just to show you that I am a man of my word, I'll pay for tomorrow as well," Simon responded, reaching into his pocket to pull out six silver pieces.
"Sounds good." Despite his words, Barry looked at the money suspiciously, as if it could be fake. Simon almost snorted. He did have some honor! Not much, but it was most assuredly there, buried right under the strong sense of self-preservation.
After a bit of inspection, which included a bite, Barry tossed the money in the pouch about his neck. Simon was turning to go up to his room when Barry's grubby fat hand shot out, grabbing Simon lightly by the forearm. Thinly disguised concern etched the lines on the man's face, and caused his thick mustache to quake."Listen, Simon, you'll be. . . ah. . . playing again tonight?"
Simon just smiled, though his thoughts were positively venomous. It was obvious why the barkeep wanted him. No doubt his playing loosened the tight purse strings of Barry's patrons. "Of course, Barry. Of course." He patted the man's arm in the most comforting manner he knew.
Barry shot him a greasy grin, complete with a missing tooth.
Trudging up the stairs, Simon went to his room to fetch his guitar, and then after a second of thought, scooped up his flute as well. Running back down, he was quick to take up his customary spot on a chair set against the back wall of the tavern.
He strummed a few test notes, tuning the various strings that had inevitably soured since last night. His gentle plucking caught the attention of the patrons as surely if it had been the tinkling of gold, and all were hushed as they all watched him; a fact he was well aware of, and even encouraged. He knew they enjoyed listening to him play, for it gave relief to their otherwise stale lives. Allowed them, if even just for a moment, to forget the sharp reality of the present. And he personally enjoyed obliging them on all fronts.
Simon paused, looking up and around the tavern. Every eye was on him, and he basked in the sheer power he held in that moment. Each person in the room was his to control, his fingertips alone decided the mood and disposition of his listeners. The knowledge of the sway he held over everybody was intoxicating and made him feel heady, as if he was literally drunk from the power.