Now it served another purpose. He watched the stool zip across the bar, and collide with Camden's head with a hollow thud that even made Marcius wince, and continued its course to the caster, who promptly ducked. The furniture hit the wall, and with a thump, it hit the ground.
Camden had just enough time to fix Marcius with an astonished expression, mouth agape, before his eyes rolled up into his head and his feet buckled underneath him. He joined Anthony on the floor, as well as the ruined chair, shards of glass decorating the edges.
"Oh thank you great wizard! Your help was most appreciated!" The girl had appeared in front of him and now was rousing her father who was beginning to stir. "Camden never used to be like this, then he started drinking." Her eyes grew sad at the statement; her bottom lipped trembled as she bit it. "I hope he isn't hurt, he always feels so bad when he learns about what he did when drunk. He drinks to forget though. Please don't blame him." Tears started welling up in her brown eyes.
"Aye, honey," Anthony was now awake and intently listening to his daughter fill him in on the events that happened. "Underneath it all, the lad is a good boy, just can't take his alcohol. Brother went off to the war up north. They were close them two, and he drinks ‘cause he worries so. Still Mary, drinks or not, he shouldn't be treatin' you like that." He gently grabbed her chin and inspected her face. He gave a grimace as he rubbed the side of his own face before dusting off his dirty apron as if it helped. "Now, wizard is it? I think I owe you an apology. I was just gonna take your money and send you ona' wild goose chase. Let's talk 'round back and I'll show you why. Lil' stuffy here."
"I'm no wizard, I just picked up a few tricks here and there. I'm not good enough to be part of the Academy, really. But yes, I am interested in seeing the dwarf." The grin Marcius felt on his face most assuredly debunked the attempt at modesty. He felt aglow with accomplishment, though he had only performed a simple can-trip.
They didn't know that.
He noticed that the bar was still quiet, and every eye was trained on him. An aura of apprehension filled the room. The only sound was his labored breathing as the excitement of the encounter settled.
Magic was frowned upon in these parts. Sailors are a very superstitious crowd to begin with. Sprinkle in the mysteries of the arcane, and you easily got yourself a recipe for trouble. He could hear the wheels turning in their heads, trying to decide how dangerous he was, and whether it was worth remembering what had transpired.
Anthony solved the latter problem. "Now see here you lot," the bartender was now the focus, "You'll forget what just happened here, this good man did this bar a service. Now! Free drinks on the house!" He motioned to a barmaid for the kegs to be brought out from the cellar. The room burst into applause and quickly resumed its atmosphere of nonchalance, glasses tinkling merrily.
Marcius was impressed with the way the bartender handled that. His grateful look was returned by the bartender. The man then ordered one of the more muscular men to pick up the still unconscious Camden and place him in a secluded corner. The man's daughter was cleaning up the debris from the fight, gingerly sweeping up the glass that still littered the floor. Marcius was startled at how quickly all trace of the encounter was wiped up; obviously this wasn't the first time they had cleaned up after a fight.
The older man led Marcius to a door that he hadn't noticed before in the dark room. Fumbling around for a key, he opened the door and gestured Marcius inside.
T he small room was faintly lit like the rest of tavern, though the universal smell of alcohol somehow managed to be even stronger than the tavern itself. As his eyes scanned the room, they came to rest upon a small ratty cot that was thrown against one corner, and on it lay, who Marcius could only assume, was Raggor. The dwarf seemed to be passed out, since a loud snoring could be heard. The sickeningly sweet smell and several kegs littering the room gave away the reason as to why he was in that condition.
" He pays well for the peace and quiet, and I try to give it to him. Best payin' customer I have," the bartender muttered. "He was a friend of the previous owner o' this place. When I bought this place from the dwarf, he made me promise to treat this dwarf right, gotta lot on his mind he does. Apparently there be trouble in the dwarven city of Thrimghol; then again, there be trouble everywhere nowadays." That would explain where this tavern got its name. Marcius stored the tidbit about the dwarven capital away, making a note to bring it up to Antaigne as well.
"I understand. I'll write a message instead. Mind giving it to him then when he comes to?" With an enthusiastic nod, the man indicated he would. Marcius fumbled in his pack for some paper and the bartender loaned him a stick of graphite.
Master Raggor,
I would like to order two kegs of your finest dwarven stout. Deliver at the Realure estate before the next sundown. I will pay whatever price you set.
Marcius Realure
P.S: Your secret is safe with me.
He folded the letter up and handed it to Anthony, who respectfully placed it within one of the pockets of his dirty apron. Marcius had to refuse an offer for a drink on the house. He no longer felt the need for the spirits, and instead he opted to purchase a sandwich from a street corner food seller located outside the bar.
As he bit into the juicy, albeit greasy, sausage, the full reality of what he'd just done hit him. It was the first real world application of magic. Despite the bungling of the sleep can-trip, Marcius was rather proud of himself.
He managed to stop a huge, rather irate man without having to physically fight him. Which he considered a lucky break since the only fighting experience he had was the little fencing he did during particularly boring afternoons. Even then, he wasn't very good at swordplay. In the barroom fight, he had the sneaking suspicion the drunken man would have ripped him in two. With the mental equivalent of a pat on the back, he ran through what remained for him to gather for the dwarven wizard.
He had the stout. He still needed the fruit, host, herbs, and the magical ingredients. Fredalyn's Menagerie should be open by now. Marcius looked up, the sun was high above him and the heat was starting to bake the cobblestones.
Another thought entered his mind. Perhaps he should see what the Mage Lady wanted? Last thing he wanted was for her to become even more stuck up. He resolved to check up on her after his duties to Antaigne. Marcius still had his priorities. With a large bite he finished off the last of the sandwich, wiping the grease from his hands on the side of a passing wagon.
Chapter 03
Fredalyn's Menagerie was a collection of exotic animals in cages located on the outskirts of town. One could generally follow the pungent aroma of animals to locate it. They pitched their tents around the beginning of summer and stayed till about mid-fall, when they went off to acquire more attractions from various distant lands.
Fredalyn was someone whom he was briefly acquainted to, a stout little woman with a soft spot for animals and an even softer spot for gold. She was one of those people you greeted on the streets if you passed each other, but you went out of your way to avoid at all other times.
Marcius jingled the coins in his pouch subconsciously as he walked. They were his greatest ally in the upcoming bout, and hearing the soft tingle comforted him. He wasn't looking forward to dealing with Fredalyn. His feet betrayed him, and thus he found himself in line at the front of a striped tent, unpleasant sounds and smells coming from the confines. Wiping the sweat off his forehead, he waited for the line to advance.
"Move along people," a positively grating, and regrettably, familiar nasally voice could be heard above the general noise that accumulates from many people being forced to wait. "That'll be three coppers, thank you, move along. Hey you! Try that again and you'll be thrown out. Three coppers, thank you, step inside." The line thinned and eventually Marcius was staring at the owner of the voice, Fredalyn.
She was a small woman who bustled with untamed energy. Her flashy multicolored silk dress swayed just clear of the churned mud as she directed the visitors into the tent.
"Mistress Fredalyn, if I may partake a moment of your time." Marcius fought a grin onto his face that he hoped seemed sincere.
"Marcypoo, is that you? Oh my goddess Avalene, it is! What brings you to my humble abode?" She quickly indicated to one of her workers that he was to watch the front gate for her, using a glare that suggested untold punishments should he fail, and fell into step with Marcius who was already walking away from the line of people.
"Of course Fredalyn, I've come to ask a favor from you." He cringed inwardly at the usage of "Marcypoo."
"Please, call me Freddy. What can this humble woman do for you?" And your purse.
"My father has recently acquired a very fussy, but important customer. He has a soft spot for animals. He sent me to pick up a goodwill gift if you catch my meaning." The eagerness in her eyes and the increased bounce in her step indicated that she did indeed.
"Ah, and thus your first thought is of my meager establishment! Bravo Marcypoo, I would be honored to help you out!" She clapped her hands together excitedly, no doubt imagining the fees to come for the service. She led Marcius to the back entrance, the guards quickly let them pass and the stench of animals grew stronger along with the heat.