Taisce looked at the collection of thieves, con-men, barbarians, heretics and perverts seated at the table in front of her and thought to herself, "This is not good."
The Twig and Berries was a wharf side tavern tucked in behind an inauspicious warehouse of no particular usage, and directly below The Cherry Blossom, the second biggest whorehouse in Port Eel. The inn was crowded and warm, the air stinking with the stench of unwashed bodies, stale booze and the filth caked rushes on the floor. Thick black smoke from the great fire pit in the middle of the room was tinted with the sweet, red smoke of burning colita leaf in the patron's pipes.
Just behind the bar was a long, curing stairway that disappeared into the ceiling. At last call, Hargo, the Troll bartender, would ring the 'cherry bell' and the door at the top of the stair would be flung aside. Scantily clan women with hard eyes would flood the room, hunting for drunken men desperate to spend their last coin on passing out on a stained feather mattress and to wake up penniless, shoeless and clueless on the street outside.
Directly across from Taisce sat a barbarian who looked fresh off the Thunder Plains. His blue black hair was shaved except for a top knot grown long to the middle of his back. Two jagged red scars on his cheek, marked him as a Lighting brave, one of the few who stalked and killed a thunder lizard alone. Much to her disappointment, he wore a sensible mailed jerkin and a long armoured kilt. She could imagine his golden red skin, stretched over large, tight muscles, ready to burst into action swinging a war axe as he rode a trihorn into battle. Then she imagined herself tending his wounds, her fingers tracing the many battle scars down his skin like soft leather.
Taisce coughed and took a long swig from her tankard before turning her attention to the man sitting one clockwise from the barbarian.
A moon elf, that looked promising at least. His very presence in the bar had been noted by many. It was rare to see them away from the capital. Just over seven feet tall, his body appeared slim from a distance, until you got closer and realized that it was the solid frame of a man nearly seven feet tall. Long silver hair, but not white, was pulled back from his strange, exotic features. The eyes were huge and dark, his nose lunging over a sharp over a mouth that opened just a little too wide. He wore a dark green ranger's cloak and the leather case cradled in the nook of one arm likely contained his mighty elvish moonbow.
Beside him, and next to her sat an old Dwar in a weathered, well patched cloak. His hair was cut short, brown mixed with steel grey. His face was scarred and his nose was large, broken and etched with veins. An eye-patch covered his left eye and he had appeared to have fallen asleep with his feet on the table.
To her left, on a stack of potato stacks borrowed from the kitchen, sat a colourful Nome. He was barely two feet high and most of that seemed to be nose. Eager, wide eyes were squeezed between the bulbous schnoz and an almost equally impressive bronze-coloured beard.
Finally, an abidenist in the tan coloured robe of his order. He was of average height, with a wide friendly face and strong brown eyes. Though the lines around his eyes marked him as an older man, his shaved head and bare face marked him as a mere noviate, not yet a monk.
Taisce took a deep breath and let it out slowly. If this is what she had to work with, then fine. The price on her head did not leave her a lot of options.
She stood up and got their attention by tapping her tankard on the crude oak table.
"Thank you all for coming."
Before she could say any more, the barbarian raised his hand and asked, "Can we order drinks first?"
"What? I don't care. Sure, go ahead." Taisce shook her head and plowed ahead. "As I was saying, since you're here then you saw my road signs. So you know why you're here."
Road sign was a secret alphabet of cryptic markings left by travellers on rocks and sign posts to warn other travellers of dangers, promise safe passage, recent news and even offers of work. In the cities they were known as street, or thief sign and were used by the nefarious to note easy marks, or warn others that they were encroaching onto marked territory.
"Shall we run a tab then?" the high elf said in a deep, smooth voice. When his suggestion got a round of unanimous and eager nodding from everyone but Taisce and the monk, he raised his hand and motioned to the nearest barmaid, a tiny elfling,
Before Taisce knew what was happening, the barmaid was standing next to the table staring in awe at the moon elf before her. Barely five foot tall, she was inhumanly thin and her face was sharp with high cheekbones, a dagger sharp nose and the same slitted mouth. Elflings worshipped their more civilized kin and venerated them like as royalty.
The barbarian snapped his fingers until he dragged her attention away from Uros. "A round of beers, please." he said to her. What are you all having?" he asked the rest of the group.
"The same!" exclaimed the Nome. He then addressed the elf. "Your pleasure, good sir?"
The elf looked dubious. "In here? Fine. A jug of wine I suppose." He looked directly at the barmaid, who held his gaze like a moth staring into a candle flame. "I will take whatever wine you have back there that is not, I repeat, is NOT 'fresh'. Do you understand?" The elfling nodded dumbly, still transfixed.
"Rum!" exclaimed the Dwar, suddenly snapping awake. "A bottle of your wettest rum!"
"I will have a water." said the monk. He spoke quietly, but his voice was warm and carried easily. "Do you have any fruit, or fresh vegetables?
''Good idea, friar." the Dwar said approvingly. "A round of vittles, wench. We'll take a plate of bread and cheese, plus a bowl each of whatever's warm. And a plate of fruits and vegetables for his holiness here."
"Have you got all that?" the High elf asked the barmaid. When she nodded he sent her scurrying back to the bar with a dismissive flick of his hand. The elf then turned his Zucchettoe back to Taisce.
"You were saying?"
Taisce frowned. Her mouth opened, then shut again. She began to speak, but stopped without a single uttered syllable.
"You alright?" The Dwar asked. Something occurred to him, "So sorry, girl. We didn't order you anything! I'll call the wench back, hang on." he put two fingers into his mouth a let out an ear piercing whistle.
"No! Stop that!" Taisce barked at him. 'All of you shut up and I am not paying for this!"
"That's all right, we're running a tab." the barbarian said helpfully.
"Most generous of you." nodded the Nome.
"Look, I brought you all here because I think that I think I might be on to the biggest find since the Emerald Labyrinth. I'll get right to the point. Have any of you heard of the Bleeding Canyons?"
The Dwar and the elf raised their hands. The barbarian watched them and then halting began to raise his own, but quickly dropped it when he caught a hard look from the elf.
Taisce thought to herself, "Excellent. Now we're getting their attention."
"Well, what if I told you that I have a map ..." she said.
A platter of drinks dropped in front of the Nome with a splash. "Cuze me." The barmaid had returned flanked by two stout waitresses and a kitchen boy, all carrying trays laden with drinks and food. There was a few minutes of polite kerfuffle as the trays were unloaded on the table, their contents passed and trade until each was squared away. Then suddenly everyone was quiet and staring expectantly up at Taisce.
"Uh...." was all she could get out.
The Nome stood on his chair and bowed politely towards her. Even on the bench and pile of burlap he was standing on, the little man barely reached Taisce's chin. "If I may?"
Still stunned she must have done something because he bowed again and addressed the group. "On the road, we have a saying; 'When eating dinner with a duck, quack'. It does not translate well, but it simply means that on the road, you always treat strangers as friends."
The Dwar snorted. "I heard that in Nomeish, 'friend' means the same as 'customer'"
The Nome nodded proudly. The tall felt cap on his head was bright orange with silver stripes. He wore a pink blouse under a long coat that was covered in silver and grey diamonds. His pants had long vertical stripes of red and green, tied at his waist with a wide white sash. Two, snow coloured curled toed shoes adored his proportionally large feet.
"We pride ourselves on the services we provide all our friends."
The Dwar nodded back at him. "Fair go. You were saying something about a duck?"
The Nome picked up one of his flagons and raised it high. "Indeed. I, Maghas Dilo would like to welcome you all here as friends."
The Dwar raised his own bottle and motioned for the rest to raise their own. "Which means never play him at cards. Quack, quack."
"Quack, quack" repeated the table, and they all took a drink.
Taisce sat down heavily.
"What is wrong, my dear?" the Nome said in alarm.
"The waitress forgot her order." explained the barbarian.
The monk held out her plate, containing a slice of bread, a thin slice of cheese, a mouldy apple and a withered, unwashed carrot. "Here, have mine."
Taisce weakly held up her hand, then crossed her arms and put her head down on the table.
