From all around him, the buzz of conversation is subdued as they all wish to hear and enjoy the music of the musicians. From out of the buzz, one comment is overheard from a man sitting just behind him.
“…hear the Empire’s ambassador is seen going to the castle regularly the last few days.”
“I heard that too,” the other man at the table says.
Turning around, James asks them, “Did you just say there’s an ambassador from the Empire here?”
Somewhat taken aback at his interrupting their conversation, one man says, “It isn’t polite listening in on other people’s conversation.”
“How rude,” the other man says with an annoyed expression.
“Sorry,” apologizes James and turns back to his own table.
He feels a tap on his shoulder and turns to find one of the men looking at him. “But yes, there is an ambassador from the Empire here, has been for a little over a week.”
“That’s right,” says his friend, nodding in agreement. “Why he’s here isn’t known though, but the popular rumor is that they want us to join their fight with Madoc.”
His friend laughs at that, “Like that would ever happen.”
“Thank you,” replies James.
The man nods his head and then resumes his conversation with his friend, this time keeping their voices slightly softer to avoid being overheard again.
Leaning close to Illan, he asks, “Did you hear that?”
“Yes I did,” he says. “If you figure the time it took the herald to reach The Ranch and how long it took us to get here, then we could assume he was dispatched shortly after the Ambassador’s arrival.”
“What could that mean?” asks James.
“Not sure,” he replies, “but you’ll find out soon enough tomorrow.”
“I suppose,” states James. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Dave give out with a big yawn.
“Tired?” he asks his friend.
Nodding, Dave says, “I think I’ll head up and go to sleep.”
Handing him the key, he says, “Alright, I probably won’t be up for a couple of hours.”
“Don’t worry about me,” replies Dave. “I’ll be dead to the world in a short while.”
As Dave leaves, Jiron watches him go with some delight. “I thought I’d take Fifer and we would tour the bars tonight and see what we could find out.”
“Not a bad idea,” agrees James. “See if you can discover any more rumors regarding the Ambassador’s visit.”
“Will do,” states Jiron. Getting up, he glances to Fifer and says, “Ready to go?”
“Always,” he says.
They move away from the table and head out the door.
Illan, Miko and James remain at the table late into the evening enjoying the music. Once he starts yawing, James gets up and heads to his room where he hears Dave’s snores coming from within before he even opens the door.
Getting undressed in the dark, he slips into the other bed and quickly falls asleep.
Jiron and Fifer leave the Silver Bells and head to the outer section of the city. There they’ll find the more disreputable establishments where rumors flow more readily. Never staying very long in any one place, they have a few drinks while listening to the conversations around them. Once in awhile asking a few discreet, innocent questions before moving to the next.
By the fifth such dive, they have accumulated rumors ranging from an attempt to kidnap/assassinate the king to an arranged marriage between one of the king’s daughters and a noble within the Empire. All of which seems rather implausible. The most improbable story yet is how the Empire is here to open a slave market within Cardri where they can sell the slaves taken in their war with Madoc. How that one started, no one seems to know and few believe. One man said, ‘It’ll be a cold day in hell before that ever happens’.
They wander outside the outer walls and plan to hit some of the seediest places yet. The first one they enter must have been standing a very long time. The walls are slightly slanted and most of the windows are boarded up. The odor and density of the smoke within makes it hard to breathe.
Moving to the bar, they order a couple drinks and set about drinking as they take in the clientele. Most are what Jiron would call sewer rats, little more than drunkards and layabouts. The fact that they’re even in a place like this tells him all he needs to know.
One man sitting at a table near them, who only has one hand, catches Jiron glancing in his direction. That is all the excuse he needs. Getting up from his chair, he moves toward him and says, “I don’t like the way you’re staring at me!”
The other patrons perk up at that. “No trouble tonight, Lonn,” says the barkeep from where he stands behind the bar.
“I’m not looking for trouble, mister,” Jiron says to him. “I apologize if I’ve bothered you in any way. I assure you it was not my intention.”
“You think I don’t know what you’re thinking about ol’ Lonn?” the man asks, anger beginning to build in voice. “Poor ol’ Lonn. One handed he is and good for nothin’!”
Jiron can smell the liquor on his breath. He’d like nothing better than to put Lonn on the floor, but he doesn’t want to do anything that could come back to James. “I’m not thinking anything like that,” he says, trying to diffuse the situation. “Here,” he says as he produces a coin out of his pouch, “let me buy you a drink.”
“I ain’t no drunk!” he says, now enraged. Using his one good hand, he takes a swing at Jiron’s jaw.
Easily anticipating what Lonn was going to do, he blocks the attack and follows through with a punch to the jaw. The blow snaps his head backward and Lonn stumbles into a table with three men. He smashes the table, tossing the men’s drinks onto the floor, one which spills across one of the men’s shirt in the process.
“Get them!” the man cries as he and his two buddies launch themselves at Jiron and Fifer.
Fifer flashes a grin to Jiron as he moves to meet the oncoming men. Both he and Jiron are veterans of the fight clubs back in the City of Light and readily wade into the men. The first man approaching Fifer soon finds himself lying on the floor several feet away, blood running out of his nose from where Fifer had connected with a roundhouse.
Jiron joins the fray as he deflects an uppercut from one individual while striking out with his foot at another. Fists and feet flying, he and Fifer mow them down quickly and it’s over before it even begins.
Standing back to back, they look around at the men lying on the floor groaning. When no others move to join the fray, they relax and return to the bar to finish their drinks.
“Sorry about that,” replies Jiron to the barkeep behind the counter.
“That Lonn’s a hothead alright,” he says. “You boys sure know how to handle yourselves.”
“Thanks,” says Fifer with a grin.
“Would you be interested in making a little extra money on the side?” the barkeep asks.
Shrugging, Jiron replies, “Maybe, what do you have in mind?”
“There’s this group of individuals who are looking for someone to fight their champion,” he says. “They would pay pretty well, whether you win or lose.”
“What kind of fight?” asks Jiron, interested. “Fists or weapons?”
“If you fight with weapons, you get more,” he says. “But you can choose either way.”
Jiron looks to Fifer who’s wearing a grin. “When would this take place? I’m not sure how long we’ll be here,” he tells him.
“Tomorrow night,” he says. “Would you boys be interested?”
“Possibly,” says Jiron. “Where would the fight take place?”
Gesturing behind him, he says, “Out back. There’s a small lot behind us that’s fairly clear. We’ve held fights like these out there from time to time.”
Nodding, Jiron says, “How much?”
“Weapons, you get a gold,” he says. “Just fists, two silvers.”
“Win or lose?” he asks.
“Win or lose,” the barkeep replies.
Nodding, Jiron says, “Alright, I’ll do it.”
“Great!” the barkeep says excitedly. “Just two hours after sundown tomorrow night.”
