“And what makes you think that these people will know anything about my mother?”
Lee shrugged. “They may not. But at least they'll know the best way to get into Angraalunnoticed.”
About an hour before they reached Klinton, they stopped and donned clothing Lee had acquired from the deckhands on the riverboat. Simple brown wool shirt and pants, and travel-worn boots would fit in nicely.
“These clothes smell,” remarked Jacob, with disgust.
Lee smiled. “All the better.”
Klinton was little more than a trading post. Miners and trappers used it to peddle their wares, so as not to make the long journey south. Though not as dangerous as the towns near the Razor Edge Mountains, it did attract highwaymen and bandits of all sorts, hoping to find merchants foolish enough to travel without an escort.
The street lamps were just being lit, and the main avenue was still busy. The taverns still would be empty. Lee hoped to get lodging before the local riff-raff took to drink. He was familiar with this town, though he hadn't been there for many years. The last time he was there, he had gotten himself into a tavern brawl in which Millet was nearly knifed. He chuckled under his breath at the thought of Millet scolding him after the fight. He missed his company, now more than ever.
Lee led the horses down the main avenue, then down a side street to one of two lodging houses. It was by far the most run down.
“We're staying here?” asked Jacob. His lip was curled in disgust.
“We'll be staying in far worse before it's over,” Lee replied. “Compared to where we're going, this is a palace.” He dismounted. “Stay with the horses until I get a room and arrange a stable.”
Lee entered the lodging house and stood just beyond the doorway. The main hall was sparsely furnished with a few chairs and a wooden bench. An old blackened, brick fireplace in the far left wall burned brightly. Still, the room was chilly and unpleasant. A fat, balding man wearing a stained tunic was asleep in the corner, a mug of ale precariously balanced on his round belly. The lodge was otherwise empty.
Lee slammed the door shut, startling the innkeeper awake. The mug fell to the floor, shattering and splashing ale on the man's dingy trousers.
“Bloody hell!” cursed the innkeeper. He looked down at his spilled ale and grumbled. When he saw Lee standing there he frowned. “What do you want?”
“A room, fat man,” said Lee. “And be quick. And send someone to stable my horses.” He reached in his belt and pulled out two coppers.
This did nothing to change the innkeeper's demeanor. “Do I look like a groom to you?”
“No,” Lee replied. “Grooms are cleaner. Now get off your backside, and have my horses tended.”
The innkeeper snorted, then threw himself to his feet with a grunt. He walked over to Lee and snatched the coppers from his hand. “Grant!” he bellowed harshly, spittle flying from his mouth. A rustle came from behind the door just on the other side of the counter. A moment later, a bent old man emerged. Smiling a stupid, toothless grin, he moved with surprising speed.
“Yes, sir?” said Grant.
“Go stable the horses outside,” growled the innkeeper. “And don't take all night.”
Grant spun around and dashed out the door. Lee followed. After unpacking their belongings Lee tossed Grant a copper.
“Thank you, kind sir,” said Grant, almost groveling.
“Just see that they're well-tended,” said Lee.
“Of course, of course,” Grant replied. “You can count on me, sir.” He bowed low then led the horses away.
“What a wretched creature,” said Jacob.
Lee looked at his son. “I would say pitiful, rather than wretched.”
The innkeeper showed them to their room and without a word, shuffled off, cursing under his breath. The room had four walls, three cots, and nothing more. A cold draft seeped in from the cracks in the rotten floor timbers and the window had been boarded up.
Lee grinned at his son. “I've stayed in worse.” He placed his pack in the far corner. “We'll find a meal elsewhere. I doubt the good innkeeper will provide one.”
Jacob tossed his pack next to Lee's. “I hope the food in this town is better than the lodging.”
“Don't count on it.” Lee led Jacob from the room and back to the main hall. The innkeeper had retaken his place in the chair, holding a new mug of ale. “If anyone touches our belongings, I'll hold you accountable.” He tapped the hilt of his sword.
The innkeeper scowled. “Your things will be fine.”
The nearest tavern didn't even have a name, only a sign that read ‘Tavern.’
Lee surveyed the streets. The traffic had thinned a bit, and Lee suspected that in an hour or two the lodges and taverns would be full; he hoped with people that could be of use. Inside was unremarkable, and typical for a trading post tavern. Two long tables spanned the breadth of the room to the left side, and several small tables surrounded them. A fire burned in the hearth to the right beside a small bar. The bartender, a thin waif of a man, was busy arranging rows of clay mugs. The scent of cooked meat filled the air. Lee knew this would be replaced by the stench of ale and unwashed bodies soon enough.
“I suppose you'll be wantin' to eat,” called the bartender, not bothering to look up.
Lee approached the bar and slid four coppers to the bartender. “I'll be wanting information as well.”
The bartender raised an eyebrow, and quickly shoved the coppers in his pocket. “That'll be fine.” He looked up, his gaunt, unshaven face bore the lines and pits of too many winters. “And what information will you be wantin'?”
“I'll let you know,” Lee replied. “For now, just bring me and my friend some food.”
Without another word the bartender spun around and headed to the kitchen. Lee and Jacob took a seat at a table, farthest from the door.
“Do you gamble?” asked Lee.
Jacob shrugged. “When the urge strikes.”
Lee nodded approvingly. “Good. There will be games, and I want you to join in.” He took two silver coins from his purse and gave them to Jacob.
“And what will you be doing?” asked Jacob.
“Watching,” Lee replied.
About halfway through their meal, people began arriving. Within two hours the tavern was full to bursting, and with just the sort Lee had counted on. Mostly locals lined the long bench tables, but the outer tables were taken by a myriad of tough looking characters. As Lee had instructed, Jacob joined in a game of dice in the corner by the bar. By midnight, the place was getting rough. Several fights had already broken out. In one, a knife had been pulled and a local man was nearly gutted by what looked to be a sell-sword. Luckily, it had been stopped before it got too far out of hand.
Jacob was doing well at dice, and had nearly doubled his money. This naturally did not sit well with the regulars, who were accustomed to fleecing newcomers. Lee knew he would need to keep a close eye on him. He made certain that a pitcher of ale stay full, and constantly on the table, though he only pretended to drink. Better to have all your wits. Jacob, however, did not take such precautions, and let the ale flow freely.
Lee took notice of several merchants, accompanied by stout swordsmen. One particularly fat merchant was letting his coin pass a bit too easily, and his tongue wag too loosely. Before long he was boasting about his adventures and wealth between long draughts of wine. The guard he had with him looked irritated, and more than a bit on edge. The bartender had told Lee that the merchant had dealings in the north, and always stopped there on his way to Angraal.
“You accuse me?” Jacob's raised voice snapped Lee to attention.
Jacob and three locals had squared off in the corner, and Jacob's hand was on the hilt of his dagger. The locals had already grabbed up bottles; one had brandished a small knife. Lee leaped to his feet, and pushed his way through, to the commotion. Lee made it just as Jacob was about to pull his dagger.
“What the hell is going on here?” roared Lee. His eyes looked accusingly at Jacob. “What did I tell you, boy? You'll send us both to the hangman's noose.” He stepped in front of Jacob and roughly snatched him by the collar. “Get to the table, whelp!” He pushed Jacob aside, nearly lifting him off his feet.
Jacob glared. “They-”
