tavern?'
'Look after your horse,' Li said, sliding out of the saddle, 'then come with me. You'll see what's wrong.'
– QER-»
Tycho stepped through the door flap of the pavilion and was immediately engulfed by fetid warmth. The main chamber of the makeshift tavern was already crowded with the guards and passengers of the caravan. Some sat at rough tables, others on rickety chairs, but most lounged against heaped cushions of indeterminate age and color. All of them held vessels-earthenware mugs, waxed leather drinking jacks-and drank and laughed with a vengeance. Many of the women of the oasis were there as well, a few serving the tavern's customers, but many customers themselves, gathered in clusters to talk or around tables to play some boisterous game involving rune-carved bone tiles and a number of knives.
'Hoil' shouted the women around one table.
They snatched up cups and drank. Their knives, striking the tabletop in an intricate rhythm, didn't miss a beat.
Charcoal braziers added to the heat. Fat dripped, sizzling and popping, from long skewers of meat onto the hot coals, the heavy smell of it fighting a valiant battle with the odors of smoke and bodies. Soot and grease from the braziers left a shiny coating on the fabric of the pavilion's walls. High in the folds of the roof, long strands of black grease swayed like noxious icicles. Stained carpets covered the ground, though they might have supported a small garden on the dirt mashed into them. Tycho's foot came down in a wet spot where something had been spilled and simply left to soak in.
Tycho turned and glared at Li as the Shou followed him in.
'Sweet chum in a bucket, Li! Are you saying you don't like this place because it's dirty?'
Li shifted, as if longing for the heavy dao saber he had left back at the caravan's campsite, and said, 'I don't like it because it's the most foul drinking house I have ever seen.'
'Then I'll look forward to seeing the wine shops of Shou Lung. They must all be scrubbed out every night and painted fresh every morning.'
He took a deep breath, savoring the smell of grilling meat and-
'Beer!' he gasped. 'Blessed Lliira, a break from that foul horse milk drink the Tuigan make!' He captured two mugs from a passing serving woman and thrust one at Li. 'Drink!' he ordered and drained his mug at a gulp.
The beer within was thin, sour, and studded with tiny, soft chunks that lodged against Tycho's throat and threatened to make him gag. Li gave him a gloating smile.
'Millet beer,' the Shou said casually. 'Brewed by the tavernkeeper in big goat skin bags.'
'Pagh.' Tycho stared at the residue that clung to the bottom of his mug and said, 'It tastes like the goats are still inside them!'
'Here, here,' boomed a loud, deep voice, 'who's giving away my secrets?'
A heavy hand fell on Tycho's shoulder and spun him around. Tycho stared up into the face of another Shou easily as tall as Li, but plump where Li was lean and smiling where Li was dour. It was the big man who had greeted the arriving caravan-and almost certainly the tavernkeeper. Tycho bent low.
'Honored master Ong,' he said in Shou, 'my humblest apologies-'
Ong waved him to silence.
'My beer is terrible,' he replied cheerfully. He held up a pitcher. 'Would you like some more?'
Tycho blinked, then laughed and held out his mug.
'Bad beer gets better the more it's drunk!' he said and toasted Ong when his mug had been refilled.
The tavernkeeper turned to Li.
'Countryman?' he asked, lifting the pitcher.
Li shook his head and replied, 'I learned my lesson last time.'
Ong's smile, almost impossibly, grew even wider. 'A return guest,' he said. 'I thought I recognized you. Let me see…' he closed his eyes in concentration. 'A warrior and a servant of the imperial bureaucracy unless I misjudge your stance. Your voice has the sound of Keelung in Hai Yuan province-one of the silk families of Keelung, I think.' Ong opened his eyes. 'Kuang LiChien.'
Li's eyebrows rose.
'Your memory is impressive.'
Ong shrugged.
'A tavernkeeper's trick.' Ong glanced back to Tycho and said, 'Now you speak Shou with the accent of Ch'ing Tung province, hut if you come from Shou Lung, I'll drink my own beer. You have the look of someone from Faerun's near west, but your accent eludes me. Your voice is excellent, however, and I'd wager that you can sing more than a little.'
'Tycho Arisaenn of Spandeliyon in Altumbel,' said Tycho with a grin. 'If you'd like a song, I'd be happy to oblige.' He slid the chunky wooden body of a strilling around on the strap that held it slung across his back and plucked one of the instrument's strings with his thumb. 'Though,' he added casually, 'it's the custom in Altumbel that a bard drinks for free as long as he plays.'
'Ancestors bless Altumbel!' roared Ong. 'I've often said it's the most civilized nation of Faerun! Come in, come in!' Wrapping thick arms around both men, he drew them farther into the crowd. 'My usual singer is away at present-gone raiding with the other men of the oasis, the ungrateful dog!'
'We'd noticed the scarcity of men around the oasis,' Li said. 'Aren't they afraid to leave their wives and children unprotected?'
'The men of this oasis have a fierce reputation,' Ong explained as they squeezed past a lounging cluster of merchants from the caravan. Ong freed Tycho from his embrace long enough to slosh beer into their mugs. The merchants cheered. Ong raised his pitcher in acknowledgment, then swept Li and Tycho along. 'No other ordu or bandit gang would dare raid this oasis for fear of reprisals-though if you were to suggest that to one of them they'd run you through.'
'They don't like to admit they're afraid?' asked Tycho.
'They don't like to admit they're afraid of men of flesh and blood,' Ong replied, nodding back toward the door flap. 'Local tales say that a powerful spirit dwells in the water here and the Tuigan will do almost anything to avoid offending it. It means they have some strange taboos but it also means-' He spread his arms wide and proclaimed loudly-'that there isn't a safer oasis in all the Endless Wastes!'
A mixture of travelers and local women shouted their agreement. Tycho looked toward the door flap.
'Is there really a spirit in the water?' he asked.
Li groaned and said, 'No.'
'But what if-?'
'No. No investigating, no exploring,' Li said, shaking his head as Ong raised one eyebrow in an unspoken question. 'Tycho has an unerring ability to find trouble.'
Tycho glared at his friend.
'And Li,' he said to Ong, 'has an uncanny ability to ignore anything at all interesting!'
Ong slapped his arms around both of them once more, drawing them close.
'Curious or dull,' he murmured, 'don't question the Tuigans' beliefs. They take them very seriously.'
Tycho gave him a disappointed look and asked, 'Have you ever seen this spirit?'
'So long as I am among the Tuigan,' said Ong, 'I have no doubt that it exists. And if you have any sense beneath your curly hair, neither will you.' He clapped them on the shoulders and stood back. 'Now I believe there was talk of a song?' He reached to refill Tycho's mug again, but his pitcher was finally empty. 'No matter,' he said and called out, 'Ibakha!'
A young Tuigan woman with a full pitcher of beer in her hand-the flirtatious young woman Tycho had seen as the caravan rode into the oasis-came pushing through the crowd. His disappointment vanished as she stopped at the sight of him. Maybe things wouldn't be so dull after all. He gave Ibakha a wink and another smile.
An older woman caught the gesture. In an instant, she was at Ibakha's side, snatching away the pitcher and delivering a few sharp words that made Ibakha flush as red as a bad sunburn. The young woman vanished into the crowd, while the older stalked up to Tycho, Li, and Ong. The pitcher she shoved at Ong, but her anger she unleashed at Tycho in a rush of Tuigan-accented Shou.
'You stay away from Ibakha, Faroon. She is betrothed.' She slapped Tycho in the center of his chest and repeated, 'Stay away from her!'
