Peanut shells covered the floor and crunched underfoot. The mouth-watering aroma of sizzling bacon filled the air. And a trio of musicians dressed in garish scarlet robes performed a raunchy melody to an audience that included a raft of empty tables, a slumped-over man in a green jacket, two squabbling women wearing too much makeup … and Chant Morven.
Chant had expected more people in Digger’s Bar, since the private lounge was connected to the Den of Games. He’d been down here a few times when it was shoulder to shoulder.
He crunched toward the back of the lounge. People said if you drank down three full draws of Digger’s Ale, you wouldn’t ask for a fourth. Instead, your friends would be carrying you home. Better hope you have friends, or instead you’d wake to the tender mercies of a press gang assembling a crew for some distant harbor.
The rear of the lounge was one continuous bar. And there sat Jaul. Chant’s son was leaning over the counter-top to whisper a confidence to Digger. Jaul shared none of his father’s stoutness; the young man took after his mother that way. The trio of daggers Jaul was so proud of rode on the young man’s belt in identical scarlet sheaths.
Digger was a black-bearded dwarf who smelled of hops and pork. He’d been Jaul’s friend from the time the boy was eleven years old. Chant blamed Digger for introducing Jaul to the Den of Games and to Raneger. If not for Digger’s constant encouragement, Jaul wouldn’t be taking coin from Raneger. It still rankled …
Chant sat down next his son. “I’ll have what he’s having,” Chant said to Digger. “And some of that bacon.”
The dwarf said, “Sure, sure.” He gave a contemptuous sneer.
“Well?” said Chant, glancing at the tapped keg.
Digger chuckled and finally moved to fill a tankard.
Jaul studiously ignored his father. He rubbed at a tattoo visible on his left wrist. It was the tattoo Raneger had given him, a crystal dagger inside a crashing wave. Chant hated it. It was a sign of allegiance to the crime lord that many of Raneger’s people displayed.
Chant forced a smile and said, “Jaul, glad you’re here. How … How’re you doing?”
“Fine,” snapped Jaul. His eyes went to the playing cards scattered across the bar. He began to sort through them. Silence stretched.
Chant knew the young man resented him. He had for years. Growing up human in a city predominantly populated with genasi had been hard. Too many bullies, and later, too many scuffles where the onus was always on Jaul to show he, as the
After Chant’s wife died, it would’ve been easy enough to leave Akanul. And he probably should have. But his pawnshop business was just beginning to turn a profit, and his nascent network of secret gatherers was becoming something more than a mere idea. He’d had coin on his mind; it was how he’d coped with the disintegration of his marriage.
Jaul had fallen through the cracks. He’d paid too little mind to the boy. Digger had probably saved Jaul’s life when he ran afoul of some toughs. According to the story Chant heard, Digger had charged into a melee that pitted Jaul against five others with nothing more than an improvised club. Since then, everything Digger said was law to Jaul. So when Digger told the young man there was a job for him at the Den of Games, nothing Chant could do or say made any difference. Well, he had made one difference-he’d managed to completely alienate his son and give Raneger the hook he required to make sure Chant wouldn’t flee his debt.
“Why’re you still here, anyway?” Jaul said suddenly.
“I’m waiting for my ale-”
“No, Pa, you know what I mean. Why’re you still working at the Den? Digger says you paid your debt to the house. You can go back to your pawnshop anytime.”
“Ah. Yeah, I’ve paid my debt. Raneger isn’t sending goons after me anymore to threaten my life-”
“That never happened!” said Jaul.
“It did. Open your eyes.”
Jaul looked disgusted. But he said, “All right, maybe. Probably just to scare you. But if Raneger sent you reminders, then I
Chant sighed. He knew Jaul was right. But he also knew his son drank too much for so early in the day. However, pointing that sort of thing out to his son was the best way to end a conversation. He decided to be honest.
“Couple reasons I’m here,” Chant finally said. “First, it’s the only way I can see you. You’re still my blood, and I want to look out for you.”
Jaul rolled his eyes. “Just like you used to?”
Sharkbite! Chant clamped down on the anger that was his automatic response. His son knew all the right triggers. “Second … well, the job I took, the one that paid me so well I was able to pay off Raneger’s crazy claim, well, it was dangerous. I got on the wrong side of Chevesh. He’s a fire mage that-”
“The crazy wizard?” Jaul turned in his seat to face his father. His eyes had gone wide with interest. Jaul hadn’t looked at him like that in more than a year. Maybe several years.
“Yeah, he’s crazy all right,” said Chant, warming to the topic. “A human trying to graft himself with genasi firesoul heritage. But the only thing he’s managed to accomplish is to bake his own brain.”
“What’d you do? Why’s Chevesh after you?”
“I asked him if he was responsible for some bad stuff going down around the city a few months ago. Nightmares coming to life, demons appearing and killing people. We had to sneak into his tower-”
“Damn, Pa! You snuck into Chevesh’s? What’d you find?”
Chant took his beer from Digger. He sipped and then said, “Chevesh had nothing to do with the abyssal plague we were hunting down, turns out. But he was mighty put out when he found me and Demascus in his sanctum. We managed to get away with just a few burns. But he recognized me, and he swore vengeance.”
Jaul shook his head, but not in disgust or fear. In admiration!
Chant continued, “I’d hoped that since he was soft in the head, Chevesh would forget. But, oh, how wrong I was. He hired assassins.”
Jaul swallowed his beer wrong. When the coughing subsided, he said, “Mystra’s Corpse! And you fought them off?”
“No. I should say, he tried to hire assassins-he thought he had. Chevesh contracted with someone on Raneger’s payroll. Raneger, who’d just collected my debt, had his proxy pretend to accept. Then Raneger summoned me to the Den and revealed the signed contract. Said that he’d be willing to permanently lose the thing if I’d put my secret-gathering network at his disposal for one year. That was six months ago.”
“Wait, wait. Master Raneger did that for you? Because … because he wanted to use
“Close your mouth, son, you look soft in the head. Is it so unbelievable that your old man built something that Raneger might value?”
“I guess not.” Jaul’s mouth twitched; an incipient grin.
Score one for the old man, Chant thought. He sipped his beer, hiding his own smile. Then he frowned. Impressing his son by revealing how a master criminal was exploiting the pawnbroker’s network wasn’t exactly how he wanted to mend fences with Jaul. He wanted to pull him out of this situation, not make it seem like something reasonable. Chant suspected he was a terrible role model. It was no wonder his boy-
“Hey, Pa, I’m heading over to the Plaza of Dancing Dolphins tonight. They got good music there, a better grade than this rat piss.” He waved at the musicians in the corner. “It might be all right, if you wanted to come?”
On the other hand, Chant thought, he couldn’t argue with results. “Sure, I’d like that.”
