But unlike ocean air, this smell was a mixture of land and water. It reminded Whill of Sidnell. He hadn’t seen Teera and her daughters in over two years, since he and Abram had last visited, and he had the feeling he wouldn’t see them again for a long while.
As they ventured into the heart of the town, Tarren pointed out a small Inn. Much like the other buildings it was a log structure, two stories high with many small chimneys perched on its roof. The sign above the door read HAGUS’S INN. Tarren led the way and opened the main door for Whill and Abram. Inside, the room was filled with smoke. More than a dozen fishermen sat at small tables or at the bar, drinking and talking loudly. Some of the folks could have been locals; there were a few couples within, and a group of women dancing in the middle of the room. Six Eldalon soldiers sat at one table, drinking and talking in hushed whispers as they eyed the three newcomers. In the far left corner there was a small band consisting of a fiddler and two guitarists, all singing in harmony.
Whill was familiar with the old drinking song, for he had heard it in countless other taverns and pubs. He hummed along as he looked around the room. The main room had a high cathedral ceiling; stairs on the right led to the second-floor balcony which boasted many doors and no windows. There were few large and many small tables about the main floor, and a small bar at the rear. Abram led them to the bar. As they made their way across the room, many eyes followed. Whill did not meet them but he sensed that they came from the soldier’s table. The bartender was a stout, rugged-looking fellow with a white beard down to his belt. He wore a fisherman’s cap and brown overalls with a white shirt. Both shirt and beard were filthy, most likely due to his lack of an apron. He smiled as they approached and wiped his hands on his beard. His leathery skin seemed to stretch uncomfortably as he presented a toothless grin. He didn’t seem like the kind of man who did a lot of smiling; Whill could see that it was a rehearsed version of his real smile.
“Good day, good day, friends! Name’s Hagus. What can I do for ya?”
Before Abram or Whill could respond, Tarren spoke up. “We’ll be needing a room for the night, three cots if you have ’em, and hot baths if you could.” He grinned at Whill and went on. “We been at sea for a long and dangerous haul, and need bath and good food. I can still feel the pirate scum on my skin.”
Abram laughed, and Hagus frowned. “The boy’s name is Tarren,” Whill said. “I’m Whill, and this is Abram. Tarren is right we could use all he requested. The room we’ll need only for the night, if you have one available.” He mussed Tarren’s hair.
Hagus maintained a steady frown as he pondered on something, and with the absence of his teeth, his bottom lip touched his nose. “Pirates, says you. Is the boy one with a wild and fibbin’ imagination, or does he speak true?”
Abram gave Tarren’s shoulder a slight squeeze. “The boy has a good imagination, yes, but a liar he is not. I’m afraid the tale is a long one, but if you could get us what we need, we could tell you the tale of Cirrosa and the slaves over some Dragon’s Brew.”
“Cirrosa!” Hagus yelled, catching the attention of half the room. He bent low and whispered, “You’ve seen the pirate Cirrosa? That scum hasn’t been spotted in these waters in over a year.”
Whill bent low to match the bartender’s stance, and after an animated look around he said, “Seen him we have. His blood dries upon my friend’s sword as we speak.”
Hagus’s bushy eyebrows seemed in danger of leaping from his face. “No!”
“Yes. Would you like to be the first on land to hear the story, or can you not accommodate us at this time?”
Hagus fumbled for some glasses. “No, no! No-um, Dragon’s Brew you said? Comin’ right up, and-oh. Sheria! Sheria!” he called towards the bar door which led to the back of the inn.
A woman of about fifty emerged carrying two bowls of stew. She wore a long brown dress with orange trim, and a brown handkerchief upon her head holding up her long grey hair. She was pretty, with a more natural smile than Hagus’s.
“Sheria,” Hagus said hastily, “after you’ve served those, get our guests a room ready. Make it the north room.” He poured the Dragon’s Brew from a large barrel mounted on the back wall. Sheria nodded and began on her way as Hagus burst out again, “Wait, woman, I’m not done! Have three baths prepared, and see to their luggage and horses if they have any.” He turned to Whill as he set the beer in front of them. “Do you have horses?” Whill shook his head in amusement. “No horses? Never mind, em, ah, and also have Jenna cook up the special-three orders, right, and not today’s special, the
Sheria didn’t move. She merely stood and gave Hagus a look that could kill a dead man. Though Whill thought it impossible Hagus blushed and gave a weak smile, “Please, my love?”
Sheria nodded, satisfied. “Of course, dear.”
She gave them a small bow and went on her way. Hagus gave out a long breath of air. “My wife, she’s a doll. Jenna, she’s our daughter, she’s the cook in the family. My other daughter, Oreona, she works with us also. Now, uh, where was I-oh, yes-young lad, could I interest you in some cider?”
“Please, sir!” Hagus got Tarren a tall glass of cider and excused himself, retreating to the back.
Whill chuckled. “Have you ever seen anyone so excitable?”
Abram took a long swallow, then turned to Tarren, who had just taken a seat on a large stool. “Listen, my boy, when we tell our version of the story, keep quiet about getting your throat cut, and Whill healing you.”
“Aww, but that’s the best part!”
“That may be,” Whill said, “but I don’t want the trouble of having to explain powers even I don’t understand. That kind of stuff makes people nervous. Just don’t mention it, alright? For all our sakes.”
“I guess,” Tarren huffed.
“Promise?” Abram asked.
“Promise.” Tarren still looked very disappointed.
Abram smiled and patted him on the back. “I tell you what. If you can keep quiet about it now, I’ll let you tell the whole story to the king when we get to Kell-Torey.”
Tarren lit up so, Whill thought the boy’s eyes would pop out of his head. “The king, really? You really mean it, Abram? You have my word!”
Hagus returned and set two more beers on the bar. His expression was a little easier now. “Your rooms will be ready shortly. You can leave your luggage with me and it will be seen to. Also, your baths are ready, and food will follow. So whenever you’re ready, go ahead. The bathing room is up the stairs, first room on the right.”
“Thank you,” Whill said. “I think I’ll do just that.” He retrieved two gold coins from his pocket and set them on the bar.
Hagus looked at the gold in amazement. “Good sir, the room, meal, bath-well, the cost for all is no more than three in silver.”
Whill leaned in and said, “Yes, but we will need more of your services before we leave. Consider this advance payment. A man’s silence is a costly thing at times. I trust we will not gain any unwanted attention by entrusting you with our story. Not, that is, until we are far from here.”
Hagus was adamant. “Yes, sir, mum’s the word! You can count on me!”
“Good.”
Whill made his way upstairs, and Abram and Tarren soon followed. The bathing room consisted of four large tubs, three steaming with hot water. Next to each tub there was a small table with towels, soaps, and scrub brushes. A large fireplace at the center of the room roared, with four large kettles of boiling water over it.
Whill soaked in the hot water long after Abram and Tarren had finished. His muscles still ached from the incident with Tarren. The hot water and fire had almost lulled him to sleep when a girl who must have been Oreona entered the room. She instantly looked at the floor.
“Begging your pardon, Whill, sir, but your food is ready and your friends await you downstairs.”
“Thank you. Tell them I will join them shortly.” She nodded and left as Whill got out and dressed in clean clothes.
Downstairs the band had taken a break and there were about half as many people as before. Abram and
