( STORY )
from: CHAPTER EIGHT ~ LADROA ELEGY
characters: KIAN, VALKE, TOM FLAGSTAFF
The winter rains arrived in Ladroa with a vengeance. A week previous, the sun had presided over the triumphant spectacle of the captured slave ship Tiburon making harbour and Jack Tyrsson’s splendid procession through the streets to the Courthouse. Since that day, the skies had hung heavy with cloud, and the docks were lashed with storms that drove many late-faring ships and their crews to the congested shelter of the Puerto district.
After a day of cold rain, a mist had descended over the city with nightfall, producing a damp chill that seeped through however many layers one piled on. Even so, this in no way dampened the nightlife of the Puerto - if anything people clustered closer together for warmth, packing the inns and alehouses with their bodies and consuming alcohol and other sundries in volume to chase the gloom away.
A NIGHT'S BUSINESS...
Kian knew Valke preferred not to linger around the Varantine Order, but he recalled some of the Ladroa haunts she had mentioned during quieter moments on their voyage. After a bit of asking around, he found himself stepping into the boisterous Puerto tavern called The Dancing Horseman.
The walls were decked with old banners, sundered weapons, and plundered objects from faraway lands. The crowd was a mixed affair; high and low, men and women, regular townsfolk brushing up against sundry dock scum and rough-looking mercenaries from all over.
Even over the din of music and carousing, Valke’s voice carried. Kian quickly found her keeping court with a circle of revelers at a large table, drinking and dicing her coin away. Her wine-coloured hair had been arranged in braids swept across her brow, but was now falling into inebriated disarray round her flushed cheeks.
Even over the din of music and carousing, Valke’s voice carried. Kian quickly found her keeping court with a circle of revelers at a large table, drinking and dicing her coin away. Her wine-coloured hair had been arranged in braids swept across her brow, but was now falling into inebriated disarray round her flushed cheeks.
It occurred to him that this was the first time he’d seen her in anything other than her distinctive black-scaled armour. Instead, she wore a black leather jacket over breeches and a laced shirt. The jacket was cropped fashionably short, with a hood hanging down the back, and it was embossed with a lavish thornbush motif. It looked expensive, and given the recent bounty from their voyage to Thessios, it was probably quite new.
Kian briefly struggled to discern if other Vaara were present in the tavern, but quickly realized it was pointless in the clamour and dim light of the barroom. None of the other revelers seemed to pay him any mind as he approached the table, but Valke roared and jumped to her feet when she saw him.
First, she threw one jolly arm around Kian’s shoulders and crushed him in close enough to smell the thick, sweet alcohol on her breath. Then she thrust a sloshing cup into his hands and addressed all around her in a loud voice.
“See here? This man fought Captain Frenzy and his crew of maniacs alongside me and Mad Jack Tyrsson! Then I sailed to Thessios with this bastard, killed a colossal god-snake, and we came back legends! You tell them! Tell them that every damned word of it is divine truth!”
“All true, except... "
Their audience became suddenly quiet in what felt like a mocking reverence, though still tinged with enough curiosity to hang on Kian's words.
“...it was definitely a dragon, not a snake.” Kian smiled and raised his cup, but didn’t drink. As the revelers guffawed, he curtly turned from the table, and attempted to steer Valke to a dark corner of the barroom.
“Watch it... with your strength, you’ll crack my ribs or something.”
“Pfft... naaah. I’ve barely eaten today. I’m weak as a kitten. I’m drinking the good stuff tonight, so I want to actually feel it.”
“The good stuff?” Kian cast a glance around the tavern “Who’s that, then? That one over there looks pretty juicy, except he don’t seem like your type...”
“Don’t be stupid.” she snapped, her look darkening. “I don’t drink people. And that’s Londais brandy you’re wasting.” She yanked the cup out of his hand and leaned back against the wall, casually tipping the contents down her throat.
“That’s how one drinks the good stuff, is it?”
“We’re rich now, aren’t we? You should give decadence a try.”
“I… decided to cut back, lately.”
Valke swayed slightly and blinked, dazed. “Y’know, this brandy is…very, uh… I think I might regret this.”
Kian gave her a sardonic smile. “You gonna be sick? Want me to fetch you a spitoon?”
She put a hand on the wall to steady herself and glared. “I was regretting decisions like this since before your grandpa found his balls. I got this.“
“I guess wisdom don’t always come with age.”
“You got a question you want to ask me already, so I can go back to making bad life decisions?”
“I need someone to investigate something for me. In Ascenzia.”
Valke rolled her eyes, and groaned impatiently. “But I don't wanna..."
“Discreetly, I mean. So I think our mutual friend Tom might be someone to ask.”
“Flagstaff?” Kian though she almost seemed taken aback. She blew a stray strand of hair from her face. “I ain’t seen that troubadour since we got back into town, but Dela Vara said he'd be wintering in Ladroa. On a night like tonight, he’s probably plying his trade in the Mercado.”
“Ah, yes. The Mercado Largo… I’ll admit I’m not great with those Imperial dialects, but I think that means it’s a big place?”
“Just because we're both... drifting folk... don't mean I follow him around like one of his fawning doxies. You wanna talk to him, you can go find him yourself.”
Kian frowned. “In that case, it sounds like we're both going to have a long night out.”
Valke sighed and rocked her head back. Kian was uncertain whether she was thinking, or just waiting for dizzyness to pass. Finally, she spoke.
“He’s been playing Kaelish ballads lately. He tried to tell me about some place that makes fresh Wellund black pudding, so I’d look wherever they serve that disgusting tripe-slop you Nor’westers call food. Can’t imagine there’s a big demand for that in Ladroa.”
“See, that’s almost helpful. Thanks, Valke.” Kian tipped his hat and turned to leave.
Valke called after him. “Oh, don’t thank me. If you find him, you’re gonna walk away with a lighter purse, and nothing to show for it but a fistful of promises and howdy, sirs.”
In the last of these places, he did find Tom Flagstaff - seated on a chair, plucking his lute, and weaving a lilting musical spell around the guests. As Kian moved instinctively to a dark table at the back wall, he had to admire the man’s talent. Tom’s big 12-string Capracian lute seemed to do the work of several instruments at once, but never felt overly showy. His voice was even more versatile; robust and earthy one moment, then delicate and emotional the next.
As he washed the acrid sausage flavour down with ale, three agonized notes carried across the room, and Kian felt as if a stone weight had just been dropped on his heart. The song began and the tangle in his chest tightened. He balled his fists and uttered a small strangled groan. The response surprised even him. It was as if his body wanted to expel some buried part of itself.
Kian briefly struggled to discern if other Vaara were present in the tavern, but quickly realized it was pointless in the clamour and dim light of the barroom. None of the other revelers seemed to pay him any mind as he approached the table, but Valke roared and jumped to her feet when she saw him.
First, she threw one jolly arm around Kian’s shoulders and crushed him in close enough to smell the thick, sweet alcohol on her breath. Then she thrust a sloshing cup into his hands and addressed all around her in a loud voice.
“See here? This man fought Captain Frenzy and his crew of maniacs alongside me and Mad Jack Tyrsson! Then I sailed to Thessios with this bastard, killed a colossal god-snake, and we came back legends! You tell them! Tell them that every damned word of it is divine truth!”
“All true, except... "
Their audience became suddenly quiet in what felt like a mocking reverence, though still tinged with enough curiosity to hang on Kian's words.
“...it was definitely a dragon, not a snake.” Kian smiled and raised his cup, but didn’t drink. As the revelers guffawed, he curtly turned from the table, and attempted to steer Valke to a dark corner of the barroom.
Valke was at least Kian’s height, and with strong shoulders, but in spite of her careening gait, she felt impossibly light to him. With some surprise, Kian realized that he had almost lifted her off her feet. Oblivious and still playing to the crowd over her shoulder, Valke mimed drawing a bowstring.
“This man will put a shaft anywhere you want! In fact, you won’t find a better two fingers west of the Taizul Steppes! Sounds too good to be true, right ladies?” Her table erupted into laughter, and Valke winked theatrically, a gesture that was mostly lost due to the patch covering her right blue eye.
“Not now, Valke. I’m on some business...”
“Hey! I just set you up with free drinks... and probably the wet loins of any woman in here. You should show some gratitude - an ugly horse-ass like you needs all the help you can get!” As Kian nudged them into a quieter alcove, Valke gave him a snaggletoothed smile and punched him in the chest with one floppy fist.
“This man will put a shaft anywhere you want! In fact, you won’t find a better two fingers west of the Taizul Steppes! Sounds too good to be true, right ladies?” Her table erupted into laughter, and Valke winked theatrically, a gesture that was mostly lost due to the patch covering her right blue eye.
“Not now, Valke. I’m on some business...”
“Hey! I just set you up with free drinks... and probably the wet loins of any woman in here. You should show some gratitude - an ugly horse-ass like you needs all the help you can get!” As Kian nudged them into a quieter alcove, Valke gave him a snaggletoothed smile and punched him in the chest with one floppy fist.
“Watch it... with your strength, you’ll crack my ribs or something.”
“Pfft... naaah. I’ve barely eaten today. I’m weak as a kitten. I’m drinking the good stuff tonight, so I want to actually feel it.”
“The good stuff?” Kian cast a glance around the tavern “Who’s that, then? That one over there looks pretty juicy, except he don’t seem like your type...”
“Don’t be stupid.” she snapped, her look darkening. “I don’t drink people. And that’s Londais brandy you’re wasting.” She yanked the cup out of his hand and leaned back against the wall, casually tipping the contents down her throat.
“That’s how one drinks the good stuff, is it?”
“We’re rich now, aren’t we? You should give decadence a try.”
“I… decided to cut back, lately.”
Valke swayed slightly and blinked, dazed. “Y’know, this brandy is…very, uh… I think I might regret this.”
Kian gave her a sardonic smile. “You gonna be sick? Want me to fetch you a spitoon?”
She put a hand on the wall to steady herself and glared. “I was regretting decisions like this since before your grandpa found his balls. I got this.“
“I guess wisdom don’t always come with age.”
“You got a question you want to ask me already, so I can go back to making bad life decisions?”
“I need someone to investigate something for me. In Ascenzia.”
Valke rolled her eyes, and groaned impatiently. “But I don't wanna..."
“Discreetly, I mean. So I think our mutual friend Tom might be someone to ask.”
“Flagstaff?” Kian though she almost seemed taken aback. She blew a stray strand of hair from her face. “I ain’t seen that troubadour since we got back into town, but Dela Vara said he'd be wintering in Ladroa. On a night like tonight, he’s probably plying his trade in the Mercado.”
“Ah, yes. The Mercado Largo… I’ll admit I’m not great with those Imperial dialects, but I think that means it’s a big place?”
“Just because we're both... drifting folk... don't mean I follow him around like one of his fawning doxies. You wanna talk to him, you can go find him yourself.”
Kian frowned. “In that case, it sounds like we're both going to have a long night out.”
Valke sighed and rocked her head back. Kian was uncertain whether she was thinking, or just waiting for dizzyness to pass. Finally, she spoke.
“He’s been playing Kaelish ballads lately. He tried to tell me about some place that makes fresh Wellund black pudding, so I’d look wherever they serve that disgusting tripe-slop you Nor’westers call food. Can’t imagine there’s a big demand for that in Ladroa.”
“See, that’s almost helpful. Thanks, Valke.” Kian tipped his hat and turned to leave.
Valke called after him. “Oh, don’t thank me. If you find him, you’re gonna walk away with a lighter purse, and nothing to show for it but a fistful of promises and howdy, sirs.”
* * *
Kian spent some time wandering the Mercado, filtering through the parade of masked faces. The bazaar never ended here, and if anything, the goods on offer only became even more salacious once the lanterns came out. Listening for telltale accents from the Clarion heartlands, he’d managed to get directions to a few taverns that traded on the dubiously exotic charms of the soggy hills of the northwest.In the last of these places, he did find Tom Flagstaff - seated on a chair, plucking his lute, and weaving a lilting musical spell around the guests. As Kian moved instinctively to a dark table at the back wall, he had to admire the man’s talent. Tom’s big 12-string Capracian lute seemed to do the work of several instruments at once, but never felt overly showy. His voice was even more versatile; robust and earthy one moment, then delicate and emotional the next.
The songs were all familiar. Most were standards from Kaelthea, but anyone raised on the western coast of Wellundia, as Kian was, would surely know Ye Fellows of Coyle or Ballad of Bonnie Maeb. Kian had heard them all sung many times in the soldier camps years ago, but rarely since he’d moved south.
The tavern was called Olde Gwynessaine, and the mood here was certainly more maudlin than The Dancing Horseman. The decor was an ersatz affair, festooned with regalia of the Clarion Throne alongside Kaelish highland artwork that would never be found in a true Wellundish alehouse. The black pudding was no more convincing - too wet and too bloody, and lacking the herbs and grains that Kian was accustomed to. And yet, Kian still couldn’t help but feel a queer ache of homesickness in this place.
The tavern was called Olde Gwynessaine, and the mood here was certainly more maudlin than The Dancing Horseman. The decor was an ersatz affair, festooned with regalia of the Clarion Throne alongside Kaelish highland artwork that would never be found in a true Wellundish alehouse. The black pudding was no more convincing - too wet and too bloody, and lacking the herbs and grains that Kian was accustomed to. And yet, Kian still couldn’t help but feel a queer ache of homesickness in this place.
As he washed the acrid sausage flavour down with ale, three agonized notes carried across the room, and Kian felt as if a stone weight had just been dropped on his heart. The song began and the tangle in his chest tightened. He balled his fists and uttered a small strangled groan. The response surprised even him. It was as if his body wanted to expel some buried part of itself.
Kian knew this song very well... but not from the war camps.
The melody to Windward, I’ll Come was immediately recognizable to Kian. He had heard it hummed often by a sweet, gentle voice, long ago, and much against his will, he found himself thinking about the person that voice belonged to. He'd only rarely heard the actual lyrics to the song, and they felt both strange to him now, and also somehow too cruel to bear. He stared into his cup, trying to blot out the creep of buried memories, and willing the lump in his throat to go away. He strained his face into what he desperately wanted to be a mask of indifference.
As the song ended, he forced himself to look up. Tavern guests were clapping politely, and Tom was nodding graciously. His eyes swept the room, and caught Kian at the back, lurking at the darkest table. Tom's uncanny Vaara eyes could probably see him as clear as day, though in that moment Kian was certain that his own eyes looked redder than Tom’s had ever been. Tom gave a hint of a nod, and moved his gaze along. Kian was glad for this mercy, and poured the rest of his ale down his throat. He glanced around warily, but his eyes saw nothing at all. His thoughts were suddenly far from this tavern in Ladroa.
“Howdy, sir.”
Tom had finished collecting the last round of stray coins from his audience. As the barroom murmur returned to its normal drone, Tom had sauntered through the candlelight, and now stood before Kian as if he’d just happened upon him in passing. He lifted his wide-brimmed leather hat an inch or two off his head in salutation before letting it settle over his sandy locks again.
Kian had shored up his emotions, but he still felt… bruised. He chewed his cheek and indicated the chair across from him with a look.
Tom’s face broke into a wide smile, and slightly too loudly, he drawled “Why yes, sir, I will humbly accept your kind offer of a drink.” He quickly caught the eye of a barmaid, made a quick series of gestures to order drinks, and slid into place opposite Kian.
The whole set of movements seemed almost like one fluid action, efficient yet unhurried, as if practiced thousands of times. Tom was now tilting back, draped over his chair languorously, like he’d been there all night. He smirked at Kian, and his eyes glimmered like a lazing cat, but he said nothing.
Kian wondered what state Valke was in at that moment. “If you say so..."
Tom raised his pewter cup to Kian, and took a sip. Kian downed his cup, pointedly taking no time to savour it. The alcohol burned hot after the ale, but it did feel good.
With that out of the way, Kian made his pitch to the troubadour. After he finished speaking, Tom seemed to ponder a moment, then nodded. He was still nursing the same pewter cup. “I do declare, it is an intriguing offer. The weather will be milder on the Capracian coast, and to be honest, I was just thinking I should take some time away from Ladroa.”
“Oh? And why is that? You in some kind of trouble?”
Tom chuckled. “Of the worst kind.” He drew out the syllables with playful emphasis, and Kian gathered that he wasn’t being serious.
“A woman, then?”
“Why, a lady ain’t no kind of trouble at all, sir. Not if you treat her right.” Tom smiled and sighed. “No, my objection is to those darn fools who don’t know how to show proper respect to the fairer sex.”
“Right. And so you had to teach some tosser some manners, then?”
Tom nodded. “Now, I’m not a disagreeable man, you understand, but some things a gentleman just cannot abide. I guess it must owe to some peculiarity of my upbringing...”
Kian wondered briefly just where - and especially when -Tom had been brought up.
Tom continued, “I offered the fellow a stern rebuke and I really hoped that would be the end of it… but when word gets out, this will be a city full of troublemakers.”
“If that’s a problem, then maybe I can arrange some kind of... solution?”
“No, no. You mistake me, sir. I’m a troubadour by trade. I don’t wish to cultivate the wrong kind of reputation. If I can just take a little trip so things cool down, and do some work for you on the side… well, I reckon that’s better than taking a man's life.”
Kian eyed the pewter cup in his hand and rubbed the stubble on his chin before glancing up at Tom. “In my experience, that depends on the man.”
“And this fellow you've asked me to look into... how dangerous is he? Is he someone who rates a killing?” The troubadour paused, and his smile faded a moment as he waited for Kian's reply.
“Well, I think that’s what I’m relying on you to find out for me, innit? I want to know it all.” Kian drained the remains of his cup again.
After considering a moment, Tom nodded sagely. “It’ll take me at least month down south, I’d think. Of course, depending where it leads, it could go longer… “
“Or a lot quicker, if you really put your foot in it.”
Tom chuckled. “Don’t you worry about me, sir. I've done work like this before. And if I can’t deliver my results to you in person in a timely fashion, I’ll send a message right along. But this brings us to the question of a per diem… ”
“I'm paying. Give me an amount."
Tom gave Kian another one of his benevolent smiles. “Naturally, I don’t mind doing a favour for a friend, but there are certain, well… expenses that one must consider. It couldn't be done for less than one hundred gold marks, and could run higher if things get complicated.”
“I’m sure you’ve heard the rumours around town. It seems I’m a bit flush at the moment, so I won’t waste time haggling with you. It’ll be in your hands tonight.” Kian stood and made to leave. “Just remember, I’m also counting on your discretion.”
Tom tipped his hat as Kian walked past him, but then noticed the shiny gold coin Kian had left on the table before him. “And this?”
“That’s for the song.”
“Ah, yes. Windward I’ll Come? It’s a beautiful song, but this...” Tom began.
“It’s a great bloody song.” Kian interrupted, looking out across the tavern instead of down at Tom. “And you play it bloody well.”
Tom raised an eyebrow. Kian pulled the high collar of his coat snug before heading to the door.
“That’s a gold coin now, to make sure I never hear you play it around me again.”
windward, m’ lassie,
‘ere spring I’ll be
sailin’ for Duinin Brae,
if ye say
you’ll wait for me...
The melody to Windward, I’ll Come was immediately recognizable to Kian. He had heard it hummed often by a sweet, gentle voice, long ago, and much against his will, he found himself thinking about the person that voice belonged to. He'd only rarely heard the actual lyrics to the song, and they felt both strange to him now, and also somehow too cruel to bear. He stared into his cup, trying to blot out the creep of buried memories, and willing the lump in his throat to go away. He strained his face into what he desperately wanted to be a mask of indifference.
As the song ended, he forced himself to look up. Tavern guests were clapping politely, and Tom was nodding graciously. His eyes swept the room, and caught Kian at the back, lurking at the darkest table. Tom's uncanny Vaara eyes could probably see him as clear as day, though in that moment Kian was certain that his own eyes looked redder than Tom’s had ever been. Tom gave a hint of a nod, and moved his gaze along. Kian was glad for this mercy, and poured the rest of his ale down his throat. He glanced around warily, but his eyes saw nothing at all. His thoughts were suddenly far from this tavern in Ladroa.
Tom had finished collecting the last round of stray coins from his audience. As the barroom murmur returned to its normal drone, Tom had sauntered through the candlelight, and now stood before Kian as if he’d just happened upon him in passing. He lifted his wide-brimmed leather hat an inch or two off his head in salutation before letting it settle over his sandy locks again.
Kian had shored up his emotions, but he still felt… bruised. He chewed his cheek and indicated the chair across from him with a look.
Tom’s face broke into a wide smile, and slightly too loudly, he drawled “Why yes, sir, I will humbly accept your kind offer of a drink.” He quickly caught the eye of a barmaid, made a quick series of gestures to order drinks, and slid into place opposite Kian.
The whole set of movements seemed almost like one fluid action, efficient yet unhurried, as if practiced thousands of times. Tom was now tilting back, draped over his chair languorously, like he’d been there all night. He smirked at Kian, and his eyes glimmered like a lazing cat, but he said nothing.
Kian leaned forward to speak, but stopped as a barmaid intervened by placing two pewter cups and a ceramic bottle between them. She looked to Kian expectantly, and Kian shot Tom an incredulous look. He grudgingly placed a large coin into the barmaid’s hand. His eyes widened further in disbelief as she walked away without providing any change.
Tom just chuckled; he was already splashing alcohol into both cups. “Uiscebaugh... the water of life. I say, sir, why should we let the monks and surgeons have all the fun? You’ll see they like it a bit smoother down south, and they age it with more herbs, but I am sure you will find it more than agreeable on such a misty night.”
Tom lazily stretched out his words - he spoke in the relaxed accent of Lundishmen from the agricultural lowlands on the border with Delon and Athagon - rich with politesse, but low on formality. Kian noted that even if Tom were human, it would be difficult to assess his age. His face was lean but rugged; seemingly youthful, yet with the lines and creases of a man who spent his days in the sun. When he smiled, it was broad and open, using all of his white teeth.
“I'm learning tonight that your folk are no strangers to alcohol." observed Kian wryly.
Tom nodded. “In moderation, of course."
Tom just chuckled; he was already splashing alcohol into both cups. “Uiscebaugh... the water of life. I say, sir, why should we let the monks and surgeons have all the fun? You’ll see they like it a bit smoother down south, and they age it with more herbs, but I am sure you will find it more than agreeable on such a misty night.”
Tom lazily stretched out his words - he spoke in the relaxed accent of Lundishmen from the agricultural lowlands on the border with Delon and Athagon - rich with politesse, but low on formality. Kian noted that even if Tom were human, it would be difficult to assess his age. His face was lean but rugged; seemingly youthful, yet with the lines and creases of a man who spent his days in the sun. When he smiled, it was broad and open, using all of his white teeth.
“I'm learning tonight that your folk are no strangers to alcohol." observed Kian wryly.
Tom nodded. “In moderation, of course."
Kian wondered what state Valke was in at that moment. “If you say so..."
Tom raised his pewter cup to Kian, and took a sip. Kian downed his cup, pointedly taking no time to savour it. The alcohol burned hot after the ale, but it did feel good.
With that out of the way, Kian made his pitch to the troubadour. After he finished speaking, Tom seemed to ponder a moment, then nodded. He was still nursing the same pewter cup. “I do declare, it is an intriguing offer. The weather will be milder on the Capracian coast, and to be honest, I was just thinking I should take some time away from Ladroa.”
“Oh? And why is that? You in some kind of trouble?”
Tom chuckled. “Of the worst kind.” He drew out the syllables with playful emphasis, and Kian gathered that he wasn’t being serious.
“A woman, then?”
“Why, a lady ain’t no kind of trouble at all, sir. Not if you treat her right.” Tom smiled and sighed. “No, my objection is to those darn fools who don’t know how to show proper respect to the fairer sex.”
“Right. And so you had to teach some tosser some manners, then?”
Tom nodded. “Now, I’m not a disagreeable man, you understand, but some things a gentleman just cannot abide. I guess it must owe to some peculiarity of my upbringing...”
Kian wondered briefly just where - and especially when -Tom had been brought up.
Tom continued, “I offered the fellow a stern rebuke and I really hoped that would be the end of it… but when word gets out, this will be a city full of troublemakers.”
“If that’s a problem, then maybe I can arrange some kind of... solution?”
“No, no. You mistake me, sir. I’m a troubadour by trade. I don’t wish to cultivate the wrong kind of reputation. If I can just take a little trip so things cool down, and do some work for you on the side… well, I reckon that’s better than taking a man's life.”
Kian eyed the pewter cup in his hand and rubbed the stubble on his chin before glancing up at Tom. “In my experience, that depends on the man.”
“And this fellow you've asked me to look into... how dangerous is he? Is he someone who rates a killing?” The troubadour paused, and his smile faded a moment as he waited for Kian's reply.
“Well, I think that’s what I’m relying on you to find out for me, innit? I want to know it all.” Kian drained the remains of his cup again.
After considering a moment, Tom nodded sagely. “It’ll take me at least month down south, I’d think. Of course, depending where it leads, it could go longer… “
“Or a lot quicker, if you really put your foot in it.”
Tom chuckled. “Don’t you worry about me, sir. I've done work like this before. And if I can’t deliver my results to you in person in a timely fashion, I’ll send a message right along. But this brings us to the question of a per diem… ”
“I'm paying. Give me an amount."
Tom gave Kian another one of his benevolent smiles. “Naturally, I don’t mind doing a favour for a friend, but there are certain, well… expenses that one must consider. It couldn't be done for less than one hundred gold marks, and could run higher if things get complicated.”
“I’m sure you’ve heard the rumours around town. It seems I’m a bit flush at the moment, so I won’t waste time haggling with you. It’ll be in your hands tonight.” Kian stood and made to leave. “Just remember, I’m also counting on your discretion.”
Tom tipped his hat as Kian walked past him, but then noticed the shiny gold coin Kian had left on the table before him. “And this?”
“That’s for the song.”
“Ah, yes. Windward I’ll Come? It’s a beautiful song, but this...” Tom began.
“It’s a great bloody song.” Kian interrupted, looking out across the tavern instead of down at Tom. “And you play it bloody well.”
Tom raised an eyebrow. Kian pulled the high collar of his coat snug before heading to the door.
“That’s a gold coin now, to make sure I never hear you play it around me again.”
* * *
