The Adventures of Kromlech Potbelly

 

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1

Kromlech Potbelly awoke in one of his two usual beds, and unfortunately it wasn’t the one in the local whorehouse. He sighed and stretched out his arms, yawning and falling off the bed, his body hitting the ground with a loud thump. This was not how Kromlech wanted to wake up, but this being the third time he found himself in a police holding cell that week, he supposed he was used to it.

He began his day in his usual manner – by pacing around the walls of his cell, prodding cobbles in the wall at random in the hope that they would be loose, like jenga blocks, and slide out, creating a pathway to freedom. Kromlech did consider that perhaps attempting to dismantle a jenga tower that he was inside could be a bad idea, given the ultimate finale of the game, but on this particular foggy morning – and, indeed, many other particular foggy mornings – he didn’t give a damn.

This was not, Kromlech told himself, the life of a dwarf. This was something he always prided himself on when drunk, that he could resist his natural calling to dwell in the deep darkness of caverns and spend a life eternally mining for diamonds and other exotic treasures, carving great halls and sculptures from the land itself; but when he was hung over and, for want of a better word, sober, he would find himself troubled by the lack of stone in his life – it was at times like these that he felt the strongest urge to touch any stone structure that he could, to feel the darkness upon him as he worked acts of wonder with a chisel and hammer. Of course, having never received any formal training with the instruments, Kromlech could probably do no better than to form some kind of strange ‘wobbly stalactite’ and knowing this he turned instead to his other urge: drink.

Kromlech was good at drinking. This was a fact, acknowledged by his being barred from several taverns and welcomed (until his coin ran dry) in most others. He could drink a lot, and drink a lot he did. It helped, he felt, release the tension and the stress of being an overground dwarf, to help distance himself from the longing for stone and darkness. That and he literally had nothing else to do with his life.

Kromlech’s uncle died when he was a mere boy, a dwarf with a great deal of political power and wealth. He left in his will his entire estate, every mound of gold and every cavern and hall, to Kromlech which, given the dwarf had hated Kromlech all his life due to a blood feud with his father, came as a great surprise to the entire family. Naturally Kromlech’s parents looked after and nurtured the estate for Kromlech until he was old enough to handle the responsibility himself, at which point he promptly began to spend the lot of it on flagons of mead and nights at the whorehouse.

All Kromlech knew was that he had more money than he could ever hope to spend in a single lifetime, and only one lifetime in which to spend it. The solution, he argued, was inevitable: do his damndest anyway, despite the odds. It never occurred to Kromlech that by drinking himself into an early grave he might have been giving himself less time in which to spend it.

The door of Kromlech’s cell opened slowly, with a loud creaking sound that caused a pounding inside his head. A guard marched in and grabbed him roughly by the arm, escorting him out of the cell and along a corridor lit dimly by mounted torches flickering in brackets and casting moving shadows across the cobbles.

Kromlech hissed at the guard, who pulled him along more roughly. The guards usually made small talk with Kromlech on the way to ‘interrogation’, bantering back and forth tales of whores and bets and brining mirth to the both of them. This new behaviour was the first sign Kromlech received that something might be off.

The second sign followed shortly thereafter, when Kromlech was pulled not into his usual interrogation room, the fifth door on the left with the nice view and the chandelier, but instead into the sixth door on the left. Kromlech knew he had not miscounted because this room overlooked a pigsty and was lit only because the roof was falling in and some light was filtering in through the cracks.

Kromlech sat on the slightly unstable wooden stool by the large, iron mound the policemen opposite him were using as a desk.

“Good morning, officers,” he began brightly, smiling and rubbing his hands together in a business-like way. “What can I do for you?”

“Mr Potbelly,” the shorter policeman, a man barely taller than Kromlech with a comb over that failed to hide his balding scalp and a wispy grey moustache, began, his voice grave. “I am aware that you are used to seeing us in a more privileged setting than this, but given the recent issues surrounding your considerable fortune we cannot-“

“What issues?” Kromlech interrupted, frowning. The shorter policeman frowned, too, in confusion. The taller policeman, who, Kromlech noted, looked suspiciously like a troll, also looked confused, but there was no change there.

“You are aware of the recent hearing regarding the dubious legality of your uncle’s will, aren’t you?” the shorter policeman asked. “We’ve been sending you post for weeks.”

“I don’t visit home much,” Kromlech replied. “I haven’t picked up the post in almost a month.”

“Which is why we’ve been delivering the post to your cell each morning you’ve been here, and seeing as it is always gone after you’ve left we presumed you had taken it with you.”

Kromlech opened his mouth to reply, then paused. He raised his hand in anticipation of a point, but to his surprise no point came. Lowering his hand and closing his mouth, Kromlech reflected upon the mornings in the cells over the last week and found himself incapable of remembering very much about them at all.

“I don’t remember any letters,” he said slowly. “In fact, the only thing I remember being delivered to me was my breakfast.”

“Mr Potbelly, this is a police station, not a bed and breakfast. We do not provide such a meal unless the detainee is not scheduled to be released before lunchtime,” the shorter policeman stated. “Your crimes have never been heinous enough to warrant staying for more than an hour past dawn.”

There was a silence, the kind of silence that makes everyone in the room look at each other because they're not entirely sure whose turn it is to speak but they know (or, in Kromlech's case, they hope) that it isn't them. It was an awkward silence, oppressing and uncomfortable, and it seemed everyone in the room had come to the same conclusion simultaneously but none wanted to be the first to vocalise it. Eventually, the shorter policeman cleared his throat.

"Mr Potbelly?" he began, timid and shaky, but after looking at Kromlech very hard for a few seconds he seemed to shy away, uncertain of how to vocalise his thoughts. The troll-like policeman leant forward, moving for the first time since the meeting started, and stared into Kromlech's eyes.

"What my esteemed partner is in all probability trying to say," began the troll-like policeman,  "is that we believe you might, in your not wholly sober state, have confused the envelopes we have been delivering for food. In this he by no means intends to cast aspersions on your character, but remarks instead upon the sheer level of drunkenness you manage to repeatedly reach by the evenings."

Kromlech had never heard a troll speak before - whenever he met them, they stood dumbly and awaited instructions, occasionally grunting or groaning affirmatives or negatives - and the rare tales of troll's speech suggested that it was rare and uncivilised. He wasn't sure he believed that the policeman before him was definitely a troll, but had to admit that if he wasn't he couldn't think of another word to describe him. He had the same bald head and rounded ears, the same stubby nose and black eyes, and altogether Kromlech thought he smelled only moderately better than the few trolls he had met elsewhere. Though all these things (and his height, for of all the creatures of Merifall that could be considered approximately sentient, trolls were the third tallest and often had to crouch indoors - this particular troll was hunched over and still in contact with the ceiling) told Kromlech that the creature before him was most probably a troll, he was convinced only by the policeman's hands; the three-fingered hand of a troll is instantly recognisable to a dwarf, for in olden times those hands would very often be holding the nets that unfortunate dwarfs would find themselves trapped in.

Kromlech cleared his throat.

"I will admit to being very drunk on a number of occasions," he began, "but I don't think I have ever been drunk enough to eat a letter believing it to be a cooked breakfast." The shorter policeman grimaced at this and bit his lip.

"Actually, Mr Potbelly," he began, "you have been known to walk about town eating your own coat's sleeves at three in the morning, so such a thing isn't too hard to comprehend."

"We are, of course, straying from the topic at hand," said the troll, smiling reassuringly at Kromlech in a way that made all the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and quickly fall over again in fright. "I am Constable Bigsworth, recently the head of the department of financial crimes here. By failing to turn up to court, your inheritance of some considerable wealth from your uncle has been undefended and all your remaining welth this morning transferred to the legal heir. The small portion you have spent these last years has been declared a legal fine you must pay and as you now have no money to your name the money cannot be automatically transferred."

"In short," added the other policeman, "you're fucked, Mr Potbelly, if you'll excuse my expression."

"You have by law three months," Bigsworth said, his gentle smile widening in a compassion that made Kromlech feel sick, "before you are to be placed in debtor's prison to earn the money you owe."

"And how much is that?" Kromlech found himself asking, knowing full well that he had in all liklihood spent in excess of ten thousand gold pieces in the last decade; only three month's solid work wouldn't cover that, but if he were lucky he could make a thousand and put together some kind of payment scheme. Or maybe he could just run away and never see the police, debt collectors and in all probability anyone other than Orcs and the occasional rabbit again.

"Well, luckily you only managed to spend a very small percentage of your fortune before the trial, so your debts are significantly smaller than one might imagine," the other policeman said with a smirk. "You only have debts in excess of a hundred thousand gold pieces. Shouldn't be too hard to get that together for a dwarf with your influence, eh?"

As the weight of his debt started to press down on his already low shoulders, and the realisation of his situation began to seep in, Kromlech was escorted out of the interview room in a daze and lead to the foyer of the police station where Bigsworth departed with a spine-tingling grin and wave, and a youth in shiny robes and a pointed hat introduced himself as Aricksted the Wise.

"He's our local thamaturgist," whispered the shorter policeman. "He's cooked up a little talisman for you."

Kromlech offered his wrist, still trying to come to terms with his new future plans. He would spend one more week in Merifall, try to get a job and make it look like he was trying to pay off his debts - they would expect him to run immediately, and he knew they'd be watching and waiting to give chase. Yes, a week should do it. After a week he would disappear overnight, only taking the small amount that he needed and head West to the border with Hichraalstead and follow the Imbe down to the Iron Mountains. From there he could probably try to reintegrate with the dwarfs, learn a useful skill. He'd never be a big name in society again, sure, but he'd have a mountain over his head and enough gold to live and drink by.

As he was thinking, Kromlech was dimly aware that Arickstead was talking about the thick, copper bracelet that was being clasped to his left wrist. Kromlech saw only the shining gems and beautiful craftsmanship, and thought selling it might turn a quick profit, enough to get a horse and shorten his journey by a few days.

"... and that's how we'll know where to find you when the time's up!" Arickstead finished, his bright and cheery voice becoming louder and snapping Kormlech back to reality.

"Where to find who?" he asked, confused. "When?" Arickstead and the policeman exchanged looks.

"Constable Grimsc," Aristead asked, "did I use slightly too much jargon again?"

"'Slightly' is a bit of an understatement," Grimsc replied, "but I got enough of the picture to understand. I think Mr Potbelly here was merely not paying attention."

"Sorry," Kromlech intrrupted, "I don't mean to seem rude, but what's 'jargon' and is it dangerous?"

Roling his eyes, Arickstead sighed and turned to Kromlech.

"No," he said, "it's not dangerous. It means I use words from my taumaturgical studies that other people simply don't know. So I'll give you the toloudre explanation: you can't take the bracelet off, and the bracelet lets us find you wherever you are."

"Toloudre?" Kromlech asked. Arickstead held his head in his hands for a few seconds, breathing deeply.

"More jargon," he said slowly, without removing his hands. "Don't worry about it. It's the bit I said after that that matters, anyway."

Kromlech thought for a few seconds as he tried to remember what Arickstead had said. He was an easily distracted dwarf, and often found that if someone said something he didn't understand he would not follow anything they said afetrwards, whether or not it was even related to the word or phrase in question. It didn't help that Kromlech was begining to sober up, a state of being he loathed with a passion rivalling those of his kin for stone, and the headaches were starting to come.

"Hypothetically speaking," Kromlech began, "if I were to run away and attempt to escape from you..."

"We would catch you," Grimsc finished with a cheerful smile, "and then you'd spend more years in Debtor's prison than the 453 you'd already need to go through with to pay off your debts."

"Ah," Kromlech said. He tried to think, but his thoughts kept getting stuck and the headache was really starting to hit hard. "Ah."

Grimsc opened the doors of the police station wide and held them there, gesturing for Kromlech to leave. Kromlech walked without thinking out of the doors, nodding politely to Grimsc who shrugged and slammed the doors closed behind his retreating figure. Suddenly unsure of where to go, Kromlech stood still in the middle of the road outside the police station, a confused look settling upon his features as he came to the realisation that he had no idea what he was going to do.

The streets of Merifall were starting to wake up and Kromlech, too sober to do otherwise, sat on a bench and watched the people come and go for an hour or so. He watched the first few functions of the street kick in, a couple of people wandering down the dusty paths in a hurry, keeping quiet and rushing to and fro. For ten minutes or so the street tried to go back to bed, deserted again as it was, but Kromlech knew it couldn't last forever. Eventually, the street forced itself out of its slumber, people unwillingly leaving their houses for a day of work they didn't want to do, hauling themselves along the street at a snail's pace. The street yawned a few times; one person walking into another, stumbling and getting a small crowd of people stuck for a second. But then came the carts, the creaking of the wheels and the click-clacking of hooves as the street finally awoke fully, the noise building and the pace picking up until one could hardly tell that less than an hour ago, the streets had been silent.

As he watched, Kromlech thought. He did not usually have to do this; he would usually wander over to an inn by this stage of the morning and throw a sackful of gold on the counter, before wandering up to a room that was almost reserved for him and collapsing on the bed until three in the afternoon. It was a Wednesday, and that meant it was supposed to be his day at the Merri Imp. After an hour's careful consideration of his situation, which mostly involved his trying to understand the concept that he couldn't afford another pint, he decided to wander across the street and see if the innkeeper would do him a favour and let him sleep anyway.

As he crossed the road, something very strange heppened. A cloaked figure, shrouded in the darkest robes of black and violet whorls, caught its foot on his thigh as he walked past and consequently stumbled, landing face-first in the dust in front of Kromlech, who was very glad he noticed this had happened before he accidentally trampled across the poor fellow.

"Are you alright?" Kromlech asked, offering a hand down to the disgruntled figure. He heard a cry to his right and looked up to see two figures running towards him. They were an odd pair, the first dressed in the traditional armour of the King's Hunters save for the proud badge which appeared to have been torn off, the second in what appeared to be a business suit, pinstriped and pressed. They ran through the crowd and very soon stopped at Kromlech's side.

"Is she ok?" asked the businessman casually, seemingly unconcerned. Kromlech looked him up and down and noted a few strange things about his appearance: firstly, his eyes had the green irises and light blue pupils of Fey-kind and secondly his suit had a scabbard, in which sat a hilt with no blade. The shrouded figure on the ground moaned.

"Well, she seems fine," said the Hunter brightly. Kromlech looked her up and down, his eyes not quite taking in that this was a woman in a Hunter's uniform. To try to adjust to the concept better, Kromlech decided that staring at her breasts would best force his mind to come to terms with this previously unknown idea. The Hunter looked Kromlech up and down and rolled her eyes in disgust. "What are you looking at?" she asked.

"I'm sorry," Kromlech said, his gaze not wandering from her (admitedly impressive) bosom, "but I have never seen a woman in the uniform of a Hunter before. Are you one of those whores who dresses up..."

The Hunter picked Kromlech up by the scruff of his neck and held his face right in front of hers, mostly to indimidate him but also in part to stop him from staring elsewhere (not that he didn't try to look down, which earned him a slap.)

"Listen here, dwarf," she said angrily. "I might not be a man, but I am a warrior who has hunted and killed more than most men can claim. I have stood with men at the battle of Doran, and it was my arrow that killed the barbarian Dresco. I have faced down creatures larger than you can imagine and many live today who would not had I not fought. What bravery have you shown?"

Kromlech glanced downwards again, causing the businessman to laugh.

"I don't know about you, Kate," he said with a wry smile, "but I think that was a pretty damn brave thing to do." Kate glared at the businessman, who sheepishly looked away.

"I don't like you," Kate whispered into Kromlech's ear. "I don't like your attitude and I don't like your stupidity. If I were you, I would run, because if I ever catch you eyeing me up again, dwarf, I will gut you."

"Well," Kromlech replied cheerily, "I'd best not let you catch me. Shouldn't be too hard."

Kate gave Kromlech one final glare before setting him down again on the road. "Get out of my sight, dwarf."

Kromlech winked at Kate, gave a mocking, theatrical bow and turned towards the Merri Imp, leaving the fallen stranger, a furious Hunter and a laughing businessman behind him. As he sauntered away, he heard the businessman say between gasping breaths, "You know, Kate, he might be a sexist bastard, but you have to admit he's got style."

 

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...
James Villinger

I like the opening line, but I would prefer to see the story open with dialogue.

tony ng

i would not buy this

2

The Merri Imp is one of the oldest inns in Merifall and like most old inns had in recent decades become far too small for the number of patrons who wanted to use it. Many inns had in recent years expanded, building great additions to their original architecture; some chose to expand and build more bedrooms, leading to a crowded pub but an inn that would very rarely be full, whilst others chose to expand the size of their bars, allowing them to serve more people at any given time and to make more money, but were likely to be full most nights. Learning which inns were of which type was vital to any traveller visiting the small kingdom and Kromlech Potbelly learned in his very first week that there was one inn that followed neither trend.

The Merri Imp was protected by a law enforced by Queen Esther three decades before that was intended to preserve monuments of social importance, buildings that had played an important part in the history of the kingdom. The Merri Imp, being one of the oldest inns in the land, had a great many tales associated with it that had become part of the region's local history; grisly murders, treacherous plots and great ideas were all attributed to the place and people felt that this made the Merri Imp special. The law insisted that the Merri Imp, and three other buildings of equal importance, were retained forever in the same condition they were in when the law was enforced, so that they might be preserved. This meant two things: firstly, the Merri Imp could never expand like the other inns had, not because the extension would be against the law but the money spent on keeping the inn in the same condition it had been in cost the innkeepers barely less than they earned; and secondly, the inn could get away with a few simple tricks to keep itself in business. To begin with, the innkeepers argued that the prices on the chalk board were part of the original condition of the tavern and that they could not raise their prices no matter what inflation did and whilst this deprived them of a great deal of profit on individual sale it did have the remarkable advantage after a decade or so of completely undercutting the prices offered by other nearby inns.

Because of this the Merri Imp was a bustling hub of drink and social gathering and, as Kromlech was all to aware, this meant that at any time of day one could find the drunk and desperate masses of the city in the tavern's walls. (Interestingly, the Merri Imp argued that since it was open at the time the law was passed it must remain permanently open, allowing it to ignore the law that forced other taverns to close by one in the morning.) As Kromlech stepped inside, noting the 'mind the step' sign on the wooden beams above and the 'enjoy your trip?' sign face-up on the floor below, he found himself surrounded by the noise of his fellow drinkers, the friendly background chatter and raucous laughter that filled the pub. He pushed his way through the crowd, elbowing people's shins to get them out of the way and wandered up to the bar where he caught the barman's eye in the kind of way that said 'I don't want to be seen here, just server me quietly and let me walk away.'

"Kromlech!" the barman grinned, putting down the glass he was wiping to offer Kromlech a handshake. Kromlech grimaced but shook the old man's hand firmly. "How was your night behind bars?" The people in the near vicinity roared with laughter and raised pints of ale in Kromlech's general direction.

"Rough, Jack," Kromlech replied quietly. Jack grinned wider and turned to the crowd of people, spreading his arms.

"Gentlemen!" Jack nodded to a couple of individuals in his audience, smiling. "Last night, our dear friend Kromlech here was told that never in civilised history had a dwarf made the drunken run, our age-old trial of manhood that only three here can claim to have succeeded. We all know Kromlech well by now-" this was met with a great deal of laughter and incoherent calls, "and it came as no surprise to any of us that he not only took this as a challenge but dared to go one further. Kromlech is the only living creature who can say he has run the drunken run blindfolded."

Kromlech buried his throbbing head in his hands and the applause and shouting filled the air. He'd already started regretting his choice to go to the pub when he heard the noise level - now memories of the previous night started to come flooding back and he became dimly aware that he was never going to be able to walk into a pub in Merifall and remain anonymous again.

"My lords, and ladies" Jack winked at the group of young women huddled near the bar, who giggled and talked among themselves, "I think a feat of this great skill deserves some level of reward, don't you?" Cries of 'hear, hear!' reverberated around the room, along with more applause. "I propose," Jack shouted over the noise, "that we reward Mr Potbelly today with free drinks, as many as he likes of whatever he likes!

"So, Mr Potbelly," Jack leaned down on the bar, crossing his arms and looking Kromlech right in the eyes with a dazzling smile, "what'll it be?"

Kromlech thought for a moment. He'd just been given a way out of the problem of his not being able to afford any more drink for one more day. At the same time, he knew that he needed to get started on working up money to pay his debt as soon as possible, and another night in a police cell would not go a long way towards helping that. Time, Kromlech decided, was running out.

"I'll just have a water, Jack," he said quietly, looking down at the bar. Silence fell and Kromlech could feel the eyes staring at him from all around, shocked and stunned by what he had said.

"Water," Jack replied after a moment's disbelief, all the energy gone from his voice. "If that's what you want." A pint-glass of water was slid across the bar to Kromlech who caught it and held it in front of him in both hands, taking small sips every now and again with a contemplative look on his face. People looked at him, spoke about him, made terrified accusations about him behind his back, but nobody was brave enough to ask Kromlech what was going on. Their brave hero, the greatest drinker of their age and sole runner of a blindfolded drunken run alive had been offered as much of whatever drink he liked, and he chose water?

At about twelve o'clock, Jack O'Wehl took his lunch break and was replaced on the bar by his sister Anna. Usually Jack would go for a walk in the park, get away from the dimly-lit rooms and the noise of the Merri Imp and just relax in the fresh air with a sandwich and a cup of tea. But today was different; today, his favourite customer was not himself, and Jack was determined to know why.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked Kromlech quietly, gesturing at the bar stool next to him. Kromlech shrugged, as if to say that he didn't really care either way. "Thanks," Jack sat, leaning forward on the bar and looking at Kromlech with concern. Kromlech didn't respond.

"Listen," Jack began, "I know it's not my place to say anything, but clearly something's up, right mate?" Kromlech nodded, his brow creasing in concentration. "Is there anything I can do to help?" Kromlech looked up.

"Do you have one hundred thousand gold pieces to give away, Jack?" he asked dryly. Jack's eyes widened and his mouth dropped. Kromlech smiled wryly and turned back to his water, muttering, "I thought so."

"Maybe..." Jack thought aloud, biting his lip and scratching his head. "What if we got Bruce in here, eh? Would he be able to help?"

"Jack," Kromlech said flatly without looking up, "if there is one person who owes more than I do in all of Merifall, it's Bruce."

"Precisely," Jack replied with a smirk, and Kromlech looked up to face him, slightly confused. "He understands what you're going through, but even if that doesn't help I can't think of anyone else who can so regularly cheer you up." Jack looked up over the heads of the nearby drinkers and looked around the tavern, scanning the crowds for any sign of Bruce. He muttered something about having seen him earlier, and after a few moments his face lit up and he called over to a pile of rags in a corner which stirred, shedding coats and jackets and emerging as a young, tired man whose dirty blonde hair was an absolute mess. He wandered over to the bar, his steps neither straight nor regular, and sat down the other side of Kromlech.

"Hey Jack," he said, his words slightly slurred, blinking his eyes slowly and deliberately to wake himself up, "and Kromlech! S'good to see you, buddy."

"Bruce, Kromlech's feeling a bit down," Jack said in a tone of voice that mimicked a teachers discussing a problem a child was having right in front of them, which caused Kromlech to glare at him.

"Ah-ha!" Bruce said, swnging a fist up into the air in a manner that crudely depcited his sudden understanding of the situation. He held it there for a moment, smiling broadly as he stared at Kromlech in anticipation, before frowning. "Wait, why's he upset?"

"I owe money, Bruce," Kromlech said quietly, still not looking up from his water and occasionally taking a sip. "A lot of money. Everything I've ever spent in Merifall, as it happens, and you know as well as anyone that I have spent a damn fortune in this place." Jack edged carefully away, deciding this was his time to leave Kromlech alone with the only person in the pub likely to cheer him up, and wandered out the door to catch his usual lunchbreak; Bruce put his arm around Kromlech's shoulders, leaning down a little in order to do so, and started to crush them in what he probably thought was a hug but was in reality a rather feeble squeeze.

"Kromlech, old buddy, old pal," he gestured with his free hand and its resident pint of lager towards the ceiling, "you's the kind of guy who spends a lot and gets a lot out of it, y'know? I mean, we always have the most amazing times here together and out of everyone in Merifall you were always the one with the good ideas." Kromlech flashed a worried glance at Bruce, who shrugged his shoulders. "The ideas that seem like they're good when we're drunk, anyway. You're always the one to come up with those. Nobody else would have thought of doing the drunken run blindfolded! Nobody else would have thought playing pin the tail on the barmaid would have been fun! Nobody else could have invented the great sport of foot-darts, or become so proficient in such a short space of time!" Bruce hit Kromlech gently on his chest with the pint, spilling a small amount of lager into Kromlech's beard.

"Kromlech Potbelly," he broke the brief silence, staring deep into Kromlech's eyes and holding a straight face, "I can think of nobody else more qualified to find a way out of your own mess. If I were you, I'd be jumping for joy, because I'd know that I could trust nobody else in all of Merifall to find a way out of my situation for me better than I could."

Kromlech sighed, and began to wring out his beard. "That's just the problem, Bruce," he drained the lager into his recently finished glass and poured it back into Bruce's pint. "If I can't think of a way out of this then how can I possibly expect anyone else to?"

"Ah," Bruce downed his pint, thinking. "Well, maybe what you need is a miracle?"

"A miracle?"

"Yeah," he nodded, his expression changing to one of realisation. "What you really need is someone to show up out of the blue and make an offer of highly-paid, cheap labour." Kromlech rolled his eyes in disgust.

"As if anyone in this area is offering cheap anything," he scowled as the pub went very quiet, almost as silent as it had before when everyone's attention had been fixed on him. Kromlech turned to face the direction everyone else's heads had turned, and Bruce followed shortly after. Standing in the doorway was the businessman Kromlech had met outside the tavern, leaning against one of the sides of the doorframe with his arms folded across his chest in a way that he presumably thought indicated a cool superiority but in fact just made him look too weak to stand up.

"I'm looking," he began slowly, standing up and unfolding his arms as he made his way slowly into the gatehred crowd of people, who parted aorund him and instinctively formed a space for him to deliver his message in, "for some people who want work." Kromlech glanced at Bruce, who nudged him with a wink.

"The work is dangerous and long; my companions and I are undertaking a journey, leaving at dawn tomorrow. We should be back by winter, but we might not all make it. I'm looking for individuals with great courage and strength, determination and motivation, as we need one more to join us. The payment will be your quarter of any loot we bring back, with an estimated payout of two hundred thousand gold pieces. No prior experience is required, terms and conditions apply, yadda yadda yadda. I'll be waiting at the bar if you want to apply for the position."

Kromlech turned to face Bruce.

"You know," Bruce scratched the back of his neck, nodding slowly to himself, "this seems an awful lot like one of those coincidences you get in them book-things my Dad was always telling me I should read as a kid."

"Did you?" Kromlech asked.

"Gods, no," Bruce replied. "But I tell you what, this is too good to be wrong." Kromlech frowned at Bruce's turn of phrase, and Bruce raised an eyebrow. "You've not heard that one? It's a phrase we had growing up on the outskirts of the city. It means - if something seems so perfect that you begin to doubt it is real, go along with it because at least then you've got a chance of getting something amazing." Kromlech, not entirely certain of the logic in this advice, nodded and smiled softly to himself.

"I met him and his 'companions' on my way over here," he said, Bruce's eyes widening as the coincidence became more pronounced, "and I don't think I made the best of impressions upon their group's Hunter."

"How did you manage that?" Bruce frowned.

"Well," Kromlech sighed, "apparently staring at her breasts was offensive."

Bruce rolled his eyes. "Women." Kromlech smiled at that, and Bruce quickly glanced around, presumably to check for the woman in question, before adding in a whisper, "I take it she was good-looking?"

"A beautiful specimen," Kromlech grabbed a second glass of water from the bar and took another sip. "She pulled off the Hunter uniform incredibly well. I'm not usually a fan of dress-up, but she could easily convince me that it was a good idea." Bruce laughed, throwing his head back in a display or mirth, and Kromlech chuckled along with him. "But, alas, she appeared to be one of those women with delusions of manhood: claimed to have fought in battles and killed a barbarian, and everything!"

"That's just silly," Bruce replied. "Maybe she was a nurse or cook for the soldiers?" Kromlech shook his head.

"It's funny," he replied, sipping his water some more, "but I got the impression she wasn't exactly lying. I still can't believe it, but she had the stance and attitude of a warrior." Kromlech thought for a moment, letting his mind drift back into memories for a brief second, before adding, "That was probably the sexiest thing I've seen all week, if I'm honest."

"You found a woman with delusions of independance sexy?" Bruce asked in disbelief, his eyes widening. Kromlech shrugged. "Gods, Kromlech, you know how vicious they can be. You remember old Finnigan, right?"

"Ol' Dan Finn," Kromlech nodded, a smile on his face. "Yeah, I remember him."

"He got himself hitched, few months back," Bruce shook his head. "His wife, she'd always seemed the quiet, gentle, womanly type when they was courting. But after they married, she suddenly became insistin' on all sorts of things. She'd be makin' sure everything was done her way, you know? Not listenin' to her husband and making decisions without his consent. And old Finnigan, he was so taken with this lass that he started arguin' her right to disrespect his authority!" Kromlech shook his head.

"That's sad and all, Bruce, but I don't think that'll happen to me," Kromlech said. "For a start, I only think this woman a fine sight and like all fine things too much spoils the fine-ness, right? I wouldn't want to be looking at her all the time, because then she wouldn't be so fine to look at. And anyway, Dan was a pushover before he married, always listenin' to the womenfolk and valuing their opinions at that. His wife didn't change him; she exploited him." Bruce nodded wisely.

"Aye," he said, "that be true. So why not take this job, then?"

"That Huntress won't take kindly to me applying," Kromlech said slowly and Bruce nodded in realisation. "So, chances are I'm not going to get it."

There was a loud cry over the other side of the tavern. Kromlech and Bruce looked up as one to see a young man hobbling out of the inn, nursing his arm which appeared to be in some considerable amount of pain. The businessman stood up behind him, calling after him.

"Yeah, that's right, just waddle away, you frightened penguin!" he turned to the rest of the inn, gesturing around him. "You'd better not dare apply if you're frightened, or scared, or just a little baby like him, because we need bravery and courage. Don't think you can handle a little pain, don't let me see your ugly mug. Got it?" And with that, he sat down.

The inn erupted with hushed conversations, everyone staring in disbelief and edging slightly away from the strange businessman.

"Who was that?" Kromlech asked Bruce, who was still staring at the businessman in awe.

"That was Strongleg," Bruce replied, unmoving, "the most dangerous man in town. Everyone here is afraid of him, in awe of him or trying to suck up to him. How have you not come into contact with him before?"

"I probably forgot," Kromlech shrugged. Bruce rolled his eyes.

"You don't just forget Strongleg. He's a brute and a thug and probably going to kill you if you make eye contact with him. If this new guy can reduce him to a wimpering wreck, and demands someone braver than him, then he ain't goin' to find what he's lookin' for here, that's for sure." Kromlech nodded, and stood up. "Hey," Bruce grabbed his arm, "where're you goin'?"

"I'm going to apply for a job," Kromlech said dryly. "It's not as if I've got anything to lose." Shaking himself free of Bruce's hold, he straightened his jacket and brushed some dirt off his shoulders before sauntering through the crowd up to the businessman, who was sitting alone at the bar, everyone around keeping their distance. He tapped the man on the shoulder.

"Excuse me," he smiled and hopped up onto the chair beside him, "but I was wondering if that position was still vacant?"

"You mean you were hoping to apply," the businessman drained his glass and slammed it on the bar. "You know it's vacant, nobody else is stupid enough to apply." The strange man looked up for the first time and seemed shocked at the sight before him. "Well, I never..."

"The name's Kromlech Potbelly. You?"

"I don't have one," he replied and, seeing the look of confusion on Kromlech's face, smiled gently. "It's a long story and I'm too tired to tell it now. My companions call me Anon, you're welcome to do the same."

"You're a famous poet?" Kromlech asked, amazed. Anon glared at him for a few moments whilst Kromlech put two and two together. "Oh," his face fell as he realised.

"Well, Potbelly," Anon leaned back and sized Kromlech up with a long stare, "I'll admit you're the only person in this pitiful city to impress me with any sort of bravery, even if it took the form of stupidity in the face of a feminist. But I like your attitude. I like your humour. Mostly, I like the fact you piss of Kate. That bitch needs to stop thinking she's in control all the time," he added under his breath, just loud enough for Kromlech to hear. "All things considered, I think you would make a fine companion. Don't let it get around, though; I want Kate to be surprised tomorrow morning."

Anon rose and bid Kromlech farewell with a nod of the head. "We leave at dawn," he said as he tried to push his way through the crowd. "Meet us at the clocktower. And don't be late."

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"Anon?"

Anon continued fixing the large package to the horse's harness, wrapping the tight bands around the bulky sack and adjusting the slack so that the horse was not in pain, ignoring the voice that had been calling to him for the last few minutes. He didn't want to think about the ridicule Kate would give him now that they were by the clocktower, the sun firmly just above the horizon and his promised adventurer had not joined them. He had so triumphantly declared that he had found exactly the right person for the job that Kate had expressed more than a little distrust, and now she was preparing, no doubt, to adopt a I told you so kind of attitude for the rest of the day (possibly the rest of the week if she could keep it up long enough.)

Kate startled Anon by pushing herself in-between the horse and him, preventing him from looking away by wrapping her arms around his neck and preventing him from working by standing right in the way of where he needed to look.

"That's better," she said quietly. "Did you really think I was going to let you just ignore me?"

"I had hoped," he replied, trying not to look directly at her but rather just above the top of her head. He was surprised by Kate's behaviour but not particularly worried by it. This was the kind of power game she liked to pull, after all.

"So," she began, tracing circles on his cheek with the back of her hand that left slightly tingly sensations on his skin that were really just annoying, "where is this brave, strong warrior who you promised would be joining us? I haven't seen anyone wandering the streets since dawn but us."

"I'm sure he's on his way," Anon continued to stare at the sack above Kate's head, not wanting to fall into whatever trap she was trying to use now.

"Hey!" a perky, cheerful voice called from above their heads. Kate and Anon both glanced up simultaneously, noting the hooded face of Aerin grinning above them. She had evidently draped herself backwards over the horse, most likely, Anon thought, holding herself in place by putting her feet in the stirrup opposite, all so that she could dangle annoyingly over them. He had to admire Aerin's dedication to annoying people, but at the same time he really wished that wasn't a trait he had to spend the next few months journeying with. "Ooh, am I interrupting something?"

Aerin's wink and her accompanying playful tone of voice did not go unnoticed by Kate, who rolled her eyes. "No, Aerin," she sighed, "I was just asking Anon where our mysterious fourth adventurer was."

"Really?" Aerin asked, confusion evident in her face. "Because it looks like you're trying to seduce him from here. Hold on," she disentangled herself from the horse, rolling over it and landing next to Anon and Kate with a loud thump. To her credit, she managed to make this act of clumsiness appear almost graceful, flowing up from her fallen position and into a standing one with ease, if a little quickly. Rubbing the side of her hips - and thus ruining the deliberate appearance her actions had previously had - she looked at Kate and Anon again. "Nope, looks the same from here, too."

 

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