“Now, back to Sir Gregory. Did your pa tell you the stories as a child?”
“I read them, Lord..?”
“Bearbóir, but I often just go by Bear.”
The old man’s name translated to barber in the old language. What luck! But then this meeting seemed all too good to be true. The man pegged him in an instant, knowing his quest. His entire demeanor seemed to know far more than Jude offered. Something was quite off about this entire village.
Jude followed Bear up the stairs of the inn. The old man walked upright and sure-footed, unlike the slurring mess he had seemed upon their greetings. Maybe there was far more magic at work than met his eye. There were odd things about the inn itself. The golden lanterns held glass bulbs without wicks. Instead, the glass held tiny twisted golden strings. And there was a constant hum sound which hung in the air, like a slight vibration all over his body. The sensation of the hum made him anxious. Was he too trusting of the man who knew too much? And what role did Mae… Macna play in his quest? She likely played no other role than the one he held in his dreams; however, he wished her there regardless.
“Your room, Jude.” Bear unlocked a heavy wooden door to a plain room of wood which contrasted the rich gold plating of the rest of the inn. More golden glass lanterns sat were candles should be, but the currents were pulled back wide to allow the early morning sun to fill the room. “How long do you plan to stay before starting on your journey?”
“Honestly, based on Sir Gregory’s writings I imagined years. But with your apparent willingness to help, might see me off sooner than anticipated.”
“Aye,” Bear slouched his back. “But ya might heed yer gut. Yer senses tell ya the most truth.” The old man winked and limped back down the stairs and resumed his place at the bar.
Jude threw his large travel satchel onto the full bed. No dust rose nor did the mattress creek. Rich indeed. He pulled out his bound papers and began to make an account of his arrival.
Sciorta seems too magical for my taste of villages. The young mother I met just last night miles from town, is named Macna but seems far from the origin of her namesake. She is the only Rijkic person in the village as I learned. Besides me if by some grace I defeat this monster. She seemed pleased to see me in the light of day, but her teasing quickly turned solemn with the mention of her husband who deals in rare items, I’ve gathered.
Gold adorns everything in the city with no regards of hiding. Though a jester in the street boasts of leprechauns to the visitors of the city, I wonder how much is hidden in plain sight in order to deter from quests to slay the monster who provides their livelihood.
Many things in the town seem to contradict themselves, or possibly just the people. A drunk old man I happened to sit next to at the inn bar, seemed to have me pegged the moment I walked in. I had sat next to him on purpose, to hopefully get a bit of history of the town from a slack mouthed drunkard. Who would be so tanked-up at such an early hour? He was dressed proper for the local populace but slouched and slurred his speech at first meeting.
But somehow he knew me. Not me, Jude, but of my family and our shame. He openly spoke of Diamont de Bas even though the sword was covered, hilt and all. No one seemed to take notice of our conversation but for the bar wench who was peculiar in her own right. A pretty lass, with white curls bound to the top of her head and a smile that calmed my anger at the man. Or was it her hand on mine? She thanked me after I asked for a beer and a round of what the drunk gentleman had been drinking. She brought him water. And just like that, the man sat straight as nobility and spoke clear and smart. He knew of Sir Gregory, which was likely how he knew of my previous quests and the journeys I have taken to make it this far. But how did he know? Do they all know?
And this girl refuses to leave my thoughts. There are many I’ve had prettier than her which I have cared less for. Why is this one so… desirable? A man always wants what he cannot have. I cannot have. Macna will not interfere with my quest.
Jude slammed the journal closed and whispered a curse, nearly jumping out of his skin when a knock came at the door. Half expecting to see a massive man ready to relieve his shoulders of his head, Jude cracked the door just enough to see out.
“You’ve left yer mead, Jude,” the blond smiled sweetly offering the pint.
“What’s your name, miss?”
“I’m Annabella, Anna or Bella. Either.” She shrugged and batted her eyes, color rose to her cheeks.
Jude knew a flirt when he saw one. He lifted the pint to his mouth and took four long drinks. She was nice, but still odd in a sense his gut warned against inviting her in. If the barber was truly on his side, he might listen to his intuition and not bed the pretty thing.
“Thank you, Annabella. I imagine we’ll be seeing more of each other.”
“I hope so.” She lingered a few seconds more, but Jude stood his ground and did not invite her in.
“Thank you.”
“Oh, yes. Sorry.” Annabella gave a quick curtsy and made her way down the stairs. “What the ‘ell you looking at? Yeah they bounce, mind yer business.” She shouted to gawking patrons as she made her way back behind the bar.
Jude stood for a moment scanning the inn lobby. No one paid him any attention. Just another traveler like themselves. Locals were easy to spot, but few kept a seat. Mostly they walked in, asked something of AnnaBella and left carrying small sacks, likely gold coins. The stuff was so abundant making off with a lamp would feed a family for month anywhere else in the world. The thought seemed to swim around his head to his eyes making them heavy. Jude grabbed the door knob and stumbled into his room. Locking the door in a blur, he collapsed onto the bed asleep.