smoothly.
“All right,” Osric said, sheathing the dagger. “Take all the overtime you need on this.”
Torin straightened. “Really?”
Osric rarely smiled, but now his face did soften a bit. “That was the first thing I asked Lord Albin for. After all, if we are to solve the most important murder in Cliff’s End’s history, no resource should be spared, right?” The scowl came back. “Now get out of here and close this case.”
As they exited Osric’s office, Danthres shook her head and chuckled. “Amazing.”
“What is?”
“Until now, I’ve been cursing Brightblade’s name—a mystery like this is usually just a major pain in the ass until we put the case down, but unlimited overtime? For that, I will happily drink a toast to Gan Brightblade at the Chain tonight.”
“Assuming we get to the Chain. I think it behooves us to at least question the stablemasters tonight.” Torin grinned. “We do have unlimited overtime, after all.”
It was close to midnight by the time Danthres and Torin showed up at The Old Ball and Chain—late enough, Danthres observed, that Iaian had already gone home and there were actually a few seats available.
The public house had been opened six years earlier by a retired dwarven guard named Urgoss. His fellow foot soldiers of Dragon Precinct had come to the grand opening, and kept coming back every night. Soon, the place gained a reputation as a Guard bar, to the point where Urgoss would only let non-Guard personnel in if they were specifically vouched for—sometimes not even then, depending on the quality of the person giving the reference.
Danthres spied Dru and Hawk at their usual table—the big round one in the back—and pointed Torin toward it. Urgoss had arranged the tables so that there were plenty of clear walkways to and from the bar, thus saving him the expense of hiring table service. Besides, he figured if you were too drunk to amble up to the bar and order your own drink, you shouldn’t have any more anyhow. The back wall of the Chain had a long bench with five six-person tables alongside it. Hawk sat on the bench against the wall, with Dru in one of the two stools opposite.
“About time you two showin’ up,” Hawk said, holding up his flagon in tribute. Danthres could smell the ale both in the flagon and on Hawk’s breath.
Torin grinned as he slid onto the bench next to Hawk. “The joys of unlimited overtime.”
Dru’s eyes went as wide as copper coins. “Osric signed off on that?”
Shrugging, Danthres took the stool next to Dru. “Well, we have to have some compensation for having him take up residence in our asses for the duration of this case.”
“Good,” Hawk said, “maybe he’ll be gettin’ outta ours, then.”
“Could be worse,” Dru said after taking a contemplative sip of his ale. “At least we don’t have the Brotherhood up there like Iaian and the fish do.” Dru had taken to referring to Grovis as “the fish” because he felt the perpetually confused look on the lieutenant’s face resembled that of one of his wife’s piscine pets.
“No, we just gotta listen to ’im bitch an’ moan ’bout it.”
Again, Torin grinned. “Ah, so we missed Iaian’s usual gripe session entirely, then?”
“Yeah, he faded about an hour ago.” Dru wiped the foam from his ale off his lips. “Least he isn’t going on about the fish anymore.”
Danthres snorted. “How many different ways can you say that Grovis is a perfect ass?”
“Iaian’s come up with most of them by now, I should think,” Torin said.
“Well, we missed tonight’s griping by virtue of spending several hours figuring out which stable Brother Genero, Gan Brightblade, and their merry band of idiots used to house their horses when they arrived. Took forever to find—probably because we started at the cheaper places, and worked our way up.”
Dru almost sputtered his ale. “You’re kidding, right? Heavy hitter like Brightblade, he’s gonna go with
“All right,” Osric said, sheathing the dagger. “Take all the overtime you need on this.”
Torin straightened. “Really?”
Osric rarely smiled, but now his face did soften a bit. “That was the first thing I asked Lord Albin for. After all, if we are to solve the most important murder in Cliff’s End’s history, no resource should be spared, right?” The scowl came back. “Now get out of here and close this case.”
As they exited Osric’s office, Danthres shook her head and chuckled. “Amazing.”
“What is?”
“Until now, I’ve been cursing Brightblade’s name—a mystery like this is usually just a major pain in the ass until we put the case down, but unlimited overtime? For that, I will happily drink a toast to Gan Brightblade at the Chain tonight.”
“Assuming we get to the Chain. I think it behooves us to at least question the stablemasters tonight.” Torin grinned. “We do have unlimited overtime, after all.”
It was close to midnight by the time Danthres and Torin showed up at The Old Ball and Chain—late enough, Danthres observed, that Iaian had already gone home and there were actually a few seats available.
The public house had been opened six years earlier by a retired dwarven guard named Urgoss. His fellow foot soldiers of Dragon Precinct had come to the grand opening, and kept coming back every night. Soon, the place gained a reputation as a Guard bar, to the point where Urgoss would only let non-Guard personnel in if they were specifically vouched for—sometimes not even then, depending on the quality of the person giving the reference.
Danthres spied Dru and Hawk at their usual table—the big round one in the back—and pointed Torin toward it. Urgoss had arranged the tables so that there were plenty of clear walkways to and from the bar, thus saving him the expense of hiring table service. Besides, he figured if you were too drunk to amble up to the bar and order your own drink, you shouldn’t have any more anyhow. The back wall of the Chain had a long bench with five six-person tables alongside it. Hawk sat on the bench against the wall, with Dru in one of the two stools opposite.
“About time you two showin’ up,” Hawk said, holding up his flagon in tribute. Danthres could smell the ale both in the flagon and on Hawk’s breath.
Torin grinned as he slid onto the bench next to Hawk. “The joys of unlimited overtime.”
Dru’s eyes went as wide as copper coins. “Osric signed off on that?”
Shrugging, Danthres took the stool next to Dru. “Well, we have to have some compensation for having him take up residence in our asses for the duration of this case.”
“Good,” Hawk said, “maybe he’ll be gettin’ outta ours, then.”
“Could be worse,” Dru said after taking a contemplative sip of his ale. “At least we don’t have the Brotherhood up there like Iaian and the fish do.” Dru had taken to referring to Grovis as “the fish” because he felt the perpetually confused look on the lieutenant’s face resembled that of one of his wife’s piscine pets.
“No, we just gotta listen to ’im bitch an’ moan ’bout it.”
Again, Torin grinned. “Ah, so we missed Iaian’s usual gripe session entirely, then?”
“Yeah, he faded about an hour ago.” Dru wiped the foam from his ale off his lips. “Least he isn’t going on about the fish anymore.”
Danthres snorted. “How many different ways can you say that Grovis is a perfect ass?”
“Iaian’s come up with most of them by now, I should think,” Torin said.
“Well, we missed tonight’s griping by virtue of spending several hours figuring out which stable Brother Genero, Gan Brightblade, and their merry band of idiots used to house their horses when they arrived. Took forever to find—probably because we started at the cheaper places, and worked our way up.”
Dru almost sputtered his ale. “You’re kidding, right? Heavy hitter like Brightblade, he’s gonna go with
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