asked, pointing at Harte's ale. "Don't you think it might be interesting to follow them?" He nodded towards the departing group.
Harte perked up. "Yes, actually, it would." He put some coins on the bar. "Let's do it."
They worked their way through the crowd to the door and out into the cold. "I hope Peli has someplace warm to stay tonight," said Harte.
Griff rolled his eyes. "Sister Grace will warm our hides if we don't find him."
It seemed that Greer and company were headed down towards Dock Street. Harte and Griff sauntered town the hill behind them, trying to look as relaxed and unhurried as possible, while keeping the group in sight. When they got to Dock Street, the group turned towards the Red Rooster. But they passed it and continued on. Harte pulled Griff into an empty doorway.
"Would you continue to follow them? I want to know where they go and what sort of entertainment they find. While you do that, I want to visit the Angry Cock again to see if the anyone has seen Peli."
Griff stifled a snort at Harte's use of the notorious tavern's nickname. "Sure. I'll meet you back here in an hour or two. You don't seem to need my assistance in that place, anyway."
Harte swallowed a retort at Griff's jibe. "Good. Stay well back. Don't let them scent you."
Still smiling, Griff slipped off into the night. Harte glanced up and down the street, then took a breath and marched into the Red Rooster. It was as crowded as before with men from all stations and walks of life. The men at the tables mostly ignored the newcomer, but the line of men standing at the bar turned to look at Harte. A few even made a show of looking Harte up and down. One burly young tough stared directly into Harte's eyes until Harte blinked and looked away. Harte took a place at the other end of the bar and waited for the barkeep.
"You again? What'll you have tonight? Ale or somewhat stronger?"
"Ale, please, and some information."
"I've drinks to pour. Why don't you bother someone else?" He looked at Harte speculatively. "There's a few here tonight might care for a private chat with a shiny bird like you."
Harte leaned forward and spoke quietly. "I just want to know if you've seen that boy again--Peli."
"Nope, haven't noticed him." The barkeep left to answer a wave from a customer.
Harte was looking around the room to see if there was some place less conspicuous where he could wait to see if the boy appeared, when an oily tenor spoke up near his right ear. "If it's boys you're looking for, I can show you a fine selection."
"What? No, I don't want--I'm looking for a particular boy. It's important that I find him." The man standing next to Harte was thick-waisted, with a sunken chest and thin arms. His clothes were expensive and stylish, but exaggerated.
"I'm sure I could find another just like him. What are you looking for? Let me guess: blond, skinny, smooth-chested? Or maybe with a cute little trail leading down here?" The man slowly ran his finger down Harte's belly until it rested gently on his crotch.
Harte's face heated, and he stepped backward. "Please keep your hands to yourself, sir. I do not require your assistance in any way."
There was a grunt from behind Harte and a languid drawl. "Careful now. That was my foot you just trod on." The man stepped around into view. He was tall, lean, and dressed plainly but expensively, in black. The collar of his cloak was trimmed in soft leather. His black hair was longer than the fashion and contrasted sharply with his pale skin. "Mr. Blud," the man said, "I don't think this fellow's in need of your services. In fact, I don't think anyone here is in need of your services. Perhaps you should try another establishment--" He paused. "Now." Mr. Blud shrugged and turned to leave. The newcomer watched as Mr. Blud made his way out the door and then sighed.
"I'm sorry about that. I hope you don't hold my little establishment guilty for his offense? Perhaps I could compensate you for enduring Mr. Blud with
Harte perked up. "Yes, actually, it would." He put some coins on the bar. "Let's do it."
They worked their way through the crowd to the door and out into the cold. "I hope Peli has someplace warm to stay tonight," said Harte.
Griff rolled his eyes. "Sister Grace will warm our hides if we don't find him."
It seemed that Greer and company were headed down towards Dock Street. Harte and Griff sauntered town the hill behind them, trying to look as relaxed and unhurried as possible, while keeping the group in sight. When they got to Dock Street, the group turned towards the Red Rooster. But they passed it and continued on. Harte pulled Griff into an empty doorway.
"Would you continue to follow them? I want to know where they go and what sort of entertainment they find. While you do that, I want to visit the Angry Cock again to see if the anyone has seen Peli."
Griff stifled a snort at Harte's use of the notorious tavern's nickname. "Sure. I'll meet you back here in an hour or two. You don't seem to need my assistance in that place, anyway."
Harte swallowed a retort at Griff's jibe. "Good. Stay well back. Don't let them scent you."
Still smiling, Griff slipped off into the night. Harte glanced up and down the street, then took a breath and marched into the Red Rooster. It was as crowded as before with men from all stations and walks of life. The men at the tables mostly ignored the newcomer, but the line of men standing at the bar turned to look at Harte. A few even made a show of looking Harte up and down. One burly young tough stared directly into Harte's eyes until Harte blinked and looked away. Harte took a place at the other end of the bar and waited for the barkeep.
"You again? What'll you have tonight? Ale or somewhat stronger?"
"Ale, please, and some information."
"I've drinks to pour. Why don't you bother someone else?" He looked at Harte speculatively. "There's a few here tonight might care for a private chat with a shiny bird like you."
Harte leaned forward and spoke quietly. "I just want to know if you've seen that boy again--Peli."
"Nope, haven't noticed him." The barkeep left to answer a wave from a customer.
Harte was looking around the room to see if there was some place less conspicuous where he could wait to see if the boy appeared, when an oily tenor spoke up near his right ear. "If it's boys you're looking for, I can show you a fine selection."
"What? No, I don't want--I'm looking for a particular boy. It's important that I find him." The man standing next to Harte was thick-waisted, with a sunken chest and thin arms. His clothes were expensive and stylish, but exaggerated.
"I'm sure I could find another just like him. What are you looking for? Let me guess: blond, skinny, smooth-chested? Or maybe with a cute little trail leading down here?" The man slowly ran his finger down Harte's belly until it rested gently on his crotch.
Harte's face heated, and he stepped backward. "Please keep your hands to yourself, sir. I do not require your assistance in any way."
There was a grunt from behind Harte and a languid drawl. "Careful now. That was my foot you just trod on." The man stepped around into view. He was tall, lean, and dressed plainly but expensively, in black. The collar of his cloak was trimmed in soft leather. His black hair was longer than the fashion and contrasted sharply with his pale skin. "Mr. Blud," the man said, "I don't think this fellow's in need of your services. In fact, I don't think anyone here is in need of your services. Perhaps you should try another establishment--" He paused. "Now." Mr. Blud shrugged and turned to leave. The newcomer watched as Mr. Blud made his way out the door and then sighed.
"I'm sorry about that. I hope you don't hold my little establishment guilty for his offense? Perhaps I could compensate you for enduring Mr. Blud with
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