slumped over a mug half filled with ale, the other half having plastered his beard to the table. “See that bloke over there? You could do worse than talk to him. In fact, he might go straight to the palace when he leaves.”
“Why, who is he?” asked Gordo, stepping aside as Groan returned, supporting the foreigner with a ham-size fist gripping his shoulder.
“That’s Tambor Forestall, Chairman of the City Council,” answered the bartender.
Groan raised the ghost of an eyebrow. “And he drinks in ’ere?”
“Yes.”
Gordo frowned. “Doesn’t get a lot of attention for being in charge of the council?”
“Nope.”
“Why not?” asked Gordo.
“The council don’t do naff all in Dullitch. The duke gets blamed for everything.”
“Nice,” Gordo said, nodding.
“Yeah,” Groan agreed. “Seems fair.”
Tambor didn’t like it when shadows fell across his drinking table, especially during the day. He lowered his head again and tried to examine the bottom of his tankard, but the shadow just kept lengthening.
“Oi, you. Come an’ sit wit’ us.”
Tambor looked up. He soon wished he hadn’t. Groan Teethgrit was a sight to behold, but the man was probably not best viewed within the smoky depths of the Ferret. For a moment, Tambor thought he’d become the focus of attention for an angry mountain troll. Then he realized that, against all odds, the creature had spoken syllables, albeit fractured ones. And the face was familiar. Tambor had been an ordinary councillor during the Virgin Sacrifice Scandal, but there were some faces you simply didn’t forget.
“I beg your pardon?” Tambor ventured, desperately.
“I said, come an sit wit’ us.”
The bulky giant pointed over to a table that was already playing host to a stocky dwarf and a boy who looked severely drugged.
“Um…I’m fine as I am, thanks,” said Tambor, turning his gaze back to his drink.
“How d’you mean?”
Tambor hesitated. “Er…what I mean is, I’d quite like to go on sitting here, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Right,” muttered Groan. “An’ I’d like a frog in a box, but we don’t always get what we want, do we?”
Tambor managed a weak grin, picked up his drink, and sidled over to the table. The muscled mountain loomed over him.
“Pull up a stool,” Gordo said, offering the elderly councillor a companionable smile. “And tell us about this plague of yours.”
A sudden, all-knowing look came into Tambor’s twinkling eyes. “Ah,” he said. “Now I see. You’re mercenaries.”
“An’ you’re a damn sorcerer!” boomed Groan, who’d taken offense. “I can spot one a mile off.”
The councillor shrugged. “I used to be, back before the art was banned. I was a very good one, too. Not any more, though. Now I’m in politics.”
Gordo took a gulp from his tankard, and frowned. “Don’t you miss the life of adventure?”
“Desperately…but I suppose you can’t throw fireballs forever. At least, not in this city. Hahahaha!” Tambor forced a laugh.
“Yeah, so I heard. Any children?” asked Gordo.
“None that’d admit to it. Got a grandson who talks to me, though; young Jimmy. He’s a good lad, bit of an idiot, but you know how youngsters are these days. He works down at Spew’s, mornings, and scouts for the duke in the afternoons. I think he works at night, too, fetching stuff for people.”
“Ah, a noble trade,” said Gordo, tactfully.
“All thieves’re scum,” said Groan, who’d heard of tact but hadn’t bought any shares.
“I’ll get rid of your plague.”
The table fell silent, and three pairs of eyes turned to consider Diek Wustapha. The boy looked momentarily electrified, then slouched forward and collapsed onto the table. Everyone looked at Groan.
“ What? I didn’t touch ’im.”
“Kids these days,” Tambor mumbled, shaking his head sadly. “Drugged up to the damn eyeballs. Still, this city needs all the help it can get. D’you two think you could
“Why, who is he?” asked Gordo, stepping aside as Groan returned, supporting the foreigner with a ham-size fist gripping his shoulder.
“That’s Tambor Forestall, Chairman of the City Council,” answered the bartender.
Groan raised the ghost of an eyebrow. “And he drinks in ’ere?”
“Yes.”
Gordo frowned. “Doesn’t get a lot of attention for being in charge of the council?”
“Nope.”
“Why not?” asked Gordo.
“The council don’t do naff all in Dullitch. The duke gets blamed for everything.”
“Nice,” Gordo said, nodding.
“Yeah,” Groan agreed. “Seems fair.”
Tambor didn’t like it when shadows fell across his drinking table, especially during the day. He lowered his head again and tried to examine the bottom of his tankard, but the shadow just kept lengthening.
“Oi, you. Come an’ sit wit’ us.”
Tambor looked up. He soon wished he hadn’t. Groan Teethgrit was a sight to behold, but the man was probably not best viewed within the smoky depths of the Ferret. For a moment, Tambor thought he’d become the focus of attention for an angry mountain troll. Then he realized that, against all odds, the creature had spoken syllables, albeit fractured ones. And the face was familiar. Tambor had been an ordinary councillor during the Virgin Sacrifice Scandal, but there were some faces you simply didn’t forget.
“I beg your pardon?” Tambor ventured, desperately.
“I said, come an sit wit’ us.”
The bulky giant pointed over to a table that was already playing host to a stocky dwarf and a boy who looked severely drugged.
“Um…I’m fine as I am, thanks,” said Tambor, turning his gaze back to his drink.
“How d’you mean?”
Tambor hesitated. “Er…what I mean is, I’d quite like to go on sitting here, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Right,” muttered Groan. “An’ I’d like a frog in a box, but we don’t always get what we want, do we?”
Tambor managed a weak grin, picked up his drink, and sidled over to the table. The muscled mountain loomed over him.
“Pull up a stool,” Gordo said, offering the elderly councillor a companionable smile. “And tell us about this plague of yours.”
A sudden, all-knowing look came into Tambor’s twinkling eyes. “Ah,” he said. “Now I see. You’re mercenaries.”
“An’ you’re a damn sorcerer!” boomed Groan, who’d taken offense. “I can spot one a mile off.”
The councillor shrugged. “I used to be, back before the art was banned. I was a very good one, too. Not any more, though. Now I’m in politics.”
Gordo took a gulp from his tankard, and frowned. “Don’t you miss the life of adventure?”
“Desperately…but I suppose you can’t throw fireballs forever. At least, not in this city. Hahahaha!” Tambor forced a laugh.
“Yeah, so I heard. Any children?” asked Gordo.
“None that’d admit to it. Got a grandson who talks to me, though; young Jimmy. He’s a good lad, bit of an idiot, but you know how youngsters are these days. He works down at Spew’s, mornings, and scouts for the duke in the afternoons. I think he works at night, too, fetching stuff for people.”
“Ah, a noble trade,” said Gordo, tactfully.
“All thieves’re scum,” said Groan, who’d heard of tact but hadn’t bought any shares.
“I’ll get rid of your plague.”
The table fell silent, and three pairs of eyes turned to consider Diek Wustapha. The boy looked momentarily electrified, then slouched forward and collapsed onto the table. Everyone looked at Groan.
“ What? I didn’t touch ’im.”
“Kids these days,” Tambor mumbled, shaking his head sadly. “Drugged up to the damn eyeballs. Still, this city needs all the help it can get. D’you two think you could