Peasants always congregate at times like these, embracing the illusion that they’re safer together. They’re not unlike the cows in the field, really, except for one marked difference.
The cows were huddled together outside.
Apparently, the need to feel safe did not coexist with the need to bathe. The smell was positively offensive. The combination of body odor, cheap smoke-leaf, and forgettably average cooking aromas was unbearable. It was a chilly evening (being the first day of the autumn month of Lamashan) so the windows were shuttered, holding in the stink.
And it was too noisy, with loud conversation and poor table manners all but drowning out the sounds of the two rather amateurish shakuhachi players feebly puffing out music to an unappreciative audience. Sir Cronin would have done better to hire a raucous fiddler and drummer instead of attempting to bring culture to these mud churners.
But the worst part was their simple proximity. Every chair in the tavern was occupied, and there were several patrons who had to stand with their cups. He was accustomed to having his own table, but even he couldn’t avoid sharing his space with a corporal and a pair of farmers. One of them was that sycophant Larade, who at least had the presence of mind to wash his hands and face before meals. He was respectful and obedient in the way his low born sensibilities thought were most appropriate, and Tuxill deemed his presence to be mildly less intolerable than the rest of the locals.
Word had spread quickly that the Advisor to the Mayor of Amber was offering a substantial bounty on the elf ranger; information or arrest, dead or alive. Every prospector and soldier in the area was keeping an eye out and, thanks to Larade’s politicking, so were many of the farmers. Tuxill had suggested a few things to say and Larade had performed capably enough. With any luck Hemenele would be brought to justice quickly. The blood elf was a detriment to the community and it was perhaps inevitable that she meet her end like this. Tuxill looked around the full dining room and saw Stefano and Cronin with their heads together near the bar. The good Sir Cronin was a fool to put his faith in these herd animals or their shepherd, but Tuxill was determined to save both him and this tiny outpost. He’d probably have to drag him to his salvation with little or no thanks to either him or his brother the Mayor. However, such was his duty and he’d see it finished.
He grimaced and got up to leave. Larade and company toasted his health and he accepted their well-wishes gracefully. It was a relief to step out into the fresh, cool, night air. He imagined the breeze was blowing the stench of the low born from his clothing before heading to his house.
The house was dark but the embers in the fireplace were still hot under the ashes. He lit a lamp with a taper and turned around…
… to find Yinyesis sitting in his chair. Tuxill couldn’t help but be startled, and it angered him knowing it must have shown on his face. How long had that bastard been sitting in the dark? Still, you don’t wish to appear weak to the likes of him. “I told you not to come here. Get out.” he snarled.
“Ah, many apologies, of course, great advisor, but I have been sent to learn of your progress. You do not write, or call, or come when you are summoned.” Yinyesis smirked at Tuxill’s discomfort but let that last word linger on his lips and hang in the air, the threat being plain yet unspoken.
“I don’t take orders from you, or come at your bidding. But if you must have some information to prove your worth to your masters, know that the group of possible suspects has been greatly reduced. I’m also close to completing my review of the local records.” He walked over to his liquor cabinet and withdrew a bottle and a single glass. “I will soon have enough evidence to prove the upstart wife is a low born traitor.”
Yinyesis yawned and waved his hand carelessly. “Yes, yes” he murmured in a smooth baritone “Remove the ranger if you are not clever enough to find better uses for her, but your obsession over the lord’s commoner bride is impairing your efforts. You actually think one human’s blood is significantly different than another’s? How humorous. Staring at numbers in a book will not prevent the chaos that is coming. Were not your orders made clear before you departed Amber?”
Yinyesis couldn’t see the inside of the liquor cabinet, where Tuxill had a surprise should this conversation fall apart. While he didn’t like his chances if that came to pass, he still must appear confident, capable, and strong. “I know my orders. The records are the key for that one. I can’t very well put her on the rack for answers, can I? My results will speak for themselves, and will be much to the satisfaction of our lord. Be a good little messenger and pass that along.”
The tone was insulting and deliberately impertinent. Hopefully Tuxill had not pushed too far. “Your message I will communicate, as well as your insolence.” Yinyesis narrowed his eyes hatefully but seemed able to restrain himself. “Do not fail or you will pay a high price, indeed. And perhaps I will be the one to collect. I would enjoy that.” And then Yinyesis was gone, simply no longer in the room.
The house was suddenly too empty, too quiet, and full of dark thoughts and threats. He wouldn’t get any work done now. Tuxill shuddered and let out a shaky sigh. Maybe one drink and then back to work. He put the glass and decanter back in the cabinet, locked the front door, and retraced his footsteps back to the crowded inn.