Jiron hits the stairs down to the common room almost at a run in his impatience. “Hey,” Stig cautions, “not so fast. We don’t want to draw any attention.”
Jiron holds back several choice words about unwanted attention, but heeds Stig’s warning and slows down. Once in the common room they make their way through the tables toward the door. Several of the tables have men and women taking their ease during the heat of early evening. One of the ladies gives Jiron a slight grin and a wink. If he wasn’t so intent on finding out what this man knows about Tinok, he might have paused. But then thoughts of Aleya come to mind and any errant thought he has about the woman in the common room vanishes like a breeze.
They exit through the door and come to a stop in the street. Unsure where the Cracked Ladle lies, Jiron has Reilin ask one of the passersby. Luck is with them and the man is able to give them directions. He points down the street they are currently on and tells them to continue for six blocks, then to take a right. And that’s where his memory gets a little hazy. “It borders on a plaza that has a three tiered fountain,” he says. “You can’t miss it, it’s the only public fountain here in Morac. Also, atop the uppermost tier of the fountain lies a statue of Aziki.”
“Aziki?” asks Reilin. The man looks at him odd that he wouldn’t know who Aziki is. “Oh yeah, right,” he says to the man then thanks him for his help. He indicates to Jiron and Stig that he’s got the directions and leaves the man standing there as he rejoins the others. Glancing back, he sees the man still standing there looking at him oddly. Wonder who this Aziki is?
Leading the others, he takes them down six blocks and then turns right down a cross street. “Somewhere in this area is a fountain with a statue of someone on top of it,” he tells them. “The Cracked Ladle borders the plaza.”
“Excellent,” says Jiron. They continue down a few more blocks and at each intersection of streets they come to they scan down the cross streets for the fountain. The first two intersections yield nothing, but at the third when they look down to the left, they see over the heads of the crowds on the streets, a statue of a warrior.
“That must be it,” Reilin observes.
“Let’s hope so,” Stig says.
Moving down the street to their left, they work their way through the crowds until the street opens onto the plaza the man had described. The splash of water can be heard as it cascades over the tiers of the fountain. It’s actually quite large and children, some of them naked, are playing in the water.
The buildings bordering the plaza all look fairly identical. Most appear to be open markets where many people are currently looking over goods or sitting at tables having a drink or a meal.
“Which one is it?” Stig asks.
“The name indicates an eatery,” Jiron replies. “Let’s make our way around the plaza and see if there’s a sign hanging out front of one of them that may tell us.”
Moving through the crowds, they work their way from one shop to the next. By the time they have made a complete circle and come back to where they started, no sign indicating a Cracked Ladle could be seen.
“Go ask someone,” Jiron finally tells Reilin.
Nodding, Reilin goes to one of the men passing by and asks, “Excuse me sir, could you tell me which one of these establishments is the Cracked Ladle?”
The man stops and peers at him through squinted eyes as if he’s unable to see well. “The Cracked Ladle you say?” he asks. Casting his eyes around the plaza, they finally stop at one with a red tapestry bearing the design of a sword hanging next to the door. “I believe that is the one there.”
“Thank you good sir,” Reilin says before the man walks away. Returning to the others, he indicates the door with the red banner and says, “It’s that one.”
“Doesn’t look like an eatery,” Stig says.
“No, it doesn’t,” agrees Jiron. Turning to Reilin he asks, “Are you sure that’s the one the man told you?”
Nodding, Reilin replies, “Absolutely.”
“Very well then,” Jiron says. Moving out, he crosses the plaza toward the door next to the red banner. Coming up to it, he takes hold of the handle and pushes it open.
On the other side they find a wide hallway extending further back. Lining the hallway are six suits of armor three to a side, each one from a different nation or era. “I don’t think this place is an eatery,” whispers Reilin when he sees the armor.
“I wouldn’t think so,” Jiron says as he passes through the doorway. His feet echo off the hardwood floor. Gazing down at it, he suddenly realizes whatever this place is, it has money. A floor like this, especially in this part of the world, had to have cost a fortune.
Just after the six suits of armor, the hallway ends at an open archway. On the other side is a large room, richly furnished. Couches, chairs and tables are spaced in such a way as to afford at least a small amount of privacy to those using them. Rugs line the floor and tapestries hang along the walls. Not cheap ones, these look to be made of fine cloth by master artisans. A few statues sprinkled here and there give the room an even added touch of elegance.
The room is empty but for a lone gentleman sitting at one of the tables reading a book. As they enter the room the man looks up from his reading, his expression is one of irritation. His eyes never leave them as Jiron comes to a stop just within the room.
He looks at the man then glances around the room in the hopes of someone else making an appearance that they could deal with. When after a minute of fruitless waiting, he sighs and begins walking over to the man.
Reilin walks at his side and notices the man’s mood turns darker when he realizes they mean to approach him. “Good day,” Reilin greets the man as they reach the table. Coming to a stop, they give the man a slight, respectful bow in the hopes of mellowing out his mood.
Unresponsive, the man continues to glare at them.
“We were hoping you could tell us if this is in fact the Cracked Ladle?” Reilin asks.
The man’s eyes flick from one to the other. He closes his book and sets it on the table before him. “It is,” he replies.
Reilin turns to the others and translates, “He said it is.”
“Good,” says Jiron.
Jiron was just about to tell Reilin to ask about Azku when the man says in perfect northern, “I can understand you.”
“Thank goodness,” he says turning to the man. “This doesn’t look like an eatery.”
“That’s because it isn’t,” the man explains. Remaining ramrod straight in his chair, the man’s expression hasn’t softened in the least.
“Oh?” asks Stig. “What kind of place is this?”
“One where those who are not invited are not welcome,” he states. “You are intruding where you don’t belong. Please leave.”
“But we have come a very long way,” objects Jiron. “We very much need to find a man by the name of Azku. We’ve been told he comes here.”
The man’s eyes react slightly when Jiron said the name ‘Azku’, then returns to the same perturbed expression once more. “Please leave,” the man says again. “I don’t wish to tell you a third time.”
Jiron locks gazes with the man and begins contemplating the ramifications if he were to force the man to talk to them.
“Oh, hello,” a voice says from behind them, also in northern.
They turn to see another man, this one wearing a more jovial expression. “I see you’ve met Kozal,” the jovial man says with a smile. Then he glances to the man in the chair and says, “Being your usual unpleasant self?”
“They’ve got no right to be in here,” Kozal says.
“I suppose in the strictest sense that is true,” the jovial man states. “But you can be my guests and that will settle that.”
The man in the chair picks up the book and grumbles something as he returns his eyes back to its pages.
“Don’t let Kozal’s unpleasantness give you the wrong impression of us here at the Order of the Scarlet Sword,” the jovial man says. He
glances again at the man at the table and whispers to them, “We better find another place where we can talk so we won’t bother him any longer.”
“How about outside in the street,” mumbles Kozal.
Shaking his head at Kozal’s rudeness, the jovial man indicates for them to follow him. “We don’t get many visitors here,” he explains.
“I never heard of the Order of the Scarlet Sword,” Jiron says.
“Not too surprising,” the man replies. “Even here in the Empire it’s not too well known. Being from the north, I would have been surprised if you had heard of it.”
“What is it?” Stig asks.
“It’s kind of like a guild,” he replies. “Those of us who belong to the Order of the Scarlet Sword are mainly comprised of soldiers, fighters, weapon smiths and a few others whose profession has to do with such things. I believe we even have a couple Empire Commanders and Commanders of Ten counted as members.” As he talks he takes them through the room and opens a door on the far side.
The hallway they find themselves in has a very fine carpet lining the floor. The walls are adorned with many fine works of art. “There’s a room down here where we can have some peace and quiet while we talk.”
“Are you a swordsman then?” asks Jiron. From the man’s manner and build, he would hardly consider him a formidable opponent if he were.
“No,” he replies. “I’ve never been one for the actual use of weapons. Rather, I teach those willing to learn.”
He stops before a door on the left side of the hallway and removes a key. Using the key to unlock the door, he opens it and leads them inside. The room they find themselves in, considering the ostentatiousness of what they’ve seen so far, is rather plain. A simple wooden table in the center of the room with chairs set around it upon a bare wooden floor.
“Now, if you will take a seat,” the man replies, “we can discuss whatever it is that brought you here.”
Jiron takes his seat but feels slightly put off by the amicable nature of their host. “Who are you?” he asks.
“Where are my manners?” he asks. “You can all me Ohan.”
“Ohan?” asks Stig. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard that name before.”
Ohan gives him a grin and says, “Not too surprising. In my life I’ve only encountered one other person who had the privilege to be called such. And that was quite a ways from here as a matter of fact.”
“Indeed,” says Jiron.
“You seem awfully…uh…” stammers Reilin.
“Nice?” he asks. When Reilin nods he shrugs and says, “To be honest I’m just bored. My job is to take care of the members here and to keep the House in order. Aside from Kozal, you are the only ones I’ve seen in days. And frankly, he isn’t much of a conversationalist.”
Jiron is beginning to warm up to the man. Giving him a grin he says, “I could see that.”
“Oh, he’s not a bad sort once you get to know him,” he replies. “Just likes to read. Never saw an ex-swordsman read like he does. Anyway, we are getting away from what it is that brought you here.”
“We are looking for a man by the name of Azku,” Jiron explains.
“Azku you say?” he asks.
“Do you know him?” asks Stig.
“I know several men by the name of Azku,” he replies. “Two happen to be members that stop by here from time to time.”
“The one we wish to contact was in Inziala about a month ago,” explains Jiron. “Said he was stopping by here when he left.”
“Hmmm,” Ohan says as he visibly turns inward to think about what Jiron just said. Finally after a full minute of contemplation, he nods and says, “Yes. I think I know the one you are looking for.”
Excited, Jiron says, “Can you tell us where he is?”
Shaking his head, Ohan says, “Sorry, that would be against the rules I’m afraid.”
“Can you at least tell us if he’s here in town?” Stig asks.
“I am not sure to tell you the truth,” he replies, “haven’t seen him in a couple days. Although many of the members don’t always drop by here on a daily basis.”
Jiron looks at the man, frustrated by his lack of help despite his friendly and accommodating nature. “Is there any way in which you can be of help?” he finally asks.
“Oh yes,” he replies. “You could leave him a message that I will be more than happy to deliver to him as soon as he puts in an appearance.”
“Which could be a long time?” asks Jiron.
“I’m afraid so,” Ohan answers.
Stig looks to Jiron and says, “It’s better than nothing.”
Jiron thinks for a moment and then says, “If that’s the best you can do, so be it. Tell this Azku that we are staying at the Soaring Eagle and that this regards a certain incident that happened back in Inziala. Tell him the woman in question is with child and we desire to settle this matter forthwith.”
Ohan’s eyes widen at that. “Is the parentage of the child in doubt?” he asks.
“As for that,” replies Jiron. “It might be best if I take it up with Azku.”
Nodding, Ohan says, “That may be the wisest course.”
“So do I,” replies Jiron. Standing up, he says, “We thank you for your time and if you should see him, also tell Azku that we are leaving on the morrow. It would be best for all parties to have this settled before that time.”
“Should I see him, I will most assuredly let him know,” he states.
“Excellent,” says Jiron. Indicating for the other two to stand, he gestures for Ohan to escort them out.
“I must say,” he begins as they leave the room, “you gentlemen certainly have laid waste to the monotony which is the life of a Caretaker. Thank you very much for coming.”
“Any time,” Stig says.
Out in the main room, Kozal is still at the table reading. His eyes flick up and remain on them until they enter the hallway with the suits of armor. Stig definitely does not like the man’s attitude.
Once they’ve reached the door leading outside, Ohan opens it for them and bids them good day. Jiron and the others leave the Order of the Scarlet Sword and pass back into the plaza. He stops abruptly when he notices something he hadn’t before.
“What?” asks Stig.
Indicating the statue atop the fountain, he says, “Look at the way it’s facing.” When the others look, they see what he means. The statue is facing directly toward the door leading into the Order of the Scarlet Sword.
“So?” asks Reilin. “It has to face somewhere.”
“I don’t know,” he replies. “It just struck me as odd that a statue of a soldier is facing the entryway to a guild of soldiers.”
“Think there could be some connection?” asks Stig.
“Maybe. But right now I’m not really concerned about it.” Turning toward the other two he says, “All I care about right now is talking to Azku.”
“He may not even be in the city,” says Reilin.
“Perhaps,” states Jiron. “Although after the message I left, if he is we will know soon.” Stepping out, he leads them back to the Soaring Eagle to wait for Azku’s appearance.
Chapter Eighteen
Back at the inn they tell James and the others about what transpired at the Order of the Scarlet Sword. At the description of the red banner that hung by the door, Scar interrupts by saying, “I think there was one in the City of Light.” All conversation ceases as every eye turns toward him. “If you described the banner hanging out front correctly, then there was one just like it on Copper Street.”
“Wasn’t that within the merchant’s district?” asks Stig.
“That’s right,” replies Scar. “I met a patron in that area for some reason, I forget exactly why, but I do remember seeing a banner just like the one you mentioned hanging on a building there.” He can see the doubt in some of their eyes. “I’m telling the truth.”
“I believe you,” says Shorty. “I saw it too.”
“What c
an it mean then?” asks Reilin.
James soon finds everyone’s eyes upon him for some sort of explanation. “Don’t look at me,” he says. “I don’t know.”
“But you can guess,” says Jiron. “You always have some idea about everything.”
“Do I?” he asks surprised. When everyone nods their head, he shrugs. “Guess it’s due to my over active imagination. Always made me a good Dungeon Master.” When he sees them looking confused by the term, he waves away the question that was on their tongues. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Well?” asks Jiron.
“Maybe it’s a guild that transcends nationality,” he replies. “From what you said, it’s comprised of fighters and those who have dealings with them such as weaponsmiths and those scholars who deal with the theory of fighting.” Looking to Jiron he asks, “The man said that a Commander of Ten was a member?”
Jiron nods. “Yes, that’s what he said.”
James remembers going up against one of those on his trip to recover Miko from the Empire. The one he faced was exceptionally skilled with the sword not to mention the added ability to use magic. “It seems odd that such a one would be a party to something that consists of elements outside of the Empire.”
“When this Azku gets here,” Jiron says, “we’ll ask him.”
The others agree and for the next several hours they toss around different ideas of what the Order might mean, what it does, that sort of thing.
Darkness settles in with a vengeance and they finally decide Azku is not going to make an appearance this evening. James sends them all to their rooms and then climbs into bed. He no sooner blows out the candle than there’s a knock on the door.
Jiron is out of bed in a flash and runs to the door. Flinging it open, he sees one of the inn’s boys standing outside. The boy hands him a letter and says something in the Empire’s tongue then turns around to head back downstairs.
“Reilin!” Jiron calls out.
A nearby door opens up and Reilin sticks his head out. “What?” he asks.
Indicating the departing boy, Jiron holds up the recently delivered letter and says, “Ask him where this came from.”
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