“Who are you?” he asked evenly. There was something wrong about all this, and he didn’t want to wait around if things were about to take a turn for the worse.
“Just a traveler, I assure you,” the man replied with a self-assured smile.
“A traveler?” Randall repeated skeptically. “We get plenty of those in here, but never one in such finely preserved, yet clearly old—some might say ‘outdated’—clothing,” he gestured to the man’s jerkin. “Nor do we get many mead-brewers to set their bellies to this bar, save competitors seeking our recipes—and I know each of them and their spies like the back of my own hand,” he added.
The customer chuckled, and Randall felt his ire rising at the man’s insufferable arrogance. “I assure you my dear boy that you have the wrong of me,” he said with a subtle shake of his head. “But you are quite observant to notice the condition of my clothing—observant for a half-elf, that is.”
“Observant enough to know that it’s impossible to smell the summer capers or the blue fruit in that mead,” Randall retorted evenly through teeth that wanted nothing but to grind against each other. “Impossible for a human, that is,” he added with more than a little smug satisfaction of his own.
The man chuckled and reached into his pouch. “I slept with a former waitress,” he confessed with a dismissive wave of his free hand.
Randall’s mind raced as he remembered the women who had come through The Last Coin since Lorie had switched the recipe just over a year earlier, and he settled on who the man probably meant. “Tall, red hair,” he said with a wry grin, “legs that seemed to go to the ground and then some?”
The customer chuckled. “That’d be the one,” he agreed as he produced a gold coin from his purse. “Works at the Velvet Purse now,” he added with a wink.
“I bet she does,” Randall spat before he, too, began to chuckle. The Velvet Purse was a high-end brothel located on the other side of town. How she, a half-elf, had managed to get a work permit for a brothel outside the Native District was a mystery to him—but she did have a certain way with men that likely played a part.
“I paid her a silver for the secret,” the customer confessed. “I’ve never tasted this stuff’s equal and wanted to know what was in it…before the opportunity was lost.”
“A whole silver for just the recipe when a full pitcher only costs a copper?” Randall said with a disbelieving shake of his head. “Some might say you’ve got more money than sense.”
The customer shrugged before downing the last of his second tankard. When he was finished, Randall went to re-fill the tankard since he had already paid for four full containers’ worth.
But the man covered the tankard with his hand. “I think that’ll do for now,” he said as he casually rolled the gold coin back and forth over his knuckles. Randall wasn’t impressed at the display; he could roll three such coins over one hand’s knuckles simultaneously. However, Randall could appreciate the value of a Federation-stamp gold Union coin—and he suspected there was a request forthcoming.
“I don’t suppose you’d be interested in earning a tidy tip for your own self?” the customer asked casually as he continued to play with the coin.
Randall suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. “Not to be too blunt, but no matter what you may have heard,” he said evenly, “I don’t do men. Not all half-elves are so picky, but I think it’s important to draw the line somewhere; I’m sure you can find someone to your liking elsewhere, though.”
The customer chuckled and shook his head. “What you suggest is the furthest thing from my mind,” he assured Randall. “No, boy, I simply wish to know if you’d like to earn this,” he gestured to the coin with his free hand, “for, quite literally, nothing—which I will actually assist you in doing…or ‘not doing,’ as the case may be.”
Randall knew he was being toyed with, but even his pride had its limits. If there was a way to earn a full gold coin from this man, he wasn’t about to turn his nose up at the chance. “That’s a lot of value for nothing in return,” he said with open suspicion. “Generally such requests are illegal…and I’d be wise reporting it to the city watch.”
“You are well-served by your skepticism,” the customer said with an approving nod, “but you see…I have a debt to an old friend which I must repay, and I see no better way of accomplishing that than by involving you at this particular juncture. All you need is to agree to my proposal—which is to do nothing, of course—in return for which you shall receive this gold Union to do with as you please.”
Randall chewed his cheek as he considered the possible risks in accepting the man’s offer. Lorie was still at least ten minutes from returning with the Redroot, so he decided to risk it.
“Ok, you’ve got me,” he said with a sigh. “What do you want?”
The customer’s eyes flashed, and for a moment Randall could have sworn he smelled something from his childhood as the man looked down at the bundle he had set on the bar earlier. “As I said,” the customer assured him as a pained, sorrowful look came over his face as he picked up his hat and placed it on his head, “absolutely nothing.” He flicked the gold Union in the air, and Randall deftly caught it before it landed on the bar, glancing at the clean coin’s immaculate etchings as it rested in the open palm of his hand.
When Randall looked back up, he saw that the man and his bundle was gone. He scowled as he looked briefly around the room. “Cheap magician’s mind games,” he muttered, reaching for the cloth he had been using to wipe the counter. But his hand found only empty countertop, and when he looked for the rag he saw that it was about two feet from where he had left it.
Now that he thought about it, he realized that the rag hadn’t moved—somehow, he had moved a full step from where he swore he had been just a moment earlier. Grumbling wordlessly, he leaned over to retrieve the rag and began to wipe the coin with it.
“Randy, I just saw thos—hey, you’re still not finished with that counter?” Lorie demanded. “I swear, Randy, I just don’t know what to do with you anymore.”
Randall looked up in confusion. She can’t be back so soon, he thought to himself, not unless she ran the whole way, and she’s not out of breath or sweaty.
“What’s that you’ve got there?” she asked as she set her small bundle on the countertop. Randall looked around to see if the strange customer was still in the room, but he saw only empty seats scattered throughout the common room.
He shook his head absently. “A tip, I think,” he said as he looked down at the coin. Even after wiping it with the rag, it still appeared to be a genuine, Federation Union.
“Your lady soldier found her conscience, then?” Lorie said with a scathing chuckle. “Let’s see that.”
Too confused by what had just happened, and knowing that Lorie was entitled to a third of his tips anyway, Randall handed her the coin and took one last look around the common room for the strange customer.
“Randall,” she breathed, “where did you get this? Wait,” she corrected herself, “I don’t want to know.” She reached into a drawer beneath the bar and withdrew a small, glass vial and poured a tiny drop of it on a whetstone set into the bar. With the stone wet, she took the coin and gently ground it against it. Lorie repeated the process on the opposite edge of the coin and looked back up at him with disbelief. “Randy…I knew you were good, but I had no idea,” she said appreciatively, “first a Godstone earring and now a Federation Union—all in one morning!”
“Lorie,” he began as he drew nearer and nearer to the realization that all of this was wrong somehow, “did you see a customer walk out of here just now?”
His boss looked at him quizzically. “The kitchen’s not open until third bell,” she said dismissively, turning her attention to the coin once again.
Randall shook his head adamantly. “No, he was here just a few moments before you got back,” he explained, “kind of short for a pure human, wore a gaudy hat with a feather in it?”
A look of recogni
tion flashed across Lorie’s face. “You mean that’s who gave you this?” she asked as her eyes widened.
“What?” he snapped irritably. “You mean you saw him?”
She nodded her head and returned the coin to him, and Randall saw her face go slightly pale. “That’s what I was going to tell you,” she replied in a low tone, “I saw those Senatorial Guards you were talking about. You didn’t hear it?”
“Them? Hear what?” he said as his brow furrowed in confusion. “What do they have to do with this?”
She looked toward the door quickly and then back to him. “They tried to arrest your hat-wearing trick half a block from here but he resisted,” she explained, her voice barely above a whisper. “He actually killed one of them with some kind of magic but I think he’s dead now,” she said as a fearful tone entered her voice.
Randall’s eyebrows shot up. “What?!” he blurted. “But…he was just here!” he protested. “And he wasn’t a trick—you know I don’t do men!” he added with a scowl.
“Oh really?” she demanded, her own voice rising to match his. “I suppose he paid you the Union for your witty banter then?”
Randall tried to remember, but now that she mentioned it the entire conversation with the strange, hat-wearing customer had become fuzzy in his mind. About the only thing he remembered vividly was the gold Union coin; the rest was a mix of blurs and muted echoes.
Just then the doors to the common room swung open, and a pair of Senatorial Guards—likely the same ones he had seen running down the street earlier—came clomping into the common room.
“Hands up, filth,” the first one through the door commanded and in spite of his desire to rebel, Randall felt his hands rise slowly into the air. He saw Lorie do likewise—albeit much more quickly than he had—from the corner of his eye.
The Guardsman stepped up to the bar and placed his heavily-gauntleted hands on the countertop. Again Randall was unable to see within the narrow slits of the Guardsman’s helmet, and the man’s voice sounded identical to the one who had beaten him earlier.
“Did you see a man come in here,” the Guardsman demanded as he turned to Lorie, “medium height, wearing a feathered hat?”
Lorie shook her head saying, “No, Citizen,” as quickly as seemed possible.
The Guardsman seemed to fix her with his gaze for a long moment before finally turning to Randall. “You,” he said in his amplified, metallic voice, “did such a man come in here?”
Randall wanted nothing but to spit in the Guardsman’s face, but he heard himself reply, “Yes, Citizen.”
The Guardsman leaned forward, and the wooden countertop actually creaked in protest as he did so. “Did he speak with you?” he asked, and again all Randall wanted to do was curse the man’s lineage with every fiber of his being, but he was unable to do so.
“Yes, Citizen,” he heard his voice reply.
“Think carefully now,” the Guardsman said, and Randall suddenly felt incredibly hot inside, as though his innards were on fire, “what did he say?”
Randall saw images flash through his mind which were blurry and unrecognizable. He tried to speak, but his mouth simply wouldn’t comply. All he could do was stand there in terror.
He heard the Guardsman sigh, which was an odd sound coming through such heavy, strange amplification, and the man reached up to remove his helmet. There was a strange, almost hissing sound as he did so and the soldier then placed the stylized, bulky piece of armor on the countertop, revealing his dark brown skin and clean-shaven head. The man’s eyes were gold unlike the standard, pure human brown, and when he fixed Randall with them it seemed as though they burned a hole straight into—and through—the back of his head.
“What did he say, half-breed?” the man growled, and somehow his natural, baritone voice was even more intimidating and disconcerting than the distorted version.
“He…” Randall began, “he…”
The Guardsman drew an identical dagger to the one which had been drawn on Randall in the alley, and he knew he had only seconds to satisfy this man’s curiosity.
“He ordered a drink,” Randall blurted as part of the memory tore through his mind en route to his tongue. “He paid a copper, but only drank a half-copper’s worth.”
“Go on,” the man pressed in the most menacing tone Randall had ever heard, and Randall suddenly realized his heart was no longer beating.
“Then he…” Randall continued, desperately trying to remember what had happened, “then he…then he offered me this,” he finally managed to stammer, producing the gold Union coin.
The Guardsman snatched it from his fingers, and Randall was impressed at the man’s display of dexterity with such heavy, cumbersome gauntlets on. The Guardsman assessed the coin intently before returning his full attention to Randall. “For what?” he asked with narrowed eyes.
“For…for…” he began, but found he was unable to answer for some reason—not the least of which was he still didn’t remember! He wanted to say something—anything—but the words simply wouldn’t come.
“For a trick,” Lorie said quickly, her words flowing in a monotonous, droning stream from her lips, “I don’t have an official brothel license but sometimes we entertain clients who desire discretion and anonymity. Why else would a man of means bequeath such wealth on a lowly half-elf like either of us?”
The Guardsman snorted derisively as he looked back and forth between them. “Did he leave anything behind?” he asked, and Randall once again felt the edges of his mind threaten to tear under the awful weight of the man’s inquiry as random images swirled together until they were nothing but a blur in his mind’s eye.
“No,” Randall shook his head rapidly as he managed to gasp the words, “he took everything except the copper coin—and the gold Union,” he added with absolute confidence as he took a long breath. It felt like such a relief to actually answer the man’s query, and he hoped against hope that the Guardsman would be satisfied with the truth.
The Guardsman looked back and forth between them for a long, silent while before dropping the gold coin on the bar and miming the washing of his hands. “You people disgust me,” he growled, spitting a thick gob of phlegm on the countertop beside the coin as he turned and rejoined his companion near the door.
The two heavily-armored men then exited The Last Coin. Lorie and Randall stood there in stunned silence for a long while before Randall suddenly realized he had the absolute worst headache of his life—and that his heart had thankfully resumed its duty. He clutched his temples as he braced himself against the bar for support as the world threatened to spin out of control.
“Your first time?” he heard Lorie ask through gritted teeth from beside him after the worst seemed to have passed.
“What?” he gasped as he struggled to keep from being overwhelmed by vertigo. Thankfully half-elves did not experience nausea as humans did, so there was little danger of making a mess all over the freshly swept floorboards.
“That was a magical interrogation,” she snapped. “Or didn’t you realize that’s what was happening?”
The truth was that particular possibility hadn’t even occurred to him, but now that she suggested it he realized that was precisely what had happened.
“The first one’s always the worst,” she commiserated, “but they get easier every time.”
He felt his knees buckle, and would have fallen face-first into the bar if not for Lorie’s steadying hands beneath his armpits.
“Easy now,” she said as she lowered him to the floor. “Just breathe deep and it’ll pass,” she assured him.
“How many times?” he asked after a few moments doing as she had suggested. He opened his eyes and was able to focus on her without feeling as though he were about to split in two from the spinning sensation. “How many times have they done that to you?”
“To be honest, I lost count years ago,” Lorie shrugged, “but it’s the price we pay to live in their world. You’ll get used to it,” she said
confidently, “we all do.”
Randall shook his head, not only to clear the vertigo but at the utter insanity of actually accepting such oppression. “We can’t live like this,” he growled, “they treat us like animals!”
“Hush now,” she said sternly. “You can’t speak like that.”
But Randall was past the point of being talked down. He stood on still-wobbly legs and shook his head angrily. “We can’t stay here, Lorie; don’t you see what’s happening?”
She fixed him with a cold, hard look. “I have children to think of, Randall,” she said evenly. “Everything I do, I do for them. They will have better lives than I ever did because they no longer carry the stain of Ghaevlian blood in their veins.”
Randall scoffed in disbelief. “You always tell me to be proud of what I am,” he yelled, “but now you call our Ghaevlian blood a stain?!”
She narrowed her eyes and took a slow step toward him. “In their world that’s precisely what it is: a stain,” she snapped. “I endure these torments because I must, and because it’s the only way I know to survive. Do I wish for a better world? Of course!” she slammed her hand onto the bar. “But there is no better world, Randall; there is only their world,” she pointed to the door leading out onto the street to which the Guardsmen had just left. “I will survive in it so that those who depend on me can do likewise, and I will not allow everything I suffer for be threatened by your disaffections!”
Randall would have liked to take umbrage with her words and escalate the argument, but deep down he knew she was right. For her there was no choice; she had three young children, none of whom bore Ghaevlian blood, and he of all people knew how greatly a mother’s absence could influence a person’s life.
But for him there was a choice. It may not have been an appealing choice, but it was a choice nonetheless and he made up his mind in that instant to do what he had never found the courage to.
“Then that’s it,” he said quietly before turning toward the stairs which led to his small loft in the peak of the building’s roof.
Joined at the Hilt: Union (Sphereworld: Joined at the Hilt Book 1) Page 5