by J Seab
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The Drowned Mule was more raucous than usual. Apparently the proprietor was giving away happy-smokes again. A promotion, he called it. One to a customer, he announced, but he didn’t seem to make much effort to ensure that each customer only got one. Fillip was certain that one man in the far corner was smoking his third. He acted like it, all goofy and wobbly, like his brain was turning to ooze. Idiot. Didn’t know when to stop.
Fillip toyed with trying another smoke. Maybe it was like the ale, required some getting used to. Normally they charged a quint for each smoke but he decided against it. He’d stick with ale. He didn’t want to be all foggy-minded and sick in the morning. A couple of ales. That was his limit.
He finished off the last of his second ale and looked around again for Marcus. He should be showing up anytime now, he thought. Frankly, Fillip was getting a little irritated. He had a long day ahead and didn’t need to spend half the night in this place. The noise was deafening and the air so thick with happy-smoke that he was beginning to feel a little wobbly himself.
He’d give Marcus another half hour. If he didn’t show up, well then, Russel could deal with him. Maybe I’ll have just one more ale, Fillip thought, reaching into his pocket, drawing out the quints. He still had three, one more wouldn’t matter. What else was he going to do? He waved at the serving girl. She didn’t seem to notice him, so he stood, waved both arms, and shouted above the din. Finally, she came over, refilled his mug, and took a quint. He scowled at her retreating back and then took a deep pull at his ale. No, not too bad, he decided, once he got used to it.
His fingers drummed on the table as he watched the door. A couple of fisher types at the next table were starting to irritate him, their voices getting louder all the time. He glowered in their direction. They were arguing over how the coast between here and Stonybruk was contoured. They had a scrap of paper open before them and were making marks on it. Fillip could see that it was a map of the northern coast. A map, he thought idly. He suddenly sat upright. A map! That’s what Russel had been examining, an old map. His mind quickly made a connection. That oddment that she was so interested in, it talked about an Ultimate Treasure. And that must be the treasure map. They must be related. Russel wasn’t telling him the whole story, he concluded. Not yet, anyway. Probably didn’t want to prejudice his investigation.
He finished the last swallow, his thoughts twisting down new paths, when the door opened. A big man entered, surveyed the crowd, and then pushed toward him. People gave way.
“Marcus,” Fillip said, not getting up. “About time you showed up.”
Marcus arched a brow, drew up a stool.
“I’ve been waiting forever for you. Russel has a job for us. I was fixing to leave,” he groused.
“I’m sorry, Fillip,” Marcus said, spreading his hands. “Perhaps I can buy you an ale to compensate?”
“Humph, no matter, not like I have anything important to do. Not like you. Just because I’m a senior correspondent doesn’t mean I have to actually do anything except sit around in this dump drinking ales.”
“Again, my apologies, Fillip. Congratulations on your promotion. None better or more deserving.” Marcus raised a hand and the serving girl rushed over and refilled Fillip’s mug.
Fillip grabbed his mug as soon as it was full, ignoring the serving girl. He took a deep swallow, licked the foam from his lips. Marcus gave her a quint and waved her off.
“What’s this task that Russel wants us to do?” Marcus asked as Fillip settled back into his chair, his humor unimproved.
“Russel, yes,” he mused. Without turning to face Marcus, he asked, “Do you know anything about a treasure map that Russel has?”
Marcus didn’t answer. Fillip risked a quick glance. Marcus was staring off into space, his eyes hard, as if he struggled with something. Maybe he’s jealous of my promotion to senior correspondent, Fillip thought. “Hey, Marcus.” Fillip almost reached over to poke him but realized immediately how foolish that action might be. He waited.
Marcus swiveled his attention back to Fillip. Fillip looked into his mug, took a gulp.
“No,” Marcus said, “I don’t know about any maps. After a pause, he asked, “What about this task?”
Fillip decided not to pursue the topic. “We’re to go to Meldon, a little pothole in the road south of Brendon’s Cross, to try to find out what’s going on out there and why a Servitor is so interested. Probably setting out to stir up more trouble.”
“When do we leave?”
“Early.” Fillip slurred his words some, but didn’t really notice. “You are to secure passage on the ship to Stonybruk. We’ll pick up a couple of horses there for the trip to Meldon.”
“Understood.”
“Best you get started,” Fillip slurred, his head feeling woozy. “I’ll meet you at the docks in the morning,” he added as Marcus stood and left.
Fillip inhaled the smoky air. Maybe I will have one of those free smokes, he thought. One won’t hurt. It’ll be good. It is, after all, free. I shouldn’t let the opportunity go to waste.
Chapter 16